Beneath storm-wracked skies and jagged cliffs lies Idruvia, a realm forged in conquest and hunger. Its landscape is a scarred testament to industry and might, where towering foundries belch black smoke into a perpetually grey sky, and the relentless clang of warhammers never ceases. There are no lush forests here, only the skeletal remains of cleared lands fueling the insatiable furnaces. The very air tastes of soot and hot metal, and the ground trembles with the rhythm of monstrous machinery. Rivers run thick with the runoff of forges, their banks lined not with greenery, but with fortified quays and dry docks building vessels of war. This grim efficiency is mirrored in its military, the heart of Idruvia’s identity. Its soldiers are merciless and disciplined, hardened by years of relentless campaigns into a single, unfeeling instrument of war. They march in lockstep, their polished steel armor and grim-faced helms a terrifying sight on any battlefield. Their siege engines, monstrous constructs of iron and dark ingenuity crafted by enslaved dwarven engineers, can reduce the proudest castle walls to rubble in hours. Perhaps most fearsome is their cavalry, which rides not on horses, but on war-trained hellhounds—massive, fire-eyed beasts bred for slaughter and obedience, whose guttural roars chill the blood before a battle even begins. Every facet of Idruvian society is geared toward a single purpose: expansion through overwhelming, unforgiving force.