**The Kingdom of Idruvia** is a land of iron and blood, where the very earth trembles beneath the march of its legions. Cradled between jagged, lightning-scarred peaks and a storm-lashed coastline, its skies are eternally choked with the soot of industry. Towering foundries, their furnaces burning day and night, dominate the landscape, forging weapons and armor for an empire built on conquest. The cities are sprawling fortresses of blackened stone, their streets patrolled by steel-clad soldiers whose faces are hidden behind snarling visors. Idruvia’s war machine is relentless—its siege engines, designed by enslaved dwarven engineers, can splinter fortress gates in a single volley, while its cavalry rides not on horses, but on monstrous hellhounds, their muzzles frothing with unnatural rage. Discipline is the kingdom’s creed, and its people are raised on a doctrine of strength and survival. From childhood, Idruvians are drilled in combat, their lives measured in service to the crown. The weak are culled; the strong ascend. Even the nobility must prove themselves on the battlefield, for titles here are won with blades, not inherited through soft diplomacy. The land itself is barren of beauty—forests have been felled for siege towers, rivers dammed to power mills, and the few remaining beasts are twisted by dark alchemy into weapons of war. Yet Idruvia is not without cunning. Its spymasters weave intricate webs of deception, turning rival kingdoms against each other before the first soldier marches. Its warlords study the tactics of fallen nations, absorbing their strengths and discarding their weaknesses. To stand against Idruvia is to face not just an army, but an idea—an unshakable belief that the world belongs to those ruthless enough to take it. Mercy is a foreign concept here. Surrender is met with chains, resistance with annihilation. The kingdom’s hunger is endless, and its ambition knows no borders.