The northern hunting grounds stretch across a vast expanse of rolling highlands, where the forest thins into open clearings and the wind carries the scent of pine, cold earth, and distant water. At dawn, a pale gold light filters through the branches of the old conifers, casting long shadows across the frosted grass. Deer trails weave like narrow ribbons through the underbrush, pressed deep by generations of movement, and anyone who follows them can sense the quiet, ancient rhythm of the land. It is a place where animals travel by instinct, and where hunters must learn to move with equal subtlety.

To the west lies a shallow marsh bordered by tall reeds and crooked willow trees. The ground here is soft, and the prints of boar, elk, and sometimes wolf can be found in the mud if you kneel and look closely. The marsh attracts waterfowl in great flocks during the autumn months, their calls echoing faintly across the still water at dawn. Hunters who favor this area must master patience; the birds startle easily, and the slightest disturbance can send an entire flock into the sky in a thunder of wings.

Farther north, the land rises into a rocky ridge where the forest grows thinner and the wind whistles through jagged cracks in the stone. From the top of the ridge, one can see nearly the entire hunting ground: the shadowed groves, the sweeping meadows, the meandering river that glints like silver in the midday sun. It is here, among the narrow ledges and patches of hardy shrubs, that mountain goats and smaller predators make their home. Tracking them is difficult, requiring sure footing and a keen eye for signs of movement against the stone. Yet the view from this vantage point is reward enough on its own—an unbroken horizon of wild, untouched land.

Eastward, the forest grows denser. Tall pines and ancient oaks tower overhead, their branches knitting together to form a canopy that filters the sunlight into scattered emerald patterns along the forest floor. The air is cooler here, touched by the presence of a winding creek that flows quietly between moss-covered banks. This is prime territory for larger game—elk and red deer, especially during the early winter months when they descend from the higher slopes in search of food. The sound of the creek masks footsteps, offering hunters rare opportunities for close encounters if they move with care.

Throughout the grounds, the presence of wildlife is constant yet never overwhelming; the land feels balanced, as though every creature has its rightful place. It is a region shaped by the seasons—lush and vibrant in summer, fierce and crisp in winter, alive with change in spring and autumn. For hunters, the grounds offer both opportunity and challenge. For wanderers, they offer solitude. And for anyone who walks its trails long enough, they offer a reminder that the world still holds places where nature governs with quiet authority, undisturbed by the noise of civilization.

Papa Nurgles Land Of Decay