Naggaroth, the Land of Chill, is a bleak and frozen continent in the far north-west of the world, a realm of black volcanic mountains, sunless pine forests, and cruel iron cities where nothing gentle survives. It is the cold mirror of fair Ulthuan, and its very landscape seems shaped to breed hardness, hatred, and ambition without limit.
The continent is the domain of the Dark Elves, the Druchii, sundered kin of the high elves who follow the Witch King Malekith and his sorceress-mother in eternal exile. Counted among the elder races of Order, they are nonetheless the cruellest of them all, a nation of slavers, corsairs, and murder-cultists who worship the god of murder and dream only of reconquering the homeland from which they were cast out.
From their six great cities, chief among them the fortress-capital of Naggarond, black-sailed corsair fleets sail forth to raid every coast of the world, from the jungles of Lustria to the shores of the Old World, seizing treasure and slaves whose ceaseless toil is all that keeps the frozen realm alive. Bitterest of all is their hatred for their high-elf cousins across the sea in Ulthuan, against whom they have waged a war of vengeance for thousands of years. Within Naggarond's black walls the Witch King broods upon his stolen birthright, attended by torturers, beastmasters, and the murderous priestesses of the convents, while his cold legions drill without end for the day of reconquest, for every facet of Druchii life, from cradle to grave, is bent toward war, ambition, and the slow feeding of an inexhaustible spite.
Yet the Druchii are no friends of the Dark Gods either, for the ruinous Chaos hordes press upon Naggaroth's northern border, and the dark elves spill as much daemon-blood as any. Cold, cunning, and utterly without mercy, they endure in their land of chill as a dagger poised at the throat of the world, awaiting only the moment to strike.