“… The Counter Kingdom. A week’s march leads your squad across a frozen tundra dotted with igloos. You show the locals your leopard ball and they kick it around clumsily on the ice. No one appears to know how to put it in the mixer, if they even understand what you’re asking about — it’s hard to tell. They speak in inscrutable tongues: Italian, Spanish, Broad Norfolk, Black Country. Frankly, these people seem less interested in playing with the ball than in keeping you from kicking it, which is a little weird, but as long as you don’t get too close they’re a pretty peaceful bunch. Farther up the snowy coast you meet a druid. …”
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