Denizens of the frozen tundras and ghosts of the ice sheets, the zherebetz zimna are equally feared and sought after by the hyperborean races
Perhaps you've heard of Winter's Gem, and of the tragic fate of the Lady Karina. And perhaps not. It is, after all, a tale unspeakably old. Yet the Earth does not forget, and those of us who guard it do not wither...
Nine thousand years she has slumbered, while Winter diminished. So obsessed was He in her care, that He allowed Summer to run unchecked. His power dwindled, and Summer grew. There is a great unbalance in the world, young ones. One that I fear will break the back of the Earth itself, if not addressed. Winter must return. It is the Way.
Bluest of sapphires; the ice-cold jewel. From its hoary breath flows the bitter winter winds. The Lady Karina sits there for all eternity, looking deep into the eyes of her lover.
The hyperborean realm of the Eternal Flame
Adapted to the coldest of inhabitable worlds, the stocky Snowborn are the Starkin’s frozen cousins, set to defend them from threats from outside, using their terrible world itself as a weapon.
Frosty the Snowman. Is a fairytale they say. He was made of snow. But the children know. How he came to life one day…
There must have been some magic. In that old silk hat they found. For when they placed it on his head. He began to dance around…
A set of pale white panpipes, etched with images of the winter storms…
A small silver lantern, at whose heart there burns a shard of ice.
At first appearing to be glass, this ring of enchanted ice is a boon to those in wintery climes…
The delicate flower of the deepest Arctic, bearing the essence of ephemeral purity.
Once an outcast spirit of the cold, now the malevolent lord of a realm of winter unending…
Carved to bring glory to the Patient One, the silent and frigid Abomination that holds dominion over the frozen wastes, the Glacier’s Fist is heralded as a deadly weapon, but the true purpose of it is a much more subtle thing.
Perhaps the most destructive of Kel’Regar weapons, Summer’s Extinguisher plunges the world it is deployed on into a deep and permanent winter.
Frozen to death by a penny pinching, cruel landlord, the Frozen Woman has found her vengeance against her killer, and now seeks to destroy those who might do unto others what was done unto her.
Forged of destruction, in the name of hatred, Winter’s Tempest is a cold echo of its parent blades, yet still it bears the destruction of the frozen elements.
Do you ever give ice ages a thought?
The weather is something that everyone always notices and talks about, but can’t do anything about. It is an important part of everyone’s life, yet it seems to be ignored in games. And everything important in a game is best thought of as a character of some sort.
Winter time is a wonderous time for adventure.
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.