A horde of devious, ferocious, tenacious, and atrocious creatures, beasts, and monstrosities to populate the northern realms of your fantasy. Get them while they're cold!
A moonsteel armlet set with diamonds
The hyperborean realm of the Eternal Flame
One of the largest and most famous cryodetention centers operated by Creative Incarcerations Corp
A treacherous door to enter. Take a deep breath, focus your mind, and leap into the ice.
"Are you lost in the frost?" A lone giant speaks, a cloud of chill air escaping his blue-lipped mouth.
In the distance, through a thick fog, you can see more of them coming out a cave lit by blue light. Almost like a portal to the netherworld is it’s eerie glow. You can feel fear growing in your belly. These aren’t normal giants. Their skin is blue, their hair and eyes silver. Stone jewelry hangs about their bodies making them look like brickwork monsters.
"Tiny man," The leader speaks, icicles breaking and falling from his jowls. "What brings you so far north?"
"What you wanna go messin' around up in the mountains for? Ain't nothin' up there but snow, and wolves, and more snow.
Yer lookin' for the old tomb? Take my advice, boys. Let that tomb alone. There ain't nothin up there you ought be messin' with. No money, no treasure, no fame, just ice. And death."
A legendary Artifact of the first brutal Ice Age.
The remnent of a much older time, the Methranar, the Icerender, the Lurker, is a figure prominant in the Megamoth Hunter’s legends.
Behold, the Harbinger of ill-tidings, the blizzard rider, the thief of winter, the Stamagast.
The icy lands of Sagaris are cold and unforgiving, and the Frost Owl is a manifestation of the dangers of that frigid realm. Of all the fantastic beasts that roam the Sagarian tundra, the Frost Owl is the greatest threat to man.
The Walking Mountains of the lands of Eternal Ice
Brumborion’s blade, the fang of the north, ice razor, the glacial sword, Givone’s Favor
In the trackless Frozen Waste, at the heart of the Sra lands lies the sacred glacier Ganamed, wherein lies Illyana’s Palace, the great ice necropolis of the Sra tribe.
Nothing but snow, nothing but ice and snow. I fear we will all loose our minds out here. Even the caves have frozen into ice…
from the collected notes of an unknown explorer.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.