Rime of the Frostmaiden
In the darkness she comes,
The Lady in White, the lady of frost,
With her comes the snow and the ice,
She reaches out with grasping fingers,
And with her touch she brings eternal sleep,
Sleep encased within a touch of frozen death,
Hide my friend,
Hide under the blankets,
Pray that she does not see you,
Pray that she does not find you,
The Frostmaiden holds us close,
She will not let us go.
It was the 25th Uktar.
For most of Faerun, autumn was giving way to the call of winter. For most of the Realms, they would soon be covered under a thick, impenetrable blanket of snow. Yet here, in the frozen reaches of the north, deep within the Spine of the World, things were different. Here, it was a neverending perpetual winter and the people who lived inside this region were trapped inside this harsh and unforgiving place. A deadly, impassable blizzard ravaged the perimeters of the Spine, and any who were reckless and foolish enough to attempt the passing died a cold and lonely death. This was the Everlasting Rime. The will of the Frostmaiden, who had locked the Spine and all those within it away from the rest of Toril within her own impenetrable globe.
Yet even with that, there were worse things than the Everlasting Rime to deal with. Every single day, when the embattled peoples of the Spine were to turn their eyes towards the sky at the point in time where evening would normally fall, and darkness would begin to encroach across the arctic wasteland, they would see a terrifying slight. A large, winged creature flew across the sky, piercing the darkness with its majestic yet deadly grace. Behind it, the motes of glowing orbs of magic fell, drifting lazily to the snow-covered ground below. On the creatures back, the Frostmaiden herself weaved her magics, casting a web of eternal night on the world below her. In this place there would be no sunrise. There would be no morning, no afternoon. No sun, and no daylight. Here, there would be nothing save the frozen darkness of a land that was slowly dying. There would be nothing here save the endless blanket of eternal twilight and the chittering of the shadows as they reached up to slowly devour all those who lay within this shroud of never-ending black.
This was a desolate, frozen region that was home to two types of people. It was home to those brave, intrepid souls who saw the inhospitable climate as a challenge to be braved. The opportunity to forge their place in the world. The other type of person who made their home here were the lost ones. Those people whom the world had turned its back on. For these people, their need was simple. They had nowhere left to turn, and for those who had arrived before the Everlasting Rime there was but one singular, inexorable truth.
There was no way out.
Life had continued though, despite the brutal conditions. In the heart of Icewind Dale, the Ten-Towns yet maintained an air of civilisation and humanity, despite the adverse conditions that threatened to tear away at these foundations…..on the surface at least. The ceaseless winter and terrible darkness had taken its toll though, eating away at the fragile facade of civility that some still clung to. The largest towns routinely offered up living sacrifices to Auril in a vain attempt to appease her deific anger, offerings that were met with impassive silence. And the people within the towns themselves, they changed under cover of night. Humanity fell to its basest level, as individuals retreated within and lost themselves to oppressive isolation and paranoia. When there is nothing save the eternal darkness of the void, chaos bubbles up to the surface. Unchecked acts of crime and violence went unanswered as the faintest veneer of society began to crumble and decay.
Civilisation here in the Spine of the World teeters on the edge of oblivion, and the slightest touch will send it over into the abyss itself.
