10 months ago
Saul | WarbossKurgan
In the centre of a miles-wide stretch of the Ur-River there was an ice-covered rocky island, known as Frørholm. The river-banks of that mystical water-way were so far away that, even if the island were not wrapped in the swirling snow storm of a tethered Everwinter, it would not have been possible to see the shore either side from a vantage-point on the island’s steep cliffs.
Cracked ice flowed form along its rugged coastline. The Everwinter on the island froze the river water that touched its shores, pushed ice ever-outwards. The slabs of ice furthest out broke up as the warmer river water passed slowly under and around them. The chunks of ice floated away down-stream, rapidly shrinking as they drifted away.
The storm that enveloped the island concealed a city from the Age of Myth. It was thought the city was abandoned long ago, possibly when the Everwinter first came to Frorholm. The streets and buildings became inaccessible - encased in ice.
But something changed.
The storm was suddenly different. Where it had blanketed the island in a vortex of spiralling white mists, the rocky shores could be seen from the river. Glimpses of the outer edges of the city could sometimes be spied through eddies in the fog. The ancient legends about it were been remembered and the outposts and strongholds along the banks of the Ur-River all the talk was about it.
Adventures and treasure-seekers set out. A dozen expeditions made landfall in the hope of fortune and glory. But they found something else. Something terrible...