Winterheart Wrath

An unscheduled report for King Rymhûl...

My king,

I come to you with an unscheduled report. I understand that you quite abhor such deviations due to how busy your schedule can be. Unfortunately, I feel as if this cannot wait for the monthly mission overview that is due to be sent out in a fortnight.

I have found something amongst the craigs and crevices between the eastern slopes of the Dragonstone Mountains and the sea. The area is unusually cold for its elevation despite the fact that the glaciers of the Epoch of Snowfall have not touched these stones in over 5 thousand years. And though it might seem... unusual for me, it is unmistakable. It feels like someone is watching us. Yet that is not what has grabbed our attention.

My colleagues, Nittan, Tywir, Thain, and Zehae, and I split up in hopes of covering more ground in our search for the source of this cold. The area is devoid of most life save for the occasional patch of lichen or the particularly resilient evergreen bush that somehow found purchase in the cracks. Thain reports that these strange bushes are producing some sort of berries, but when he tried one, he immediately spat it back out.

According to him, it was the taste that had him reject it, as it reminded him too much of the taste of nightshade, and if it weren't for his heritage he probably would have dropped dead right then. How could a bush, that looks so much like the humble juniper, pose the same danger as the many poisonous weeds that populate this world? We will have to investigate it further.

But whilst Thain was warning the others to not touch those bushes, I nearly fell down a crevice that had been hidden from my sight by the way the stones rolled and stood, sculpted by the ancient icy hands of glaciers long gone. I managed to catch myself on the edge before the stone crumbled to gravel beneath my hands, forcing me to drop down into the fissure. I managed to land correctly but something popped in my left foot as I did and pulls now every time I step on it.

Nay, do not worry, my king. I will heal and what I found at the bottom of this cut in the stone may have made this injury more than worth it.

At the bottom of this crevice, which Zehae, our cartographer, has marked down as "Wrath's Rent", I found evidence of a momentary encampment. There's no trace of long-term inhabitation like a bed or attempts to construct furniture out of what is available. I, at first, assumed that someone had fallen down here like I had. The lack of a skeleton told me that they must have been able to find a way back out of this place. This gave me some hope that I would be able to get out of there as well.

Yet, before I began to try and escape, I did a curiosity-fueled search of the small, sparse site in hopes of writing a report for you to go over at your leisure. I did not find much more than what I have already described, there was not even any traces of a fire. My eyes traced the floor, then the solid, impregnable walls until they alighted upon something that made my heart feel as cold as this broken land.

My king, never have I felt such fury radiate from the written word. Letter after letter has been gouged into the rock by something long and sharply pointed, almost like a claw yet too straight to be so. The savage shape of each stroke speaks of the writer's state of mind and how their rage lent them the energy to finish the whole block of words. For they were all written at the same time if the faint and weather-worn blooddrops on the floor below them are anything to go by.

Now: "What is written there and why is it so important?" I can hear you ask. "Is this what you felt you needed to report?"

And indeed! You are correct, my king.

Written in the script of the Cave Common of a few decades after The Reemergence from the Sanctuaries Below, the letters are shallowly filled with ice that glows as if filled with moonlight. They speak of betrayal and misunderstanding towards the writer, who placed her rage into the poem that I found.

Yes, my king. It was a woman who resided here for a short time, a woman who was wronged.

Here is what was written upon the wall:

Woe betide a spoken wrong,

When someone spits a discordant song

Of wrath and ire towards one innocent

With words of fire and utter insolent.

The innocent one is above reproach,

They didn't tell you, did not broach,

Something which you needn't know now,

Yet still you call them an inconsiderate cow.

Woe betide those who see their faults in others,

And blame them for their inadequacies and bothers.

For it is not their fault, it is yours alone,

And for it you should singly atone.

For it is not lying if it is withheld,

It is not lying if it need not be dispelled.

If you were fine without knowing this fact,

Then they deserve to not be attacked.

At this point, the poem shifts tone from the vague third-person tone it has been using to a more personal, first-person. From here, she seems to pour her wrath and sorrow out upon the stone.

I deserved to be understood and have love,

My word should have been trusted high above

Whatever jealous gossips say

To try and keep our love at bay.

I thought you loved me no matter what,

I thought you loved me, no ifs, no buts.

But when you found out about that half of me,

You revealed yourself and made me see.

I thought you would understand,

I thought I had found my loving husband.

But now I know how cruel you are,

That you do nothing but rend and mar.

I cannot help that I'm only half-Man,

That my other half is a blizzard in the form of a woman.

Your rejection froze my tender heart,

And tore my sense of self utterly apart.

The tone at this point darkens drastically. The whole poem is quite dark up to this point, but believe you me, my king, the rage that radiates from these final verses made my heart pause inside my chest. Though it has been an unknown amount of years since it was written, it has not faded at all.

YOU FEARED THAT I WAS DANGER INCARNATE?

THAT I WAS A MONSTER, IS THAT IT?

THEN BEHOLD THE FRUITS OF YOUR BELIEF,

AND KNOW THAT YOU WILL NEVER FIND RELIEF!

I WILL SHOW YOU THE PAIN YOU GAVE ME,

TWIST YOU, BREAK YOU, YOU SHALL SEE,

AND NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY,

WITH EVERY EFFORT YOU WILL CRY.

NEVER AGAIN WILL YOU MAKE A HEART BLEED,

NEVER WILL YOU BE HAPPY, THAT IS MY CREED.

FOREVER YOU WILL ACHE, AS WILL I,

AND NEVER, EVER WILL YOU DIE!

My king.

My king, there is a danger here. A sorrow-filled yet rage-laden danger that could soon be turned against us if we are not careful. If we return without completing our mission, please understand that it will not be because of cowardice, but because the danger presented to us will have grown too great with our data being at risk of being lost.

It is clear that we are dealing with an Ice Mentari-hybrid who has been grievously wronged by the one she had given her heart to. It is unclear if she was able to capture him and imprison him as she desired, but even if she has we cannot ignore the possibility that she might turn her wrath upon us as well.

As I sit here at my small expedition desk, writing this report to the best of my ability with how bandaged my hands are now, I can say with some certainty that this unusual cold is being generated by this unknown woman. We have no leads on her current location as of now but hopefully, that will have changed by the time the next quarterly report arrives on your desk.

Your faithful explorer,

— Thûhíb Firamaer, of House Firamaer