Frost Sight
If one has the courage, or the foolishness, to travel deep into the Glass-Spear peaks, you may find yourself gifted-some would say cursed-with visions of the past, present or even the future. So the tales say, though whom would be fool enough to believe them.
Wandering the Glass-Spear Peaks, a bone cracking cold range of glacier mountains, crystalline and pure, in the dead of winter does not seem like a wise proposition to most sane folks, nor should it. But yet, that is what these legends suggest one do in a time of desperate need, for foresight, for answers, or for higher understanding. For legend tells of a mighty and powerful presence there, one of pure primordial power, resting. One that may even be more eternal than time itself. That power bleeds into the land, the ice and the mind numbing cold. Supposedly, as your body fails you, as the cold takes you, your mind will open, and a higher understanding will take hold. These claims are wild and absurd, a dangerous piece of too many children's stories about brave knights risking it all to gain some unfathomable answer to track down a missing princess, or avert a great tragedy, or turn the tide of a war. Even in this new age of a more modern understanding, people still make the foolish and arduous journey to feel the sheer, unbearable, openly hostile chill of the area, seeking understanding. Seeking answers. Seeking a path to make their lives mean something. Prophecy. A word most would turn from in this age of higher learning. Yet many in these lands journey to seek such enlightenment. Few if any return, and those that do...well they do see things differently, that must be said. But what is it they claim to see?
Wandering the Glass-Spear Peaks, a bone cracking cold range of glacier mountains, crystalline and pure, in the dead of winter does not seem like a wise proposition to most sane folks, nor should it. But yet, that is what these legends suggest one do in a time of desperate need, for foresight, for answers, or for higher understanding. For legend tells of a mighty and powerful presence there, one of pure primordial power, resting. One that may even be more eternal than time itself. That power bleeds into the land, the ice and the mind numbing cold. Supposedly, as your body fails you, as the cold takes you, your mind will open, and a higher understanding will take hold. These claims are wild and absurd, a dangerous piece of too many children's stories about brave knights risking it all to gain some unfathomable answer to track down a missing princess, or avert a great tragedy, or turn the tide of a war. Even in this new age of a more modern understanding, people still make the foolish and arduous journey to feel the sheer, unbearable, openly hostile chill of the area, seeking understanding. Seeking answers. Seeking a path to make their lives mean something. Prophecy. A word most would turn from in this age of higher learning. Yet many in these lands journey to seek such enlightenment. Few if any return, and those that do...well they do see things differently, that must be said. But what is it they claim to see?
Summary
According to the first recording of this tale, in 1121, Azila Ironcliffe herself was the first to experience these strange visions, traveling through the Glass Spear Peaks with her company, during one of the last campaigns she would take part in before her death, the Frozen March. Her claims outline the summary of this myth quite nicely, so we shall quote them verbatim here.
Mountain by Artbreeder
"It was so cold, so very cold. The cold was so harsh and violent, as if some beast of wind and water, some powerful eldritch force of ice and snow were screaming at our very bones, ordering us to submit. Ordering me to submit. The wind, the cold, it....spoke to me. It told me that there were things I needed to see. To know. But only by trusting the chilling arctic currents, and the ice and snow of my homeland could I learn them. It grated me. It wore me down. So one night.....I finally relented. We had been trying to trek through that blasted range for two weeks. Supplies were running low. I'd left almost a half a company of good Viit, of my damned kin to freeze to death when an arch we had to cross collapsed, leaving them dead or struggling in a crevasse where we couldn't reach them. Another twenty or thirty just collapsed, and never rose again. I was desperate. I was lost. I was ready to give up. I was ready to try anything. So I stripped down and did as the howling winds bid, I wandered out into the night, letting the wind bite, the ice bury its teeth. I gave my mind, body and bones to the cold."
(After many moments of silence she continued) I remember leaving my tent. I remember keenly the feeling of the cold biting, ripping, tearing at me as if a thousand teeth. Yet I did not collapse....and as my mind became a fog, numbed by the howling maelstrom.....It happened. Clear as day I could see my son and his army, pinned down, fighting for their lives, but a day's march south of us. I knew what I was seeing was the morrow, not now. I knew in my heart, I knew because the wind-voices told me. My minds eye was shown....it was shown things. Things I don't fully recall. Some great scaled beast, promises of a future where my son would not die, and as if a bird, I saw it. I saw the pass we'd been looking for. The damned path out of this accursed range, plain as day. As if daylight illuminated it, a bright burning silver. I saw our way out. I saw the future, the death of my son, his body pierced by two dozen ork spears, savagely ripped to shreds, his army broken. I saw prisoners in his army taken for the worst sorts of torments and amusements one can think up for the filthy Greenskins, all to please their dark patron, Iracundia. I saw more pain and suffering for my people in one vision than I ever thought possible. I saw the decades to come if this happened. The pain, the death, the torture, the rape, the suffering of our peoples, as the foul Greenskins ground them beneath their heels. All of this, tied to my Cormac's death. I saw it all, real and plain as day, lived it in minutes though it felt like centuries. But then I was offered the chance to rewrite the course of time. I was offered one chance, a bargain. A vision of a different future, if I could make it out of here alive, get reinforcements to my son in time. There was no foul sorcery from me Witch-Hunter. And I will not be shamed by you or your ilk, not for this. I took the bargain yes, and no I shall not share with you what the future holds with Cormac surviving, only that it is FAR better than what was coming. Nor will I grace you with knowing what bargain I struck for such a boon. That is between me and the Primordial up there in the ice. I know the price, I know when it will come due, and I know exactly how it will. You are correct, it is this very year. 1219 SuD, I'll hold no secret there. I was told payment would come due 98 years to the day. I hold no illusions, nor have I been 'tainted' by any Ruinous One, as your inspections yourself have told you. Cormac will be safe. Your precious churches too. None of them are the payment bargained for nor will I tell you what was! So move out of my way, before I choose to move you. My son, your High King, awaits my retinue, and my companies, to begin his march into the Irontip Peaks, the march to recover our long lost capital, our home city, our birthright. Geata-Iarainn! I will not keep him waiting!!"
Testimony of Azila Ironcliffe, according to Witch-Hunter Percival's report, signed and dated Tova 3rd, 1219 SuD
Historical Basis
The myth is indeed rooted in a historical event, though the validity of it is suspect at best. As seen above she claims that there was a price to be paid. Most historians insist she did not receive any 'magical visions'. After all, unless you are a rare dwarf born with magick powers, and almost always those are tied to Domhan, that is the magic of earth and stone, dwarves are exceedingly resistant to magic. To imply she received magical visions from a source she could not locate, something strong she could not perceive the passing of time, as she viewed futures and the past, and a new future besides? Its madness. No magical being known to any scholar across Valerick is capable of such manipulations of a Dwarven mind. It is hard enough to kill or injure a dwarf with magic. But to do something like this? Preposterous.
Or at least that is what most historians would say. However that ignores a few glaring facts. The first of which is disturbing. According to the documents and to the High King himself, that particular campaign, against the Ice Eyes Orc Tribe, well the damned Greenskins seemed a sight to smart. Always one step ahead. It was how they'd ended up trying such a desperate plan in the first place. It was as if the damned things had known what his armies were going to do before they did. For months, every tactical maneuver, every strategy, every engagement, he was countered. Then one night, almost a month before the incident in question that has led to this new age myth, there was a massive rending avalanche. The powdered snow and ice rising from it could be seen for easily fifty to sixty kilometers. What it was, High King Cormac to this day has no idea. It was no earth quake, that much the dwarf king is sure of.
After this event, suddenly the orcs seemed on the defensive. Suddenly they seemed less strategically sound. Most importantly, suddenly they had a extremely noticeable lack of Wrath Shamans. Barely any in fact. For the rest of the entire campaign, the High King remembers two of the blasted Blood Orcs. However before that event, any engagement normally included at least a dozen of the blood hungry bastards. Where did they go? What happened to them? His spies often reported bands of orcs heading into the Glass Spears, Wrath Shamans leading them.
Regardless, he knew he had to push the attack so he did. Desperate to catch the Greenskins completely unprepared, he split his army, sending them through the mountain range, whilst his force swung west and south, to hit the encamped main force, the one with the tribe's warlord. The objective was to pin them between two forces and crush them. Hammer and Anvil. However his force travelled quickly, and were forced to try and hide in position. Days upon days passed with no messenger from his mother's force. No signal. Nothing. He'd hesitated, and that morning, the morning of what he can only conceive of as being a miracle offered to him by Sir Kartheart, Cormac had truly believed he had gotten his whole clan killed. For the orc scouts finally stumbled upon his force in the night, and rather than doing as orcs would oft be want to do (take some easy sport, wake the rest of the force, get killed, and give Cormac time to figure a way out of the mess), they instead showed rare military forethought. They'd left quietly. His army only found out about it a mere hour before the attack came in, when someone stumbled on the tracks of the scouts during a perimeter check. By then it was too late. They should have been doomed. Cormac knew in his heart his reinforcements weren't coming. An ice storm, as if a supernatural monster, had been raging in the peaks for almost two weeks. It had even hammered the lowlands they'd been travelling through a little, slowing down both armies. The fighting raged for hours, and the orcs slowly but surely were gaining a foothold. Hope seemed lost. Cormac's troops, half of the three thousand of them laying dead or dying, rallied for one final stand, over the snarls of the orcish warriors, over the howls of their worgs, he heard it.
He heard the dwarven warhorns. He heard the thunderous war call, as some twenty-three hundred dwarves came from the clearing mist to the north, running in sheer battle rage and frenzy, the five hundred Storm Lancers leading the charge, his own mother riding with one of them, her halberd at the ready. "BLOOD AND STONE, IRON AND BONE!!!!" Came the thunderous cries, as the earth beneath many of the charging orc warriors began to shake, and crack, the handful of Domhan magisters that had travelled with Azila working and weaving in unison to cause a massive earth tremor that broke apart the orcish horde, creating gaps in their undisciplined masses, openings, separations. It was a true turning point worthy of Sir Kartheart. Cormac's own fighters rallied valiantly, and with the hammer that was the Storm Lancers, the fight in the orcs all but broke.
To this day, High King Cormac wonders if there was truth to his mother's words, though he tries not to think about it. He wonders if she did indeed trade her life nearly a century later, for his life that fateful day. She never told him what she'd seen in those mountains, though he'd heard she'd told a Witch-Hunter, he'd never been able to find the man.
Or at least that is what most historians would say. However that ignores a few glaring facts. The first of which is disturbing. According to the documents and to the High King himself, that particular campaign, against the Ice Eyes Orc Tribe, well the damned Greenskins seemed a sight to smart. Always one step ahead. It was how they'd ended up trying such a desperate plan in the first place. It was as if the damned things had known what his armies were going to do before they did. For months, every tactical maneuver, every strategy, every engagement, he was countered. Then one night, almost a month before the incident in question that has led to this new age myth, there was a massive rending avalanche. The powdered snow and ice rising from it could be seen for easily fifty to sixty kilometers. What it was, High King Cormac to this day has no idea. It was no earth quake, that much the dwarf king is sure of.
After this event, suddenly the orcs seemed on the defensive. Suddenly they seemed less strategically sound. Most importantly, suddenly they had a extremely noticeable lack of Wrath Shamans. Barely any in fact. For the rest of the entire campaign, the High King remembers two of the blasted Blood Orcs. However before that event, any engagement normally included at least a dozen of the blood hungry bastards. Where did they go? What happened to them? His spies often reported bands of orcs heading into the Glass Spears, Wrath Shamans leading them.
Regardless, he knew he had to push the attack so he did. Desperate to catch the Greenskins completely unprepared, he split his army, sending them through the mountain range, whilst his force swung west and south, to hit the encamped main force, the one with the tribe's warlord. The objective was to pin them between two forces and crush them. Hammer and Anvil. However his force travelled quickly, and were forced to try and hide in position. Days upon days passed with no messenger from his mother's force. No signal. Nothing. He'd hesitated, and that morning, the morning of what he can only conceive of as being a miracle offered to him by Sir Kartheart, Cormac had truly believed he had gotten his whole clan killed. For the orc scouts finally stumbled upon his force in the night, and rather than doing as orcs would oft be want to do (take some easy sport, wake the rest of the force, get killed, and give Cormac time to figure a way out of the mess), they instead showed rare military forethought. They'd left quietly. His army only found out about it a mere hour before the attack came in, when someone stumbled on the tracks of the scouts during a perimeter check. By then it was too late. They should have been doomed. Cormac knew in his heart his reinforcements weren't coming. An ice storm, as if a supernatural monster, had been raging in the peaks for almost two weeks. It had even hammered the lowlands they'd been travelling through a little, slowing down both armies. The fighting raged for hours, and the orcs slowly but surely were gaining a foothold. Hope seemed lost. Cormac's troops, half of the three thousand of them laying dead or dying, rallied for one final stand, over the snarls of the orcish warriors, over the howls of their worgs, he heard it.
He heard the dwarven warhorns. He heard the thunderous war call, as some twenty-three hundred dwarves came from the clearing mist to the north, running in sheer battle rage and frenzy, the five hundred Storm Lancers leading the charge, his own mother riding with one of them, her halberd at the ready. "BLOOD AND STONE, IRON AND BONE!!!!" Came the thunderous cries, as the earth beneath many of the charging orc warriors began to shake, and crack, the handful of Domhan magisters that had travelled with Azila working and weaving in unison to cause a massive earth tremor that broke apart the orcish horde, creating gaps in their undisciplined masses, openings, separations. It was a true turning point worthy of Sir Kartheart. Cormac's own fighters rallied valiantly, and with the hammer that was the Storm Lancers, the fight in the orcs all but broke.
To this day, High King Cormac wonders if there was truth to his mother's words, though he tries not to think about it. He wonders if she did indeed trade her life nearly a century later, for his life that fateful day. She never told him what she'd seen in those mountains, though he'd heard she'd told a Witch-Hunter, he'd never been able to find the man.
Spread
The legend is not well known around Suranth, but it is also not extremely obscure either. It is exceedingly well known in the Evani Barony, of the Foljeim Province however, for this is where it happened, if the story is to be believed. To this day many wander out into those mountains to seek whatever Azila allegedly found. Few return and those that do...well they are never the same.
Variations & Mutation
The story claims she did ride and didn't, depending where you hear it. Number of soldiers she had left also varies. 2200 is the common number, though 2500 and 2100 are also quoted, depending on sources. Besides this the time of day changes too, depending who is telling it.
Another common variation is whether or not she saw.....whatever....it was that granted her this boon. We have no original source to suggest she did, so any such version of the story is taking complete creative license.
Another common variation is whether or not she saw.....whatever....it was that granted her this boon. We have no original source to suggest she did, so any such version of the story is taking complete creative license.
"Some versions claim it was a legitimate Child of the Primordial, a True Dragon. This is likely where the foolish tall tales about the so named 'Primordial Peak' have evolved from. Other sources claim it was merely the spirits of the stone and sky. For myself, if she truly did see well.....something.....I choose to believe it was simply hallucinations brought on from severe hypothermia. It is no wonder her heart weakened so and she died so young, for a dwarf. I would imagine such prolonged exposure to such harsh temperatures are not good for the old ticker, as it were." Professor Lethis du Marcus, esteemed History Lector of Iron Hall University in Geata-Iarainn
Cultural Reception
Outside of Suranth this legend is not well known. Culturally it has travelled to some degree, especially amongst the tundra nations fellow member countries of the NPA in Rohara, Depenwood, and Raechin. But it is more a matter of philosophy for those with the time, luxury, and interest to pursue such education there. It isn't exactly ingrained in their cultures, not in the same way the tale surrounding High King Cormac's various military accolades have.
To the Suranthi, this myth is not just mystical in nature. It teaches many valuable lessons about family, and the value of ones parents. In fact, Suranthi citizens have a saying in relation to this actually;
To the Suranthi, this myth is not just mystical in nature. It teaches many valuable lessons about family, and the value of ones parents. In fact, Suranthi citizens have a saying in relation to this actually;
"éna ua nása fíbh, solá né a gamthi tiibim thiausiaph" Translated properly to the common tongue it reads something like; 'Behind every successful leader, there is a mother's silent heroics'
In Literature
There are a number of books that contain this story in one form or another, as one might expect, and countless poems and songs have been written about one aspect or another of the story as well. It is one of the cultural pillars of Suranthi history and mythology. Matron Saint Azila Ironcliffe, Sir Kartheart's loyalty given motherhood form, a woman whom saw all her kin and country as hers to lead, guide, and protect as a mother should.
In Art
First and foremost are the statues and paintings, which are numerous, and first among these, of course, is the fresco in the church that bears her name in Grakenfjord, where she lays in state, the village just south of the site of the battle at Hero's Grave. This depiction of the events at that battle, inspired solely from the myth surrounding her 'bargain' in the Valley of Visions 98 years earlier. The fresco depicts her and Cormac, back to back, splattered in blood, with dead Greenskins all around, but even more pressing the pair, cut off and alone. Then the scene evolves, another image in the right corner by the entrance to the chapel. Some grey scaled beast, with three eyes, leathery wings, icicles for spines, and massive teeth is overhead and the artwork seems to indicate that this beast and Azila had an exchange, whilst no one, not Cormac or the orks, could see it. Inscribed below the 'ground' of the scene is an artist's rendering of the brief conversation.
The next scene depicts her fighting on, but shows her heart on her breastplate, showing it shrinking in the second to final piece, indicating her heart trying to give out. But the depiction shows her fighting on, not slowing at all, her drive to protect her sons back, as they are back to back in the artwork again, over-riding her body's attempts to die, briefly. The final image depicts the arriving reinforcements hammering the battered remaining orcs and goblins from behind, the Storm Lancers decimating the Greenskins in what can only be described as a charge made of pure merciless violence. But in the midst of it all, it depicts the High King holding his mother whom has collapsed, a single tear shown on Cormac's cheek, as the Storm Lancer commander stands over them, Azila is serene, a smile on her face. They are the focal point of this last section of the ceiling, over the altar, the largest piece by far. Inscribed below the 'ground' of the imagery are Azila's last known words.
"It is time Azila, as we agreed"
"Go ta Voids Gate ye bastard, I nae goin' 'til I see me kindred breakin' through ta save 'im!"
The next scene depicts her fighting on, but shows her heart on her breastplate, showing it shrinking in the second to final piece, indicating her heart trying to give out. But the depiction shows her fighting on, not slowing at all, her drive to protect her sons back, as they are back to back in the artwork again, over-riding her body's attempts to die, briefly. The final image depicts the arriving reinforcements hammering the battered remaining orcs and goblins from behind, the Storm Lancers decimating the Greenskins in what can only be described as a charge made of pure merciless violence. But in the midst of it all, it depicts the High King holding his mother whom has collapsed, a single tear shown on Cormac's cheek, as the Storm Lancer commander stands over them, Azila is serene, a smile on her face. They are the focal point of this last section of the ceiling, over the altar, the largest piece by far. Inscribed below the 'ground' of the imagery are Azila's last known words.
"Yer late ya damned fools."
Date of First Recording
1121 SUD
Date of Setting
1121
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Related Locations
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curious being the source of those visions: hallucinations caused by high frost? primordial being could be some eldritch entity from beyond the stars ? intruiging... And quite the pen ! That's a big detailled narrative piece here. i liked it. Happy SummerCamp !
Thank you!!! I too am curious. I was hoping to get inspired and ideas from Summer Camp Prompts to utilize in my first campaign in my world that I hope to begin putting together to start looking for a group/running by right after Christmas holiday times. And right off the hop, this prompt, connecting to two of the other ones, maybe even three, has given me a great option already to utilize and build out into a story. No idea where it would take me yet, so all options are on the table! Happy Summer Camp to you as well!!!