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♫ ♪ ♬ Ice Witch: Chapter I As observed by G. B. Prudence “Dark and ice-wrought, she lurks in the shadows. Amok, the witch runs in secrecy and bewilderment.” This book is an introduction to the little information that is known by mortal kin regarding the ice witch, their many broods and classes of the Fjarriagua race. It is worth mentioning that, the knowledge classified in these pages comes about from long investigations, thus sourced from information that may be either slightly inaccurate or lacking few details. What is known of the Ice Witch? Stories talk of many legendary creatures, some more substantiated and realistic than others, mostly in the form of feminine figures and enticing allure. Fjarriagua are the same, though what we have not been able to discern in the past centuries is that, most of these mythical beings are but different manifestations of the ice witch in various cultures. Fjarriagua are ravenous creatures, often shifting in their way of doing and thinking depending on the will of one’s respective coven, who use their voices to compose magical songs with several purposes; such as manipulating ice or snow, or weaving dark curses. These complex beings can be differentiated in the following categories, or internally known as broods: SIREN Most Fjarriagua wind up in this brood given that it is the most common and universally known as the warrior archetype of the coven. Witches belonging to the Siren brood are configured by their respective crones to fulfill the simplest of tasks - hunting down the sons of men. Siren witches are taught mortal etiquette amongst other mortal knowledge, preparing them for socializing and divulging in public communities. For this reason, these ice witches utilize their illusory songs to heighten their alluring nature; one of an enthralling and notably luring maiden. Often, Sirens resort to love ballads and sweet canticles for prey, attracting them with the sound as if their minds were compelled to obey. Beneath this youthful and beautiful maiden, however, lies a true monstrosity. Whilst Sirens are known to be seductive and attractive, their true forms resemble absolute terror; a true eye sore. FROSTRENDER It is not a rare occurrence for a witch to be impractical in battle or hunting, thus their duty is to assist the coven in a different way. Whilst Frostrending witches do not involve themself with fighting, they often accompany hives of Sirens to solely harvest the leftovers of their hunting targets. Through the application of these harvested materials, mostly in the form of eyes, tongues, hair, severed fingers, and other bodily components. As further applications of tints, mixtures and even concoctions, Frostrenders are capable of mending the wounds of another ice witch. By activating the same ‘medicine’ they have applied with a humming and melancholic song. During trips into mortal civilizations, Fjarriagua of this brood have been known to shape themselves as any other botanist, alchemist, medic, or doctor; and while rare, these witches rejoice in the distribution of cursed foods. BANSHEE Rather exclusive when compared to the aforementioned broods, the Banshee is a type of witch that is rarely seen amidst mortal kin. This is due to the fact that witches of this brood are masterfully experienced in their craft, and they have unlocked the ability to resurrect fallen sisters by using vocal and throat techniques. For this reason, it is crucial that Banshees are kept away in the safe confines of their coven, so that their kin may live on forever. Fjarriagua of this brood rarely take on disguised forms, but when they do, some may perceive them as somber women, mostly widows. It is in their true frozen form that the symbolism of their name manifests; Banshees are characterized by the fact that their bodies are mostly monocolored with a face shielded by a mantle of frozen white hair, and mouth uncovered with elongated jaws. Legends say that when an ice witch dies in the battlefield, their assassin is visited by an envoy of the Banshee brood, at which they are taken away and utilized for the revival of the fallen witch. WISDOM This brood is practically extinct, given that witches from this line are not made and rather innately born with the gift of sight. Wisdoms are vastly cunning women and of great knowledge and great wisdom as their own name indicates, that glimpse into the past or future of the mortal plane by defiling and consuming slain men. By utilizing a tool dubbed as the Seiðr, witches of this brood may cut into the fallen bodies of prey hunted by Sirens, at which they extract multiple organs and prepare them in a ritual, later devouring them to gain visions in their mind. Whilst extremely rare, these Fjarriagua do venture into the mortal world more often than not, predicating their wisdom and deranged visions amidst civilizations as warnings. In these journeys, they often take the shape and form of fortune tellers, tarot readers, or otherwise mystical and wise women. CRONE Witches of this brood are far and between, given that one of these constitutes about a coven’s worth of ice witches. Crones are the matriarchs and maternal figures of any and every coven, forming and unifying the principles on which each respective coven is based upon (i.e; if a crone was a frostrender prior to her ascension, then she will be prone to condition her own daughters into becoming fellow frostrending witches). These Fjarriagua do not leave the confines of their beloved coven under any circumstances, to the obvious exemption of retrieving a lost daughter, saving another of their race, or apprehending a dangerous and significant threat. But when they do, crones take on the form of old hags, mostly hunched on the back and silent in their wake – a juxtaposition to their true self, which is considerably grotesque and ominous. Where did the Ice Witch come from? The Ice Witch’s Origins: Kriemhild, the First. Tales brew over the years, some more veridic than others, and thus the story of the ice witch lies far and between, buried deep underneath centuries’ worth of misinformation, lost to time and held unsung for generations. Witches themself, however, have known the truth to this very tale for as long as their covens and broods have perdured in the mortal plane. It is taught from elder to witchlet, told as a forgotten story of a long ago grandmother and revered the same way a noble character from canonist theology is, through faith and redemption of one’s self. This is to say, put in simple words, that ice witches refer to this mythical lecture of old as a primary source of devotion, and the very foundation to their inner culture. The story goes as follows… “Kriemhild, a peasant girl of an icy realm, of Skjoldier, was lamentably fated with one of the many men that heeded to her father’s public airing of her blossoming into a fledged woman. She was in disarray. It was inconceivable for the girl to accept the terms enforced by her father, daring to challenge the latter’s authority at the potential cost of losing her life and home. Yet, the father’s determination overpowered that of the girl’s own. Kriemhild’s future was sealed through an arranged union between her and the son of an old, renowned pirate from Skjoldier. Or so it was thought, given the assumption that the ceremony was to be held but mere days away from this announcement of marriage. Kriemhild spent day and night overworking her brain, her thinking, to somehow come up with a way to evade this predetermined, man-made fate. It did not take the girl long before she thought of a possible solution to this damned problem. On the eve of the day before her wedding, Kriemhild escaped. She evaded the watchful guard of men at the command of her own father, running to hide away at the banks of ice and snow from her native land. Whilst, on-the-spot, it was a rather genius idea, the girl soon began to realize the actual severity of her doings. Without shelter, food, or warmth, the girl wandered the vastless white. Her flesh was bitten by the cold, which formed crystals across the skin and numbed her senses. At this point, Kriemhild’s urges to flee a future that she did not consider her own were far too strong for logic to be applied to her actions. Cry after cry, the nigh frozen girl emanated pain and grief, mostly in retribution against her father and the future that he had tried to tyrannically cast upon her. Her noisy laments drew the attention of a pure being, a celestial entity of the divine, who took pity on the woman and her approaching death. Father Winter, it was, and Kriemhild’s angst only served as a corrupting influence for the god. In the act of salvaging the girl, Father Winter’s essence was tainted, becoming dark and frozen just the same; and in this mutation, the first witch was born.” In Modern Times: Witches of Almaris. Fjarriagua, without a doubt, continue to plague the mortal plane, hidden away inbetween peasants and nobility alike. These witches cast ill wish on the world and its sons from underneath the shadows, recurring to secrecy for self preservation and the plotting of primal queens in hopes of exerting absolute reign over the realm. The ice witch, whilst deranged and hateful, ensures the balance between life and death, protecting the existence of their livestock and toys of enslavement from the influence of Widukind. How is an Ice Witch confronted? Folklore of the Ice Witch: Superstitions and Charms. Whilst one’s fate is surely sealed in woe and agony in the presence of an ice witch, it is possible to prevent encounters with these ravenous creatures in the first place, using the following information. - IT IS WORTH NOTING THAT CRONES ARE BUT ASCENDED WITCHES OF THESE BROODS, HENCEFORTH THEY ARE NOT MENTIONED IN THIS SECTION. SIREN These luring witches can be driven away from one’s household by splashing the blood of a child across every door, window, songbox, and mirror of the home in question. In addition to this, one must store their clipped nails and hair, or bones, in jars, and extracted saliva or tears, or blood, in vials, outside of their home by the feet of every door and window. For this to have any effect, one must do it every year at least once on the Snow’s Maiden and the Deep Cold. FROSTRENDER The only way to overcome the effects of a Frostrender’s cursed foods is by procuring a specific tincture out of three herbs: saffvil, for the transformation of physical energy into soul protection, which leaves the consumer generally lethargic; blissfoil, to battle the same cold that is being inserted into the body and soul through the cursed food; and desert berry bush, so that the taste may be sweetened and tolerable. One must ingest this tincture once per year to maintain a constant immunity. BANSHEE Whilst Banshees do not normally hunt, it is often that they manifest in the homes of those mortals who dare send their fellow sisters to death. In this transaction, the Banshee offers the mortal two options: harvest of his body and soul, or a favor between the two. This favor consists in the poor mortal having to give up their firstborn children once the age of eight and ten is reached as a sacrifice for the witch. Wisdoms Given that these witches are practically extinct, there is little to no information regarding their weaknesses and/or any efficient methods to drive them away. However, it is rumored that their sight is obscured by the presence of places of worship, such as churches and otherwise canonist-based structures and/or utensils, which may lead them to avoid these locations. Author’s Note In tribute to A. B. Prudence and their fine work, this article has been styled similarly to Prudence’s own published book about Fjarriagua Culture, such being the main source of veridic and authenticated information about the ice witch. The contents found in this scripture have been researched for a few decades’ worth, serving as a compendium of knowledge gathered over the years. Whilst it is not confirmed whether this information is completely accurate, or true at all, every reader must bear in mind that ice witches do exist, whether in the forms and ways described here or not. Newer chapters will be coming so long as this initial piece of work has guaranteed itself enough of an audience or community. Following chapters will potentially cover further and detailed knowledge regarding the ice witch’s coven system, their lairs, etc.

The Triumph of Mahau-Ra The Messenger of Light Written by: The Ka'Tau Scripter of Time ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── Mahau-Ra is a figure in Ka’tau culture widely renowned for being the exemplification of what the ideal citizen should be, after his great sacrifices and devotion to Ra’Tuhmet. Mahau-Ra came to the world during the early Rah’mun period as the first mortal messenger of the Sun, during the time of Neseret. In the beginning, he was regarded simply as another priest of Netjer, one amongst the many who spoke the word of the Gods and boasted Heka from them. He, however, was anything but ordinary. Rather, Mahau-Ra bore a distinct decorum and etiquette unparalleled to others. He walked and talked with purpose in every action, his duty as an alleged messenger etched into him like a brand. That was how he introduced himself; The Messenger. Despite this, none had ever been prompted to inquire just what his message was. That was, until the Pharaoh inquired Mahau-Ra. He claimed himself to be the Messenger of Ra’Tuhmet, the Sun, baring his gospel and knowledge deeper than any before him. The response to such claims was that of deep scrutiny, and he was vehemently chastised by the Pharaoh. “Your disrespect to the Creator of Light will not go unpunished, your Khnum is impure.” What followed was one of the most brutal whippings the Rah’mun people have recorded, and yet the man of Sun endured each strike with gritted teeth and a stoic expression. When asked, as blood stained his garbs and soaked to the floor, why he circumvented refusal, Mahau-Ra said that if he had disrespected his King he would accost the punishment to prove his truth. The years that ensued were hardly more bearable, Mahau-Ra became the unfavourable of the Rah’Mun, and yet with each day that passed he continued to aid his people. In droughts, he came bucket by bucket with water from the rivers; with famine he offered his bread to those who hungered; and when war came he drew his ragged blade to defend his beloved home. War. The unforgiving. The act of brutality descendants seem to never stray from, the very opposition to Life. Mahau-Ra fought with valiance, though was unrecognized as a true Machimoi of Rah’Tuma by his contemptuous brethren. When asked, “why do you risk your life for people who disown you as theirs?” he replied, “They are my blood, the people of Ra’Tuhmet are sacred.” The war waged for three full years, and each battle saw the accursed Mahau-Ra spilling blood in the name of the Sun, and his people. He slipped into battles after they began, and used the flurry of steel to mask his presence. His aid was paramount, and had been unrecognized entirely throughout the endless combat. That was, until the final battle. ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── The battle was viscous, each side- Rah’Mun and Isfetian alike- beheld the desperation of soldiers who had not known peace nor rest in years. Days passed, and yet neither side would yield, nor would they bare advantage substantial enough to insinuate a claim to victory would draw near. Mahau-Ra observed from a distance, atop a steed held dear to him. The Sun idled over the horizon, spilling crimson rays over sand dunes as though soaking each grain in blood. A dire omen for the proceedings. While he stood in his place, the golden skinned man draped in white fabrics took this single moment to reflect upon his life until this point. For an instant, he bore the question; Why? Why any of this? All the moments that lead to this had been ones of suffering. And yet, he yielded not only the answer to his own inquiry, but to the survival of his People. None had ever permitted Mahau-Ra to finish his message, it had become the secret he kept held to his chest tighter than he did the very heart that beat his life force. A wind drew forth and upturned the sands of time, frigid while the rays of Sun still yet withheld from extending to reach the Messenger. Despite this, naught as much as shiver passed through Mahau-Ra, for he bore the warmth of Light in a way none had ever held prior. Had only he been allowed to fully explain himself, he could have elucidated how he could possibly bear the true word of Ra’Tuhmet. He was, for all intents and purposes, ordinary. No stronger, nor greater than any Netjer before him. His word yielded no further divinity than this brethren, for he spoke with the identical directness as them. Despite this fact, he had a message from Ra’Tuhmet given to him in a walk to the Sun, a simple message that was as dear to him as water is to life. Mahau-Ra rode across the sandy wastes towards the Isfetian hordes, in stoic silence he passed the gruesome scene of gore and guts, of steel hissing as blades met. His destination was unprecedented, and unwavering. The white-clad man, using the distraction of onslaught made possible by the forgiving cold of the night, who threatened to give way any moment, came to a halt. He faced now the back of the Isfet army, invisible through ignorance of his enemy. “Ra'tumet, ak'aan shara adurbûrz.” Ra’Tuhmet, suncut man of light, “Thrakord kaal durbûrzlab danghum, agh tûrnûl matum.'' Bring forth your lights punishment, and inflict death. Many recount the blazing glory equal only to that of the very Sun that hangs in our sky that erupted as his words were uttered in the guttural sacred tongue. The beam that then shot down from the behemoth ball of light struck into the heart of the Isfetians, imbued with Ra’Tuhmets will, became the deciding factor in the long standing war. Those touched by the rays, veterans claimed, had fallen to their knees screaming as the true Sun finally poured over the horizon and painted the landscape in gold. Those left untouched spent but a fraction of a moment glancing towards the glaring light, and left themselves exposed long enough by hair to be struck down by Rah’Mun blades. The light faded, the battlefield coated in corpses, the Sun hung benevolently in the sky. Years of combat had come to a close, and the victors owed their success to a single man. ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── The dedication displayed by Mahau-Ra was recognized on that day, the pharaoh who had seen him slandered awarded him the title of Rah’hemtepi Netjer, High Priest of Ra’Tuhmet. Since his time, he has come to be known as the ideal Rah’mun, his resolve that of the utmost perfection. All of his time would come to strive to emulate Mahau-Ra, and thus his name has come to withstand the tests of time.

“Then the world was dark and silent. Long and lonely are the nights of deep winter. Rejoice! The wind, Cerridwen’s Breath Has come to melt away the bitter cold!” ____________________________________ A painter's depiction of Cerridwen's springtime rebirth As the previous moon wanes to a sliver, the folklore of the Mother Circle stories the great rebirth of Cerridwen from her deep winter sleep. In her slumber she is veiled in the crystalline ice of the coldest nights of the year and her court empties. The turning of the seasonal wheel comes to a quiet halt; the longest night of the year swallows the realm. Then, as ever faithfully as spring comes to winter, the hand of time turns backwards. From her chrysalis, Cerridwen reawakens. The faerie tale of the Springmother is celebrated during the Crystal Moon, the first phase of the new lunar year of the Mother Circle. Through traditions and rites, the Mother Circle honors the end of the Wild Hunts of Cernunnos and embraces the Breath of the Springmother: the very wind of life that paints with bright green in a cold, grey realm. During the days of early spring, artisans set to work carving with traditional faerie stones: carved gemstones or kuila. The Crystal Moon was rumored to be so named after the phenomenon of naturally growing cave quartz or minerals, seeming to grow and bloom as a flower might. In likeness to the Fae Queen's chrysalis, the minerals are made into offerings to Cerridwen or placed around the grove to pray for a prosperous spring. ________________________________________________ The Jackelope Faerie Told alongside the rebirth of Cerridwen is the curious faerie tale of the rare Jackelope; a horned rabbit thought to be a Herald of Spring. Emerging to bring news of the Fae Queen's revival, they The rabbit of folklore breaks stubborn ice with jagged horns, leaping great bounds over the ground, the thunderous thumping of rabbits foot in the brush sowing the seeds of berries and flowers that will soon bloom and grow. A sighting is considered very rare, and is believed as a symbol of luck. While depicted as soft, innocent creatures, they are rumored to bare a voracious appetite without discretion, including prey. To see the jackelope and escape certain devouring is to embody luck itself. Particularly paranoid followers of the faerie culture might craft a rabbit's foot talisman in hopes to sway luck in their favor, and keep the Jackelopes at bay.

Frostbeard Tales II: Entering Khaz'A'Dentrumm A humble tax paying Frostbeard citizen went to the gates of Khaz'A'Dentrumm once he died, and at the same time the renowned Frostbeard Clan Father Rhewen had also ascended. Once the Brathmordakin were gathered Dungrimm sent for Rhewen Frostbeard to be let in, but forgot about the other Frostbeard, for his servants closed the hall, leaving him out, from where he heard the Clan Father’s cheerful reception of celebration, music, and songs. When all was silent, Dungrimm’s servants returned to the gate and sent the dwed in, who hoped that when he returned, the songs and music would be heard again, but everything remained silent. They received him with great joy, yes, and the souls of his ancestors went out to meet him, worse no one sang nor celebrated. Then he asked Urguan the ancestor of all dwed why there was no celebration for the humble dwed as for the Clan Father, and if there were the same differences in the realms of the Brathmordakin as there were in the Mortal realm. "No," replied the Paragon, Father of all dwed. You deserve the same appreciation for each other as dwed, and you will get the same share as the one who has just entered the delights of the Brathmordakin; but look, average dwed like you come here in the hundreds every day, while dwed like the one who just came in, hardly one comes from century to century. This tale is meant to be considered as a cautionary tale against mediocrity. A dwed must remember that at the end of their day the Brathmordakin will place a bid on them. Their ability to stand out among their fellow dwed will be imperative to receive a high bid by the Brathmordakin. Mediocrity is not bad, but if you follow the traveled path do not expect the same reward as the one who adventured and made their own. Eventually, these Frostbeards who could not leave their mark on the world will vanish to obscurity, with even the stories that talk of them forgetting their names. -Inkbeard [!] Depiction of Belka personally coming to take the Soul of a brave dwed to Kaz’A’Dentrumm

Frostbeard Tales: The necromancer Priest of Kal’Tarak In Kal'Tarak, then, two beardlings, clan brothers and initiates of the Ar Yemarin Anaros, were studying necromancy in secret. A dark magic which uses enchantments and khorvadic spells to summon and resurrect the dead and to manipulate them to their will. One of the beardlings became seriously ill, died, and his friend begged him to die if he reappeared thirty days later; the dying dwed assured him that he would do so as long as he was allowed to. The beardling died and the living friend waited for thirty days to pass, praying to Dungrimm for the soul of the deceased at the temple of the Brathmordakin. It was then when he found his friend inside the hall and in front of the statue of Dungrimm, the dead man fulfilled his promise. The figure of the apparition was pale and decomposed, laying and moaning, his feet and hands tied with glowing chains that came from the mouth of Dungrimm’s statue, and he wore a black suit covered with runes that named his sins. The ghost asked his friend to reach out and he did. The ghost dropped a drop of sweat from his index finger, which at once pierced his flesh and ended up burning on the ground. The friend, still sore from the burn, asked him why he was in such a bad state. -Oh, poor me; so I will burn eternally in the Nether because of that diabolical art we study. Necromancy kills the soul. I advise you, my dear and only friend, to turn away from that abominable magic and to seek, serving Wyrvun and the Brathmordakin, the atonement of your sins by means of religious life. -Tell me, my friend, what must I do to save my soul? The voice of the chained ghost was muted by the booming voice of Dungrimm coming from the statue. -The only way to save your soul is the Redeemed Order. Of all sinners, those of this path are the least condemned, as through their service to the Brathmordakin and Wyrvun our ally. The ghost of the dead beardling disappeared with his torments, and the living, following the advice of the horrifying vision he had just had, immediately left the study of necromancy and entered as a novice in a brotherhood of the Redeemed Order. Some time later he continued his duties as an initiate in the Ar Yemarin Anaros and eventually was made a priest. It is not known where and if he died; if he went by popular belief he died in the siege of Kal'Tarak. Some would see this as a story to teach about overcoming the mistakes of the past no matter how awful, some however, prefer the story and prefer to believe that the priest failed to fully atone for his sins and after abandoning the path of Wyrvun and the Brathmordakin his soul was unable to enter Khaz'A'Dentrumm. But just as it is a mystery how many snowflakes are on a mountain peak so too is the ending of this story. -Written by Inkbeard. [!] Artistic rendition of Nubirous the necromancer. *(art of Jakub Politzer)