This content was originally included in the Coldsnap Player’s Guide. The original text can be accessed via Internet Archive here.

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By Jeff Grubb, author of the Ice Age Cycle

I’ve always loved the cold.

I know, I know, that much is obvious. It’s like saying a fish enjoys water or a vampire blood. But it bears mentioning at this most important time, on this most important morning, before we ride out to meet the enemy.

Before we become the saviors of the world.

I know you love the cold as well, my little snowflake, but yours is a different form of love—mutual respect, perhaps, or begrudging partnership. It’s more tentative and polite. Many of our comrades seem to have a wary relationship with the ice, almost a fear of it. They feel they must master it or else they’ll be mastered by it.

They’re wrong, of course.

For me—Heidar, master of Rimewind Keep, Chosen of the Blessed Cold, Savior of the Boreal lands and soon all of Terisiare—the relationship is so much more. It’s a cold, crystalline, clear love that fills me, delights me, drives me forward. It’s a love that keeps me centered, directed, focused. Focused on restoring this broken, wounded world to its proper state.

Yet a good leader always needs to hear other opinions. That’s why I’ve come to you on this gloriously frigid dawn to seek any last advice before we go our separate ways.

Nothing to say? I understand. You’re probably still upset with me. Just listen, just hear me out. I appreciate that. I’ve always valued your advice, and I want to know what you think. I’ll be patient. I’ll wait to hear your thoughts.

But the cold. Yes, you enjoy the cold as do all of us in Rimewind Keep. We who were born to a world wrapped in ice. As children, we would play in the snowfields, building snow giants and great snow redoubts to defend against the ice and slush balls of other children. The light powder was too dry to pack properly. It was perfect for our toboggans though, and it dusted up before the plows of our sleighs. Then there was the aged snow of previous years, decades, centuries. Snow that had been packed and repacked, until t formed a glaze of everlasting ice—a rime—that encapsulated all within, holding the world safe and secure.

But in the end, you and the others would always retreat back to the keep, back to the ice-clad homes and the tidy, stone-lined fires. I’d remain among the comforting winds and the soft white radiance of moonlit snow banks. Only after the stars had come out and your father came to get me would I consent to return to the uncomfortable, warm world within the keep.

Your father—Gendrin, my predecessor as master of Rimewind—saw my love for the cold, for the now, for ice. He knew by the way I danced over the glacier fields and explored the ice caverns that I had the gift, the inherent understanding of the ice, frost, chill winds. He could see that the Blessed Cold favored me, and that the frost never hurt me. I would sit out in the cold, after everyone else had fled to warm hearths, watching the wind carve the drifts into great anvils, and leave finger-shaped hollows in the lee sides of the conifers. Ever since Gendrin first found me there, hoar frost dripping from my garments, he knew I understood the world.

More than even he understood it, it turned out.

Whatever Gendrin’s other faults, he had an eye for raw ability, and he kept that eye on me as I grew in both maturity and power. I had the gift, of course, granted by my intimate knowledge of snow. First as an acolyte, then as a task mage, my skills were obvious to all. Just as obvious was Gendrin’s favor. I learned my doctrine, kept our order’s dogma, and became proficient in the cryomantic arts.

I was a prodigy. You knew. You saw how quickly I grasped the concepts of wielding cold, ice, winter storms. I had natural talent, and I took to learning like a wolf to the hunt. I quickly mastered basic summonings and simple crystalling enchantments. I could conjure a spear of frost, focus arctic power through a lens of pure ice, and scry through bowls of frozen water and blood. I could shackle an opponent in bands of rime, expand them around her entire body, leave her alive but immobile. I could free her with a single thought, or shatter her into a hundred fragments with a single blow. I embraced learning like I embraced the cold, willingly and whole-heartedly. Gendrin shared our people’s secrets with me. He took me into the great ice caves beneath the keep, where generations of masters had inscribed their knowledge in the sacred ice. There, carved into cavern walls, were words so old and precious I dare not breath near them for fear of melting them. In those caverns, I learned so much of our people’s history and the cold’s power.

But you know this, my snowflake. You were there—the apple of your father’s eye and the best student in the class—until I came along. You were capable, steadfast, supportive of the old man’s ways. Much of what I respected in Gendrin I respected in his daughter as well.

Though you were older, you were understanding and kind. As I grew in my knowledge, you showed no envy, but rather helped me understand more. You were my perfect snowflake. Your sharp beauty was so symmetrical, strong, pure. Your piercing eyes are the only things that ever melted me on the spot. When I erred, and I would err as a youth, you’d give me a smile that said, “told you so.” A smile that would challenge me to do better the next time.

If we lived in a better world, a colder world, things would have been much different for you and me. But we don’t live in such a world, and I discovered my heart was not the only thing that could melt.

The end of the world crept up on us, from the south.

I remember that day. It had just snowed, and we were pushing through the heavy drifts in good spirits. A woolly behemoth had been spotted in the area the day before, and we were looking for the great churned paths that marked its passage. The snow should have revealed its trail, but the trail had all but vanished, buried by the continuing snowfall.

At the time, I was focused on locating and taming the beast. Showing you I could do it. Proving my abilities. Looking back, I know there was a reason you asked me to accompany you in the first place. Sometimes, young men can be as thick as glaciers.

Then came a strange breeze that carried the sickly scent of flowers, sweeping up from the valleys. It was as warm as a kiss, and despite yourself, you put a hand to your cheek and let the warmth caress you. Then it was gone, passed farther up the valley, and the cold, comforting wind returned, but memory of the soft breeze remained. We didn’t find the behemoth that day, but I remember that alien breeze.

Little did we realize at the time, the world was being destroyed.

The first hint came the following summer. Instead of the normal bone-bracing breezes beneath cloud-covered skies, we felt warmth, real warmth. Brilliant days, sunny enough to melt the ice from the highest trees. It was only for a few days, an unseasonable warm spot unforeseen by our best weathermasters. Gendrin, you, and the rest of the wizards thought nothing of it, other than as trite mealtime chatter.

But I knew. Deep within my soul, in my secret heart harnessed to the chill heart of the world, I knew that something was wrong.

In the years that followed, the rest of you came to realize it as well. The warm days became more frequent and warmer still. Snow banks diminished, the ground softened, and each spring the frozen shores resounded with the cannonades of cracking bergs. First, word came that the great glacier in Ronom no longer advanced, then that it was retreating. As it pulled back, it left a filthy trail of loess in its wake.

Then the refugees came from the south, and we learned of the madmen who had done this thing to our world.

They were maniacs, elves, wizards with more power than sense. Great bumbling idiots who thought of the world as their plaything, something they could change like an old fur cape. They had cast a great spell, powered by gods and things like gods, and in casting it cracked the ice that protected and cushioned the world. They broke the grip of blessed winter and brought back a deadly heat.

They destroyed the world. Where once rivers were locked in place, rivers ran wild and destructive, carving up the tundra in their passage. Even the beauty of individual snowflakes became the similarity of driving, impersonal rain. They had brought the devastation of the Thaw.

In the warmth of the Thaw disease flourished, marching across the land on warm winds. The refugees told us of plagues with no cold to keep them in check ravaging entire kingdoms. We took in the ones we could and encouraged the rest to move on. Our border riders were busier than ever.

The warming world destroyed creatures as well. Behemoths went to sleep and never awoke. The glaciers revealed the rotting forms of ancient beasts, now lost eternally. The winged aesthirs grew less common, as well as the great owls of the north and the ice raptors that once stalked the glacial moraines of our youth. Their numbers have dwindled, but they may yet return.

We soon understood that the warmth was not a passing phase, but rather the way of this new world. There were those among us who thought we should join the refugees and pull farther to the north, to lands unscathed by the blistering sun. Indeed, Gendrin seemed to be listening to those fools. I knew better of course, from all those weeks and months spent in the ice caverns, reading the histories and philosophies of our people. I knew we could hold out against the warmth.

Gendrin was unconvinced. Despite our prowess, he was hesitant to use that power to keep back the warmth. But what is the purpose of having power if one is unwilling to use it? And if the end of the world is not reason enough to use one’s power, then what is? I argued strongly, too strongly at times, and in doing so offended some who could have been my allies. But with what our order knew of cryomancy, of the secrets locked deep in the caverns beneath the keep, we could halt the steady march of spring within the Boreal, and preserve our world.

You, my snowflake, spoke up on my behalf. You asked your father to consider my ideas and saved us all. At that moment, I first realized how you felt about me.

I could see the confusion in Gendrin’s eyes when you confronted him, and the concern in his visage when he reluctantly consented. We could try, he said. We could see what we could do. We could make an attempt. His trusted, reliable support removed, all he could do was babble, and in the end concede to you.

Then you turned back to me and smiled, that faint, proud smile you used only for me.

Of course we succeeded, at least at first. You and I together, with acolytes and task mages of our own, pulled the elemental cold from within the heart of the glacier and forestalled the warmth. It was painful, exhausting, and involved sacrifices, but we managed to wrap the Boreal with winds taken from the north. The migrating herds of caribou halted here, and the great icy beasts ceased their flight. For a few years, it seemed we had stopped the devastation completely.

You thought so. So did Gendrin. For a brief moment, I thought so as well. But trying to stop the deadly heat was like trying to stop a glacier. We had slowed the spread, but not stopped it.

There were warning signs, even within our cold-wrapped redoubt. The fur on the caribou thinned, days brightened, and there were fewer blizzards. All despite our best efforts.

I knew, with the warming of my heart, that the threat was only temporarily halted. The Thaw continued to advance, and with it, the doom of Rimewind. So I returned to the great caverns, etched with the runes of out ancestors, to discover more.

Until one deadly day when I realized that even the wisdom of our ancestors might not be enough. It was high summer, which in my youth was a time of chill celebration and bonfires, but now the wood was too wet and the ground was too soft. I was deep beneath the keep, hunched over the runes, keeping my breathing shallow and my fingers gloved. I was in the oldest part of the caverns, in areas rarely visited by mortals.

The runes seemed weak and thinly carved in this area. As I watched, they grew shallower still. I realized what I was witnessing. They were melting beneath my gaze. The Thaw had reached into the caves themselves and was destroying the knowledge of Rimewind.

In my weakness I allowed myself to weep, and felt the tears burn across my face.

But to my wonder I saw that the melting ice revealed another set of runes. These were not the angular, precise runes of the Rimewind masters, but a more elegant, flowing script that simultaneously seemed inert and mobile. The new runes crawled like spiders beneath the melting ice. I watched as the ice cover faded to frost and finally to dull rock, as the secrets of our first cryomantic spells evaporated to reveal greater secrets beneath.

At first I could not decipher the runes. An ancient text from the south helped me understand the basic grammar of these Phyrexians, the people of the original eldritch etchings. Once mastered, the runes seemed to enhance my understanding, as if they insisted on imparting their knowledge to me. The script was ornate and ingenious, such that the position of various branches changed the meaning of the sentences.

It was a beautiful language, and what it told me was more beautiful still.

The ice revealed more as it melted, but I found I couldn’t wait. I breathed on the old runes, wiping them away, and eventually brought fire into these oldest, deepest caverns, to make clear the secrets.

For I was right—the oldest runes held the greatest power.

I was careful, competent, complete. I translated the ancient etchings into our own language. When I finished, I had the answer not only to halting the menace from the south, but also to returning the land to its glorious, true state, safe and secure beneath a mantle of ice and snow.

Let me say it again, because I really need you to understand. I can fix the world. The knowledge from these ancient runes grew within my mind, spinning our unbidden into logical conclusions that all but screamed for immediate action. We can return the world to its earlier diamond age, when spires of clean crystal rose into the sky and rivers of ice inched majestically into a frozen sea. The caribou, the aesthir, and the raptors would all be saved, and we would keep the cold intact. We can solve the initial devastation and return the world to its perfect state.

I took my work, and the largest shard of remaining ice, to your father. I was sure he would confirm my findings. I was positive he would encourage me to proceed, as I had saved us before. But he had grown weak, unsure, and . . .

And . . . 

And I have a confession to make, Lindra, my snowflake. I should have told you long ago, and I beg your forgiveness. Your father didn’t slip and strike his head. Rather, he struck his head first, then he fell. He struck it against the piece of ice I had in my hands. The piece of ice I had brought from the caves, to show him what had happened. We argued, I thrust the shard at him, and he moved too slowly. It hit him and he fell. And before I shouted for help, I placed the ice near the hearth. It was a warm puddle by the time you gathered his body up and cried into his dead chest.

You were desolate and I was his trusted pupil—who better to press forward as the new master? Who better to protect the Boreal but the man who had read the elder runes, who knew what had to be done?

I owed it your father. I owed it to us. Do you forgive me?

I can see disappointment in your eyes. I know I should have told you sooner. But you were consumed with grief at the time. By the time you were once again strong enough to attend the councils, plans were far along.

I was wise, and in my wisdom knew I did not know everything. After a while, the warming weather shuffled refugees back across the continent, and they too brought news. From them I heard of Tresserhorn, once a seat of great power, now a moldering wreck sinking into softening tundra.

I went to Tresserhorn and found it, as promised, a ruin. But I also found its new keepers, the Knights of Stromgald, renegades who had traded their mortality for ever-living power. Now undead, they kept their faith in that damp ruin, banking their hatred against the Kjeldorans and Balduvians who had betrayed their ideals years before.

Their leader was Haakon—unliving but still gifted with a mind and the memories of his past. He was initially hesitant, but I convinced him to form an alliance with me, and soon I gained access to the few tomes that survived the rising damp.

What did I trade him? Knowledge for knowledge. I showed him how the ice can be used to fill the veins of a dead body, and keep it from rotting in place. As long as the cold held, he could maintain and, more importantly, expand his army.

I also gained from him knowledge of his foes, the Balduvians. Once natives of the cold lands, they abandoned their heritage for the warmth of the new world and an alliance with the Kjeldorans, a coastal people who seek the comforts of this twisted, softening world. Their combined nation of New Argive would be our enemy as well, when the time came. As we succeeded, they would rise to oppose us. I knew that even then.

I sent emissaries to Krov as well, ones who wouldn’t be missed if they offended that nation’s vampiric leaders. The Krovikan elementalists, and more importantly, their libraries, would prove invaluable. It was no surprise that none of my emissaries returned alive, but I was pleased that the Krovikans were willing to help, for a price. I promised them warm bodies from the halls of Kjeldor.

What did I gain for my diplomatic efforts? From the Krovikans, I gained knowledge of other elements almost as great as our own mastery of ice. And from Tresserhorn, I learned where the Phyrexians had buried their greatest weapons, huge engines that dwarfed all but the leviathans.

The ancient engines rested deep beneath the ice at one time, but as the world warmed, the prison became fragile as an eggshell. You can appreciate the irony, can’t you? The deadly Thaw freed the great weapons that will destroy it.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. You were there when we first breached the great halls that trapped these creatures beneath the ice and the earth, somnambulistic behemoths waiting for our coming to awake. I remember the other wizards’ excitement, cryomancers and elementalists both, when they first breached the vault.

I remember too the wave of disappointment we all felt when we discovered they were no more mobile than ice sculptures. Their forms were present, huge bipedal giants, great raptors, mammoth-sized beasts sprouting cables of dark metal, but their spirits were absent. They were soulless, impotent, lacking the power even to move. As useless as empty suits of armor discarded by a race of long-dead titans.

I admit my heart quailed when I saw my hopes crushed. I remember seeing you there, standing among the blood-enslaved elementalists, and I wondered if I saw a hint of a smile. A haughty, “told you so,” that would have put me in my place. It’s all right, you can tell me now. Did you feel like that? Or did you share my devastation?

It took time, precious, melting time to determine what our metallic discoveries truly needed. I returned to my books. The old books from Tresserhorn, battered and worn, spoke of great crystals of power that fueled these beasts.

There I did despair—all the work to find these creatures, and I couldn’t animate them. Without their protection, how could we fix the world?

Then it hit me. The great beasts needed power. We held power, and locked it within ice. And what was ice but a crystal? A perfect matrix, whose only enemy was warmth. But once we were successful, warmth would never touch these beasts. We could push the border of eternal winter southward again, reach the source of this contamination, and snuff it out once and for all.

It was not easy, and we lost more precious time and lives in our attempts to animate the Phyrexians empty shells. We were guessing as often as not. Failure stalked us like a great yeti. We would have the calculations perfect, and the creature would remain an inert lump. Or it would explode in a soundless ball of blue-white light. Or it would lurch forward, its joints glowing, frost forming on its exposed metal, then launch off in a random direction, destroying everything in its path.

Time campaigned against us. Just as the wandering peoples, straying like sparks from an unwanted fire, brought news to Rimewind Keep, so too did the news of our activities reach unwelcome ears. Our border patrols noted more organized raiders along the borders, and skyknights mounted on their now-rare aesthirs. We worked with the vampires of Krov to conjure specters to patrol our own skies, but it was only a matter of time. The allies of the Thaw would find us and crush us before we could fully raise a defense.

And the ice seers came to me with the horrible news that time had run out. The Balduvians and the Kjeldorans were mobilizing. We had been found out. They knew we threatened their precious Thaw. We faced an invasion. The Balduvians, traitors to their heritage, were already on the march, led by their warrior queen, Lovisa Coldeyes. The Kjeldorans, under King Darien, readied their army as well.

Haakon and his forces set out to delay the barbarians and distracted the Kjeldorans. He succeeded only in the latter. The Balduvians were too strong and surged like a juggernaut across the softening earth, bearing down on Rimewind Keep.

We were desperate. We had gutted part of the keep just to rebuild our Phyrexian saviors. I retreated there, desperate to make them work. You, always the pragmatist, organized our defensive forces as best you could. We had the power of cold, but that power was weak in this soft new world, and we were outnumbered. As I worked, I could hear the rumbling of spells and the howl of cold winds in the distance.

There, in the darkness of the vaults, I prayed. Yes, I will admit it, I prayed. Not to the gods of winter or the Blessed Cold, but to the gods of these great machines. I prayed for enlightenment, for understanding, for power.

And my prayers were answered. Deep within my mind, a door opened, a door that had held back the eldritch runes. I suddenly. knew how to shape the ice crystals properly. How to invest them with power. How to plant these coldsteel hearts in the bosom of these empty shells. How to bring the engines of salvation to life.

I can only imagine the scene outside the gates of Rimewind Keep, of the barbarians smashing through our meager defenses and surging forward as your lieutenants shouted for reinforcements. Then the sound of distant thunder as part of the keep itself cascaded away. At first you would be afraid that the Balduvians had brought siege wizards, But it was the not the end of the battle, it was the beginning.

The icy dust cleared, and striding out of the rubble was the first of my snowcrushers. It was a titanic beast, a mass of metal with hoarfrost energies leaking from its joints, sublimated ice billowing from makeshift smokestacks, and a great shieldlike plow held before it. It radiated a field of the deepest winter, crystallizing open water as it passed.

My powerful creation surged forward to meet the Balduvian charge.

It was a massacre, I am pleased to report. The coldsteel-powered titan slammed into the center of the barbarian line. The Balduvians wavered for a moment, then fell apart as their mounts were swept away before the crusher’s plow. Back in the ruined halls, I gave a quiet command. The great beast of metal and snow, responding as if it heard me, swept to the left and collapsed their entire flank in a few strides.

After that it was simply a matter of picking up the pieces. The Balduvian leader, Coldeyes, was captured in the rout. At the feet of the army-crushing Phyrexian, I demanded the surrender of her people and their Kjeldoran allies in exchange for her life.

She spat at me, but in the comforting chill of my ice-formed titan, her spittle froze and clanked to the ground. Still, her act of rebellion angered me. With a fragment of my power and knowledge, I raised a great spike from the ice and skewered her square in the back. She fell forward and perished at my feet, the spike draining away her soul to feed my engines.

It was sudden, violent, and left her no chance for any heroic last words. That pleased me immensely. Yes, when I stormed back to the keep, I could see the concern in the eyes of my Krovikan allies. If I could do that on an impulse, I could see them thinking, what else could I do when they displeased me? They may be worrying about our alliance, but I know they will not move until after we attain total victory. And then I will no longer have to worry about them, either.

But then, on the best day of my life, in the flush of victory, you and I fought. I understood your quiet reservations about my plan, but then, when it was clear I had succeeded at last, you couldn’t be happy for our people. No, you came to me, angry and wounded, and argued against using the creature. You doubted our allies. You doubted our ability to control the Phyrexian ice-beasts.

Worst of all, you doubted me.

I had solved the last great problem in our research. I had come to the solution that would save the world, and you had to yell at me. I think that was unfair, even now. I’ll admit I lost my temper. I said things I shouldn’t have. But then you went and fell to pieces.

Now here we are, you and I.

I want to say I am sorry. Sorry I lost my temper. Sorry I treated you so badly.

But I want to show you what I have done. Shall we look out the window? See? I have awakened more machines. They await my command, their coldsteel hearts pulsing and their brilliant frozen energies leaking from their joints. I got them all working, and they all respond to my call. It feels a little odd, with all these Phyrexians jostling around in my mind, but we all need to make sacrifices, eh?

We will ride out to meet the enemy at dawn. Enough of them survived, including Coldeyes’ whelp. That was a mistake, letting him get away. The Balduvians, the Kjeldorans, and the elves are all massing to attack, but with the power of my creatures, I think we can crush them utterly. The Krovikans have even provided me with an honor guard.

I just want you to know that I’m sorry we fought, but that it is all going to work out all 7 : right. The Krovikans will get the living and the Knights of Stromgald will get the dead.

At least that is what I told them. I saw the doubt in their eyes, and if they fail us, well, my engines will be just as effective against them as they were against the Balduvians. They know what I am capable of, now.

It all looks impressive, doesn’t it? The ranks of our followers, the undead troops, the motley crew of Krovikans. And my Phyrexians. Our Phyrexians, with hearts of ice and the power of winter behind them. Everything I did, I did for Rimewind Keep. I did for the Blessed Cold. I did it for us. I did it for you. Now we’re going to save the world. And I need you to realize that before I depart. That I was right after all. I don’t want us to part on bad terms.

But you just sounded so much like your father. I was angry, but I wish I had not been so harsh. It was an impulsive act, and before I realized it my hands had frozen you utterly, and you crumbled. Your eyes still fixed on mine. I wish I had saved more of you. At least I saved your head.

Is that a smile?

Yes, it is. You don’t want to smile, but you do. Because you know I’m right.

I knew you’d forgive me. You always do.

We ride out in the morning, but you must stay behind. I know you want to come along, but I want you to be safe. And what could you do without a body?

Here, I’ll leave you at the window, on a pillow of spiderfur. Let me set you facing the east, toward New Argive. You can watch for my triumphant return, safe in your sphere of eternal ice, content with the knowledge that I was right all along.

And don’t worry, my snowflake, you won’t melt—

I promise to keep the cold for both of us.