Ravenbreath

Race: Frostmaw, Gender: Female, Age: 28, Height: 6'11" (211 cm), Weight: 412 lbs (186.9 kg)
Alignment: Chaotic Good

She watches over those within the frostline—not just from storms, but from what walks inside them.

The wind howls again. This time, it sounds too much like a word. She steps onto the frozen walkway, eyes sharp, steps lighter than the snow beneath her boots. In the distance, the mountains glow faintly—too faint. The runes she placed along the perimeter should burn bright.

A shape moves at the snowdrift. Not an animal. Not lost. Just... still. Watching. Her fingers brush the fur at her collar, and the air sharpens around her. The warmth she summons is not fire—but the cold bent to her will, turned inward, honed like a blade.

She raises a hand and speaks low, controlled. "You’ve taken the wrong path. There’s no salvation out here." The shape doesn’t answer. It turns and walks toward the caverns.
She doesn’t follow—yet. But she will. If the frost no longer listens, then something else is whispering in its place.

Shiverclaw Mountains ● Frostmaw ● Thrynn ● Frostmaw Village

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The Stillness Below

It started with whispers. Then the wards dimmed. Not failed—dimmed, like they were listening to something else. She thought it was a fluke. Then a child wandered into the snow barefoot, smiling. A hunter returned without memory, humming a melody no one taught him. Now strangers pass through the village with pale eyes and empty warmth, speaking of a stillness that preserves.

She watches from the edges. They call themselves pilgrims. They claim the cold is eternal, and they wish to become so. They leave offerings outside the caverns. They do not shiver. And they do not leave.

Whatever is gathering beneath the mountain is not a storm. It is older than weather. It speaks through imitation, and it’s crawling toward the heart of the frost. She will not let it take root.

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