The Founding of Frosthorn Hold

### by Thandral Proudhart

The history of Frosthorn is older than the written word. Before the Empire was even a thought, when the first people came down from the mountains and spread across the land like water. They filled every nook and crevice, leaving nowhere for our people to go.

The Changelings who became our ancestors were amongst the last to come down from the mountain. Being of the Summer Realm they were distrusted and feared for their temper and ferocity. Wherever they went it was only a matter of time before they were cast out.

Their numbers dwindled through starvation and the perilous ice until barely two score remained. Their leader was Culhain, my ancestor and founder of our Hall, who braved the unending storm of Sydanjaa in search of wisdom. Legends spoke of powerful beings that dwell in the harsh places of the world - the Voice on the Gale, the Chill Blade and many others. This brave Changeline faced the storm and the beings within for one day and a night whilst his people camped outside, hoping for his return. When he emerged, it was with a hammer of ice in one hand and an acorn in the other.

Culhain told his tale; that the voices in the storm had thrice tested him. The first was a trial of survival. This he passed by enduring the winds of the blizzard. The second was a trial of endurance and a pack of savage wolves was set upon him. Blinded by snow and frozen numb, Culhain was chased deeper into the storm and took refuge in a cavern whilst the wolves prowled without. My ancestor was cunning and crafted a weapon from the frost of the walls and the frozen wood of the trees - a hammer. The wolves were either broken by the swing of this frigid maul or fled in the face of his fury.

His final trial was the most difficult. Culhain was tasked with building a hall to endure as he had, not just for one day and night but for all time. The voices had bade him dig and so he had until his fingers turned blue. On the verge of delirium he brushed upon a single, frozen acorn and pulled it from the frost. His taskmasters told him that wherever he buried this seed would become the seat of his hall and the site of his test. This trial would be the hardest of all for there would be no end to it.

Troubled by this, Culhain left the storm, gathered his people and resumed his search for a new land. Whilst the survivors begged him simply to settle wherever they could find, the words he heard in that place echoed within him. If he were to fail this final test then his people were doomed and, according to some retellings, a worse fate awaited Culhain. For he had bartered his spirit for the future of his family and should he fail, he would be doomed to walk the storm forever. Slowly madness consumed him as more died to the ravages of the wastes.

The once-wise Culhain descended into insanity as he was haunted by those he had failed. Lovers and brothers all followed him like a ghostly entourage. Unable to sleep or eat without bouts of mania, their leader gathered his strongest warriors in a moment of lucidity and commanded they prove themselves as he had. Three were sent into the wastes to test their wisdom, courage and tenacity and only one returned- his nephew Cormaic.

Entrusting him with the destiny of their people and Frostforge, the hammer he had crafted in the depths of Sydanjaa, - Culhain leapt to his death from a mountaintop. It is said that he wanders still, gathering his lost people and guiding them to the Labyrinth. As for Cormaic, that is a different tale.

The circle of thorns surrounding the tree represents the unbroken vow made by Culhain and the price he paid for it. There is no glory without sacrifice. His lineage continued through Cormaic who led them to the valley we call home. Those who claim descent from Cormaic would take their place on the Verdant Throne, the seat grown from the acorn gifted to Culhain. A living tree carved into the shape of a throne and eternal foundation of our hall.