The Harbinger of Permafrost is a warrior whose soul has been claimed by the stillness of absolute cold. They are not merely touched by frost—they are frost given will, an extension of the death that creeps in quiet silence. Their body moves with the precision of falling snow, every motion measured, every strike leaving hoarfrost in its wake. The warmth of life no longer belongs to them; it becomes their weapon, drawn from others with each blow until nothing remains but still, perfect quiet.

Heart of Permafrost

Those marked by the Frigid carry the essence of eternal winter in their veins. Skin pales to blue-gray marble, hair loses its color, and their breath drifts as a thin trail of ice. Their touch burns with paradoxical cold, freezing blood and steel alike. When they draw upon their power, the air itself turns brittle—moisture crystallizing midair, sound muffled beneath a veil of frost. Their weapon drips shards of condensed rime, and wounds inflicted by it never bleed, only glaze over with ice that spreads like veins of glass.

In the Frozen Wastes

Across the frostbitten ruins of long-dead empires, the Harbingers of Permafrost are revered and feared as instruments of inevitability. They patrol frozen plains and ancient glaciers where time itself seems halted, their presence heralded by snow that falls without cloud. Necromancers seek their counsel, believing they hold dominion over the cold that preserves corpses forever. Frost giants and winter spirits call them kin; mortals call them omens. In the arctic monasteries of Halvraen and the shattered ice-fanes of the Pale Sea, their names are whispered alongside the north wind—as reminders that death wears no flame, only frost.

Doctrine of Still Death

To the Harbinger of Permafrost, death is not agony—it is silence, peace, and perfect order. They reject the chaos of decay and the stench of rot, viewing warmth as corruption that disturbs eternity’s calm. In their doctrine, the world’s end is not fire, but frost: a quiet erasure of movement and memory, leaving the universe in crystalline stillness. Through their cold, they bring mercy—swift, clean, unfeeling. Through their blade, they enact the inevitable truth that all things stop. They are the cold between heartbeats, the silence after breath, and the still hand that ends the world one frozen soul at a time.