Topazal » Lair » Hoarfrost

Hoarfrost

(#82873085)

2nd Gen Barghest - Ire/Alabaster

Familiar

Velvet Fawn

Energy: 30/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

24.32 m

Wingspan

22.62 m

Weight

7769.6 kg

Genetics

Silver
Savannah

Silver
Paisley

Silver
Points

Hatchday

Dec 21, 2022
(1 year)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Light
Common

Level 1 Imperial

EXP: 0 / 245

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

H O A R F R O S T

BARGHEST LORE AND LINEAGE PROJECT

GENERATION II
IRE | ALABASTER’S LINE

"Quote"

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The statement that follows is in regards to a journal recovered from high amidst the peaks of the Cloudscape Craigs. It came back amidst the belongings of a scouting group who claim to have found it dropped along one of the winding trails leading up the mountainside.

The pages are weathered and damaged from the cold, ink writing faded or illegibly smeared in places that make it difficult to read. It appears to be the diary of one Irene Hale regarding a series of strange dreams.

I’ve been having the strangest dream as of late, always the same. They begin with a memory of the first snow fall of the year. I find myself standing amidst a forest of birch; dark burls staring, eye-like against the paper-white bark. Despite the cold, I hold a hand up to the sky, feeling the sting of snowflakes against my skin as they melt into droplets of water. The world becomes silent. It is a deafening silence where the pounding of my own heartbeat is audible, a constant reminder of mortality that ticks like a metronome. Here, time moves slowly and if I listen carefully, there are moments when I can hear the faintest sound of a voice. It calls out in a whisper, beckoning me forward. I don’t know whether it is real or simply a figment of my imagination; words from some long forgotten memory replaying in my mind.

The snow falls heavier, blanketing the world. My tracks are swallowed behind me and the path ahead is shrouded from sight. I see only the flurry, and sometimes I dream that there are shapes forming from the gusts and snow. They whip around me, dancing like the limbs of a great white beast. I fear that such a creature has come to spirit me away somewhere beyond this world. Then the strangest compulsion comes and I close my eyes, entranced as I take a step forward, my breath a swirl of fog upon the air as I begin to dance.

When I wake from this dream, I find myself still dancing, looming in a pirouette over the side of my bed. My skin is cold, fingers and toes ice-white and numb. I fear the frost bite will set in and begin to claim those extremities that turn dark and painful as I attempt to warm them by the fire.

The dream came again last night. I never know how long it lasts, but it feels as if an eternity passes while I am trapped endlessly dancing in the snow. With each step, those shapes linger closer, streaks of white hair flowing past me, each strand encased in frost. Sometimes,I think I see faces with eyes gleaming like pale lights in the snow and below them, jagged ice aligned like rows of teeth. Those creatures’ breath is a gust of winter wind, their voice the crescendo of a raging storm. Mouths open wide in a threat to swallow me whole. I awake with a start.

I barely felt it last night, but I finally lost a finger to that dream. It must have succumbed to the frostbite, but when I searched my bedroom, there was no trace that a decapitated extremity had fallen. I’ve decided to seek the aid of a dream walker in town who goes by the name of Dahlia Thorne. After all, none of the doctors have been much help in their declarations that I should keep warm and try to stay out of the snow.

I met with Dahlia today, but my memory has been slipping as of late. She runs the Shoppe of Oddities, a strange place when you step inside. It’s filled with all sorts of enchantments and I found myself inspecting an assortment of crystals and other polished stones by the doorway when I arrived. Dahlia herself was a strange woman who seemed to know right away about the dreams that plagued me and asked if she might do a reading. She shuffled a deck of tarot cards. Strangely, things are. . . unclear after that. I remember snippets and whispers, fragments of coherency, but the more I attempt to focus on what happened during those hours in the Shoppe, the more jumbled those memories become.

I do recall leaving very late. I must have been inside for several hours, for It was dark when I finally exited the Shoppe. I was holding a small candle, although the memory of its acquisition had already slipped my mind. Looking at the candle now, it is composed of off-white wax engraved with a series of runes. There is a small paper tag attached to the base that reads “for warmth and illumination”.

For several days, the candle kept those dreams ay bay, but I fear the stump of a wick has burnt out. I attempted to return to Dahlia’s shop, but found the place boarded shut. These past few days it has been hard to say when the dreams end. . . my awakening has become more and more unclear. I find myself wandering sometimes, closer to the edge of town and towards the woods full of snow. I’m writing this down to make sense of it all, but I fear that soon my mind will slip away entirely for even now, I cannot seem to stop dancing.

The reminder of the journal appears to be filled with scraps and pieces of semi-coherent sentences.

I am so. . . cold. How long have-

At times the hunger is so great- but if I stop dancing, then surely I will be devoured-

I am lost now-

They draw near and I grow so tired-

Surely, this dance will soon come to an end.

We attempted to track down the owner of the journal, but were unable to find any traces of an Irene Hale in any of the nearby towns that dot the Snowsquall Tundra. Interestingly, we were able to find the Shoppe of Oddities run by Dahlia Thorne. The Pearlcatcher inside likewise did not recall of any customers by the name of Irene Hale.

We did question her about the candle, to which she replied that she had many customers who suffered from nightmares and that these candles were enchanted such that they would never burn out. She likewise denied that her store had ever been boarded closed. Several customers overheard the latter question and laughed, noting that in the last thirty years the Shoppe of Oddities had not once closed its doors. One customer smiled, “this shop? Closed? Hah! Only in your wildest dreams. . .”

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Exalting Hoarfrost to the service of the Icewarden will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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