Black Snow: Prologue
“For their arrogance, the mother cursed them with degeneracy, bodies warping and minds shattered,
they wander the mountains to this day, maddened remnants of something greater. Let their fate be a
lesson, what is given can be taken back.”
-The Book of the sallow regent
The Borderlands
Death stalked the barren tundra, winds screamed like anguished beasts as they battered the bone-white
plains below. The battle had been a bloody one, steaming entrails from slit bellies briefly filling the air
with fatal heat before being flash-frozen by the merciless frost. The dead and dying lay like frozen
statues, fixed in the place of their doom by the oncoming storm, the moans of the dying flowing up
toward uncaring mountains.
Korthus removed his helmet and took stock of the slaughter before him, the infidels had fought fiercely
and it had only been through clever deception that his forces had triumphed. His burrower was
presently feasting on the guts of a dying horse mandibles snapping around bone as it slurped up the
thick slurry of gore. He removed his gauntlet and stroked the black carapace of the vast insect with a
gentle caress.
His legions busied themselves with the grim task of retrieving their dead and dying, most would be too
far gone and have to be mercy killed. War on the tundra had no mercy, death came swiftly to all and a
single mistake was all too often fatal, casualties had always been high for both sides. It had always
struck Korthus as rather amusing that the two pre-eminent races of the ice lands should wage unceasing
conflict over so forsaken a place.
The ruined strongholds of the mother's first children stood as silent witnesses to what had once been, a
vast civilization had once spread across the plains. But the first men had been arrogant and allowed
themselves to grow complacent, the mother had punished them with madness and degeneration, that
once glorious race was reduced now to carrion-feeding scavengers that prowled the dark. Korthus could
already smell their telltale reek, they hid in the shadow of the mountains and waited with maddening
impatience for the armies to depart so that they might feast on the dead.
“My lord the battle is won, the dogs of Eliana and Nero have been put to the sword” a bone masked
officer said as he saluted with cold reverence in his voice
“All save one,” Korthus said inclining his head
The general of the snow elf army had evidently not yet joined his men in death, he presently lay pinned
beneath his slain horse, legs broken and the cold frost creeping across his body with disturbing speed.
Korthus smirked and strode toward the unfortunate elf, one last game before his return to Irileagh*.
Like most children of the mother Korthus was bald, his face bore subtle but telltale signs of his star
spawn, eyes too black to be those of a mortal man, and dark veins that flowed across his pale temples
like snaking tattoos. He bore a forked beard that he kept neatly oiled with marrow fats, it lent him a
diabolical appearance even without his trademark smirk.
For over fifty auroras he has stood watch at the gateway to the Borean realms, his ruthless vigil holding
back the tide of infidels from the south. It was a duty he chafed under with ever-increasing boredom,
the skirmishes were unending and the stalemate never truly changed, he had thus begun to treat it as
the wretched game it was and delighted in toying with his enemy. Long ago Korthus had dreamt of great
victories and the destruction of the hated enemy, now he simply wished to be done with a pointless
conflict that seemed doomed to continue for all eternity.
The snow elf lay gasping, the weight of his Armour and the dead horse becoming harder to bear with
each passing moment. His eyes were bloodshot from the strain and one of his ears had been severed at
the tip, a sliver of red ice hanging where the wound had frozen. The elf looked up at Korthus with an
expression of pure burning hatred, the generational spite that had kept both sides murdering one
another in the darkness for millennia beyond counting.
“You fought well, for an elf, pity we will never cross blades again,” Korthus said with a poisonous smirk
“More will come” the elf hissed through gritted teeth, the defiance taking every pained ounce of energy
he had left
“Yes, I suppose I shall have to kill them as well” Korthus replied with a sudden weariness
“Your heresy shall be your undoing!” the elf groaned weakly
“You know, this used to be more fun, you’d think after fifty years of slaughter you people would have
something original to say” Korthus replied with an irritable roll of his eyes
For fifty years the two races had turned the borderlands into a grotto of horrors, entire valleys had been
filled with frozen corpses and untold thousands had darkened the snow with their blood. Every hissed
defiance and ultimately empty threats but the war never changed it just ebbed back and forth like an
endless blizzard. Korthus unsheathed his blade, eliciting a resigned look from the dying elf, then he
plunged the tip into the ice directly in front of the stricken general.
“Nightfall is coming soon,” Korthus said pointing with a gloved hand to the gaunt figures that lurked on
the peaks above
“If you can reach my blade, it will grant you quick end...the Saggothi* though...well...they prefer their
meals alive,” he said coldly before turning to leave, the elf's protests silenced by the oncoming gales.
“Gather the men, we make for the vault!” Korthus ordered in a commanding voice that boomed across
the valley
Mounting the chittering burrower once more, Korthus began the long ride back to Irileagh, his army
forming up behind him. They did not get far before a familiar buzzing filled the evening air; he looked up
to see the gigantic form of a snow hornet descending, the beast landed mere meters from Korthus, a
shower of white snow spraying everything within arm's reach.
When the dust cleared a gaunt and withered being lowered itself from the back of the resting hornet, a
gnarled hand caressed the giant insect's head before turning to regard Korthus. Rheumy eyes glared out
from a mask of pure white ivory, the priests' robes flowing in the breeze and giving terrible hints to the
skeletal frame beneath. Centuries of long and dark study, augmented by the imbibing of pallor and
ichor, had withered the holy man's body but in the process brought his soul closer to the mother.
“Lord Korthus, you are summoned to the capital by order of the hierophant” hissed the withered holy man
“And what have I done to deserve such an honor?” Korthus asked curiosity piqued
“Not you my lord, your brother, blessed Nutamek has gone to join the mother in the void, the emperor
is dead and his successor is to be crowned” the priest replied in a rasping voice
Once they had been close but after so long on the boundary of the empire Korthus had grown to resent
what he saw as undeserved exile. Yet he did not hate his brother and the prospect of returning home
after so long was undoubtedly tempting. He tried to remember his niece's face, she had been only a
small girl the last time he visited, she would be nearly twenty-five auroras now. He wondered if Sayona
would even recognize him.
“Very well priest, lead the way” Korthus replied calmly with a slight bowing of his head in acquiescence
Across the long tundra, they would journey, along the benighted paths that snaked underneath the
mountains, it was a journey measured in days. Korthus felt the stirring of something within him that he
had long since thought dead, the sudden anxiety and frenzy that could only come from excitement. He
would go to the capital with all haste, a re-union was in order.
*Irileagh, the great underground boundary city of the Borean empire, founded by the emperor Dagorn in
the silent age, renowned for the intricacy of its bone architecture and the size and aggression of its
burrowers.
*Degenerate descendants of the first men, mutated beyond any resemblance to their once glorious
ancestors. Possessing elongated bodies, webbed hands and feet, and vicious talons. The Saagothi are
feral and untamed monstrosities that prowl the tundra of the borderlands and feast on anything either
living or dead that they can bring down.
“For their arrogance, the mother cursed them with degeneracy, bodies warping and minds shattered,
they wander the mountains to this day, maddened remnants of something greater. Let their fate be a
lesson, what is given can be taken back.”
-The Book of the sallow regent
The Borderlands
Death stalked the barren tundra, winds screamed like anguished beasts as they battered the bone-white
plains below. The battle had been a bloody one, steaming entrails from slit bellies briefly filling the air
with fatal heat before being flash-frozen by the merciless frost. The dead and dying lay like frozen
statues, fixed in the place of their doom by the oncoming storm, the moans of the dying flowing up
toward uncaring mountains.
Korthus removed his helmet and took stock of the slaughter before him, the infidels had fought fiercely
and it had only been through clever deception that his forces had triumphed. His burrower was
presently feasting on the guts of a dying horse mandibles snapping around bone as it slurped up the
thick slurry of gore. He removed his gauntlet and stroked the black carapace of the vast insect with a
gentle caress.
His legions busied themselves with the grim task of retrieving their dead and dying, most would be too
far gone and have to be mercy killed. War on the tundra had no mercy, death came swiftly to all and a
single mistake was all too often fatal, casualties had always been high for both sides. It had always
struck Korthus as rather amusing that the two pre-eminent races of the ice lands should wage unceasing
conflict over so forsaken a place.
The ruined strongholds of the mother's first children stood as silent witnesses to what had once been, a
vast civilization had once spread across the plains. But the first men had been arrogant and allowed
themselves to grow complacent, the mother had punished them with madness and degeneration, that
once glorious race was reduced now to carrion-feeding scavengers that prowled the dark. Korthus could
already smell their telltale reek, they hid in the shadow of the mountains and waited with maddening
impatience for the armies to depart so that they might feast on the dead.
“My lord the battle is won, the dogs of Eliana and Nero have been put to the sword” a bone masked
officer said as he saluted with cold reverence in his voice
“All save one,” Korthus said inclining his head
The general of the snow elf army had evidently not yet joined his men in death, he presently lay pinned
beneath his slain horse, legs broken and the cold frost creeping across his body with disturbing speed.
Korthus smirked and strode toward the unfortunate elf, one last game before his return to Irileagh*.
Like most children of the mother Korthus was bald, his face bore subtle but telltale signs of his star
spawn, eyes too black to be those of a mortal man, and dark veins that flowed across his pale temples
like snaking tattoos. He bore a forked beard that he kept neatly oiled with marrow fats, it lent him a
diabolical appearance even without his trademark smirk.
For over fifty auroras he has stood watch at the gateway to the Borean realms, his ruthless vigil holding
back the tide of infidels from the south. It was a duty he chafed under with ever-increasing boredom,
the skirmishes were unending and the stalemate never truly changed, he had thus begun to treat it as
the wretched game it was and delighted in toying with his enemy. Long ago Korthus had dreamt of great
victories and the destruction of the hated enemy, now he simply wished to be done with a pointless
conflict that seemed doomed to continue for all eternity.
The snow elf lay gasping, the weight of his Armour and the dead horse becoming harder to bear with
each passing moment. His eyes were bloodshot from the strain and one of his ears had been severed at
the tip, a sliver of red ice hanging where the wound had frozen. The elf looked up at Korthus with an
expression of pure burning hatred, the generational spite that had kept both sides murdering one
another in the darkness for millennia beyond counting.
“You fought well, for an elf, pity we will never cross blades again,” Korthus said with a poisonous smirk
“More will come” the elf hissed through gritted teeth, the defiance taking every pained ounce of energy
he had left
“Yes, I suppose I shall have to kill them as well” Korthus replied with a sudden weariness
“Your heresy shall be your undoing!” the elf groaned weakly
“You know, this used to be more fun, you’d think after fifty years of slaughter you people would have
something original to say” Korthus replied with an irritable roll of his eyes
For fifty years the two races had turned the borderlands into a grotto of horrors, entire valleys had been
filled with frozen corpses and untold thousands had darkened the snow with their blood. Every hissed
defiance and ultimately empty threats but the war never changed it just ebbed back and forth like an
endless blizzard. Korthus unsheathed his blade, eliciting a resigned look from the dying elf, then he
plunged the tip into the ice directly in front of the stricken general.
“Nightfall is coming soon,” Korthus said pointing with a gloved hand to the gaunt figures that lurked on
the peaks above
“If you can reach my blade, it will grant you quick end...the Saggothi* though...well...they prefer their
meals alive,” he said coldly before turning to leave, the elf's protests silenced by the oncoming gales.
“Gather the men, we make for the vault!” Korthus ordered in a commanding voice that boomed across
the valley
Mounting the chittering burrower once more, Korthus began the long ride back to Irileagh, his army
forming up behind him. They did not get far before a familiar buzzing filled the evening air; he looked up
to see the gigantic form of a snow hornet descending, the beast landed mere meters from Korthus, a
shower of white snow spraying everything within arm's reach.
When the dust cleared a gaunt and withered being lowered itself from the back of the resting hornet, a
gnarled hand caressed the giant insect's head before turning to regard Korthus. Rheumy eyes glared out
from a mask of pure white ivory, the priests' robes flowing in the breeze and giving terrible hints to the
skeletal frame beneath. Centuries of long and dark study, augmented by the imbibing of pallor and
ichor, had withered the holy man's body but in the process brought his soul closer to the mother.
“Lord Korthus, you are summoned to the capital by order of the hierophant” hissed the withered holy man
“And what have I done to deserve such an honor?” Korthus asked curiosity piqued
“Not you my lord, your brother, blessed Nutamek has gone to join the mother in the void, the emperor
is dead and his successor is to be crowned” the priest replied in a rasping voice
Once they had been close but after so long on the boundary of the empire Korthus had grown to resent
what he saw as undeserved exile. Yet he did not hate his brother and the prospect of returning home
after so long was undoubtedly tempting. He tried to remember his niece's face, she had been only a
small girl the last time he visited, she would be nearly twenty-five auroras now. He wondered if Sayona
would even recognize him.
“Very well priest, lead the way” Korthus replied calmly with a slight bowing of his head in acquiescence
Across the long tundra, they would journey, along the benighted paths that snaked underneath the
mountains, it was a journey measured in days. Korthus felt the stirring of something within him that he
had long since thought dead, the sudden anxiety and frenzy that could only come from excitement. He
would go to the capital with all haste, a re-union was in order.
*Irileagh, the great underground boundary city of the Borean empire, founded by the emperor Dagorn in
the silent age, renowned for the intricacy of its bone architecture and the size and aggression of its
burrowers.
*Degenerate descendants of the first men, mutated beyond any resemblance to their once glorious
ancestors. Possessing elongated bodies, webbed hands and feet, and vicious talons. The Saagothi are
feral and untamed monstrosities that prowl the tundra of the borderlands and feast on anything either
living or dead that they can bring down.
Last edited: