When I reviewed Icewind Dale: Rime of the Frostmaiden, I commented that Arveiaturace — the white wyrm with the dead body of her beloved wizard-rider strapped to her back — was one of the coolest things created for the book.

I wasn’t alone. You can find lots of people saying the same thing.

She’s still very cool.

But it turns out she wasn’t created for the book.

I realized my mistake recently when I was reading through Storm King’s Thunder and noticed a reference to Arveiaturace. (Which is a testament to how cool her presentation in Rime of the Frostmaiden is, because it made her stick in my mind so that future references would stick out like that.)

My curiosity piqued, I started digging deeper. And it turns out Arveiaturace is also mentioned in Tyranny of Dragons, where her mate Arauthator is trying to find a new rider for her in the hopes that it will convince her to take the rotting corpse off her back.

(True story.)

Around this time, Arauthator and Arveiaturace were both mentioned in R.A. Salvatore’s Rise of the King, but their origin actually traces back thorugh Dragons of Faerun (a 3^rd Edition supplement that I’m pretty sure is the source text from which they entered 5^th Edition) all the way to Dragon Magazine #230, where Ed Greenwood launched a column called Wyrms of the North. The first column was dedicated to Arauthator. The second column, in #231, was about Arveiaturace, featuring art by Storn Cook:

You can actually find the original article in Wizard’s online archives. (Thanks to Graham Ward for finding that link.)

If you go back and read it, there are some really interesting games of Telephone that you can trace through the later books where it seems fairly clear authors were aware of one of the older references, but didn’t realize (just like me at the beginning of this article!) that it was all based on a larger body of previous lore.

For example, Arveiaturace’s lair is located in Icepeak, where it is part of the lair of the wizard who was/is her rider.

Because Arveiaturace doesn’t actually appear in Tyranny of Dragons, this lair is not mentioned there. But it is mentioned that her mate, Arauthator, has a lair inside a hollowed out iceberg.

For Storm King’s Thunder, whoever wrote the section describing Icepeak (p. 92, where it appears as “Ice Peak”) knew the original source for Arveiaturace or, more likely, Dragons of Faerun and places her lair “correctly” in Icepeak.

But whoever wrote the section on the Sea of Moving Ice (p. 106) was probably sourcing strictly from Tyranny of Dragons and so writes, “Each dragon [Arauthator and Arveiaturace] makes it lair inside a hollowed-out iceberg.”

In Rime of the Frostmaiden, the author of Arveiaturace’s section (p. 105) once again is sourcing strictly from Tyranny of Dragons, is unaware of either reference in Storm King’s Thunder, and decides to place the “unknown” location of her lair atop the Reghed Glacier.

I love this kind of thing because it’s a simple exemplar of something that happens all the time in actual history texts describing the real world. For example, check out CGP Grey’s “The Race to Win Staten Island,” which brilliantly tears apart a historical legend which has perniciously crept its way into historical “fact.”

Another fun fact here is that, in her original appearance, Arveiaturace is a straight-up draconic whore:

Arauthator regards the white dragon Arveiaturace as an acceptable mate when he feels inclined. He employs a sending spell to call her to his lair for dalliance, giving her gems from his hoard after each mating but firmly escorting her out of his domain to rear any hatchlings that may result on her own.

(No shame intended, to be clear. Everyone’s a consenting Adult age category here.)

Where are their kids, by the way? That could be a really interesting thread to pull on in your Tyranny of Dragons, Storm King’s Thunder, or Rime of the Frostmaiden campaigns. Or, if your players have already run through those campaigns, to drop into a future storyline.

My favorite anecdote from Dragon #231, though, is that Laeral Silverhand of Waterdeep heard that Arveiaturace had besieged Candlekeep in response to someone writing a disparaging remark about Melathorand, her dead wizard-rider. So Laeral immediately commissioned The High History of the Mighty Mage Melathorand (he’s the dreamiest!) and hand-delivered a copy to Arveiaturace, cementing a long-term alliance with the tempestuous wyrm (which apparently lasts unto the present day).

It’s also worth noting that Melathorand’s corpse has been strapped to her back for over a hundred years now. I’m guessing it’s not in great shape.

Or perhaps Arveiaturace periodically seeks out preservation spells to maintain the corpse in good condition. Although if she’s aware of that need, it raises the question of why she has not resurrected the mage. Does the mage not wish to return to life? (Why not?) Or is his soul trapped somewhere? That could be a fascinating adventure seed!

Alternatively, perhaps Arveiaturace is utterly mad and someone (likely Arauthator?) is the one who periodically arranges for the corpse to be magically preserved or restored.

Long story short, if you want to add a lot of lore to your presentation of Arveiaturace, track down Dragon #231 for “Wyrms of the North: Arveiaturace, the White Wyrm” (which, again, you can currently read here). Pretty much everything else is just a cliff’s note version of Greenwood’s original work.

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ARVAL’S AWAKENING

(Fiction by Peter Heeringa)

While I have this moment of sanity, let me record my memories lest they flee again from the horror I have become. Try. Trying to piece together the fragments of the past, use them to guide the path of the future. My earliest memory, the warmth of my life flowing from my neck, blade in my hand yet in another’s? NO! That is not my first memory. That is not me. I must focus beyond the shimmering veil to the time before my awakening, beyond the void.

Within the inked darkness pins of light… why this fear and exhilaration? I cannot pull away as they materialize, grow, and coalesce. Shapes and forms emerge. The shadowed darkness retreats in the advancing light and the blurring fragments of the past surge over me, thunderous, threatening to pull me under:

The glow of candlelight and tomes, the excitement of the knowledge and power, pride – I have been accepted to study the arts of the weave. Others, much younger, have mastered the spells, why haven’t I?  Long hours after lights are out. Long hours in the dark recesses of the library to pull tomes. The strange tome that shouldn’t have been there… Sneaking away to lamplight, the smell of straw, the frustration of the challenging information, the undecipherable script, terrible frustration, throwing the book across the room – dropping midflight and opening to that page, it made no sense but I need to know. I must keep at it. The positions and images are stars, this I know.  Stars… why am I filled with dread?

Dreading the restless days of harsh instruction. Why am I unable to master the spells? I am to be a great wizard. Insults from the instructor on my work? My measurements are off.  They are always off.  The mocking calls of other students?! I know I am capable of great things! Hot, flashing anger. Fist fights, blood. Too much blood. My blood? Running. Running as fast as I can.  Running with the book. Riding home in the back of a cart in defeat. The long journey home. Reading and teaching the other one as their father drives the cart. Mountains scraping the sky around us. Teaching them the meaning of the positioning. “Look, look there at the bright one where I am pointing-“ DON’T POINT TO THEM THEY MIGHT NOTICE. No, keep focused! Focus on… home-

Home. The north, yes, this place of deep seasons and emotions. The summer wildflowers and bees. I am a child?  Escaping chores to run through the wildflower fields of summer with… someone.  Someone important. Important to me?  My mother’s stern and worried call home, laughter at meals with the family, the harsh winter chilling to the core of my bones, the worried look of my parents over my sick bed. I never did regain my strength.

Not strong enough. Am I always to be the last one?! They’re passing me by for working the boats. Passing me by for working the mead halls.  Passed by for the guards and caravans? Laughter from those I knew as friends. Children are so cruel, crueler when they are nearly adults. Yet for their strength their eyes gaze upon the wonderous miracles performed before their eyes by the wielder of magic.  Of course! This is the answer to it all!  Unlock the secrets of strength beyond strength. Magical secrets! Secrets… my father has kept a grand secret: my first book!

Reading it cover to cover over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over by lamplight in the lofted barn. The smell of paper, straw, sweat, and manure – unabashed hope and ambition. Reading it over and over again. The delicate feeling of paper between your fingers, feeling them go dry from the touch of parchment… HANDS, oh, gods I had hands that could feel and touch and caress – my beloved?  My beloved!  Your kindness despite my frailness. Your belief in me gives me an inner strength.  I’m sorry I must go to study – I’m practically too old already – with them willing to take me I must take this chance.  I will be a powerful wizard – my strength will be envied by the others.  I will return and we will be happy.

Happy – more books. Piecing together something… new?  No, something very old.  Forgotten. Rites. Rituals but they make no sense. Sacrifices must be made – but how could I sacrifice another person?  No, I won’t.  But I must.  Perhaps something equal… no, greater, would be sufficient. A large animal might do the trick – a beast of burden.  To get to the site I’d need something that can travel off the paths.  An axebeak should do the trick if my measurements are aligned.

Aligned… the stars are aligned tonight, I must make the exchange for this gift of which the tome speaks. Power enough to solve our problems. Strength enough to show the others with their rote studies that I am not something to mock, I am great. I will not be the last one. Not anymore.  With this dagger across the throat of the axebeak, incantations and rites of old, with these ancient stars in alignment I open myself to the powers beyond!

Oh, gods… where have the stars gone?

I see nothing, yet I know that the darkness beyond darkness is reaching out it’s tendril to me – I must be strong. I have studied the rites.  I am strong. I must not look away. I CAN’T. LOOK AWAY! I CAN’T! Over and over and over and over and over and over and strength! Surging through my frame, bathing in the stars their light, my strength.  Growing.  Power beyond the wildest imaginings!  And yet, I am not alone here.  Another mind? Minds.  One very simple, one I cannot grasp, but I feel it grasp my mind like child testing the tension of  butterfly’s wings before they pop off its body.  And suddenly, everything happens.

The ages tick by in a moment and once again lights shimmer overhead. My, how my eyes look so vacant and yet grasping above me.  My throat looks so red.  Blood.  My blood? Warm life fading from our neck- NO! This cannot be my last memory! No, no, I’ll probe more.  Perhaps if I see more familiar sites and faces that will help.  Help… yes, I was doing this to help.  I must get  help to help.

ARVAL’S ORIGIN

(Created by Peter Heeringa)

Arval was born to a modest family of Good Mead: Cadell Terikson was one of the village’s trappers, journeying often into the White Woods to the west. His wife, Siani, was a daughter of the Rielsbarrow family, one of those who had helped build the Mead Hall and now prospered. (Siani was actually the younger of Kendrick Rielsbarrow, who has since become the Speaker of Good Mead.)

Arval grew up like many other children of the north — working hard and learning life’s lessons the same way. Arval, though, always tried to find and follow the easy route. Attempting to visit a friend named Fef Moryn when he should not have, Arval became lost in a winter storm. While he was recovered from the wilds, being bedridden for a season stunted his growth and his strength never really recovered.

While Arval still lay in his sickbed, his father was killed in a yeti attack. As best as the militia scouts could tell, the creatures — perhaps driven by hunger — had come down from the Spine of the World. Although the militia did a few sweeps, the yeti were never caught. A group of adventurers who followed up on the rumors a few months later found a cave deep in the woods, discovering signs that the yeti had moved on and also recovering bones which were likely those of Cadell Terikson.

As it became clear that he would not, in his weakened state, be able to live the life that others of his age were enjoying, Arval yearned for other forms of power. He set his mind to books and caught the attention of Dusica Breckinridge, the priestess of Tempus who served in the local shrine. Although he showed only mild aptitude, he made up for it by applying himself fully. For a time, he was joined in these scholastic endeavors by Fef. The connection between them deepened and love ensued. They parted ways only in 1486 DR when, after the death of his mother, Arval chose to head south to Luskan and seek admittance into the newly reformed Arcane Brotherhood.

Arriving in Luskan, Arval was overwhelmed by the size (and filth and smell) of the City of Sails. Despite feeling immense frustration as the “country bumpkin,” Arval was, in fact, accepted into the Host Tower by the Raven (whose real name Arval would later learn was Druette). He was apprenticed to Simona the Lion, one of Druette’s followers.

Arval’s time in Luskan was, sadly, not a happy one. Simona’s other apprentice – a tiefling named Avarice who was considerably more skilled in the arcane arts – was endlessly antagonistic, undermining and tormenting Arval at every opportunity. Arval also proved a poor student, picking up — with a great deal of effort — only the most minor of skills. However, while working on the archiving of the numerous arcane volumes pouring into the newly reconstituted Host Tower, he discovered a strange tome that hinted at some short cuts. Rather than cataloguing this volume, Arval secreted it away.

Shortly thereafter, however, Arval was dismissed from the tower by Druette for his poor performance. Simona expressed her deep sorrow in losing him as a student, but Avarice made it clear that it was, in fact, Simona who had recommended he be kicked out.

There was, however, one thing that Arval had proven adept at: Technomancy. Although he had little time to practice it under Simona’s guidance (for the Lion believed firmly in the traditionalist forms of arcane study), Arval spent some time after his expulsion in the summer of 1488 DR continuing his studies, seeking guidance from the technomancers of Luskan when he could.

With his funds running low, however, Arval decided to return to his hometown in the spring of 1489 DR. Crossing the Spine of the World, however, he was shocked to discover that the thaw had not yet come. In Good Mead once more, he discovered that Auril the Frostmaiden had laid a curse on the land and that things were becoming quite dire.

Arval became obsessed with the idea that his arcane magic was destined to save Good Mead. As the sun was slowly drowned by the horizon, however, it became clear his weak trinkets were worthless. His attention turned back to that volume of strange lore which he had purloined from the Host Tower. He began to suspect that the text within the book was shifting in response to his needs, and in time he found a ritual that would give him the power he needed.

After preparing the supplies he would need, Arval journeyed southeast across the wind-blasted tundra to an ancient stone circle located atop one of the foothills of the Spine which predated the settlement of Ten-Towns. Local legend actually held that these sarsens had placed here by the ancient empire of Netheril to serve as navigational beacons for their flying cities.

Whatever the case, Arval created the arcane circle described in the book. While making his preparations he discovered a strange owl carved from whalebone. Tucking it into his pouch, he placed the axebeak he had ridden there in the center of the circle. Under the right alignment of the stars, he sacrificed the axebeak. He felt his soul brushed by some vast and incomprehensible power. His mind screamed at its touch and things…

… went wrong.

The world twisted or he was twisted through the world, and in that moment he was either transformed into the axebeak or his consciousness was transferred into the axebeak’s body. For a time he wandered in confusion.

When he regained his senses and realized (more or less) what had happened to him, Arval tried to return home. But this didn’t go well for him: He couldn’t speak and his efforts to communicate were misunderstood. He narrowly escaped being penned and fled Good Mead to regroup.

Sadly, this experience was repeated each time he approached people. They would either flee from the wild terror bird or think to themselves, “Hey! Free axebeak!” and attempt to capture him. Arval fled further and further across Ten-Towns, until he eventually found himself on the shores of the Sea of Moving Ice, pecking out a lonely existence by snatching fish from the black waters.

It was during this time that the sun vanished entirely.

A few days ago, he found a half-drowned gnome washed up on the shore. At first Arval thought he was dead, but then the gnome managed to crack his eyes and look up at him. “Help… Please…”

Arval managed to use a little of his magic to quickly dry and warm the gnome. When the gnome awoke, Arval was surprised to discover that the gnome could understand him, and he had his first conversation in weeks. The gnome introduced himself as Wrenn Pilricken and seemed puzzled by Arval’s speech. After some study, he told Arval that, although he was squawking like an axebeak, he was making those sounds with human vocal cords.

Arval offered to take Wrenn to Bryn Shander. On the way there, Wrenn has been able to help Arval learn to control his voice, allowing him to slowly re-learn human speech.

DESCRIPTION

Arval is a little smaller than other axebeaks, standing a little over eight feet tall. His body is creamy gray (mostly darker, charcoal feathers with cream-colored down feathers beneath), but his face has vibrant blue feathers spreading out from his beak in a starburst pattern, curving up and around his eyes.

He wears a side saddlebag crammed with various papers, tools, and arcanocraft materials. Over his right eye are a series of automated lenses. Clipped to the saddlebags like a pocket watch are two holy symbols: The geared wheel of Gond and the unicorn pendant of Lurue.

GOOD MEAD

Good Mead has been known for its distinctive, treacly meads since the town’s founding and every tavern in Icewind Dale s accustomed to receiving regular mead deliveries. It was only four decades ago, however, that the new Mead Hall was completed, ending the town’s dependence on knucklehead trout fishing by allowing its apiaries to flourish throughout the Dale’s harsh winters.

Good Mead is one of two small towns on the shores of Redwaters. Contrary to its name, Redwaters sparkles emerald green during the day and silver in the evening. Unlike Maer Dualdon and Lac Dinneshere, Redwaters is somewhat sheltered from the glacial winds and is a relatively peaceful lake, plied by only a handful of sailboats and a few score coracles that glide across the surface like swans with their young.

The other town of Redwaters is Dougan’s Hole, which is every bit as fiercely independent as Good Mead and the two have a friendly rivalry. For the rest of Ten-Towns, however, “Good Mead and Dougan’s Hole” might as well be one town, almost always mentioned in the same breath. The people of Good Mead find this irksome, since they consider themselves quite different from all other townsfolk. And the folk of Dougan’s Hole find it downright insulting, because for some reason they always come second.

During the lean months of the Dale, the people of Dougan’s Hole are extremely protective of their provisions. (The cultural result of several bad famines in the mid-1400s.) “Warm as a winter greeting in Redwaters” is a common saying for an unfriendly welcome.

Shrine of the Flaming Sword: Dedicated to Tempus, this shrine was built in the 14^th century when rivalry between Dougan’s Hole and Good Mead led to open hostilities (which, in turn, led to the lake being named Redwaters for the blood spilt in it). Of late, worship of Tempus has waned, however, often leaving only Dusica Breckinridge to fulfill the old, lonely rites.

THE ARCANE BROTHERHOOD

In Luskan grows the Host Tower of the Arcane, the academy of magical training and headquarters of the Arcane Brotherhood. Located on Cutlass Island at the mouth of the River Mirar, the Host Tower was not built, but rather grown. A large, central spire resembling a tree of grey-black stone has four large limbs sprouting from it, one in each of the four cardinal directions. These limbs are covered in numerous turrets, towers, and balconies.

The Host Tower was destroyed in the late 14^th century, but in 1486 DR its ruined roots were regenerated and the tower grew anew. It was also at this time that the Arcane Brotherhood, which had been driven out of Luskan and scattered across the world, returned, gaining the trust of the people of Luskan by clearing undead from the ruins of Illusk, protecting the city from a dragon, and swearing an oath to stay out politics.

There are five leaders of the Arcane Brotherhood, each overseeing either the central spire or one of the cardinal limbs:

• Archmage Arcane: Cashaan el Farid, the Red
• Overwizard of the West: The White
• Overwizard of the South: The Blue
• Overwizard of the East: The Grey
• Overwizard of the North: The Raven

The leader of the Arcane Brotherhood is the Archmage Arcane, a title which stood more or less vacant for much of the 15^th century while the various regional factions of the Brotherhood squabbled with each other. As can be seen from the list above, most of the archwizards and other senior members remain enigmatic behind codenames, usually a chosen color (although those serving the Overwizard of the North have begun a new fashion for animal names). (Cashaan chose to be openly known during the organization’s return to Luskan to foster goodwill.) Other senior members known to be active include the Brown, the Crimson (not to be confused with the Red), the Peacock, and the Cerulean.

Although the Archmage Arcane was once more or less a tyrannical despot who ruled the Brotherhood with an iron first, after the reformation it appears things are more complicated, with the Overwizards each maintaining fiefs (both within the Host Tower and across Faerun, with each overwizard “responsible” for arcane matters within their cardinal quadrant) with a great deal of individual autonomy.

The Brotherhood has also been aggressively recruiting, sending out invitations to arcanists across the Sword Coast and beyond. Scores more have come without an invitation, hoping to gain admittance to the academy.

Membership Pin of the Arcane Brotherhood

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HUGIN JORHUND ATHUKAVORE THUUNLAKALAGA

(Created by Allen Voigt)

When he was young, Hugin wrangled with Jaagrik, Kaga, and Zuri, goliaths who were a little younger than him. (For a goliath, “wrangling” – which might be more accurately translated as something closer to “competing” – is the childhood word of playing.) During this time he was given the honorific of Athukavore, a goliath word which translates as “noisemaker.” But he grew apart from his playmates when he was taken under the wing of Kapanuk, one of the tribe’s Dawncallers.

Recognizing Hugin’s divine spark, Kapanuk sought to train Hugin to become a cleric of Talos, the God of Storms. Talos, however, did not seem to wish to use him as a conduit of power. Hugin hoped that things might change when he passed into adulthood, and so he gave up his “blood ball” (a mock javelin his father had made for him that was, in truth, little more than a pointy walking stick made of bone), and entered the Crawl: Passing through the tunnel, Hugin hallucinated that the wyrm which made up his home came back to life and melted the bones of his friends and family, only by plunging deep into the ice was he able to survive.

Hugin emerged from the Crawl into adulthoos. But nothing had changed. There was still no divine spark. Frustrated, Hugin took a pilgrimage to Luskan. In the City of Sails, a member of the Arcane Brotherhood named Nass Lantomir convinced him to take part in the Wet Parade at the Winter Palace.

The white-spired Winter Palace is Auril’s temple in Luskan. The structure is a roofless array of pillars and arches carved of white stone. The rituals of Auril’s worship often seem cruel to outsiders.

The Wet Parade is a ritual in which supplicants don garments packed with ice. They then journey between six white pillars known as the Kisses of Auril, which are dispersed throughout the city. The worshippers move from pillar to pillar, chanting prayers to the goddess. Upon reaching a pillar, a supplicant must climb it and then “kiss the lady,” touching lips to a rusty iron plate at the top.

These events resemble frantic footraces. In winter, there is the added risk of frostbite and injuries caused by falling from the ice-slicked pillars. The parade runners are cheered on by patrons who come out of nearby taverns to place bets on the stamina of the participants. Those who finish the race are thought to have helped make the winter easier, and they rarely have to pay for food or ale all winter long. (Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, p. 25)

There is some similarity between Luskan’s Wet Parade and the Blesstide “parade” of Waterdeep: On Auril’s Blesstide, an informal festival held on the first day of frost, paraders dressed in white cloaks (but otherwise naked) run from Cliffwatch in the North Ward across the city, through West Gate, and then leap into the icy waters of the Sea of Swords. (City of Splendors, p. 15)

The Six Kisses each represents a different principle of Auril’s faith, while also physically combining two of Auril’s three forms (which are the Cold Crone, the Brittle Maiden (Lady Icekiss), and the Winter’s Womb (the Queen of Frozen Tears)):

• The Kiss of Ice, which is fairly self-explanatory; it is the crucible in which faith and mortal strength are tested (Maiden ascendant, with the Crone)
• The Kiss of Fire’s Quenching, which is not only the literal quenching of fire’s warmth, but also symbolically the destruction of civilization as personified in the hearth (Crone ascendant, with the Womb)
• The Kiss of the Open Door, for Auril holds that no structure should be made fast against the wild cold (Maiden ascendant, with the Womb)
• The Kiss of the North Wind, which is also known as Auril’s Breath or the Breath of Death; it is one and the same with the cold lack which is the air in a dead man’s lungs (Winter’s Womb ascendant, with the Crone)
• The Kiss of Darkness, also known as the Kiss of Isolation, for in the darkness each man stands alone, revealing the lonely truth of all sentience (Crone ascendant, with the Maiden)
• The Kiss of Eternity, for in ice that which would elsewise be lost will be forever preserved (Winter’s Womb ascendant, with the Maiden)

How much of this symbolism Hugin understood is uncertain, but as a goliath completing the challenge was an easy feat when walking among humans. Nevertheless, he still felt no flow of power from the Frostmaiden upon the completion of the ritual.

Later, however, Hugin was drunk at a local tavern. He was approached by a tiefling woman with light blue skin. At times it seemed to him as if she was rimed in ice, although it seemed hard to be certain, and if he looked at her out of the corner of his eye it seemed as if her eyes were black, empty pits. She told him that if he still sought divine recognition and the holy purpose which came with it, then a path had been laid for him. “Look for the man with the eye of ice. He will show you the way.”

Then she was gone.

But later that same evening, a man with an eye of magical ice sat down next to him and offered to buy him a drink. Then he offered him a job: He’d heard that Hugin was from Icewind Dale, “And I have need of… let’s say a bounty hunter.” It seemed that someone had published a scurrilous treatise called The Hellbent Highborn accusing several prominent patriars in Baldur’s Gate and nobles in Waterdeep of being devil worshipers. They had not been able to discover the author’s true identity, but they knew that they had fled to Icewind Dale by way of Luskan. “All we want is for this criminal to be found and for justice to be done. You understand?”

Hugin left the bar with a pouch of gold coin and immediately made arrangements to work his way back to the Dale as a caravan guard. If hunting down this criminal and seeing her brought to justice was that path to divine recognition, then he would see it done and become what he was meant to be.

DESCRIPTION

Hugin is a dark gray-skinned goliath, standing 6’10”. He’s bald, with lithoderms – coin-sized bone-and-skin growths as hard as pebbles – speckling his skin. Around his joints (at elbows, knees, collar, hips, and so forth) are chalky white calluses, and where the skin meets these protuberances there is a dark grey-blue pattern radiating radiating out.

WYRMDOOM CRAG

W1 -VALLEY. The bones of a dragon lie half-buried in the snow. Ground slopes up from the dragon to the crag’s entrance; stone stairs to the east lead up to the goat-ball court.

Chwingas. Tiny fairies known as chwingas are often seen flitting among the dragon bones. You know that one of them is fascinated by whistling and will come capering out whenever someone is whistling a tune. Another is fascinated by their own reflection.

W2 – GOAT-BALL COURT. Fifteen crude stone pillars stand in this raised area, with bleachers carved into the rocks. (See Goat-Ball.)

W3 – WEAPONSMITH. Your clan’s weaponsmith is Wayani Highhunter. She says she learned her forge-craft from a dwarf of Mithril Hall.

W4 – THE CRAWL. Your clan’s soft-worker, Demelok Nightwalker, dyes cloth and tans leather here. The center of the cavern bulges up, revealing a passage. Through this passage young goliaths must pass in order to become full-fledged adults. They offer up a symbol of their childhood — a doll — and crawl through the tunnel. Members of their family wait for them on the other side, ready to welcome them into adulthood. While passing through the tunnel, visions force them to face their fears. If they cannot complete the journey, then they are not ready for the trials of adulthood.

W5 – MAIN HALL. This cavern has a domed roof and a well. The southern portion of the cave is about ten feet higher and the clan-fire is kept burning here. This is where the clan gathers and socializes.

W6 – PRIVATE CAVES. These private caves are home to the “honored elders” of the clan — Wayani the Weaponsmith, Demelok the Soft-Worker, Chieftain Ogolai Orcsplitter, and Bodysmith (medicine-worker) Aruk Thundercaller.

W7 – FEASTING CAVE. This is both where the food is prepared and the feasting occurs. Members of the clan who do not have a private cave sleep here. Feast-hall wrestling helps establish the pecking order in the clan.

GOLIATH CULTURAL NOTES

Food & Drink: Elk meat, goat’s milk, berries, smoked fish.

Daily Routine: At dawn each day, the chief selects Captains who are tasked with different duties (hunting, fishing, repairing broken furniture, etc.). In addition to the clan Elders, these captains then select members of the tribe round-robin style to assist in their duties. It’s not unusual for multiple teams to be selected for the same task (i.e., multiple hunting groups), in which case informal and formal competitions between them are common.

Names: Goliaths have three names. A birth name (given by their mother and father), an honorific or nickname that can change at the whim of the chieftain (usually reflecting something they did that was particularly useful to the tribe or as a punishment for something foolish or dangerous), and the clan name. (Your clan name is Thuunlakalaga.)

• Example Honorifics: Highclimber, Nighthunter, Bearkiller, Dawncaller, Fearless, Horncarver, Skywatcher, Wordpainter, Latesleeper, Wanderlost, Shytongue, Stumblefoot

Language: Gol-Kaa, which has only thirteen phonetic elements (a, e, g, i, k, l, m, n, o, p, u, th, and v). Relatively recently, the goliaths have picked up the dwarven alphabet and begun using it to transcribe their oral traditions, etc.

Art: Most goliath art is abstract, based on astronomical observations. Their portrait art is highly abstract, with the figure being portrayed more as a constellation of their achievements rather than visual representation of what they physically look like.

Goliath clans often have dawncallers – bards who act as both sentries and lorekeepers for the tribe. Goliaths, whether dawncallers or not, are great tale-tellers and have a rich oral tradition of stories, myths, legends, and songs.

Competition: Goliath culture features a lot of competition. It’s baked into daily tasks and most forms of recreation. They often keep track of their social relationship in the form of tallies or scores (“twice more and I’ll have saved you from wolves twelve times” or “this is the fourth time I’ve given you a healing potion”).

• This includes competing with themselves: Once a goliath has done something (e.g., slay a dragon) they won’t be happy unless they’ve one-upped the accomplishment (e.g., slay two dragons, or an older dragon, or a dragon with a large hoard). Their word for becoming an adult can be literally translated as “champion.” (But, of course, even a champion has to compete to keep their title.) And their word for “chieftain” would be more accurately translated as “champion of champions.”
• Goliaths also prize fair competition. Cheating is anathema and they also feel strongly that everyone should have their turn and an equal opportunity.

Sports: Wrestling, stubborn root (like king of the hill), cliff-bolting (a vertical climbing race), goat-ball.

Honored Elders: Not all of these positions can be found in every clan.

• Chieftain
• Weaponsmith
• Soft-Worker (skilled in cloths, leather, etc.)
• Bodysmith (a medicine-worker)
• Skywatcher (religious leader)
• Adjudicator (referees for the games goliaths play, but also act as judges for other disputes)
• Childsmith (responsible for raising and watching over the clan’s children, sometimes referred to as the Tent-Mother or Tent-Father)

Dawncallers: Dawncallers aren’t exactly elders. They are the “ones who walk at night” – acting as sentries or otherwise taking care of tasks that need to be completed at night. It’s an honored position, which exempts them from the daily captain-calls. The dawncallers are often seen as mysterious and enigmatic, but they share morning and evening meals with the rest of the tribe and, particularly at the evening meal, share the oral history of the tribe (which they learn and share with each other during tehri nightly vigils).

GOAT-BALL

See Icewind Dale: Goat-Ball for the full rules and customs of the game.

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YGRA DUNN

(Created by Heather Burmeister)

Ygra (pronounced EE-grah) Dunn was born to human parents someplace in Ten-Towns. Or so she assumes. She has no idea where she was born or who her parents are, but she does know that somewhere in the wilderness north of Ten-Towns, she was… lost? Abandoned? The Frozenfar can be treacherous and it’s not unheard of for travelers with children to lose them in one of the hellish snowstorms that sweep the territory during winter.

Regardless of how she ended up there, one thing she does know is that she’s the luckiest human on this side of the Spine of the World. For reasons still unknown to her, she was spared from icy doom and was taken in by a yeti clan. The yetis raised Ygra as one of their own, and she formed deep bonds with her new family unit, especially the yeti Uziwe. Uziwe taught Ygra all about the landscape and how to move in it, and made her a part of the family unit. It was also common among the yeti to learn how to defend themselves against the weapons the humans used. Ygra learned their fighting style, their customs and their language, and was protected throughout her childhood. Coming of age proved difficult, however, with her differences from the tribe becoming more pronounced, and there were many things Uziwe could not teach her. Ygra set off on her own when she was a teen to find her place again among humans.

It started with following the caravans, getting close to them. Ygra inherited  a natural distrust of people from her yeti mother figure, and also didn’t speak Common. She discovered quickly which humans were apt to part with some meager rations and which ones would chase her away with weapons. She also quickly learned that if a caravan had stopped to camp at night you didn’t always have to beg for the food, you could just take it. Through her training with the yetis, Ygra knew how to use the landscape to her advantage and hide from any guards that were posted. She was very successful, making off with rations that were delicious – salted meats, dried fruits, things she’d never tasted. She also sometimes came away with furs and pelts she would craft into clothing which she desperately needed. The only time she failed was in trying to steal anything from Reddick Lightbrewer, and that failure changed her life forever.

Reddick was a dwarven caravan guard who caught Ygra rifling through his belongings while she thought he was asleep. Naturally, the dwarf attacked, but he was alarmed to discover a gangly, gaunt-looking teen. Regardless, Ygra almost bested him with nothing but her fists and fled into the surrounding area. Reddick, fascinated by this seemingly primitive youth, continued to come into the wilderness where he’d last seen the girl and leave rations, clothing, and warm blankets.  He’d camp nearby, and each time the supplies were gone. Through his kindness, she began to trust him, and eventually accompanied him to the city of Bryn Shander. Reddick lived in a small shack on the outskirts of town, and more or less adopted her as his strange ward. She helped with cooking, cleaning, mending and housework and he’d teach her Common, Dwarvish, and how to read and write. Most importantly, though, he taught her how to fight with weapons. That was her favorite part. Ygra spent countless hours sparring with Reddick, learning the atlatl and quarterstaff.

She got good enough that, when she came of age, Reddick invited her to come along with him on the caravans between Ten-Towns as a guide and guard. Her Common and Dwarvish got even better, and she learned some exciting new words that Reddick deemed “weren’t for ladies,” but she said them anyway.

Ygra was an excellent guide. She’d disappear on the trails ahead only to circle back around behind the caravan like a ghost to confirm that coast was clear. Life was good and went on like this for a number of years until the day when Reddick disappeared. There was a note left one morning, hastily written in Dwarvish, and all it said was, “Watch yourself. Take care of yourself. Back soon”.

The days passed and morphed slowly into weeks, which bled into months, and then, eventually, time just spread out into a new normalcy. Ygra told anyone looking for Reddick as a guide that he’d be returning, but she could help. She still kept the cabin clean, his quarters especially, and settled into a pattern of waiting. Ten years passed like this.

Eventually the upkeep and waiting for a ghost wore on her. She grew tired of keeping up a place that wasn’t hers in the hope that something might change. So, just as she’d done when she’d barely become a teen, she struck out on her own. The fishing captains in Targos were looking for guards to keep their catches safe from thieves on the docks and from sea monsters on the lakes, and the money was good. She left a note for Reddick on the table, locked the front door, and struck out.

Ygra has lived in Targos for the past four years, working for a variety of captains, occasionally freelancing for the Dockworkers’ Guild, and intermittently going back to the old work of guiding and guarding caravans. Lately, Skath, the captain of the local militia since Speaker Naerth was elected a little while back, has been eagerly pursuing her; encouraging her to sign up for the militia, although she’s turned him down several times. She’s known around the city and has a few acquaintances, maybe even friends. She has a humble home on the outskirts of town which stays warm and comfortable, even now that the cold has somehow gotten… colder.

But when the caravans bring her close, she still stops by the shack in Bryn Shander to check for signs of Reddick, and keeps her ear to the ground listening for clues.

DESCRIPTION

Ygra is a small human woman, barely 5′ tall. She has deep, coal colored eyes and dark auburn hair, almost black. Her skin is tanned and weathered from her years spent in the elements, and sometimes she still speaks with a strange cadence, or has an odd turn of phrase in common. Her clothes are largely homemade from different animal furs or skins, but recently she almost exclusively wears her fur tundra gear to protect from the cold. When asked, she says she was raised outside of Bryn Shander, closely guarding her yeti upbringing.

YETI CLANS

Yeti clans in the area around Ten-Towns are divided between the glacial clans (like the one Ygra belonged to) and the mountain prides (who live up in the Spine of the World).

The glacial clans are matriarchal. Or, more accurately, almost entirely feminine. Mothers and daughters create huddles and establish homes (often in glacial caves). Male yetis among the glacial clans are solitary and nomadic, being cast out from the clan homes at a very young age and visiting them only rarely in later years.

The mountain prides are small bands of mixed gender strongly organized around the leadership of whichever yeti has proven themselves strongest. The prides are more fractious and far less stable than the glacial tribes, with yeti frequently shifting between prides and prides frequently splitting apart or subjugating rivals.

The clans and prides are only loosely organized into large societies, lacking both the size and order of the Reghed clans (see below). But they are very distinct from each other, with slightly different dialects of the Yeti tongue and usually proffering violence when they encounter each other.

REGHED TRIBES

The Reghed often hunted and clashed with the yeti, and the glacial clans in particular have a long-running feud with them. Ygra was taught to fear the Reghed, for they were not to be trusted, and she heard many tales of how they had murdered, hunted, or plundered the homes of the yeti. She never saw their murderous violence firsthand, but on more than one occasion a hunting party of yeti would come back bearing the bodies of those slain and she would mourn with them during the traditional burial rites.

The Reghed are the children of the Reghed glacier. They are tall, fair-haired (brown, red, or light brown), and blue-eyed, wearing heavy furs and brightly dyed clothes crafted from animal hides. Their skin is bronzed from the sun and cracked by the wind. They’re a nomadic people, following the herds of reindeer along their annual migration routes and sharing their large, round tents with their sled dogs. They speak Reghedjic.

There are several core values esteemed in Reghed culture:

• The tribe is one spirit, always on the move. When the motion of the spirit comes to an end, the body dies. So it is with the tribe.
• For the tribe to survive, all must work together. And no member of the tribe is left behind by the tribe.
• The land respects only strength. The strong flourish; the weak perish.
• Magic is not to be trusted, for it is used by the weak and evil.

They are organized into a number of tribes, each of made up of a number of smaller clans unified in their devotion to a specific tribal beast totem of Tempos, the god of war. The shamans who commune with the totem spirits have great power within the tribes, but they are led by the chieftains of each clan who collectively choose the most powerful among them to become the tribe’s king or queen. (The interesting bit is defining what “strongest” means and how it will be measured.)

The Tribe of the Bear. The Tribe of the Bear often haunts the shores of the Sea of Moving Ice far to the north of Ten-Towns. The tribe has shrunk precipitously, and today there are only two clans left: One led by Wolvig Barrundson and another by Gunvald Halraggson.

The Tribe of the Elk. The largest and most populous of the tribes. Their king is Jarund Elkhardt, who views the people of Ten-Towns with a mixture of disdain (they are a “tamed people”) and disinterest.

The Tribe of the Tiger. A fractious tribe who avoids the powerful Elk while preying on the weaker Bear and Wolf tribes. They are ruled by Queen Bjornhild Solvigsdottir, who was the wife of the late King Korold and fought alongside him in many battles.

The Tribe of the Wolf. The smallest of the tribes, to survive the Tribe of the Wolf has welcomed many outsiders, including outcasts from Ten-Towns, disenfranchised members of other tribes, and even goblinoids. The Tribe is fractious and its chiefs have been unable to agree on a king for more than a decade. One of its most powerful chiefs is Isarr Kronenstrom, who worships Malar the Beast Lord and is known to hunt Ten-Towners for sport. Isarr has of late declared himself the Wolf King, despite other clan chieftains like Rhun Meirchion and Owain Lilwarch not recognizing his claims.

The Tribe of the Seal. They have actually left Icewind Dale entirely, migrating into the Sea of Moving Ice and settling in ice-fortresses as fishers and whalers. The other tribes no longer recognize them as Reghed.

The Tribe of the Caribou. Also known as the Lost Tribe, during the Spellplague the last surviving members of the Tribe of the Caribou were seen climbing atop the Reghed Glacier… and were never seen again. Some assume they died out. Other tales claim that they passed far to the north. Or the south. Or were led by the caribou totem spirits into a green paradise that lies hidden within the glacier.

Although the Tribe of the Elk has slowly learned to live in peace with the people of Ten-Towns, the other tribes are a constant threat to them. However, they spend just as much time feuding and fighting with each other. However, the tribes collectively hate orcs, white dragons, and frost giants, and will readily set aside their differences to ally against such threats.

BRYN SHANDER

Bryn Shander is the Tenth Town of Ten-Towns. Originally it was a lone cabin on the trail to Mael Dualdon where caravanners, weary from their trip over the pass, would rest by a warm fire before continuing to their intended destination – usually Targos, the most accessible settlement in those days. Fishers from the towns often came to the hilltop cabin to meet the caravans as they arrived, eager for news from the outside world. But when scrimshanders from Termalaine began bringing their wares to the cabin to entice the richest goods from the caravans before they reached the other towns, they ignited a trade war.

As other towns sent their own traders to the cabin, new buildings and infrastructure were constructed. Finally, after a feud broke out between four of the traders that ended in bloodshed, all of the towns of Icewind Dale agreed to send speakers to the new outpost to regular business being carried out there.

Market Square: Has a number of major businesses surrounding the central market, notably including the Town Hall, Rendaril’s Emporium (where the original cabin stood and now the largest trade house in the city), Blackiron Blades (the cheapest blades in Ten-Towns!), and the Hooked Knucklehead (a cheap inn where caravan crews often stay).

The Northlook: The inn and tavern most frequented by mercenaries and adventurers, and thus the most crowded and dangerous place in town. At the same time, its taproom is the best spot in all of Ten-Towns to get leads on profitable ventures, along with the latest news and rumors. The proprietor is a retired sellsword named Scramsax.

Geldenstag’s Rest: One of the oldest establishments in town, far enough from the center of things for people to be able to keep a low profile.

TARGOS

Targos is located on the southern shore of Maer Dualdon. Nestled within a series of high cliff walls that shelter its port from the savage winter winds of the Dale, the city has also built a wall which extends out into the harbor and protects their fleet from the battering storm waves that afflict the fleets of other towns. The protection of the wall also enables Targos’ shipbuilding industry to work year-round.

The current Speaker of Targos is Naerth Maxildnarr who was recently elected only a few months ago, displacing former Speaker Glandro Holfast (who remains the head of the Dockworkers’ Guild).

The Luskan Arms: The oldest public house in Ten-Towns, established back when Bryn Shander was still just “the camp on the hill” and Luskan was still a thriving free port. Many of the traders who came to Targos back then hailed from Luskan, so the Luskan Arms was built to look like an inn that might be found in the City of Sails. In recent years, the place has fallen into disrepair and is infested with rats.

Three Flags Sailing: A tavern frequented mostly by the local fishermen. Run by Ethel Yarbroul, a gray-haired widow better known as “Ma” by the regulars.

Triglio: A general store selling everything except fishing and sailing supplies (which are sold through specialty stores closer to the docks). It takes its name from one of the chanteys that the fishers of Targos sing while hard at work:

Trig-lee-oh, lads, an’ ‘oist upon the line!
Trig-lee-oh, lads, an’ bring yon fishers in!

Graendal’s Fine Dwarven Craft: A smithy run by Graendal Granitefist, one of the original dwarves who fled Mithral Hall with Clan Battlehammer and resettled in Icewind Dale.

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WRENN PILWICKEN

(Created by Erik Malm)

In 1451 DR, Mount Hotenow in the Crags cataclysmically erupted, ripping apart the city of Neverwinter and opening the Chasm which left the city exposed to the plaguechanged depths of the Underdark.

To the south, in a gnome enclave deep within the Neverwinter Woods, this was the very moment at which Wrenn Pilwicken was born.

The Hotenow eruption also affected the Neverwinter Woods. The thin skein of reality between the Feywild and the mortal plane was ripped apart, leaving, in addition to many portals, remnants and extrusions of the fey realms scattered throughout the forest. This notably included the ruins of Sharandar, the treetop capital of the elven empire of Iliyanbruen which once ruled much of the North. Iliyanbruen was formed in -1100 DR when the even larger elven empire of Illefarn dissolved. It stood for more than a millennium before collapsing in 177 DR. As their empire fell, the elves of Iliyanbruen sought to preserve the beauties of Sharandar within the echoes of the Feywild; like some precious jewel preserved within amber. The eruption left in its wake a multitude of echoes of an echo that had lived in a ream.

Wrenn grew up in this history-haunted wood. Although he could speak to animals, like his brethren, and felt a connection to the forest, he found himself drawn to the wider wonders of nature. In his youngling teens, Wrenn began venturing beyond the borders of Neverwinter Woods. His journeys took him west to the coast, south into the foothills of the Sword Mountains, and even dared one journey into the upper reaches of the ancient dwarven city of Gauntlgrym, located in the Crags northeast of Mount Hotenow.

Journeying even farther into the Sword Mountains, Wrenn met a dwarven druid named Dolodrus Rubybane. Rubybane taught him the importance of preserving the balance among the elements and began to train him in the ways of the druids, introducing him to the worship of Silvanus, one of the Gods of Harmony (along with Chauntea, goddess of agriculture, and Lathander the Morninglord, god of the dawn) who stood opposed to the Gods of Fury (Talos the Destroyer, Auril the Frostmaiden, Malar the Beastlord, and Umberlee the Bitch Queen).

Wrenn visited the druid often, but upon one of his trips he discovered that Rubybane was simply… gone. Everything suggested he had simply moved on during the winter.

Returning to Neverwinter Woods, Wrenn became interested in finding ways of restoring balance between the feywild cysts and the natural world. One of his most memorable encounters during this time was with an archmage named Orapius, who presented himself as being a wizard of Sembia seeking the lost heritage of Netheril. (Netheril was an empire even older than Iliyanbruen, marked by an upper class who lived in floating cities. Netheril infamously fell when a disruption of the Weave caused arcane magic to temporarily fail, causing their cities to fall from the sky.) Orapius was eventually revealed to be a fey lord merely impersonating a Netherese mage.

Recently, Wrenn heard that Auril the Frostmaiden was disrupting the natural order in Icewind Dale, cursing it with an eternal winter. He felt compelled to journey north to see if he could help return balance to the blighted land. Working his way north and seeking both information and passage in Luskan, he was captured by slavers who intended to sell him to the whaling fleets of the Sea of Moving Ice. (Possibly as bait.)

While sailing north, the slavers’ ship was surprised by a blizzaught – a powerful snow elemental taking the form of a sentient blizzard. In the deadly confusion (and suffering a moment of panic himself), Wrenn was able to wildshape for the first and, so far, only time into an arctic fox, hiding deep within the ship as the storm tore it apart. Despite their desperate prayers (and even sacrifices) to Auril, one by one the crew succumbed to the elements as the ship became trapped in the moving ice sheets. Wrenn was able to survive, much to his horror, only by eating the remains of his captors.

As the ship slowly drifted through the sea of moving ice, locked between the ice flows, one day he heard a sound like thunder as the hull itself cracked, crushed between the icebergs. Wrenn could see the coast in the distance and, not knowing what else to do, fled without hope across the shifting ice, praying he could find a path to stable land.

After two days of fleeing across the ice flow, soaking wet and nearly frozen to death, Wrenn finally collapsed on the solid shore of Icewind Dale. His last memory was of an approaching axe beak. On the edge of consciousness, Wrenn wasn’t sure if he understood the axe beak to be saying,” What are you doing here?” because he could speak with animals or if the axe beak was… actually speaking in Common?

Although he knew that his life would probably end at the beak of this territorial creature, he just barely managed to whisper, “Help me… Please…” as the darkness and the cold consumed him.

DESCRIPTION

Wrenn is a fierce 2’8” tall, lithe even for a gnome. He has a sandy blond mop of medium length hair that’s always a little unkempt, as if he just got caught in the wind or something. He keeps his beard neater, in a dwarven style with an elaborate braid. Unlike many gnomes, he wears fairly subdued clothes, with colors selected to blend into his surroundings. But he does wear jewelry — a necklace, several bracelets, a selection of earrings — composed of brightly colored stones, many of which he has tales to tell of, for he found them on his “rambles” (as he refers to his adventures).

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