Some considered the icy, frozen wastes at the far north of Valoran just that - a bleak landscape devoid of anything but snow, yetis and the occasional frosty corpse of an adventurer who had bitten off slightly more than he could chew. Even the names in this desolate place seemed to echo their remoteness and the enormous expanse of empty space that was the Freljord's tundra: Romke's Gap, the Gelid Vortex, and Cracked Skull Camp, to name a few. To others, it was home. The icy spires and glacier plains were alive and teeming with life, if only you knew where to look. Though the windswept marches and vast muskeg holes were littered with corpses, it was only the overly zealous or overly stupid that ended up falling into their early graves. And, from death there is always life, however short and sweet.
It was early spring, when the ice first began melting and running down from the glaciers. Rivers blossomed from the snow and life began anew. As the vast sheets of white disappeared from the ranges and plains, life once again began peeking out from between the icy cracks in the ground. Half-starved poros popped out of their dens once again, hopping over the lichens and arctic poppies in force. The soccer ball-sized adults contrasted heavily with their smaller young; the adults seemed slow and lethargic after a winter's hibernation, while the young, still brave and bewildered by the world around them, ran circles around their parents. Gleefully bumping heads and running around to investigate their surroundings, the pups seemed to have little care in the world.
During the first couple months of a poro's life, they tended to remain hidden during the day. The young were relatively small and defenseless, and the adults were not capable of defending their young very well after hibernation. With no fangs, claws, and only rudimentary horns, poros were as close to the bottom of the food chain as was possible. However, they did have one evolutionary advantage that almost ensured their survival: they were undeniably adorable. Poros were essentially a small ball of fluff with two small curving horns, a pair of big eyes, an enormous mouth with an equally oversized tongue. White at birth, they turned gray with age.
In the past, the only animals that had been worth domesticating were the dolyaks and wolves that prowled the high plains. Now, however, poros were a more common sight inside the holds and towns that littered the countryside. People would feed and care for poros, though they mainly benefited from benign neglect: the safety that the city provided with the free food that was readily available in garbage and scraps caused their population to explode. Especially in the capital, Rakelstake.
Set on an enormous, frozen lake in the heights of the Ironspike Mountains, Rakelstake had once been nothing more than a small trapper's hold. Years later, it had grown into the largest settlement in the Freljord, with a population reaching into the thousands. While many Freljordians preferred the nomadic lifestyle, enough had decided to settle that Rakelstake had also become the center of power in the region, as well as the biggest static population in the north.
The city sat in a ravine between the two halves of the Avarosan Iceflow Glacier. Both of the glacial walls had been carved, hollowed out and reinforced with magic to make suitable housing where the banks of the lake could not. In the winter, the lake was nothing more than a giant sheet of ice, perfect for fast transport and entertainment. In the summer, it was a vast, slow-moving river that flowed out of the mountains and into the southern parts of Valoran. Though it was treacherous in the fall, when the ice was thin, it was at its worst in the spring. Melt water from higher in the mountains softened the ice and turned it into a death trap, sometimes keeping people locked in their homes or on small islands until the waters receded. Though the flood lasted only a couple days, every year there were casualties. This year would be no different.
After a long day helping her men and women down by the river, the Queen of Freljord was retiring for the evening. Sore and worn out, she slowly marched up the long stairway into the palace. She did not really enjoy living in the frozen throne room of the palace, simply because it made her feel like her people were considering her more important than she considered herself. The crystalline walls felt more like a prison than a royal house, and every day that she was forced to spend in her palace was one she felt that she had lost. Of course, becoming a champion in the League of Legends had helped her greatly by giving her an excuse to get out more, but it simply was not enough. Arriving on the landing, the queen drew a deep breath and held it. Hopefully, there was no one inside waiting for her tonight. Once she stepped through the door she gave a soft sigh and glanced around her barren throne room. Tryndamere was gone once again, probably fighting some barbarian threat on the borders, or simply showing force to keep the Noxians at bay - not that the Noxians had any desire to return to the snow and cold at this time of year.
Pausing for a moment at her frozen throne, Ashe let her eyes trace the enormous chair's contours. Larger than Tryndamere's throne and centered in the room, the overly-ornate seat set Ashe's teeth on edge. It felt flashy. Gaudy. She could not tell the craftsman - who had been very proud in his work - that it disgusted her. Carved from ice, anyone who touched it found their body frostbitten almost immediately; when she sat in it, however, it simply felt cool. Large spikes rose on either side of the back piece, which was carved with the totems of the four spirits of the wild: Bear, Tiger, Turtle and Phoenix.
With a final, cursory glance at her chair - for that was all that it really was - Ashe turned to leave. There was still a good distance to go before she found her destination. While Ashe weaved her way through the shimmering passages and narrow halls that littered the iceberg that had become her home, she found herself lost in thought. The past couple days she had felt tense. There was no real reason behind it, either, but she had felt the call of the wilds scratching in the furthest recesses of her mind, as though something was trying to draw her out of her city. Of course, her first instinct was to rush off and find whatever was nagging her; her years of ruling had taught her that this may not have been the best course of action. No, for now, she would bide her time and wait. If the nagging grew stronger, then she would investigate.
The queen stopped for a moment to glance around a corner. With no one in sight, she let out a long sigh and loosened her cloak. Warm, yes, but not exactly the most comfortable thing in the world to wear for long periods of time. Especially considering the fact that it weighed almost ten pounds by itself, soaked with silt-laden river water and sweat. Ashe considered letting her cloak simply fall to the floor, but with a resigned sigh she picked it back up, slung it over her shoulder, and carried it to her quarters.
Much like the rest of the palace, Ashe found her room much too extravagant for her tastes. The barbarians that had followed Tryndamere and moved in with the Avarosan made short work of showing their allegiance by showering her people in gifts. The barbarians received much more than they had given, granted, but Ashe saw this as the first act towards a unified front. Her room alone contained several furs, weapons, and even a few couches fashioned to look like the ones found in a Demacian noble's estate. Though comfortable, she found them oddly excessive; why should she enjoy the comforts of a lush life when her people were some of the hardiest in the world. It seemed counterproductive, if not downright insulting. Her bed was much the same way, though that was one luxury she couldn't give up. After a lifetime of sleeping on the permafrost with nothing but furs for insulation and padding, the bed was a very welcome change. It had taken some getting used to, but now she could not go without.
Before Ashe headed down to her favourite hideaway, the archer tossed her cloak over one of the many chairs that littered the room. This one in particular sat around a table that had a large map of the Freljord spread across its length. Her fingers traced the contours of her nation, though a small frown tugged her full lips down at the edges. There was still so much work to be done, even with the addition of Tryndamere's people. Mentally, the Frost Archer blotted out the areas she had no control over: from Breakneck Gulch in the south, across the Whitefrost Drifts and into the Ironspike mountains. An enormous swathe of land still controlled by the Winter's Claw.
After tapping her finger on the parchment a couple times, Ashe straightened, sighed, and pulled her silvery hair around to her front. Peace would come, but not in time. Many lives would still be senselessly thrown away for nothing but pride and arrogance. And though some may die honourably through battle, the majority of them would be from starvation, freezing, or, in the case of the Winter's Claw tribe, murder. The Winter's Claw believed only the strong should survive, and all others were inferior; if someone ended up sick or injured and could not recover on their own, more often than not they were left to die on the tundra. Ashe bit her tongue at the mere thought of it. Something as simple as a broken ankle could easily be viewed as an insurmountable obstacle. The Avarosan simply saw it as murder. No more, no less.
With her mood further dampened, the queen brushed her hand across the parchment and she headed for the heavy pine door that kept her icy chambers somewhat private. The crystalline walls had been reinforced with both stone and magic, a combination that made them nearly impregnable. Even with the hearth burning away in the center of the room, the ice would not melt. Before she parted her room, she made sure to brush her light armour down. A simple leather strap kept her navy blue bodice in place. With no sleeves, only her braces provided any kind of protection for her arms and hands - in the elements of the Freljord, her attire may have seemed light, but she was no regular woman. Her armour was finished off with a thigh-length skirt that was both practical for her and distracting for her enemies. On the Fields of Justice, any advantage was worth grabbing, even if it meant sinking to levels that she wouldn't normally choose to. After spending so much time there, however, this new style seemed to become a second skin. She flicked some latent silt from the gold trim on her bust line before finally pulling the heavy oaken door open and wandering out into the hallways.
It was still a good distance before she finally reached her destination: a hot spring just over a kilometer from the palace itself. The location was relatively remote and known by few; a key selling point for someone of royal blood. Before sinking into the steaming waters, Ashe knelt down and tested them with her sore fingers. Almost too hot to touch, yet just what the doctor ordered. Satisfied with the temperature, Ashe stood and glanced around. Large granite slabs littered the small lee, making this a perfect ambush spot for as comfortable as it was to relax in. Once she was sure that nothing lurked in the growing shadows, the Frost Archer began to relax fully.
The first thing she got rid of was her bow. She meandered around the rocky shelf that projected over the spring and placed her icy bow on a small, convenient ledge. A 'gift' of sorts from her ancestor, Avarosa herself, the bow was one of the few remaining True Ice weapons in the world. It had saved Ashe from many an ambush, both on and off the Fields of Justice. And though she had no children of her own, that bow was as close as she intended to get for a very long time. Once her bow had left her hands, the archer sat down and began to remove her armour. Two straps on either bracer had to be loosened and then she wriggled free of their confines. After a moment of stretching her fingers to stimulate circulation, she began on her greaves. Easier to put on, a bit more complex to remove, but they provided protection that boots alone wouldn't. Instead of immediately starting on her top after she tossed her greaves onto the ledge, Ashe sat down and slipped her feet into the spring water. A pleasured groan escaped her lips and she leaned back, propping herself vertical with her hands. It felt better than she cared to admit, especially after a long day on her feet working to keep the river clear. She splashed around for a few moments before she reluctantly pulled away and finished undressing.
Her fingers laced around the strap that hung around her neck and she swiftly pulled it up and over her hair. Then she reached behind, fiddled with the zipper, and peeled the dress off her lithe frame. She made sure to check her body for any lacerations picked up during the day as they would need extra attention. Once all was clear, the archer folded her armour and placed it with the rest of her gear before she slipped into the water.
At its deepest point, the hot spring barely managed to cover Ashe's modest chest, so the archer decided to take a walk. The first few steps were somewhat tentative as she felt for the drop that she knew was there, and when she did finally find it she almost fell over. Ashe threw her arms to one side to regain her balance and huffed quietly at the spring, as though it had some dastardly plot to drag her under. When she caught sight of her reflection in the water, the archer paused for a moment to inspect herself. Grime and muck covered her face and she could see some dried blood mixed in with the slop as well. She quickly splashed water over her face and tried to scrub her skin clean. The thin layer of grime might have helped explain why she was itching all the way back to the palace.
As soon as she was clean, she inspected her features once again. Soft, tanned skin framed by long locks of silvery white hair; though she was in her mid-twenties, Ashe's hair had been silver for a couple years due to an icy encounter. She ran a finger along her lips and checked for any new scratches or scars that she could add to the collection that already littered her frame. The newest livid mark ran from her left ear to her right cheek, a gash clear across her face from a rather heated discussion with one of her Freljordi rivals, Sejuani. With a small sigh, the queen slipped over to her favourite rock and settled into the warm waters.
Ashe closed her eyes and mentally leafed through the day's events. The spring floods were in full swing, and every able-bodied man and woman was down by the river either helping to maintain the few bridges that connected the different districts of the city or sitting on the banks fishing the luckiest of the unlucky from the raging waters. In the south, she knew that Sejuani's bandits - for that was all that they were - were making inroads and once more probing Avarosani lands for weaknesses. A few villages had already been pillaged, and the queen had dispatched a vanguard to hunt down the bandits. Her brow creased and she rubbed her forehead in frustration. Why did this have to be the order of things? Why was Sejuani so pig-headed about forming even the simplest of alliances? It would save so much suffering. Before the mounting anger could overcome her once again, Ashe pushed off her rock and dunked her head into the warm waters. It was as though the simple motion washed her cares away.
Surfacing for a moment, Ashe drew a large breath of air and then swiftly pushed off the rocks. Though her unrefined style was not the most efficient, it was more than enough for her to gently cruise through her personal pool. The springs were almost fifty meters across which gave her ample room to stretch and exercise after a day of constant strain. Upon reaching the far side of the spring, Ashe surfaced and inhaled deeply to refill her lungs. Steam and her hair clouded her vision, though something caused her to pause. She brushed her bangs from her face and glanced around curiously - there had been something there mere moments ago... or was her mind playing tricks on her? Was she so tired that she was seeing things? Or imagining, as the case may be.
"Hello?" Her voice almost broke the first time she spoke, simply because she had been yelling almost all day. When nothing replied, the archer rose from the water. Droplets trickled down her nude form and she found herself shuddering as though the temperature had dropped several degrees in a heartbeat. Cold may not have bothered her, but the icy bite she felt in the air was nothing natural. While she waded back to her bow, Ashe kept a keen eye on the granite slabs all around her. Nothing seemed out of place, but a proper assassin would never make such a rookie mistake. However, the moment she touched her bow, the chill seemed to disappear entirely. Heat rushed back against her frame and almost overpowered her; Ashe had to wave her hand in front of her face to keep the searing heat away for long enough for her body to adapt.
Sure that all was clear once again, the archer slowly drifted away from her weapon. It had been only a couple days since she had been on the frontlines fighting against the Winter's Claw insurgents, and maybe she was still jumpy. There was no way that they had made it this far anyway, so she forced herself to relax. Ashe still was not quite used to the concept of 'relaxing' when she was away from the field; it simply was not something that she had time to do when she was growing up. There was always a reason to move, to stay on edge, and to have your weapon ready. Here, in Rakelstake, things were different. The walls were high, the guards were many, and more importantly they were loyal to her. She kept her guard up, but now she was actually able to put her weapon down and do something as simple as take a bath without fearing for her life.
The archer slowly made her way towards a small, well-hidden crevice at the back of the spring. As she approached, she could feel the water grow warmer and the stream in the air thickened. There was a couple cracks that vented hot water into the spring, and this one in particular was one of Ashe's favourite spots. Further hidden between the heavy granite slabs, Ashe found her hideaway. A small chamber formed by a pile of boulders had created a natural sauna. Running her fingers along the walls as she waded to her seat, Ashe marveled at just how thick the mosses had grown since she was last here. In some ways, this was her second palace - a place where she could reign from a comfortable throne, and her only subject was herself. After drawing another deep breath, Ashe placed her palms flat on the edge of a small ledge and she pushed herself up. A simple twist was all it took to plant her toned rump into the soft, spongy mosses. As a familiar warmth began boiling through her body, she pulled her long hair around to her front and began combing it with her fingers before inching down over her front. In the privacy of her hidden kingdom, she ran her spray-dampened fingers across her front and let her legs swish in the water before her. Lower and lower she reached, until, with a soft groan, her back arched.
A few hours later, Ashe waded out of her hiding place and headed for the edge of the spring. She paused once more to glance around the surrounding rocks, still feeling as though something was watching her. Watching? No, that was not the term she was after. This did not feel the way that being watched felt. It was not raising the hairs on the back of her neck and she did not feel uncomfortable. In fact, the Frost Archer felt oddly safe. Protected. As though whatever force was out there was a force for good, not evil. Perhaps one of the Spirits of the Wild was watching over her on this chilly eve. Though she did not know what it was, she bowed her head and gave quiet thanks to whatever was out there as she collected her weapon and scant armour. She spent a long moment gazing at the grimy cloth and metal before rolling her eyes. There was no way she was going to put it back on after a bath. Besides, the odds of someone coming to find her, especially at this time of the day, were slim to none.
So, Ashe tossed her armour over her shoulder, gripped her bow in the other, and wandered down towards her palace. In the early spring, the path was rather treacherous. Ice had coated the hastily-carved stairs and every step was a gamble. More than once, Ashe felt her feet starting to slide and she was forced to either stay her pace or toss herself to one side to keep her balance. Snow still lingered in on the rocks around her, so she also had to be careful of what she grabbed if she did fall. Going up was much easier than going down, the queen mused to herself.
The next stop on her tour was her bedroom. Once she was through the oaken door once more, Ashe glanced around. No one in sight? Perfect. She shrugged her shoulder and dumped her armour where she stood. On the way to one of her many wardrobes, she paused to hang her bow in its rightful place. The rack had been carved from True Ice and had a pair of small silver hooks held her archaic weapon aloft. Her eyes graced the etched, reflective surface and she felt a small smile tug at her lips. Avarosa would be proud, if she could see through time. Maybe the ancient queen could; stranger things had happened. With a barely audible sigh, Ashe pulled away and glanced around the room. The hearth fire was quietly crackling away, flicking sparks over the smooth stones encircling it.
Ashe grabbed a thin strip of navy blue silk from her vanity while wandering over to her nightgown wardrobe. She pushed her bangs out of her face and went to open the doors to her wardrobe, but hesitated just long enough to actually tie her hair back, leaving the strip of silk in her lips. That moment's hesitation was enough time for her door to burst open and a young soldier to stumble into her chambers, gasping for breath.
"M-My Queen, I m-must sp-speak wi-" he coughed, but when he caught sight of her resplendent nudity, he stood bolt upright in shock and embarrassment.
Without missing a beat, Ashe turned to face him, hair held in her hands, silk keeping her silent, and waited for what he had to say. Countable seconds later, her runner's mind seemed to realize that it had shut down and he started, immediately averting his gaze. "I-I'm sorry! I d-did not th-think to knock!" he stammered, face reddening from more than the cold. It was a social faux-pas that would find the perpetrator executed in either Demacia or Noxus, but Ashe simply shrugged it off. She had no shame and one soldier was hardly a worry for her. Even if he did tell his unit that he had seen his queen in the buff, would they believe him? Once her hair was secured, Ashe plucked the silk from her lips and finished tying her hair back.
"I assume you have good reason to barge into my quarters at this hour? Without knocking?" her chastising tone was much more humour-filled than the soldier expected, and he found himself without words for another long moment. Ashe's eyes raked over his form as he gathered the courage to look up. Rather scrawny, with standard-issue armour. There were more than a few dents and dings in his gear, which seemed odd. He was definitely green and he had more damage than she would expect for someone new to the battlefield. Especially since, for the most part, conflict in the north had been reduced to border skirmishes.
With a deep breath, the soldier readied his report. "I bring news f-from the Howling Abyss."
That caught her attention. The icy queen turned back to him from the wardrobe, a silken chemise hanging loosely between her fingers. The soldier swallowed heavily before continuing. "We were on a routine patrol south of the Abyss when one of our forward scouts saw something. He claimed that there were men made of ice marching out of the ruined temple... when we went to investigate, my unit was ambushed. I'm-" his voice gave way for a few moments before he spoke up again. "I'm all that's left, my queen. I ran. I am a coward and I ran." The soldier removed his spangenhelm and bowed his head in shame, awaiting the queen's reprimand. What he got was not what he expected. Ashe's hand flew to the man's jaw and she wrenched his face upwards, forcing his eyes to hers.
"Speak now or forever hold your peace - how many were there? What weapons did they wield? Were they a scouting party? Or were they an army?" Ashe fired off her questions faster than the soldier could reply, which simply aggravated the situation further.
"I don't know!" he managed to reply. Her response was immediate: she shoved him backwards and let out a cry of frustration. Iceborn? Waking now? What was going on? Lissandra was known for her subtlety and a show of force like this - especially one that cost lives - was not a part of her typical repertoire. Why would she be moving forces now?
Planting a hand on her forehead, Ashe began pacing in a circle around her chemise. "Is there nothing else you can tell me? Or am I going to have to guess that we're under attack now?" Her tone had shifted from teasing to incredibly stressed in a heartbeat.
After rubbing the back of his neck under the pressure, the soldier finally gave her some useful information. "I don't think it was a full attack, not yet. There weren't that many monsters-"
"Iceborn." Ashe cut him off and then waved him to continue.
He cleared his throat and continued. "There weren't that many Iceborn. They seemed to be as surprised to see us as we were to see them. Fought like demons, though... we outnumbered them and they just cut us down. Froze people in place with spells and their weapons cut through our armour like it wasn't even there. We... we tried to fight. We did our best."
The only thing that Ashe could do to comfort the visibly-shaken soldier was to hug him. A step closer, her arms lacing around his waist, she held him and gave him time to compose himself. When she finally pulled back, she gave him a small, earnest smile. "You did what you could, for your nation. We cannot ask more of you. Head down to the kitchens, tell them that I sent you. Get something to eat and then head home. You're done for now. "
With a grateful nod, the soldier replaced his helmet and left her room, closing the door behind himself. The image of his queen, nude and unshaken by his appearance, would be with him forever.
Once her unexpected guest had gone, Ashe turned to her chemise and picked it up off the floor. A pale blue with silver embroidery along the bottom, it was one of her favourites. Frosty designs kept the almost-transparent silk as modest as possible while still teasing anyone who stopped to look at her for too long. With a sigh, she pulled it over her head. Tomorrow was going to be an incredibly long day.
Hours later, far to the south of Rakelstake, the soldier finally came to a rest. Running out of the city had proven much more of a challenge than he had first anticipated, and the guards at the gate had asked a few too many questions. Now he leaned against a large pile of rocks, panting heavily and trying to regain his breath. Never again would he volunteer for such a stupid mission.
"Well?" an icy, feminine voice rang out from behind him. He jumped in shock and whirled to face the intruder, but he had no reason to worry.
"How can that void-damned PIG move so quietly!?" he snapped, glaring into the darkness. A softly glowing object hurtled towards his body and he only barely had time to sidestep before it impacted into the rock he had been leaning against moments before; the rock shattered immediately.
The soldier lit his torch and raised it high. Flickering light burst into existence, revealing not only the boar rider, but her retinue as well. He gave a small bow to his queen and then spoke. "Everything is in place, Sejuani. The Pretender will be sending troops to investigate the Howling Abyss tomorrow. We should be able to beat her there and set up the ambush as you had planned."
A stiff nod was the only reply he received for his work before Sejuani urged her enormous battle boar forward. "We brought you a boar. Try to keep up." She gave him a few moments to mount up before spurring Bristle hard and taking off across the tundra. The speed with which the Ironfur Boars could charge was second to none in the far north, but taming such volatile creatures was difficult at best. Between their leathery hide, long, scythe-like tusks, and incredibly thick fur, there was very little that could harm the boars either. Unlike many pigs, the Ironfur Boars had a long tail as well with sharp quills at the end that they could use to fend off attackers. If that was not enough to deter any would-be predator, the adults were known to form living shields around their young. The wall of tusks was enough to fend off even the hungriest steppe bear.
Sejuani herself seemed to match Bristle in more ways than one. The battle-hardened leader of the Winter's Claw tribe had seen many unworthy opponents fall beneath her True Ice flail. Her heavy armour covered her from head to toe in roughly wrought iron plate interspaced with Ironfur quills and leather. Ceremonial glyphs and knots adorned every patch of raw iron, warding her from harm and the permanent winter that seemed to envelop Freljord.
Not that she needed much help to avoid the cold - descended from Serylda, her blood ran colder than ice. Her helm, another gift passed down from the ages alongside her weapon, had one horn broken off at the base. The other rose, ox-like, out to one side and then swooped forward. Though no one would ever be brave enough to admit it, her features seemed to resemble Ashe's. Soft lips and a rounded face were the end of the similarities, however; Sejuani's piercing, frigid glare was unmistakable and she lacked the livid scar that Ashe had recently picked up. Her short blonde hair was well hidden under her helmet, which only helped to add to her rather fierce appearance.
Sejuani led the charge across the permafrost, heading towards the chosen ambush site. The odds of Ashe's forces arriving the next day were slim to none, but she was not about to let this kind of opportunity pass her by. Opportunity came once a lifetime in the Freljord - giving it up was not an option.
Their chosen ambush site was as perfect as anyone could have hoped. The spring melt had managed to remove most of the snow from the area, but the ground was still frozen enough to mask any footprints that a scout would be looking for. Huge frost heaves formed natural choke points all around and when combined with large boulders and chunks of granite shorn off from the Ironspike mountains by time and glaciers, it had more than enough cover to hide the force Sejuani had delegated to this task. Her numbers were much fewer than what Ashe would send, and she knew this; her tribe was small, but strong. Numbers meant little, save more glory to the victor.
To ensure that Ashe's troops would fall into step how Sejuani had planned, the Winter's Wrath had her men set up fake terrain. By diverting the flow of several creeks that had sprung up with the melt, the Winter's Claw had created ponds and sloughs that would either slow or completely block Avarosani movement. Shifting boulders was almost impossible, however, some of her brighter minds had used these enormous monoliths to create the illusion of rock falls and dangerous crossings; enough to deter even the most stalwart soldier. Sejuani had never been one to spend a long period of time either planning or setting up for a single attack, but this was different. The winds had changed and her seers had predicted something monumental was about to happen. There was no time like the present; it was time to strike.
Once her vanguard had finally reached their encampment, Sejuani immediately marched off to find her seer. There was something she still needed taken care of before they launched this all-or-nothing attack. The queen of the Winter's Claw wandered through the small, hide-and-bone camp that her clan had set up. Each yurt was set a short distance from the next and formed a protective perimeter around her personal yurt. Unlike Ashe, who felt repulsed by the idea of being a queen as opposed to a leader, Sejuani reveled in it. She had fought tooth and nail to her position at the head of her tribe, either subjugating those who stood against her or slaughtering them outright. There was no time for pleasantries in the wilds, no time for sympathy towards pretenders to the crown. She was queen and she exerted her power accordingly. Any brave enough - or foolish enough - to stand up to her paid the price.
Beside her yurt was the seer's yurt. Smaller and riddled with bones, entrails, feathers, and other oddities, it was an unmistakable place of magical power. Thick smoke seemed to hang around it at all times, and the stench of burning herbs was noticeable from some distance away. The queen paused for a moment to steel herself for the wave that she was about to unleash, but after taking a deep breath and scrunching her face, Sejuani pushed through the flap. Even with the preparation, Sejuani could not help but to cough and wave her hand in front of her eyes. The air reeked and the smoke burned her eyes. If her seer was not such a necessary part of her continued domination of her tribe, she would have that bane of her existence executed.
"Biina!" Sejuani hacked. There was no way she could sit in this god-forsaken pit any longer than she had to. It only took a few steps for her to find a seat and she took it immediately, even hunching slightly in an attempt to pull her head out of the thick smoke.
Many seers had come and gone in the Winter's Claw tribe. Sejuani had little use for them, and a simple mistake was all that it took for her to execute one and bring in the next. Biina was the first exception to that rule. Typically, seers were older and had been practicing their craft for many years; Biina was barely in her twenties and had already proven herself much more reliable than any that had come before. As she grew accommodated to the smog in the air, Sejuani began making the young girl's features out. She had soft eyes and incredibly long, ebony hair that matched her dark, wind-weathered skin. Though her shawl and garments were made from roughly hewn leather, she wore them with a delicate poise that turned even the most grotesque creation into a thing of beauty. Some part of Sejuani's mind, hidden far away from view, even envied Biina's warm gaze and smile.
As soon as she heard Sejuani's voice, the seer stepped over and sat down across the fire from her queen. "Hmm, you are up late, my queen. What brings you to my abode at such an ungodly hour?" Biina tapped her lips thoughtfully while a small smirk tugged at the corners. "Wait, don't tell me." Her hand slipped backwards, onto one of the many low benches that littered the area. What she withdrew was the sole reason why Sejuani was willing to take such a risk in baiting Ashe to the field of battle.
Cracking and raiding tombs was not something that Sejuani took any pleasure in doing. It was dangerous work with very little reward, but this time she had been promised something that even she could not resist. After reading over a strange stone at the head of a lost cairn in the high arctic, Biina had divined the location of what she called a relic weapon. Something from a time before the Betrayer. Though neither Sejuani nor Biina knew who - or what - the Betrayer was, the temptation of hunting down a weapon powerful enough to destroy civilizations was hard to resist.
What the weapon was had proven much harder to divine. The stone spoke of the weapon in three parts, but only one was obtainable. If only one part was obtainable, Sejuani had argued, what was the point of even trying to retrieve it. Biina countered with the only logical answer: if one part was obtainable, why would the others be impossible to obtain? Perhaps the first unlocked the others. And, even if only one part was in their hands, what would stop them from using it anyway? They did not need to bury the world in ice, they simply needed to face off with Avarosani forces and dominate the battlefield.
So, grumbling under her breath, Sejuani had led her forces to find the ancient weapon. The crypt had been filled with dreygur and enormous spiders, as well as one rather unfriendly steppe bear. Leaving Bristle behind was not something Sejuani relished either, but the payoff had proven to be worth it.
As with most ancient Freljordi crypts, this one had been littered with offerings to the Spirits of the Wild. However, one chamber in particular caused Sejuani to pause. In the middle of the room was an enormous stone dais, carved with hieroglyphs of each of the Spirits of the Wild. Some were immediately obvious to her; Udyr still protected them and embodied them in human form. Bear, Turtle, Tiger and even Phoenix appeared in their own little niche, a single symbol carved underneath them. She guessed, for she did not know, that it was simply the spirit's name. However, the four that she knew were only four amongst a score. Of the others, Sejuani could only name a few, even after wiping the dust clean. Pig? A boar? It was hard to tell. A fish, perhaps a salmon? There was only one humanoid creature in the Freljord, so she had to assume that it was the yeti. But even with the unknown glyphs littering the dais, she had bigger questions.
With her men guarding the door and checking for traps - or perhaps dreygur that had grown a bit too feisty - Sejuani circled the enormous stone tablet. Her fingers traced through the dust towards something odd. A bright, silvery light shone through one of the glyphs. It seemed to have a pulse and easily shone through the dust that coated the dais. She wiped it the glowing glyph clean and tried to make out what it was intended to represent. Short, rounded ears, what appeared to be long teeth - fangs? tusks? - and bumps all over. It was not a troll, but what else could it be? And why was this one glowing, while the others were dark? Sejuani had too many questions and too few answers. When one of her men pointed out that a second glyph was still glowing, albeit much more faintly, she investigated. This one, at least, was recognizable. A fox. At least it cleared up if the other one was a wolf or not, but it still failed to answer why these glyphs were glowing while the rest were nothing but lines in a rock. The queen of the Winter's Wrath made a mental note to drag Biina back here at a later date. For now, they had a weapon to find.
Pressing deeper into the crypt, Sejuani could feel the air growing ever colder around her. The men she brought with her noticed as well and began joking that the weapon was a dragon, or some other mythical beast. When the group finally stepped into the light of the tomb itself, the speculation was cut short.
Floating almost a meter off the ground in a pillar of light was the weapon. Silence fell upon her men as Sejuani advanced, eyes locked on the spear. Bladed at both ends and carved from ivory, it was a beautiful weapon to behold. Pure white, the spear seemed to reflect so much light that it lit up the room. Swirls of True Ice graced its length from blade to blade, and the cruelly hooked blades were both made from the indestructible blue material. Power radiated from the weapon in the same way that Ashe's bow or Sejuani's flail did, but in a much stronger, much rawer form; it even seemed to have a pulse, the True Ice glowing brighter or dimmer depending on the moment. This was a weapon from a by-gone age, a weapon who's craftsmanship had been long since lost. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of years separated Sejuani from its original user, and yet she felt as though she were standing next to him.
As Sejuani reached for the haft of the spear, she heard a faint voice. A woman's voice, so soft and wispy that she could barely make out the words. Concentrating hard, Sejuani willed the voice back. "Behind you!" one of her men screamed. The sudden shout shattered Sejuani's trance and she whirled in place in time to see another of her men diving forward, plunging his sword into the stone where she had only seconds before been standing. Madness tainted his eyes and with Sejuani out of the way, he lunged for the spear.
His foul fingers ripped it from its holy resting place and he immediately whirled to thrust the tip into Sejuani's chest. Before the man could react, ice bloomed from the haft of the spear and began coating his hands. Jagged crystals burst from his hands in a spray of blood and his triumphant roar suddenly became a scream of agony. All over his body, crystals began erupting through his skin. They started on his hands before racing up his arms. Audible cracks and splinters filled the chamber while his bones shattered and his blood froze. A look of pure terror managed to cross his face before a spike of ice burst from his face. Once the gruesome freeze finished, his mangled corpse fell over and shattered on impact with the ground. The whole process took naught but a few seconds and left Sejuani's men as breathless as she was. A faint wisp of frosty fog whipped off the man's shattered corpse and began flowing into the weapon; a few moments later, nothing but bits of his armour remained.
When she went to pick the spear up, several of her men rushed over to try to stop her, claiming that it was too dangerous. However, her fingers curled around the spear and she lifted it off the ground without ceremony. There was no pain, no rush of ancient energy; Sejuani simply picked it up. She spun it around in her hands lightly, marveling at the weapon's perfect balance and the ease with which it clove the air. When she finally grasped it and held it firmly, she knew. This was the weapon. This would give her the edge in the war.
Biina delicately handed Sejuani the spear and felt a smug little smirk curl the edges of her lips. "You were right. This weapon is ancient, and it carries not only the power of the spirits, but something more." How Biina could handle the weapon was a mystery that Sejuani intended on solving, preferably as quickly as possible. Why had one of her men immediately been taken with the spear and eviscerated by it, while her seer seemed to handle the weapon with no more ceremony than she had? The ways of the ancients confounded her more than Ashe's willingness to let weakness rot their culture from the inside out.
"What do you mean, 'something more'?" Sejuani demanded as she ran her fingers along the haft of the spear. It was thicker and heavier than any spear she had seen before, so it definitely was not a throwing implement. It seemed to more closely resemble a staff of some kind, albeit one with blades on either end. The whole length of the weapon extended to almost two meters, and the center of the staff was only four centimeters thick and tapered towards the ends. The blades faced in opposite directions and had a recurved cutting edge. Sharp hooks lined the back sides of each of the elegant, shimmering blades, adding a touch of cruel brutality to an otherwise beautiful weapon. Up close, Sejuani could even make out silver inlaid between the ivory and True Ice parts of the staff. However, no matter how hard she looked, there were no faults in either the ivory or the ice. There was no sign of how the weapon was crafted, nor how the blades were attached - everything was one solid piece. Whenever she held the weapon, the pulsating lights from within seemed to speed up, though there was no rhyme or reason to how the weapon pulsed.
After allowing Sejuani a few moments to admire the weapon, Biina spoke up. "How much do you know about the history of Freljord?"
The queen of the Winter's Claw glanced up and gave a non-committal shrug. "Enough to know I'm royalty, and nothing else matters."
Biina pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sigh. Of course, why would Sejuani, of all people, care about the past. "Then allow me to enlighten you. Hundreds of years ago, during the time of the Three Sisters, there were many different sects of the society. Hunters, soldiers, princesses, and there are even legends of shamans guarding the Spirits of the Wild." Her tone was condescending at first, as though she were explaining this to a slow child. Sejuani almost silenced Biina with the blade in her hands, but as her seer spoke, she relaxed. "From what I understand, there were different shamans for each of the Spirits, and their apprentices learned under them. When the shaman grew old, they would wander off into the wilds to die and release their spirit into the Spirit Realm; then, their chosen apprentice would don the mantle and carry on. Some were protectors, others were mystics, but all had one goal in life: to grow as close to their Spirit as possible.
"However, during the time of the Three Sisters, something happened. Records vanish, and the stories speak only of the Betrayer - someone who turned the Freljord against itself, someone who awoke a great and ancient evil and unleashed it upon the people who lived there. Beyond that, we don't know much about the Betrayer, other than that it was locked away forever." She offered a little shrug when she finished her story, but Sejuani seemed curious.
"You said 'it'. Don't they at least know who the Betrayer was?" she pried in an attempt to get more information out of Biina.
The seer shook her head. "If they did, the Betrayer's name was lost in time. Some believe he was one of the Shamans, some believe that he was a soldier. No one even knows if it was a man, or a woman, or something more. Maybe it wasn't even human." Biina reached over and ran her fingers across the haft of the spear. "If this weapon is from a time before the Betrayer..."
She did not even have to finish her sentence, as Sejuani smirked wickedly and ran her finger along the icy blade. "Then this weapon was made to fight that ancient evil. It was made to kill... gods."