Clan Varnheim has the greatest warriors among the Frostlings, but what worth are they now, empty shells of what they once were? I have spent countless hours talking to their silence, the moisture in my breath only thickening the ice between us. Frozen in ice, their dead faces watch over us, so we do not forget them and may live according to their example, in preparation for our reunion in death. I travelled to the Hall of the Forefathers, the sacred place where we bring the bodies of our greatest ancestors. The last of our clan might die, but we shall face our ancestors with pride. We will do battle on the plains of the heartland, we will shot them the bitter lessons we have learned from war. To see them there, fat on riches bought with the lives of my people, I challenged all three to a Blood Trial. When I presented myself before the High Queen, the other suitors mocked me, called me the Lord of Rubble and Bone. Zoki of clan Brago, wealthiest of the houses, Firic the Theocrat of Clan Eldur, Fjarnor, the Guardian of the Great Glacier three powerful lords vie for the High Queen's favor. A bond with the new High Queen, Sanhild, could restore my clan to greatness, but I knew I would not be alone in my ambitions. The other clans do not care about our sacrifices, they are eying our lands as spoils to be taken.Īs I approached Midwinter for the coronation, my heart grew heavy.
But the price was to high, the peace the clans enjoy now was bought with the lives of our ancestors. When the Commonwealth poured into our lands, we held fast, staining the snow with their blood. We once stood firm, a great wall against invaders from the south. Whatever it will be, it will be decided now. I start this journal because I want to document for posterity the last days of Clan Varnheim, or its rebirth.
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