Frostbite

In ages past, there was a frozen mountain, ruled by a kind and benevolent king. He was the rumored son of a god and a mortal, and his powers reached far and wide. Under his rule, even the barren ice fields flourished, ushering in an era of prosperity and happiness. Feast days and celebrations were common, and often, the king was seen among his subjects, laughing and dancing and flying with them without a care. These were good years, kind years, and in the history books, they were looked back on fondly.

But they did not last.

Despite the joy in the kingdom, there was an evil lurking. It hid itself in plain sight, taking the shape of the king’s brother. He was the jealous sort, as often comes of being second in line until children are born, and then being pushed ever farther away from the throne as the generations multiplied. The brother was clever, too, and though he was no glorified Nocturne like the king, he still had his wits about him. As such, no one suspected a thing as he made a pact with a rival kingdom, leading their army through treacherous mountain passes and howling snowstorms, right to the palace gates. War was threatened for the first time in hundreds of years, and the king rose to the occasion, heading the troops himself. Little did he know, as he charged on to the battlefield with his brother at his side, that he would not be king when it was over. His brother worked dark magic that day, weakening the king’s limbs and causing him to fall to a much less divine opponent. The king’s children died that day, too, all felled by enemies so much stronger than themselves, and when the dust settled, the king’s brother held the crown and command of the army.

The king tried to take his throne back, but the brother had disguised another corpse as the king, and so the true king of the land was dismissed as a power-hungry sham with no right to the throne. He did not even have his royal armor to prove his identity, as that had been stolen from him as he laid on the battlefield, unconscious.

Frostbite was that king, and to this day, he regrets being so blind to his brother’s ambition. Yet nothing he can do or say will restore him to the throne, and so he has become bitter and resigned in his old age. Instead of storming the castle and exposing his traitorous brother, who now has heir after heir to trust the throne to, he sits alone atop the high mountain closest to his palace, cloaked in a blizzard that rages without end. His mourning cries, shaped to imitate the howling of white wolves or the snarling of yetis, terrifying the dragons living below, but it is the only revenge he can have, because unless someone arrives who can turn back time and help him expose his brother early on, Frostbite knows he is powerless to do anything else.

Bio by Tues.