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[color=00CED1][h3]The Iceborn[/h3][/color][/center]
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When Father Frost's grip found our Fatherland, it was a cold and windswept place, yet still green and lively. But with one long breath he brought a winter that knew no end, and so transformed that land into a frigid waste. Many things died. First, the crops. Then cattle. Then kindred.

The sea was merciful and her bounty spared us. The fish fed us, but they brought no warmth. Only ale or fire could warm our blood, and with the forests themselves freezing and the graincrops long gone, we had neither. The cold cut into our bodies and hearts. It remade us, and we became a hundred times stronger and crueler. It was said that we were so thoroughly changed that ice flowed through our veins, and so our tribe became known as the Iceborn. We are still only [b]men[/b], though of a hardier breed.

Eventually a mother must set loose her children to fend for themselves, and so it seemed that the ocean and Mother Nature herself were casting us away. The last of the deer were long gone and the seals were near hunted to extinction, and the bounties of fish grew smaller by the day. Initially we had turned away from the lesser tribes of our land and left them to fend for themselves. We witnessed many of them starving or succumbing to the cold, and could only deem them weak and unworthy of survival. But now, with resources so scarce, we could tolerate not even the strong and the fit that had survived alongside us. It was clear that only one tribe could ever rule the Fatherland, for the cold had claimed its due and now there was not enough to share.

So we turned on the other tribes and a war was fought, and though many of us fell, the Iceborn stood victorious and alone. A hint of spring came, and we took it as a sign that we were Father Frost's chosen. Then another winter came, and it was ten times worse than any that we had suffered before. Tribespeople froze in their own homes, turned blue and entombed by hoarfrost, and then were buried beneath the blizzards of ice.

Our Fatherland was nothing now but a frozen rock that promised death, and not even we Iceborn could survive it now. We took our weapons and tools and the last of our foodstuffs, and we stowed them upon our ships and sailed into the distance. The tales of our ancestors spoke of some other lands, but we found them dead and just as frozen as our own. So we could only sail past them, farther south, following the warmth.

By no means of our own will did we find this new land that we now stand upon; a storm battered our fleet and cast our ships into the rocky cliffs. Many drowned and much was lost, but here we survivors stand upon a new and green land, and so that storm was both a blessing and a curse. Like all things.

We gathered what we could from the wreckage of our ships, then followed the coast in search of a new place to build our settlement. Eventually we found an island between the mouths of two rivers as they empty into the ocean. In the distance beyond the second river, we can see some forests. It is a fine place to build a port, so here we shall settle.

I, Dag, am chieftain of this tribe, so in my own honor I shall name the new village Dagshall.

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After crashing on the rocky, mountainous shore nearby, the human tribe known as the Iceborn have created a settlement called Dagshall on an island between two rivers and the sea.

A pale blue is their color.

[img]http://i.imgur.com/ucGkFfZ.jpg[/img]
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