On the frozen plains where once a field of grass filled, now lay still, covered in snow.
The sounds of clanging steel and the shouts and cries of battle echoing throughout on the plains of snow covered field.
Black fur cloth covered the men standing against those of similar clothing. The banners are the only thing that seems to differ with one another.
Both sides, numbering of hundreds each, Battle cries and curses howled at each other, their hands firmly gripped on axe, swords, spears and shields.
At the front of both armies, two men faced against one another in relative distance.
The man on the left unsheathed his sword, raising and then slowly downward pointing at the opposing leader.
"Charge!" Both men shouted at the top of their lungs, echoing through the entire field.
Both armies strode and then run against one another, the clash so vicious that spears and shields shattered upon contact on the other.
Metal blades and wooden shields clashed against steel and flesh.
Spraying and splashing hot blood upon face and fur cloths, covering shields and swords with thick red liquid, as well as the once bright snow underneath their boots.
Recently warm bodies fell on the ground as life exited out, Warm small clouds drew by their breath one final time.
The cries and wrathful screams often drowning out the clashing blades, limbs flying and heads rolling.
This is not the first in recent weeks such savage and bloody feud have spilled such a once serene and untroubled white fields.
Winter is looming near in the coming weeks.
And so clans Battle and kill against one another not for claims or honor, nor for gold, but for resources and food.
Successful harvest of crops are rare in the frozen lands of Aesgar, Rarer more right before and during winter.
Even worse still when a defeated clan could no longer defend itself from opposing rivals, for when the victors often take all of the food and plunder everything they could, leaving the defeated with nothing, often resulting into anarchy and cannibalism, Once a cooperative family, turned into raving and maddened starving murderers, more often than not, Resulting in the clan being decimated, Sometimes leaving absolutely no survivors.
Settlements empty of life, only frozen bodies of a once lively settlement, the pillagers does not even bother burying the dead most of times.
This has always been in Aesgar, Life is always a battle, nay, a survival.
Everyday they have to hunt beasts that does not always be prey, but predators against the hunters.
Ferocious beasts and Rival clans are not the only challenge the Aeskin have to face, For the cold of the land is also a predator, a unseen hunter of the weak.
For Aesgar is a land of white, A cold without end, in spring, summer, autumn and especially winter.
The land of Aesgar is filled of alpine regions, glaciers and covered by ice sheets, Large masses of ice several feet high above bed rock, Chains of mountains all around, The thick ice on rivers and lakes only lessens during spring and summer, enough to be able to fish.
Surrounded by endless seas where fearsome leviathans prey upon those who try to sail in the hopes of finding better, warmer lands to settle, All failed and often devoured by the sea giants.
Further north, beyond the jaws of jagged mountains, a region where there is no spring or summer neither autumn, but only forever winter.
The true kingdom of frost, the Aeskin that settles just below the northern mountains calls it, Where the sun is always covered by snow clouds barely shining through.
Some Ice seers tells that this was where they once came from, before the unrecorded cataclysm, where once gleaming towers stood and the land of Aesgar green and fertile, now almost sterilized and barely clinging to life, where it's inhabitants constantly battle for survival, where the strong preys on the weak whether the strong dislikes it or not.
Every winter is a series of skirmish and conflict, and every winter grew colder than the last, The Aeskin, Men and women of Aesgar nearing it's end, soon they will be no more, Buried beneath the uncaring snow.
But perhaps the growing chill in the land is not the end, but the coming of a new beginning, a beginning that starts from a place where it is supposed to be devoid of life, told by tribal elders and seers.
A reclaimer of dominion, heir of the once glorious silver empire, the destined unknowing prince, Master of the frost, Aesgar will be reformed back to it's glorious ice age.
The Veneratu rises from it's frozen dominion.