The Riders of the North

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The fey of Darkmoon Vale were not always evil. For decades they lived and played under the spreading branches of the forest, content to remain close to the land that sustained them. But recently, things have changed within the forest. The establishment of the lumber mill in Falcon's Hollow has given rise to a veritable army of woodsmen bent on leveling the forest and plundering its wealth of darkwood. Hunters and trappers have descended into the forest, seeking furs and trophies to take back to the markets of Andoran. Slowly but surely, the creatures within the forest began to change. Anger and fear replaced the capricious playfulness of its fey guardians, and the icy grip of hate descended on the land. Far away, in her frozen palace in Irrisen, the Witch Queen sensed opportunity, and dispatched a cold rider to Darkmoon Vale.

With the first breath of winter's frost he arrived in the forest, and as ice and snow descended upon the land, his corrupting presence wormed its way into the hearts of the fey, transforming them into creatures of nightmare.

In E1: Carnival of Tears, the PCs must face off against this implacable foe who seeks to drive the humans from Falcon's Hollow, and in so doing, gain an unbreakable hold over the fey creatures that live there. Cold Riders are terrifying armored majesties, clad in sable cloaks of frost, a pair of almost ridiculously large crystal-blue antlers cresting their dread helms of ice and steel. These dark monsters were once princes of the forest. Brought living before the Witch Queen, she stole their songs and their love of green and beauty and replaced them with cold hate. The riders are her knights gallant and her favored minions in her war on the sun, the green, and all things that recoil from her frigid touch. They delight in perversion, slaughter, and the corruption of other fey. It is their solemn duty to bring fresh souls and candidates for transformation into cold riders back to their queen's court, and they relish this charge. The paired mini-whirlwinds of effervescent frost swirling in their visors can chill the hearts of the most stalwart with a frigid glance, and the vapor-fog floating from them often takes the shape of their former fair features, screaming in silent agony and twisting into malformed wisps in the rising wind.

Jeremy Walker
Assistant Editor, GameMastery