Though likely a thousand years have passed since the Glamfellan crafted this armor, it seems impeccably cared for - at least until it spent four centuries frozen to a corpse. The magic of the Vytmádh has permanently altered the armor, encasing it in jagged spurs of ice. Whether the armor bore these blessings of the White Void when worn by the temple guardians of centuries' past remains unclear.
- Level 1
He knew the Land only as stories. A vast white emptiness, like the blue sea around the temple, but cold and hard. He imagined the snow bears, great white masses of fur and muscle, and the walruses, with their spear-like tusks raking the ice for food, and dreamt of sledding across the ragged, frozen land.
He would never set eyes upon them. His place was here, in this ancient temple, watching over the White Maw, protecting it from those who would despoil it and casting away the tools and weapons of the lesser divines.
- Level 2
Rynhaedr took him aside one afternoon, after their exercises. The chosen of Rymrgand had only a few winters on him, but she'd been personally tapped by Winter to stand watch at the gate to his dominion. She wore that authority like a mantle, shoulders squared, chin raised. Confident.
She sent him from the isle then - to the Land. To know the Land, she explained, was to know Winter. There could be no understanding of one without understanding of the other, and a guardian must know Winter as they know themselves.
So he found himself, heart near to bursting within his chest, bundled against the cold on the next supply ship, its prow pointed south.
- Level 3
He returned a hard man to a frozen home.
The Land had forged him anew of hoarfrost and rime - once-soft hands now hard as ice, formerly-lanky arms now bulging with muscle, clean face now boasting a beard as full and white as a snow bear's pelt.
But all were dead. Some had been torn apart, their limbs scattered and ribs opened. Others stood frozen at their stations. Rynhaedr herself held the opened Maw, vigilant even in demise.
He felt no sadness, no pulsing fear. He understood the Land, and so he understood Winter. When the growl rose from the Maw, he knew it for an interloper. He took up his spear and his shield, and he strode into the Void.
- Temple of Decline: Salvaged from the frozen elf by the Vytmádh gate. With Sleight of Hand 13 and a Prybar, you can remove the armor without shattering its previous owner.
|1||Reforge the soul of a follower of Rymrgand||Any class||3,040|
|2||Receive 100 Afflictions||Any class||5,840|
|3||Collect the rest of Rynhaedr's Equipment||Any class||6,040|