{Icer} 

Little had stirred from the planet in sometime. It was known for its vacancy, its coldness, its brutal, everlasting storms and wintry weather. The conditions made most adverse to the idea of ever staying for long and as such, the planet has retained its reputation for being barren and extremely cold. However, in the icy snowfall, there are some strong native folk and colonists alike who bore through the blizzards and hellish, ionic storms, to see it through for another day, a better day; one which one man sought to provide. On a large cliffside a cloaked figure stood, long, wavy fingers outstretching from underneath his robes, casting them aside rather than pull them nearer, as if to embrace the storms and cold. His body bristles with the intense feeling that came as soon as he removed his robes. However, it calmed a moment after and in within seconds, he stood completely still and immune.

"People of Icer.", his voice weathers all across the planet by some preternatural means. "Those who wish to survive you are to head north east of the main continent, where there is a great citadel that I have erected for myself and my following. There, you will find shelter and warmth and companionship; society and life, as it should be. You can choose to follow me, loyally, faithfully and be rewarded as such for joining the fold, or rebel and wither up and die in the cold. I leave it to you to decide. I am Lord Orpheus, one of the few of my remaining kind and this is the start of an Empire, whether you are a part of the very pavement I'm going to lay or one who walks it, is entirely left to you. Be greater; join me.", the voice dulls out near the end, disappearing after leaving heavy, overbearing winds of its self.