Tantalis knelt down on one knee in the snow examining the tracks that were pressed into deep depressions. He had been tracking the skin-walker for two days after it attacked a remote family. Chillsworn were protective of their lands. His long double handed blade strapped across his back. He looked forward up to the dark cave set in the low hill. Bones littered the entrance. The kill was fresh, his most recent victim. Tantalis knew the creature would be in there since its kind unable to withstand the suns light. He drew his weapon and stepped down towards the yawning opening. The creature would not live to see another night. He swore an oath to his ancestors as he stepped within.
The Chillsworn are the grimmest of the elves. Hailing from the foothills of the frozen Fingers they see the world through a pale gaze. Fascinated with the end of things, they do not fear death. Quiet and detached, some would argue they are the least empathic of the elves.
They are never given over to joy or revelry. They have snow-white skin and darkened blue eyes interrupted by weeping lines across their faces. Cold and calculating they are some of the most deadly of the elves. When in colder climates they seem to become more talkative and at ease. Despite their demeanor and countenance they are trusted for their skill and honor. It pays to have one by your side since they do not fear the end. These practiced hunters are perhaps the most talented in the known world. They can track a snow leopard up or downwind, and day or night without making a sound or a track. The males and females are both practiced in sword or magic, and are able to defend their own at a moment’s notice. The Chillsworn are self-sufficient with their unique talents in hunting, gathering and lumbering skills. They keep to themselves although on occasion some do adventure outside their racial home.