| Who Teinashu is |
I am a god, a demon. Powerful, mercyless. I am Unique. There is none like me, neither will there ever be one. The priviledge of a god (yes, I do prefer god to demon).
What I look like, many ask. I have a figure which could be seen through inferior eyes like yours as following. My height is ten feet, probably more. Fur whiter than the most virginal snow, more sparkling than crystal, but not nourishing hair! Oh no, honest frost is what covers my body, sharp as needles.
My mouth ... muzzle ... is trimmed with orca's fangs of sheer frozen oxigen. How they cut through pulsating flesh alike a warm knife through butter. My only eye as a pearl of clear ice, wonderfully skyblue. Then my claws. If my teeth are sharp, my claws are sharper.
These fantastic tools are attached to a body robust as a polar bear, solid as an ice pillar. Know who I am.
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| A poem I wrote |
Where honest frost jostles the hair
Where mountains consist of pure ice
Where polar wolf cries and iceling sings
Where snow blinds at fun moonWhere K'dan still shudders with cold
Where blood's no longer liquid
Where I build castles out of polar wind
Where ruddy warmth is just a dream There is the Lord of Ice's throne
There in his castle of polar wind
There is the end of the journey
There is where but the dead arrive.
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| What the Empire is |
Know that my Empire is just beside yours. The border is at the same time so thin and still so hard to cross. Nothing but the right spells allow me to enter the lands of warmth. But as you undoubtly have noticed, my influence in your world is large enough to exchange thoughts through this medium. And don't forget the white Christmas...
My Empire, ah! How chillingly cold and sharp do the iceflowers sparkle on the windows of my castle with walls of polarwind! How does de roaring of the icelings and the death cries of the polar bears caress my eardrums. When the blue light of the full moon trickles across the vast plains and touches the mountain peaks at the horizon, my hearts beat twice as fast. The smell of a slice of whalemeat can bring tears of emotion into my eye. They shimmer so beautifully cold in the colourful Northernlight!
When I ride the mammoth, the tusks of ageold ivory attempting to impale the sky, the hairy trunk chasing the steady falling snowflakes. Can you warmblooded mortal imagine that? Did you ever experience temperatures that made air liquid and coloured fingers black? Do you know what it's like to listen to the polarwind and to be able to say that this is frozen music? Have you ever dreamt of a snowball fight with longtoothed, curveclawed icemen, who don't rest before even your immortal soul shows holes from the iceballs?
The answer will be wholeheartedly no. No, you don't know that every snowflake is unique but alwatys reflecting my power.
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