Magnus’ Conversation

Kesh’marra in the desert of Tanzadar. Magnus’ memory stirred. How old was he in this memory? He couldn’t remember. All he could recall was Kesh’marra. That’s where he was going now. He could feel the mask burning through his pack, enticing him, as always, to wear it. Azzy, his friend for years, giggled. “I like blood.” He said, while Magnus doused a rag with water and wrapped it around his hot head.

“Oh Azzy, there’s nothing like that here!” Magnus replied cheerfully. There was, in fact, a trail of corpses, twisted and broken, right in Magnus’ path. But Magnus was busy following a dying memory.

He was only a boy, chasing a cricket down the clean stone steps of the Monastry wall when he spotted them through a window. It was just a glimpse. The group of monks summoning something. Chanting words that sounded ugly and made Magnus feel afraid and sick. He could see the mask at the centre, the eyes were glowing but it was laid carefully on the stone floor. Nobody wore it.

“So many dead… how pretty!” Azzy said to Magnus, jolting him back to the present.

The memory of a pool of blood by the mask faded.

“Now, now Azzy, they’re not dead, they’re asleep!” Replied the cheery monk. Magnus poked the body of a warrior who had lain like this in the heat of the desert for a few hours. “Oh! Azzy! Maybe you are right, this one seems dead!”

There was a grunt from somewhere behind Magnus. At first he thought it was Azzy agreeing. His right arm tensed and molten gold travelled from elbow to finger tips. His golden arm swiftly rose up, stopping a huge club from cracking over his skull and Azzy giggled in glee. Slowly, Magnus turned his body, keeping his arm straight up, holding the club at bay. He was face to face with an Orc raider and his peripheral vision counted at least a dozen more coming closer.

“Let’s make friends…” Magnus heard. The mask covered his face now. He lost himself in the frenzy of the fight.


Magnus flicked the blood from his golden arm. Fat droplets of the crimson liquid splattered along the sand, thudding like rain.

“More will come.” Azzy said. “More WILL come.” Magnus frowned. “More will COME!” Azzy was insistant and Magnus felt his thoughts become confused and fragmented again.

Magnus lifted the mask from his face and took stock of what was around him.

He saw the mangled corpses of dozens, hundreds of different peoples orcs, humans, some dwarves… Some had the tell-tale mark of his fist through their torsos, or bashed over skulls. Some were barely recognisable, bloody pulps. An uneasy calm rested over Azzy and Magnus stepped away from the killing fields towards Kesh’marra itself.

As he approached the city, a throng of people were watching in silent terror at the carnage. They nervously shuffled away from Magnus.

“Hello, I’m here to help! Are there more attackers?” Magnus declared, a big grin on his young face.

“You killed them all. Theirs and Ours.” An ancient looking man stepped forward. He wore a chain around his neck with a desert lilly pendant dangling from the end.

Magnus’ eyes caught the necklace glinting in the dying light of the sun.

She was there, her pendant dull and stained with blood. A gift from her grandfather, her grandfather who lived in Kesh’Marra. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, all their glimmer and joy gone. The mask lay beside her. Her blood mingled with the dust on the floor. The chanting grew louder. Magnus was too small. He was too weak. But he was quick. Despite the terror he felt, he dashed forwards and reached for the cursed mask…

“Begone young one. Your type of help is not needed.” The old man said. Azzy giggled in the background.

“They do not want you here – KILL THEM!”

“Oh Azzy, they’re our friends! Why would I kill them?” Magnus said. The crowd recoiled, gasps and shudders coming from the survivors.

“Begone. This is your final warning.” The old man lifted his staff. It crackled with magic.

Azzy was screaming now. “KILL THEM! KILL THEM!” Magnus sighed. When Azzy got like this, there was no talking him down. He tore himself away from Kesh’Marra and began to walk away. The further into the carnage he walked, the quieter Azzy became. With his back turned, Magnus waved goodbye to the crowd.

Nobody waved back.

An Adventure Begins…

The harsh snows of the cold north are unwelcoming at any time of year, but at winter they are particularly cruel.  Only the most desperate need could compel anyone to venture to these frost-bitten lands.  But travel you must, braving frost bite and harm to bring news to the town of Winterholm.

Amongst the most northerly of settlements, this distant town is home to a hardy and independent minded people.  But news has reached the south lands of a terrible illness that has assailed it.  The Sleeping Sickness is running rife amongst the townsfolk leaving all who are afflicted by it in a deep, dreamless sleep akin to hibernation.  Nothing can wake the sleepers; not noise, discomfort, pain or hunger.

Desperate for help, the town alchemist sent her apprentice Cobren to the town of Roseoak in search of a cure.  It was there in the Plucked Goose that you crossed paths with Cobren. Though they were successful in finding the recipe for a cure, the apprentice became the latest afflicted by the sleeping sickness. Too weakened to make the journey to Winterholme themselves, Cobren implored you to do so with their last waking breath.

Whether out of a sense of nobility or for the promise of a reward, you agreed to take the formula to Winterholme. Clad in a thick winter coat given to you by the generous townsfolk of Roseoak, you ventured forth – it was only a day or two before the greenery of the south began to vanish beneath the white snows of the North.

The journey is difficult, but you have faced worse in your adventures. Your progress is slowed by the poor conditions and the need to seek shelter from the elements, but you do not give up – well aware that the precious parchment carried in your pack may be the only thing that can save the people of Winterholme.

By the sixth day of your journey you know that the town is near, but you also realise you are not alone.  Carefully walking up the only good road left, your attention is drawn to shapes flittering through the snow at the edge of your vision.  Wolves it seems, and a particularly hardy breed made bold by the cold. It is obvious that the pack is stalking you, at least three beasts watching and waiting for you to tire before they pounce.

winter wolf
Winter Wolf

Running is not an option – it is too far to Winterholme.  The Wolves will catch you long before you make it.  You must take action – will you:

  1. Use your Animal Handling to show the pack you are one of them and get them onside.
  2. Call upon your sorcerous might to frighten the pack off. Or incinerate them in fire.  Really, you’re not too picky.
  3. Cry “EAT STEEL!” as you draw your weapon and charge headfirst at the nearest Wolf.

Adventurers and Artists is now a Podcast!

We are changing format!

Yes, you’ve read right, Adventurers and Artists is getting an upgrade and going online! While we loved the concerts we ran, every Sunday, for five Sundays in a row, this year we are doing things a little differently.

We have access to an amazing recording space, and we will be putting our tech skills, our imagination and our drive to work in bringing you all an entire season of adventures, with live music, in the form of podcasts.

Expect to hear our first episode around June time (maybe earlier). In the meantime, keep up-to-date with all our news, stories and game tips through our Facebook/Twitter accounts!

Goald’s Escape

While Goald of Zahl, bard extraordinaire, preferred the night, he did not like the fact that he was currently running for his life. The agile Drow could easily navigate through the mist-heavy, cobbled streets of Krandebergh, but his current outfit made it hard to do so. He leapt over a low wall, where his fine shoes skidded on the mossy surface and he barely landed on his feet on the other side. It would have been deeply embarrassing to have been caught flat on his rear. He shuddered at the thought. Then continued to run as fast as he could. Dwarven guards were notorious for catching their prey and he needed to get out of the Krandebergh’s borders as fast as possible. Perhaps steal a horse or hide in an unlikely place until all this nonsense blew over. And really, it was nonsense. So what if she happened to be the Duke’s daughter…


The full-body length mirror that Goald was staring into didn’t do the handsome Drow any justice. Perhaps it was the time of day. His skin never looked its best in too much sun, even as it was setting. His skin was at its most dramatic when his natural dark hues took on hints of light, so that the contrast made his features sharper and his pure, white hair come alive on its own. Either way, he thought while pulling his waistcoat across his well-defined chest, he looked good. No. He looked great.

Goald picked up a crystal bottle that sat on a gilded table and spritzed the content into his throat. The sweet rosewater gently prepared his vocal chords for the performance that was to come. He was the special guest of the Duke of Krandebergh, there to recount his great exploits as the famed dragon slayer of the Blade Mountains.

After returning to Roseoak soaring on the back of a great eagle, announcing his glorious victory against the vicious Red Dragon that threatened them all, Goald had enjoyed a revival of sorts. He was unanimously admired by anyone who knew his tale (and he made sure everyone knew it) and was instantly welcomed into the dizzy heights of high society in Roseoak and beyond.

He flicked a stray strand of white hair from his shoulder and then nodded. He was ready. Stepping into the great hallway of Krande Mannor, the Duke’s summer residence, was not intimidating for Goald. It’s fine marble floors and luxurious paintings worth more than people’s entire homes did not phase him. Goald belonged here, after all. He entered the great ballroom where he was expected at least an hour prior.

No-one was prepared for the great doors to swing open and a majestic, silky smooth voice bellow, “Greetings, my most esteemed hosts.” Goald bowed, he could hear the delighted cries and giggles of his audience. When he stood up-right again, he flashed them all his most devastating smile. The crowd of finely dressed gentlemen and ladies were lowering their exquisite, elaborate masks to get a better look at him.

“I hear he only bathes in purified mountain water and he insists on TWO baths a day!” Whispered one guest to her friend.

“His voice – it just does something to me.” Swooned another.

“Was he not engaged to the Countess of Frandelal?” One confused guest asked his companion.

“Really Cuthbert, why can’t you ever look like that in a waist-coat.” Fussed another, staring at their partner in disapproval.

Goald heard every single, little murmur and basked in the attention. He walked forward, greeting his masked guests with his usual charm, letting his flattering audience continue to shower him with affection.

One lady, with the most beautiful umber skin and wearing a sumptuous red gown, pushed her way through the crowd and offered him her hand. She lowered her emerald encrusted mask, bright green eyes met his and a teasing smile adorned her lips. This lady was certainly one of the most beautiful Goald had met (and he had met many). “My lady, you are resplendent today.” Goald said, knowing that many would be staring daggers at the one who inspired his comment. He took her hand and gently kissed it. She giggled.

“Ser, I am told that you are a person of great… talent.” Her eyes flicked up and down his figure.

Goald’s smile widened. “I am indeed.”

The great booming voice of the Duke of Kranenbergh disrupted everyone. “Now, now Anabella, do not hog our guest, he is here for all of us!”

“I am sorry father,” Came her honied voice, “I simply wanted to meet this famed hero.” She let the word linger in her mouth, turning and melting back into the crowd, giving him one last glance before she held her mask to her eyes again.

Goald made his way to the grand piano waiting for him where a young man waited.

“Sir I would just like to say, it is an honour to perform with you today.” He said breathlessly.

Goald gave him a little wink. “Shall we blow this audience away then young-”

“Jonathan sir, Jonathan Montgomery.” The young man was standing up and bowing awkwardly over and over.

“Come now young Jonathan, let us show these guests just how talented I am.”


The audience was enraptured for the full two hours that Goald performed. They laughed and cried with him and finally, they erupted into loud applause and cries of ‘Encore!’ The rest of the evening, Goald joked, charmed and flirted with his guests, delighting them all. But he could see no sign of Anabelle, the lady whom he really wanted to speak to. Eventually, he spotted her sashaying away and out of the ballroom, giving him one last look before she did so. Goald humbly declared, ‘My friends, none of this would have been possible without my pianist companion here, Jonathan Montgomery. Please, Jonathan, come and meet everyone.” And with that, Goald used his great skill at disappearing from large crowds to sneak away after the lady.

He felt a hand grab at him and pull him. It was Anabelle, her lips pressed gently, silently into his. It was a heavenly few minutes before the Duke loudly and rudely, in Goald’s opinion, interrupted them.

“What’s this?! Goald of Zahl, how dare you? Get your filthy low-born hands off my daughter!” He roared. Goald pulled away from Anabelle in shock. She was giggling.

“Quickly, leave that way!” She whispered to him, pointing to a window that led to the main lawn and onto the manor grounds. She then turned to placate her father. “Please Father, what will the guests think!”

The Duke did not seem to care. Soon, he sent his personal guard after the Drow.


Goald could hear them keep pace with him. Those blasted guards. They were a lot quicker than he’d first estimated. Their footsteps echoed on the cobbled streets. And there was another noise, the clop clop of a horse and the loud churning of a carriage. Great. This was all he needed. He began to slow down and act as if nothing was the matter at all. But the guards were closing the gap quickly.

As he predicted, a carriage sped past him and then came to a stop right before his path. He took a deep breath and prepared his most fetching smile. The door to the carriage flew open and Anabelle gave him a knowing grin. She was dressed in her evening gown, looking resplendent as the moonlight hit her lovely features. She inclined her head into the carriage and as the guards rounded the corner of the street, he dashed in and she shut the carriage door behind them, ordering her driver to go on ahead. They sat in silence as the carriage rolled away. The young lady was risking her father’s wrath. Well, thought Goald, it’s simply impossible to resist this much talent.

Ice in a cave

Momo’s Hunt

Momo was hungry. The snowy gale blowing around her made her feel hungrier still. And even though she wanted nothing more than to return to her warm little hollow, with its cut of meats hanging from the ceiling and a cosy bed of furs just her size, she pressed on. The Frozen North, a land perpetually covered in frost and snow, was vast and brutal. Momo could feel the wind cutting into her cheeks and with each step, she sank into the snow a little deeper. Momo wrapped the furs around her tighter.

There’s been no Mammoth sightings for weeks.” One villager in Whitevale had told her. “It’s not a good omen, the Shaman said the land is under a curse, that it is dying. There are less and less fish in the lakes, our traps are empty.” The woman continued. Momo grunted her thanks to the local and walked to the edge edge of the village. She looked into the pure white wilderness. There were children playing behind her, chasing each other, pretending to be great beasts, or hunters, or darker creatures that stole the souls of the lost. She was broken out of her watch by a little boy tapping on her shoulder.

It’s getting really, really dark.” He said, his sweet, high voice livening the cold air. Momo nodded and made her way back to the little tent she’d set up earlier.

At first dawn, Momo looked over the frozen steppes. The sky above them was brilliant pink with the sun rising in the distance and Momo walked away to the sounds of parents calling their children for their first meal.

In her many years in the wilds, Momo had learned one thing. Hunger drove every creature of the wilds. If all the most fertile lands in this white wilderness were empty, something dark and evil was frightening everything off. There were hints of this darkness here and there as she travelled, the viciously torn carcass of a mammoth or the entrails of a large moose draped over rocks. Most tellingly, Momo saw the huge paw-prints of a pack of winter wolves heading west, far away from this place. She crouched down to the snowy ground and peered closer at the paw-prints. Winter wolves were smart enough to know when to run.

The snow storm had not let up throughout the day. Momo felt the cold bite into her and her foot pressed into something sharp. Just before the needle point pierced her skin, she pulled her foot back. She dug around the fresh snow and revealed the jagged thigh-bone of a mammoth. She dug some more and found a skull big enough for her to shelter in. The remains of a young dragon were a few feet further along her path. Following this trail of bones was what finally led her to the base of a steep rock face and a cave, where she suspected the creature that was guilty of driving all her food away lived. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, threatening to leave her in complete darkness, so she scurried to the edge of the cave and listened in. Great, bellowing snores were coming from deeper in. She inched forward, pressed tight against the cave walls. Each step was hazardous. The guts from the beast’s latest hunt still lay strewn all over the ground.

The creature was asleep on its front, a huge pile of snowy white fur heaving up and down in the icy cave. Above it where thousands of icicles dangling with promise. Momo knew she’d wake the abominable yeti if she approached any closer. Instead, she grabbed one of her trusty axes and hurled it above the creature, to where the dangerous looking icicles sparkled, catching the last light of a dying day. The crash forced the yeti awake in an instant, but it lumbered out from under the crashing ice just in time to avoid the worst of the shards. Momo was already running outside where she saw the blizzard had already become so bad, she could see barely five feet in front of her. Every now and then, she caught a glimpse of a full, rising moon, but its light was not strong enough to penetrate the flurry of snow. The yeti was roaring behind her while Momo crouched by the entrance, waiting for her opportunity.

The abominable yeti was at its full height, the glare of fury in its eyes. It stopped at the cave exit and took a cautious sniff. In the time Momo had stood still, the blizzard had covered her in snow. The creature’s nose only picked up a light, unfamiliar scent and it took a step out of its home, into the blizzard. Momo could feel the snow shift with each step the huge beast took. But she waited until the moment the yeti’s head was crouched low, sniffing at the pile of snow outside its cave.

Momo’s hand shot out, gripped the yeti’s fur tight and swung herself up so that she was firmly sat on its shoulders. She grabbed a spear, hoisted it up and dug it deep down into the beast’s shoulder, instantly rendering its right arm useless. The yeti roared in indignation and pain, using its other arm to bat away the offensive halfling. She held on as tight as she could, but eventually, a great whap from the yeti’s large hands sent her hurtling to the ground.

Momo landed several feet away, sprawling on the virgin snow. She scrambled up and then felt the coldest air chill her skin. She took a deep breath and buried herself into the snow under her. The abominable yeti’s legendary ice breath was freezing everything to a stop above her. She waited. The yeti was pacing around, trying to find the morsel it hoped would be its next meal. She felt its giant foot thud down a hair’s breadth from her.

She lashed out again, this time driving her second hand axe deep into the yeti’s ankle. She could feel the frenzy build in her and she unleashed it until she was no longer able to think of anything other than bringing this creature down. She hacked and hacked, the yeti howling in pain, grabbing at the halfling, but failing to grip it in its great paws while the pain blinded his sense. Finally, the yeti grabbed Momo’s head, picked her up and threw her hard against the cliff wall.

For a moment, Momo was utterly unable to do anything, stunned by the force of the throw and the sharp pain spreading from her neck down to her spine. She had dropped down to the snow and was breathing heavily. But as her senses came back, the only thing she could feel was pure, unbridled and concentrated rage.

The yeti was running at her now, despite its ankle injury, it was gaining speed. Momo pulled out her final weapon, a great axe that she had stolen from an Orc many years before, and charged towards the yeti, dodging its swiping claws and swinging her axe at its thigh, where she left a deep cut. The yeti’s claws dug into her side, leaving puncture wounds through her furs. The blizzard of snow was blinding them both. Not even the moon could peer down to the Frozen North and see the battle between monster and hunter.

Two days later, the villagers of Whitevale looked over a clear morning. The blizzard seemed to have left overnight and they had seen the first signs of life again across the frozen steppes. A herd of reindeer trudging across the tundra, slowly making their way east again made the villagers cheer. Soon a hunting party was sent out to pick out a few choice animals to bring back. The children spent the morning playing until one little boy pointed into the horizon. “Look! What’s that?” He shouted in excitement.

A small figure was dragging a creature several times bigger than itself across the snow. The steps they were taking were excruciatingly slow, but they persevered. Eventually, they could see them more clearly. It was Momo returning, towing her fresh kill behind her.

lava covered mountains

Roskov’s Doom

The night sky was a crimson hue today. The great Red Dragon had burst through the smog he had created and was roaring in fury as four great heroes clung to its back, desperate to end the cruel creature’s reign. Roskov, with his close connection to living creatures, could see that the dragon was close to death. Hurtling through the sky to the lava pit below seemed like a terrible idea, so he motioned a rune with his hands and said a word Momo didn’t understand. But her ears picked up the sound of eagles, great, majestic beings, rulers of the sky, ready to help any way they could. Roskov let out a cry of triumph, welcoming his new allies. Then, the Monk Magnus, expertly balancing on the back of the furious, flying dragon, inched towards the monster’s head until, with a war-cry, he bore his fists upon its fearsome skull. Goald saw this and took the opportunity to slither his rapier through the dragon’s scales and pierce to its most vulnurable heart.


The dragon let out a final roar of fury and defiance before the light went out of its burning eyes. Momo, Gould, Roskov and Magnus held on to dear life as the dragon crashed down further into a molten pit of death. In the seconds the fall took, the eagles swooped in, allowing each adventurer to drop on their backs and land safely somewhere far from the heat and fire. Except there were only three eagles. Magnus was clinging to the neck of the falling dragon, a gale of air soaring around him. With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed onto one eagle flying beside him. For now, Magnus was safe. Goald too, gripping dragon scales on the creature’s back, calculated his chances of survival on the dragon and instead leapt towards the back of a second eagle flying towards him. His hands dug into its feathery back, and he breathed freely, knowing full well what would have awaited him below. Momo, seeing the ground gather fast before her, grabbed Roskov and threw herself at the final eagle.


It was too much for the bird. It was struggling to keep both itself and the people on its back in flight. Momo and Roskov prepared to meet their doom with dignity. Except, at the last moment, Roskov dug deep into his magic and called upon the powers of nature to spare him. They responded, and he summoned the image of a mole, a creature with claws so great that it could hold onto anything.


Except it couldn’t.


The new form Roskov took struggled to maintain its grip on the shoulders of the Barbarian Momo. He scrambled uselessly before he felt everything below him give way and then he was falling. He landed on the ground below with a thud and Roskov was no more. When everyone else had landed, Goald could see the body begin to roll down the bank and towards the lava.


“Poor Roskov.” Murmured Goald, pressing a fist into his chest and closing his eyes.


“Momo not know where dwarf is.” Momo was crouched and sniffing at the sulphur in the air, she rubbed her eyes, blinded by the sulphurous smoke around them.


“No, no, we can’t tell her, obviously. That would be cruel.” Magnus was staring up, as if talking to someone above him. Goald knew he was communicating with his “demon” friend.


“Let me just clarify something with you Momo, you don’t know where Roskov is?” Goald of Zahl asked, looking at Roskov’s body plopping into the lava and sinking into oblivion.


Momo stood up and sighed sadly. “Me no know.”


Goald patted the halfling on her fiery red, head. She sniffled while Magnus continued to chatter to his demon. “No, don’t be silly! Of course I can’t jump into that lava to recover the body. Yes I know you’ll find it warm and cosy.” He caught Goald’s look and Magnus lowered his voice.


“Do not fear Momo, when I write about this wonderous day, I will tell the world the truth, that he turned into a soaring eagle and flew into the sunset, having saved all of us from our certain deaths…”  Goald finished his little speech with a flurry of his hands.


“Momo sad. Momo hungry too. Now Momo more sad.”


Magnus was glancing at the lava nervously. “My good friend has made an excellent point. We should really be getting away from here as soon as possible.” The giant eagles were still faithfully waiting for the trio, one final gift from Roskov, Son of the Mountain.

winter wolf

Winter Themed Dungeons & Dragons Monsters

As it’s winter, we’ve decided to give a list of our favourite winter themed monsters. These are what you can find in any multiverse Arctic environment and some even create the Arctic environment themselves.


For the Beginner Group – Levels 1-4

Ice Mephits (Easy-Medium depending on number)

What do you get if you cross a goblin with some ice? An Ice Mephit! These cruel little blighters aren’t too dangerous on their own, but get a pack of them and any group will find they have to prove their worth against these ice-cold foes.

Best Ability: The ice mephit bursts into ice-shards when it dies, ensuring that in its last moments, everyone around them suffers as much as possible.

Monster Manual Page 215

Winter Wolf (Hard)

Winter wolves are the dark, secret fear we all have of the hungry wolf at night. If one finds you in the snow and you are alone, you may as well whisper your final words in despair. Silent and deadly, Winter Wolves are rarely found alone. They work in packs or with masters more cruel and twisted than them. Beware speaking your plans of attack around these creatures, they can probably understand what you’re saying.

Best Ability: Cold Breath. With this, the wolf breathes out freezing air that knocks the wind out of all enemies it touches.

Monster Manual Page 340


For the Intermediate Group – Levels 5-9

Air Elemental (Easy)

Imagine a desert that is now suddenly covered in snow and has blistering, howling winds knocking down anything vertical for miles around. That could be the fault of a powerful air elemental (or a group of them). Elementals overall can be offer unique challenges because they have several damage resistances and many condition immunities. Even a CR (challenge rating) 5 Air Elemental can stump a band of adventurers. You can also have fun with them in that they can turn any area into a winter wonderland or wasteland, depending on your mood as GM.

Best Ability: Elementals can pass through any space as long as it’s 1 inch wide or bigger. This makes them very, very tricky to trap.

Monster Manual Page 134

White Dragons (Medium to Hard depending on age)

While white dragons aren’t the smartest of the chromatics, they are brutal fighters and should be treated with caution. The closer adventurers edge towards one, the colder and colder it becomes. White Dragons can be cowed if beaten by a powerful enough master, but such feats of strength are rare.

Best Ability: Ice Walk. White Dragons can move as easily on ice as any other surface, making chasing or running away from it in these conditions a monumental test of skill or luck.

Monster Manual Page 100-102


For the Experienced Group – Levels 10+

Storm Giant Quintessent (Medium)

A Quintessent is a giant that has dispersed itself and become an elemental force to be reckoned with. Having one that fits with the arctic theme is no stretch considering they are often linked with prominent geographical features such as a mountain peak.

Best Ability: Quintessents can form weapons out of the elements around them and hurl them at their foes.

Volo’s Guide to Monsters Page 150-151

Death Knight (Medium)

The great thing about Death Knights is that they don’t really die, even after you kill them. They only die if they have their personal failings redeemed. This makes them difficult to keep down for good. They are great monsters to put before players because of the story-rich potential as well as the difficulty to best in combat.

Best Ability: Spellcasting. Death Knights are 19th-level spellcasters. They can wreak havoc in a couple of rounds of combat with some very nasty spells.

Monster Manual Page 47

There are many, many more ice themed creatures you can use this winter to spice up your Arctic adventure. Let us know your favourites!