Holds are both the communities that most Skaldings belong to and the backbone of a Skalding’s identity. Whether a fortified village or a city with walls ten yards tall, the Hold you owe allegiance to is a fundamental part of what makes you a Skalding. Those who wander without owing allegiance to a Hold — no matter how tenuous that bond may be — are called Holdless, and looked at with distrust by most Skaldings, on the assumption that they’re stealing food from others in order to survive winters without a Hold, or have made bargains with dark Spirits for their survival. Most Holds are ruled by a Jarl, though the smaller village-sized ones are governed in the local Jarl’s stead by one of their Vorðrunar.
Owing allegiance to a Hold can be as meaningful as someone wants it to be — some who venture far from home regularly send money and news back to their Hold, while others feel they owe no fealty to the Hold they were born in or sailed out of. The only real difference is how much you want your Hold to care about you and come to your aid when you need it; those who stay in touch with their Hold and support it from afar can call on the Hold’s reputation and aid without repercussion, while those who have been relative strangers may be left empty-handed if they call upon the Hold in a time of need.
When Skaldings band together, whether to achieve a goal, fight as a military band, or sail on a single ship, they form what they call a Helm. Originally named after the Helmsman of a ship, whose name became synonymous with the crew of the ship they steered, Helms in the modern day are any organization of Skaldings that are smaller than a Hold or aren’t anchored to a specific location, not just a ship-based crew. Helms usually identify themselves with a Standard or other carved figurehead, again calling back to the tradition’s origin on the dragon ships of old, naming themselves after whatever the figurehead represents. A Skalding who sails as part of the crew of the Bloodhorn, for instance, would say that they are part of the Bloodhorn Helm. Helms can grow to significant sizes, encompassing hundreds or even thousands of people, though past a certain size they tend to fall apart from internal strife and poor administration.
A Skalding’s Helm is just as core a part of their identity as their Hold, and the tension between the two loyalties lies at the heart of many of the most dramatic Sagas. An Iskaldur Helm is not as tightly bound-together as a Jadefang Crew, and the Skaldings in one tend to identify much more with their Helmsman or Helmswoman and his or her ambitions than with one another, viewing their part in the captain’s Saga (and the riches they earn for working for them) as being the point of belonging to the Helm. Joining a Helm is as much a bargain as it is a pledge of loyalty: you lend them your strength and cunning, and they give you the benefits of their power, numbers, and leadership, so that everyone within the Helm might earn a share of the glory and wealth to be had.
Urdr Oressasdottir, a seer and trusted confidant of Hákonig Silverhair three centuries ago, had a vision: the Holds of Iskaldur lay in ruins, the great longships burned and broken, the fields and mountains echoing with chants in the Old Gods’ tongue. All this, she said, would not come at the hands of the cultists but by the blades of the other folk of the Continent, in their wrath and fury at the theft and plunder of their lands by Skalding ships. She convinced Hákonig Silverhair of the truth of her vision, and Silverhair in turn began to put in place restrictions on who could go out on raids beyond Iskaldur’s shores and what targets were allowed. This process of restricting the viking raids took decades, but eventually it was completed, with the whole collection of laws and customs becoming known as the Fateweaver’s Decree. It was Hákonig Blacktongue who finally convinced the Althinge to outlaw foreign raids entirely in 2773.
The 2700s and 2800s saw a gradual but dramatic shift in Iskaldur’s economy and culture, as their perspective on the rest of the world changed from looking at what they could take from people to what they could earn from them, trading in goods and services for profit without needing to steal or kill for it. The Sverðnar went out in their great longships all along the coasts and rivers of the Continent, bringing trade goods and fighting folk with them, seeking glory in commerce or by offering their services as mercenaries, and bringing new forms of wealth and honor back home with them. In 2797, the Jarldom was one of the leading proponents of declaring the Keelhaul War against the Jadefang Alliance, intent on ending the Reign of Piracy that was harming commerce across the southern breadth of the Continent. Even the spiteful Rivermarkers, ancestral enemies of the Skaldings, have slowly thawed their hatred of the folk of the north, no longer furiously repelling Sverðnar ships from their shores but instead cautiously allowing them to trade so long as they do not offer any further offense.
In modern times, the Fateweaver’s Decree stands as a turning point in Iskaldur’s history, marking where they changed from being predators into guardians. Skaldings are still the same people as back then — ever hungry for more, always seeking to climb higher, brave and clever and quick to violence — but now they stand as protectors of the flow of commerce across the Continent, rather than the hungry dragons preying upon it. The movement of goods and services across land and sea is now a vital lifeblood of Iskaldur, and the Skaldings will rise up with all the fury of a northern winter should it ever be threatened by another.
The Fræthnwyrd (FRATH-n-weerd) is a native Spirit of the Peninsula; it claims to have existed since before the Godswar, though no records of its presence in such times have been found. Regardless, it has followers across Skalding society, whom it trains in the ways of stealth and chaos, turning them into loyal agents who help it to fulfill its goals of bringing low the mighty and ruining the reputations of the prideful. The creature is said by folk who have encountered it in dreams to resemble a cloud of fog with a thousand eyes fashioned of gleaming hoarfrost, though none have credibly claimed to have seen it in the waking world. It is viewed as a menace by the leaders and wealthy elite of Iskaldur, and as a force for needed change and sometimes justice by much of the rest of the Skalding population.
Despite millennia of coexistence with the Skalding people, the Fræthnwyrd’s true designs are still only barely understood. It is known to eat the fame and reputation of people, both its own chosen agents, the Wyrdlings, and that of their victims. Wyrdlings seemingly fade away from the memories of those around them over time, becoming easily forgotten by many, while the powerful folk who are targeted by the Wyrdlings have their fame ruined and brought low all out of proportion by the embarrassing incidents, thefts, and public shamings that the Wyrdlings orchestrate. (Interestingly, Veilwalkers are immune to this forgetfulness effect, implying that it truly does seem to have to do with the Fræthnwyrd consuming someone’s connection to the weave of Fate.)
The reason why the Spirit is tolerated rather than being hunted down is that its interference in Skalding life almost always results in the removal of corrupt and abusive leaders from positions of power. Most Skaldings actively look forward to the next time they hear about the Wyrdlings striking against a brutal Jarl or sleazy merchant prince, rather than viewing the Fræthnwyrd as the agent of chaos that it actually is. Any Jarl or Hákonig who proposed destroying the thing would face a rebellion, and so the mighty grit their teeth and silently watch their backs, waiting for the time when they themselves are in the Wyrdlings’ sights.
For their part, the Wyrdlings seem to view their escapades as a personal challenge and semi-divine quest rather than a pursuit of monetary gain, though many of their operations do liberate considerable sums of wealth. When questioned, Wyrdlings speak of their pranks, thefts, and spying as if it were for their own amusement, or for some higher purpose; many point to the fact that their targets were well-known to have behaved dishonorably, at least in rumor and hearsay, and that their actions were simply to expose the truth of the situation to the world, rather than having any intent to profit from it themselves. This further cements their reputation amongst most Skaldings as fighting against corrupt power structures, and makes it difficult for the Jarls to crack down on the Wyrdlings’ pseudo-religious organization in ways that would be truly effective.
The tale goes that twelve centuries ago a thrall, whose true name has been lost to time, prayed to Bakharos and Vallaros, and then took a large flake of obsidian and severed their hand in order to escape their chains. They slew their masters, freed the other thralls, and sailed away with the riches of their former masters’ Hold. Since then, fanatical followers of Bakharos and Vallaros calling themselves agents of the Obsidian Axe have continued to pop up every so often, carving their way through a Hold or Helm to cleanse it of slavers. They freed any thralls they found and chopped the hands off of any slavers who didn’t immediately perish in the purge, stringing the severed appendages up in a grisly garland on the ship’s mast or above the mantle of the Hold’s great hall.
Over time, the Obsidian Axe succeeded in its goals — the Holds have universally outlawed keeping thralls, and made bringing anyone to Iskaldur involuntarily into a capital crime. However, in the last two centuries the vigilante organization has begun to hunt down a new kind of lawbreaker: raiders. After the Fateweaver’s Decree, during the gradual shift towards outlawing raiding beyond Iskaldur’s borders, the Axe declared its intent to hunt those who would besmirch the nation’s honor. There was much religious debate over this; after all, what better means of holy conflict existed in Vallaros’ eye other than through fighting and taking what you could? Eventually, however, those who believed in the Fateweaver’s vision won out, and the Axe began hunting raiders in earnest across the Peninsula. Those vikings who took what they couldn’t trade for, who killed rather than bargained, soon found themselves being stalked by murderous vigilantes, and by the time viking raids were fully outlawed there were few remaining who were still interested in pursuing the practice.
In modern times the Obsidian Axe is a shadow of its former self; it still resurfaces when rumors of slavers or illegal raiders spread, hunting down and interrogating the alleged perpetrators to determine the truth of the matter, but its members have not found another great sin within the Skalding people that they must wage war against. With the coming of a new Churning, however, many in positions of power across the Peninsula worry that the Axe will become active once more, causing chaos by pursuing vigilante justice on those they suspect of cultist sympathies. Or, worse yet, that the aimless Axe might be coopted by the cultists themselves, given a newer, darker purpose in place of its past, more justified ones.
The land of Iskaldur was once the northern half of Zuno’olos, Zunakhar’s empire of twisted horror and arcane wonders. To further its infinite search for more knowledge, the Old God built many facilities deep within the earth, contained and protected by countless layers of wards and yards of stone and crystalline Adamant. These Vaults are treasure troves of rare materials and scraps of dark knowledge, and Skaldings are always eager to poke their noses in when a new one is discovered. Many Vaults have been looted down to the foundations, while others have been collapsed or burned to slag, but some… some still serve their master’s purpose.
The Vaults that remain active are a constant threat to the Skaldings who live nearby. Most are automated facilities designed to construct new servants, spitting out hordes of undead or warped golems, which periodically spill forth into the countryside above to harvest new “materials” for the Vaults’ horrific machines. Most such Vaults are destroyed when they are discovered, but some refuse to stay broken; these “Eternal Vaults” seem to have some means of repairing themselves, at which point they dig tunnels back up to the surface and send forth their minions to harvest mortal flesh once more.
The abominations that serve these hungering Vaults are known by the Skaldings collectively as the Stitched. Most of them are recognizably fashioned out of the body parts of mortals, stitched together with wire and sinew and given an undead facsimile of life. Other, fortunately rarer, creatures are blackened constructs, self-directed machines that resemble monstrous recreations of the mortal form; these creations seem to direct the mindless Stitched in how to attack and properly harvest the materials that the Vault needs in order to continue to follow its last remaining directives.
Skaldings long ago adopted the ideal that violence in service of survival was every person’s and community’s right, that it was entirely justified to take what you needed to survive from other people if you could not scratch it out of the earth or sea on your own. This led to millennia of raiding, as Skaldings honed their fighting skills upon one another and sailed across the seas to raid up and down the Rothlin River of Rivermark, the shores of Tomarr, and even as far as the Cerulean Isles on occasion. The Skaldings say that they have the hunger of dragons, and many of their cultural motifs harken back to an idealized vision of the great red and gold wyrms that roost amongst the frozen mountain peaks.
In the Skalding perspective, life is a constant quest for more power and resources. Material wealth is only the start of their desires, for money is just one form of power in their view. They seek to hone their bodies and minds so that they can overcome the obstacles that Fate sends their way, and many are devout followers of Vallaros. Knowledge is just another kind of tool and a key to power in their eyes; secrets should be acquired and hoarded like gold, and spent with even more care. Allies are perhaps the most precious of resources for a Skalding to have, multiplying their strengths and covering for their weaknesses, but only so long as they can be trusted to not betray you.
The hunger of dragons lurks in every Skalding’s heart; in the past, this led to them being viewed as ravening barbarians, taking whatever they could and sowing chaos and destruction in their wake. In modern times they are still just as hungry, but have found new ways of sating their desires. The quest for adventure, glory, and commerce has replaced raiding and pillaging, and Skalding mages hunt for the secrets of magic and Fate like they were the most precious of gems. The rest of the Continent looks to Iskaldur to lead the way forward, not out of fear but with respect and admiration, as the nation spreads its wings and roars defiance at the Old Gods’ servants who would dare seek to invade its lands once more.
Glory, fame, and renown are sought by all Skaldings, and there is no better way to achieve that than to have a Saga written about your deeds or those of your Helm. Death is all-too-common in Iskaldur, and the Skaldings have internalized this by focusing on the only thing that will live on after they die: their legend. This is one of the big drivers of Skalding society and ambition, the idea that it doesn’t matter what you achieve if nobody remembers it. Hence the importance of Skalds in Skalding society, and the goal of every Skalding to be immortalized in a Saga.
A Saga is a poem, song, or story — the exact form depends on the tastes and skills of the Skald composing it — describing the tale of a hero’s journey to accomplish great deeds. Some Sagas are tragedies, as the protagonist’s hubris and recklessness lead them to ruin after great initial successes, but most Sagas focus primarily on the wisdom, courage, and strength of the protagonist. These happier tales often end with something along the lines of “and then they retired to their Hold, their hunger for gold and glory sated,” the Skalding equivalent of “happily ever after.”
Many Sagas are focused on martial accomplishments, as those tend to be the easiest to turn into glorious song. However, the ones that tell tales of Jortrken and mages who perform great feats of strength, endurance, cleverness, or magic outside of the battlefield are just as treasured by Skaldings. Stories of hard work and overcoming long odds to keep hearths lit and bellies full, of standing against wild beasts with crook and spear when the “glorious warriors” were too busy fighting each other to protect their homes, are appreciated just as much (or even more) as ones that tell tales of bloody conquest or vanquishing terrible monsters. The critical part of every Saga is that it depict the protagonist as being exemplary at their core skillset, and show how they used their abilities to overcome challenges.
Not all Sagas need to focus on a single person, either. Collective glory is still glory, and many Sagas tell the tale of a brave Helm of warriors or cabal of mages who achieved some grand achievement or won some hard-fought victory. Warriors band together into Helms to achieve greater things than they could accomplish on their own, and so be included in the Sagas about such deeds. Many of these Sagas make a point of listing all the names of the heroes who are part of the group that is the focus of the story, ensuring that they are not forgotten so long as the stories are still told, despite not being the singular protagonist of the tale.
Skalds are prized as much for their ability to immortalize someone in song and Saga as they are for their ability to entertain. Practically all of the great heroes had at least one Skald in their company, often as one of their best friends or close comrades. The Skalds, in turn, see the opportunity to follow someone and weave the Saga of their greatness as an opportunity for immortality of their own, as the name of the Skald who came up with a Saga is remembered in equal regard as that of the hero being sung about. Many Helms have their own Skald, to compose the Helm’s Saga, and many Holds keep at least one (frequently many more) Skalds on staff, both to entertain the people of the Hold and to ensure that any tales of greatness that occur within the Hold’s territory are recorded for the ages.
Those who seek a new life are welcome in Iskaldur. Any who wish to voyage to the frozen north have but to ask a Skalding captain for passage, and it will be granted. Once they reach their destination they must work for a Hold that is accepting new immigrants for a year and a day, doing whatever labor they are most suitable for. It can be back-breaking and mind-numbing work; many give up and request to be sent back, especially when winter sets in, the cold bites deep, and what little food that the Hold has to share must be stretched for an entire season. Those who give up are branded with a small dragon’s-head mark upon their neck and then shipped back to whence they came, at no charge; they failed the Trial of Frost, but the Skaldings have respect for those who are willing to try, even if they aren’t hardy enough to stick it out to the end.
Those who last the entire year and a day, however, pass the Trial and are welcomed in by their new Hold as full citizens, hailed for surviving their first year within Iskaldur and praised for proving their strength and endurance. Their past before they journeyed to Iskaldur is forgotten and any prior crimes they committed forgiven in the eyes of their new countryfolk. Henceforth they are a Skalding, and their Saga begins a new and glorious chapter in the cold, hard land that has welcomed them home.
The days in Iskaldur are often filled with hard work, carving a living out of the cold earth and sea and making a home that is safe for your kin and comrades. When the day is done, it’s custom for Skaldings to gather around a fire in a mead hall or one of their homes to relax from the day’s work, build bonds, and repair their strength for when the next morning comes and they must do it all again. They call these gatherings Kvaldnur, or “evening’s fire” in the Skaldic tongue, for the way they bring warmth back to the soul and keep folk working together through the harshness of an Iskaldur winter.
Most Kvaldnur are filled with food, drink, and merriment. This can range from the usual jokes and humor of friends eating a meal together to the singing of songs, telling of old Sagas, and weaving of new stories (true or not) about the day’s events. In large Kvaldnur there are frequently folk who begin to take the opportunity of a large audience to show off, competing with others to see who is best at a given sport or activity. It’s rare for such large gatherings to go without at least one brawl, though it’s considered bad luck to allow a conflict sparked within a Kvaldur to escalate into serious injury or death.
When a group of Skaldings go for a prolonged period under stress and without any opportunity to blow off steam, the Kvaldnur that follows is usually a massive and highly disruptive event. It’s not uncommon for a tavern to burn down when a Helm sails into town after multiple weeks of facing stormy seas and ferocious beasts, or for a town to descend into riotous celebration when the last long harvest before winter fully sets in is finally completed. Most Jarls and other leaders of Skaldings understand the need to allow their people to cut loose and relax at regular intervals; those who don’t, who treat their followers as servants or slaves without ensuring that they have a chance to enjoy life, rarely last long in their positions.
The phrase “it was their Wyrd, and they met it well” is high praise for most Skaldings. Fatalism is a characteristic attitude that all of them share to some extent, a result of their familiarity with death and unique view of Fate. They believe that Fate is “sticky,” for lack of a better word, that it takes heroic effort or a great deal of cunning to escape what Fate has in store for you. Thus, in the Skalding mind, there eventually comes a point where it’s better to face death with as much pride and glory as you can manage, rather than continuing to desperately try to escape what’s coming, meeting your end like a Skalding rather than running from it like a coward. This has led to the folk of other nations always being wary of cornering Skaldings — they have a reputation for abruptly losing any concern for their own safety when they’re pushed to the brink, and becoming all the more dangerous for it.
The Elder Runes that are the foundation of Rune Kenning were first rediscovered by a Skalding mage, Othar Runefather, in the First Millennium, shortly before the First Churning. Ever since, the Runes have been an integral part of Iskaldur’s culture. Skaldings take great pride in the fact that their nation has the best and most storied rune mages on the Continent. Many non-mages not only know the meanings of the Runes but use them as a form of semi-mystical decoration in clothing, jewelry, armor, and their homes and businesses; they believe that even without magical charge the Runes can subtly attract the threads of Fate that align with their meaning, and so bring their bearer good luck, strength, or protection.
The artform known as Flyting is a uniquely Skalding thing, a test of skill with wordplay and rhyme, combined with the ever-popular Skalding hobbies of bragging, telling tall tales, and making fun of others’ shortcomings. Part improvisational poetry contest, part duel, a Flyting contest involves two (or sometimes more) people taking turns exchanging insults or bragging about how much better they are than their opponent, all composed in rhyme. Most Flyting contests have to be judged by others, with points given based on how cutting the jibes are and how well each contestant sticks to their rhyme, though it’s considered a mark of honor to be willing to concede a duel without needing the judges to tell you that you’ve lost.
Originally, Flyting was performed exclusively by Skalds as a way of resolving disputes between them, a literal duel of words rather than resorting to blades or magic. Over time it became a kind of test of skill, with Skalds using Flyting to sharpen their minds and tongues so that they might be better able to come up with a new composition quickly on demand. In modern times, many non-Skalds try their hands at it, both as an amateur sport and as a way of testing their wits against one another. The Valkhovs of Vallaros are particularly fond of using the custom, seeing the duel-like nature of Flyting and the way it sharpens the mind and tongue as a perfect illustration of the principles of their god in action.
Sögannar are paired brooches connected by a chain or beaded cord, worn pinned to the tunic, coat, or cloak just below the collarbone. They act as a kind of informal personal heraldry in Iskaldur, with the symbols, artwork, and other decorations on the brooches representing key parts of the wearer’s personality, personal history, and relations with their Hold, Helm, or other organization. The chain or chord connecting the brooches is often adorned with small trinkets or tools, either for utilitarian reasons or as mementos of important events in the person’s life, offering yet another way for Skaldings to display their personality to the world.
Promises from a Skalding are rather notorious amongst the rest of the Continent for being less than binding. To many foreigners, Skaldings are infamous for being willing to either completely break a promise or obeying the letter of the agreement and utterly defying the spirit, if doing so would aid them in accomplishing their goals. The Skaldings themselves see it quite differently, believing that most of them are honorable folk who mean what they say when they make a promise. However, they all know that promises only remain good up to a point; when circumstances change, and keeping that promise proves more and more costly, quite a few will decide that following the path of honor is simply not an acceptable choice.
The Skaldings understand this about themselves, and so developed a tradition to ensure that there could be promises and oaths between them that would always be kept: the Bindring. Forged of Mithryl or Adamant, with a thimble of blood from each participant in the promise used as flux in the forging, and woven with rituals of Fate and runes of binding, Bindrings are an oath made into metal. They are worn by those who have sworn it and those who it was sworn to as a physical representation of the vow, a reminder and a very real metaphysical chain tying the Fate of the wearers together.
Breaking an oath willingly made and forged into a Bindring is difficult, but possible; surviving that act with your reputation and Wyrd intact is an entirely different story, at least in the minds of most Skaldings. The proposal to forge a Bindring for an oath is usually only done when someone means to make absolutely certain that nobody has reason to doubt their intention to follow through on it. It’s often done for political alliances, to prevent backstabbing, or for particularly weighty personal decisions such as a business partnership or a marriage (though a pair of Bindrings are by no means a requirement for a marriage to be considered valid amongst the Skaldings).
The symbol of a Jarl’s authority is a short-handled hammer or maul, known as a Stjórnar (st-YORN-ar). These weapons are not meant for combat (though throughout history a few have been enchanted to function as sidearms); rather, they represent the weight of the Jarl’s authority and the finality of their judgement. Most Stjórnar are engraved with runes of command and authority, and blessed by a Valkhov of Alethos. They are frequently held by the spouse or second-in-command of the Jarl while the ruler holds court, symbolically keeping the weapon close-at-hand but not immediately threatening anyone with it. It’s only when a Jarl is adjudicating a dispute or considering going to war that they carry their Stjórnar on their own person, a sign that they are ready to swiftly dispense violence or justice as the need arises.
Hersirs and Helmsmen also carry smaller Stjórnar, halfway in size between a weapon and a piece of jewelry and tied to their belt, to symbolize the command over their warriors. These Háfhamar (HA-fa-mar) are usually much less ornate than a “proper” Stjórnar, but are still prized as a symbol of the bearer’s authority. As they earn glory over the course of their adventures, many commanders have their Háfhamar etched with artwork or short verses describing their victories.
<aside> 🔨 OOC Note: A Stjórnar or Háfhamar looks like depictions of Mjolnir, Thor’s legendary hammer. Any images of Mjolnir on jewelry or clothing are thus, in the universe of Veilguard, references to a Jarl’s authority or a fighting band’s military power, rather than Thor’s destructive might. If your character is a Hersir, working on behalf of a Jarl, is the leader of a Helm, or has become a Jarl during play, you are encouraged to wear Mjolnir motifs or even craft a short-handled hammer of your own as a sign of your character’s authority.
</aside>
Food storage is a critical part of life in Iskaldur; keeping your food somewhere safe and secure, in a form that won’t spoil before the end of winter, is vital to every Hold’s survival. Vermin that would eat stored food are feared as much for the famine they would bring as for the plague and sickness they tend to spread. The Snow Ghosts are a breed of only-barely-tamed white-furred cats that have made themselves at home across the peninsula, guarding food stores from vermin and watching over the corpses of the dead to keep them from rising into undeath. The Ghosts are treated by Skaldings as if they were semi-divine, not quite Spirits but definitely smarter and more magical than the average house cat.
Not only are the Ghosts excellent hunters who keep the grain and other stored foodstuffs safe from theft and contamination, they also seem to have the ability to ward off the undead, and an urge to watch over those who have passed beyond the Veil. When a body is stored in a cellar, either awaiting its funeral rites or for some other reason, a Ghost will always find its way into the room, taking up a watch over the corpse. It’s said that no bodies under the guard of a Snow Ghost have ever risen into undeath while the cat was present. Moreover, the cats are actively repellant to things that are already undead — there have been many documented cases of a Snow Ghost’s fury causing Stitched undead to flee an area.
None know where exactly the Ghosts came from. Legends have it that Perdruna walked the land with a great white cat at her side before she ascended to Sainthood, and that that animal was the ancestor of the modern Ghosts. Others claim that the cats are blessed by Vadesh, bringing peace and calm to those around them. Whatever their origin, the Skaldings treat Snow Ghosts with utmost respect, opening doors for them and making sure that any cat watching over the dead is provided with food and water to let it maintain its vigil. Deliberately harming a Snow Ghost is seen as an act against the entire Hold, and is punished very harshly.
There is an old story about a capricious sea Spirit who fell in love with the tales told by Skalding sailors on their ships, and sacrificed himself to keep his favorite crew afloat on their way home. He asked before he faded away only that they light a candle above their hearths in his memory once they reached land, and that they keep telling stories for the sea to hear. The nation as a whole adopted a night in early autumn, before the sea ice becomes too dangerous to pass through, as Hearthtide in the Spirit’s memory, lighting candles and telling stories (on the docks, if they are near the sea, or around the fire in the Hold’s great hall if not) to honor the Spirit and beckon any sailors still at sea home.
The day of the first deep snow for the year in a Hold, unless something must be done that day, is generally called as Holdsrest, and turns into a quiet festival for the entire community. Everyone forges their way through the drifts and into the great hall, bringing mead and food and materials to make something. It’s customary to craft something while you’re in the great hall, either food or some small handicraft, and give it to someone in another household as a good-luck token to wish them health through the long winter.
Named after the legendary Skald Sigri Goldentongue, who captivated a Jarl’s court for a full day and a night with her tales while her men stole his gold and mead from under his nose, Sigri’s Night is held in the height of summer. Each Hold has a grand party around the great hall, with would-be skalds engaging in flyting contests and retelling sagas of the great heroes of the Hold and the Skalding people as a whole. It is considered a high complement to have a saga told about you while you’re living, and many youngsters-turned-adventurers seek fame and fortune specifically in pursuit of forging such a legend.
White is the color of death in Iskaldur, the color of snow and sun-bleached bone and a world made pure and barren by Winter.
The folk of Iskaldur are used to death, whether at the hands of mortals or the ravages of the cruel land they live in. It’s not uncommon for a Skalding to attend a different funeral each week for most of the winter. They view death as a punctuation in the world, rather than a great tearing loss — after all, everyone dies, and will probably do so sooner rather than later, so what’s the point in getting worked up about it? Mourn not having the departed in your life anymore, but also celebrate that they no longer need to suffer through cold and hunger. As such, there isn’t really a custom for mourning in Iskaldur; folk are expected to carry on and adapt to the absence of someone, rather than to grieve for a set period of time. This isn’t always a healthy expectation, but it’s stubbornly resisted attempts to change it.
Funerals in Iskaldur are short affairs. Most folk keep an Aether Crystal on hand to have their bodies reduced to ash via the Return To The Cycle ritual, performed in front of any mourners who wish to attend. Once the ritual is complete, the funeral is concluded and the mourners move on to where the wake is being held. The ashes are poured into a stone vessel carved with the deeds and Sagas of the departed, which is sealed and sent out to sea with the next available ship, to be dropped overboard in the Skarren Sea. (Skaldings like to joke that this custom developed as a way of trying to “rejoin the mainland” by building a bridge of stone sarcophagi, though considering how deep the Skarren is it will be another millennia or five before that happens.)
No grave goods or riches are sent along with the departed to their final rest. The Skaldings view such practices as wasteful of materials, and would be horrified at the idea of destroying the items that a person used to achieve their deeds in life just because they’ve passed. Better to pass down a sword that has seen a dozen battles, that its inheritors might take strength from the Sagas of its past bearers, than to consign it to the deeps alongside the body of someone who no longer needs it.
Those who can’t afford the Aether Crystal for Return To The Cycle are given a “Thrall’s Funeral,” their corpse kept in a cellar until someone passes whose family has enough coin to pay for the ritual to be performed on it. Their ashes are placed in a smaller (and utterly plain) stone jar, which is buried at sea alongside their benefactor’s.
The reasoning for the utter dependence on Return To The Cycle for burial is threefold: the soil is too rocky and frozen to bury bodies reliably, the Stitched dwelling in the Zunolosi Vaults scattered throughout Iskaldur are known to body-snatch corpses left out for scavengers or buried too shallowly, and there are simply not enough trees in Iskaldur that the Skaldings can afford to cremate all of their dead with fire. The combination of these factors and the Skalding reverence for the sea quickly led to the custom being established after the Godswar, and it’s stuck ever since with only a few changes over the millennia.
After the funeral comes the wake, which is what most Skaldings think of when someone says “funeral”: a feast where the people who knew the departed take turns telling tales about the departed. The importance of a person is measured by both how long their family can afford to pay for the party and how long people take to tell stories about what the deceased accomplished in their life. A Skalding wake is, in the stories, a legendary thing — a party lasting a full week, with mead flowing like rivers and a feast available to all who would tell tales of the departed. In reality they rarely last more than a dozen hours, if only because there are only a few Holds with folk wealthy enough to fund that kind of party, but this doesn’t keep Skaldings from dreaming of being the one who’d be remembered with a truly legendary send-off.