When it's cold and the ice grips your skin,
few can stomach how harsh it is.
In the woods lurks a great old one,
who can scare the flesh right off your bones.

A ravenous specter,
walker on the wind!

By many names it's known,
but nothing's more fearsome when it's face is shown.
You'll fall to your knees and beg to
the god of the cold white silence.

A frozen giant with a heart made of ice,
hideous flesh eating creature of northern desolation.

In a land so cold,

it's story told for hundreds of years,
a horrid giant born from the snow.
Face to face you'll be torn apart,
by its claws or merely it's gaze.

Under black skies treads this grim arctic god,
oh great old one, god of the lost.

Long and bitter winter,
at the mercy of the arctic gods.
God of the cold white silence,
king of the northern forests!

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