O' King of Winter, O' King of Ice

“There is an old rhyme here in these lands” speaks a soothing old voice.

“Oh King of Winter,
Oh King of Ice,
Only he who accepts this burden,
Only he shall pay the price.

200 years of making,
200 year of pain,
He who survives this long
Forever he shall reign”

The gentle old Skald who almost sung the verse to you, pauses with a smile.

“Everyone thinks that this is just an old rhyme from days long gone by” he continued “but its not. It is a true reality.”

The old man sat down on a wooden chair, his eyes fixed upon the warm fire’s glow.

“Once every two hundred years a new King of Ice is chosen only from the mightiest of warriors. He or She who accepts the metaphorical crown endures 200 years of pain transforming into an Immortal elemental of ice. ‘Why?’ You ask? Well it certainly isn’t for glory or immortality. A battle ever rages for the kings of those so passed. Forever they battle the ‘Drage av Isen’, to keep you and I blissfully ignorant of the danger our world is in…

AH, but now you know young warrior. What will you do? The trial, ‘Utprøving’, will soon begin. Will you step up and become the next King of Ice? Will you carve your name into eternity?”

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This is for a contest over at Concept Cookie [link]