As told by Mottled Beast Lord Thaak...
The fire and destruction was complete; a God's wrath rained in jealous glory down on the unsuspecting heads of nobles and peasantry alike. A city lay in ruin, the last testament to those who strove to the grandeur of the Immortals. It was few who escaped the divine onslaught--escaped into the cold and the night.
Wind whipped, bone-chilling cold through the camp. Joking and boasting whispered through the ice-capped valley as seven great men cradled kiln-forged blades across their laps. As Kilgosh pulled his whetstone across his blade and regaled his friends of battle prowess in the slaying of Grypsnag, holy molten blaze lighted the distant sky. "Oh Great Kyria, what hast Fate decreed upon our families," he exclaimed as a fire chariot drawn by flaming dragons descended upon their distant home. It was mere moments of hurled fire and lightening before Frostfall lay in ruin.
"YOU DARE TO FORSAKE THAT WHICH I HAVE GRANTED THEE!" The Lord Zir descended upon the frontier town of Frostfall, hulring death and destruction. Buildings toppled crushing man, woman, and child indiscriminately. "THEN LOSE ALL THAT YE HAVE!" In one fell swoop Zir left a city destroyed, a people homeless if not broken. The air stank of death and sulfur, and the cries of barely alive rose above the crackle of burning stone. Zir's Rage obliterated.
Breathless and lungs burning from the acrid fumes on the air, seven great mean raced into the streets of hell. Each going to his ruined home, witnessing the slow death of his wife and child. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps just dumb luck, but the greatest of the men, Kilgosh, fell to his knees, heartbroken. Tear-streaked face to the sky he howled, "OH GREAT KYRIA, WHAT HAST YE DONE TO ME! CURSE YOU AND YOUR FICKLE FATE!" And he collapsed where he lay.
The other great men were not so fortunate, their names lost in time, for they, in a blind rage, did attack the Lord Zir as he lighted in Central Market Square. Scattered, broken bodies is how they were found, their threads shorn from the great tapestry.
Sorrow and despair filled the soul of one loan figure as he wandered into the ice and snow. Dripping ice trailed from his weathered face as his grief ripped great sobs through his crystallized lungs. The inaudible cry echoed through his mind, "Why?" He found a small hollow and lay down to die, whispering to the sky as he closed his eyes, "May the great Kyria curse you Lord Zir, you destroyed my heart, my life." And he breathed out into sleep, the welcome sleep cold offered its victims.
Pain... glorious pain. It pricked its way into his soul and fired through is body. The slow awakening to consciousness drew him into the pain. He could not yet feel his fingers, nor his toes. His eyes would not open. He must have moaned as he tried to rise, the pain overwhelming him, for a comforting hand, and a voice that seemed very far away, lulled him back into oblivion. He drifted in and out of wakefulness, each time the pain greeting him. He could tell a fire burned near him, waking his frozen flesh. That was the source of his pain. He focused on the pain and let it filter through all his senses. The alternative was unthinkable; he did not want to remember. Soon he would feel his arms and legs, and large frame. Warm wetness coursed across his face, and momentarily frightened of a mortal injury, he raised a still numb hand to his face. Melting ice broke away and his eyes fluttered open. A strange man dressed in breeches and odd tattoos roasted what was left of the yeti that was keeping him warm.
The dull throb of his heart-beat rang through his skull as a tickling trickle ran across his face. The pain was excruciating but he eventually opened his eyes, blinking several times to focus at the scene before him. "Hah, my cold friend. You are awake. Welcome back to the land of the living." "Who are you? Was I dead? Where am I?" "So many questions Kilgosh. Why don't you eat first, we can talk later." Fear filled Kilgosh's eyes, "How do you know me? I'd have remembered if we met." He reached for his sword only to realize he must have dropped it from nerveless fingers the night before. Instead he flexed them, bringing pins and needles to his skin. The strange man chuckled, "Kilgosh, whom in the great north does not know you? Your exploits are legendary. So to is your plight." A bit mollified by the man's story, Kilgosh sat more calmly and accepted a bit of roasted yeti. Between scalding bites he asked, "well, I guess I should thank you for saving my life, for whatever its worth. My life my family, my home are all gone. To whom do I owe the favor of pulling me back into my misery?" "Ah, you are so sad for such a great man Kilgosh. I brought you back from what may as well have been death. Are you going to live now? For the future? Have I made a mistake?" Kilgosh looked curiously at the strange man, "Who are you?" "I am known in these parts as Wotan. I've lived in these hills for a few years now. There are several of your kin scattered throughout the mountains above, and I've wakened you to lead them. Satisfied?" "I've never heard of you, and I've no wish to lead anyone. I wish that I had died in the city fighting Fate-damned Zir!" "We can talk about this later Kilgosh, for now rest. You've much work ahead of you." With a wave of his hand Wotan turned to stoke the fire. Kilgosh suddenly felt drowsy, the words of protest dying on his lips. He slept like a babe at his mother's teat. Again, that next day, he awoke to pain, but this was pain of the heart. His limbs ached from the cold, but it was a welcome pain, one he could focus on to forget the senseless slaughter of his family. "So Wotan, I am to lead my people, or what’s left of them. Tell me, where do I lead them to? And to what purpose?" "All will be known in time Kilgosh, but for now all you need know is that you lead them to survival."
And so it was that Kilgosh and Wotan set out gathering together the refugees of Zir's Rage. Few women and less children had survived, and many were sick and dying as they were drawn together. In every instance the stranger half-naked man, Wotan, found the cure, or the way to survive. He advised Kilgosh in what to do, and they survived. They ate off the land, and lived like the animals for a generation. The "children of the ice" as they were called, became the first Barbarians.
Eventually Wotan and Kilgosh argued. It was about the reinclusion of Barbarians into the world: the reclamation of Frostfall. Kilgosh abandoned Wotan to the Barbarians and fled into the hills on his great white bear. The Barbarians had made a home in the hills and had found friends there. Wotan was saddened and knew that the proud warriors of the Winter North needed their leader. So he had them wait. It wasn't long before Kilgosh returned and agreed to help them rebuild Frostfall.:
In the privacy of his tent, Kilgosh spoke to Wotan. "Who are you Wotan? Who are you really?" "I've been waiting 20 long years for you to ask that Kilgosh. Does it really matter? Your people are alive, proud, and they prosper under your rule." "It matters to me friend. I would know who I've shared my fire for these last score of years." And Wotan arose to his feet and turned his back. His nakedness and tattoos shimmered. Kilgosh gasped at who he saw standing before him. At first he was angry and shouted. "Lord Jupiter! Ye've played me a fool! I thought ye were my friend. Ye did nae even try to save my family! Leave my tent! I care not for your presense!" "Think what you say Kilgosh. You are my friend. Zir was in a jealous rage, and though I might have defeated him if Kyria allowed, the devastation would have been worse. Your wife and child, as well as your people would have all been dead. That's IF I had survived." "So what are you saying?" Kilgosh was hardly able to believe the Lord of Justice was admitting weakness. "I am saying that you were unjustly treated by Lord Zir, and I did what I could to pull your people together, to survive. Kilgosh, when I found your frozen body on the slopes of these very mountains, your soul was barely connected. It took all my power to make you live." Kilgosh stood dumbfounded, and then knelt at the feet of his friend. Staring into the face of Lord Jupiter, tears welling in his eyes, he swore the allegiance of his people to the Immortal of Justice. And so it came to be that the Barbarians who clawed their survival from the Winter North revered Lord Jupiter, the Immortal of Justice. They called their own leaders Wotan in respect for Jupiter's sacrifice of 20 years in service to their survival.
This ends the tale of Wotan.