Covenant of the Frostborne Queen
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Shrouded in a cloak of midnight and snow, the Frostborne Queen stands as an eternal sentinel of the frozen wilds. Her presence commands silence — not through fear, but reverence. Etched with runes of ancient power, her jet-black ceremonial robes glimmer with emerald and amber jewels, each one pulsing faintly with imprisoned souls or bound oaths.
Crowned with gnarled, branching antlers adorned with bone charms and deathstones, her headdress is a relic of war and ritual — carved with symbols that whisper in the cold wind. The central skull gazes outward like a grim totem, warding off trespassers and beckoning spirits alike.
Her obsidian-painted lips are set in quiet defiance, and beneath frost-pale skin, her gaze radiates with molten amber — not warmth, but an inner flame of unrelenting purpose. Intricate black tears streak from her eyes like a bleeding sigil, telling of sorrow bound in duty, of countless winters borne in silence.
She is no mere sorceress. She is a curse given form. A monarch of the lost woods. A warden of forgotten gods. And those who dare approach her with lies on their tongue find the forest silent... forevermore.
Covenant of the Frostborne Queen
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Shrouded in a cloak of midnight and snow, the Frostborne Queen stands as an eternal sentinel of the frozen wilds. Her presence commands silence — not through fear, but reverence. Etched with runes of ancient power, her jet-black ceremonial robes glimmer with emerald and amber jewels, each one pulsing faintly with imprisoned souls or bound oaths.
Crowned with gnarled, branching antlers adorned with bone charms and deathstones, her headdress is a relic of war and ritual — carved with symbols that whisper in the cold wind. The central skull gazes outward like a grim totem, warding off trespassers and beckoning spirits alike.
Her obsidian-painted lips are set in quiet defiance, and beneath frost-pale skin, her gaze radiates with molten amber — not warmth, but an inner flame of unrelenting purpose. Intricate black tears streak from her eyes like a bleeding sigil, telling of sorrow bound in duty, of countless winters borne in silence.
She is no mere sorceress. She is a curse given form. A monarch of the lost woods. A warden of forgotten gods. And those who dare approach her with lies on their tongue find the forest silent... forevermore.