In the last few years, the summers have been growing shorter. Spring takes its time in coming, and autumn is gone far too soon. The remaining months linger in cold and snow and ice, freezing fertile ground and feeding the hunger in the bellies of rich and poor alike.

Winter, as the famous saying goes, is coming.

There’s nothing quite like unusual weather to get people’s attention, especially in a fantasy setting where you can make it as bad as you like. Endless blizzards, cursed frost lines, and crops that refuse to thaw even under high sun. You’ve got Ice Mephits, Ice Devils, and frozen-yet-ambulatory Water Elementals. White Dragons could be making a comeback.

All of these are flashy and strange, smashing their way through the world like supernatural wrecking balls.

But what you really want is something patient. And huge. A creature perfectly suited for this dying season. Something that suffers no competition.

The heart of the North.

And it has come South.

A Polar Bear, whether your players encounter it in the frozen reaches or somewhere it absolutely doesn’t belong, should be terrifying. Because Polar Bears are terrifying. They move across snow and ice like a whisper, swim as easily as seals, and can outrun a horse over short distances. Their claws are hooked razors. Their jaws crush bone.

They are ambush predators of staggering size.

The fact that they’re only CR 2 in the Monster Manual is baffling.

But like other beasts in this series, I’m not interested in how a Polar Bear fights as much as what it means.

You have the classic scenario: the party is trapped in the frozen North. Whiteout conditions. No clear path. Their supplies are running low. Water is scarce. The ice shifts beneath their boots.

And something is stalking them.

The wind brings a rank, animal smell and a low, rumbling growl.

There’s a shape in the snow that wasn’t there yesterday.

Stretch this tension as long as you can. Let the bear exist as a fear first — a suggestion, a shadow, a missing pack mule. Then let it strike. Not to fight. To wound. Scatter their gear. Shred their tents. Force them out into the cold and remind them whose territory this really is.

Or maybe your bear isn’t a beast at all….

Maybe it’s a servant of something older. It’s the immune system of the frozen North. The snowfields your players are crossing are sacred, and something has stirred beneath them to defend what lies ahead: the Solstice Shrine, the witch’s Ice Palace, the Cradle of the Frozen Moon.

The closer they get, the more fierce the Polar Bear becomes.

It should be clear: they don’t belong here. And the North knows it.

Let’s return to our opening premise:

Winter is rolling south. Season lines are breaking down. Crops are failing. Trade is faltering. People whisper of storms that never end. And in the places where ice has never reached — it begins to encroach.

That’s where the bear comes in.

This Polar Bear might look like a lost beast, but in truth it is leading. Every step it takes brings the arctic with it. It heralds a season that won’t leave. And where it walks, other things follow: wolves of snow, trees of frostglass, silent white elk that leave no prints.

The players might not even be able to reach the bear at first. The cold will kill them long before it does. They’ll need allies. Tools. Cold magic. Old secrets.

Imagine the moment at the table where an Ancient Silver Dragon offers them a choice: “If you wish to reach the King of Winter, you’ll have to go through me.”

For us out here in the real world, Polar Bears are so far beyond our daily experience that they might as well be mythical. With the right tone, you can lean into that. Make your players feel what the ancients must have felt when something white and silent stepped into camp and scattered blood like berries on snow.

Because while humans are terribly clever, the world does not always care about cleverness.

The winter walks.

And woe to those who stand in its way.