If I crest the hills and cliffs, I will be detected. There must be another way. I scan the terrain, shifting again through the light spectrums, trying to penetrate the frozen winds and swirlingsnow that obscure all. In one warvisor filter, the fuzzy details fade away, leaving white outlines of paths heightened against an almost black background.
There!
An ice crevasse is revealed, narrow but cutting beneath the cliffs like a hidden artery. It should take me under and through the cliffs. Snow already coats my ashen armor, and beneath that, thin layers of ice are beginning to seep into my skin like a thousand tiny blades. Still, I press on through the soft snow, each step dragging as my great weight sinks me deep.
Eventually, I reach the entrance of the crevasse, my nose wrinkling not just from the snow tickling but from a sour smell of something unfamiliar wafting from strange splotches of yellow mucus, frozen against the ice like ancient emblems. I push through the narrow gap, seeing towering sheets of blue ice like a frozen ocean pressing in from either side, forcing me into a tight, cautious path.
The smell grows stronger with each step, reminiscent of death, rank and fresh. The snow crunches underfoot, my senses on high alert, yet my warvisor shows no living creature nearby. My foot slides forward, and as I press down, the snow gives way, like there’s nothing solid beneath.
I almost fall forward, thrown off balance, but my clawed hand shoots into the frozen walls, anchoring me just as the ground crumbles away. The ice burns the molten skin of my hand, but I hardly notice, distracted by the snow disappearing beneath my feet, falling off in clumps to a yawning black-blue abyss below.
Treacherous Virennix! This crevasse may contain dozens of such traps.
With a grunt, I scramble along the wall, pushing my claws deep into the frozen surface, until I test the snow with a tentative step. Judging it secure, I retract my claws, plugging into the ankle-deep biting snow. The trap burrows deep into thepermafrost, forcing me to use my warvisor’s magnification to pierce the darkness. I see the weathered bones and ancient furs of great creatures impaled upon numerous ice spears below—a disgraceful way for my legacy to end.
Using my claws, I carve a long, solid shard from the frozen walls of the crevasse, prodding for traps lurking ahead, though it slows my progress.
With each step, I drag the shard through the snow, pushing ahead cautiously. I refuse to fall prey to such base Virennix trickery. Already, I’ve avoided more of their traps, the ice crumbling into hidden chasms when my shard reveals the treacherous voids beneath.
Ice water drips down my wrist, my flaming blood steadily melting the shard until I’m forced to carve another, and then another. It’s maddeningly slow. The gnawing desperation from the bond urges me to rush forward like rolling magma, but that would spell certain death in this frozen land of traps and dishonor.
The towering frozen walls widen around me as I scan above, seeing the hunters many leagues above and behind. Good. Perhaps these traps will lessen. Thick snow gives way to slippery ice as the crevasse narrows above, allowing just a single streak of light to pierce the frozen depths.
Despite the chill, the hairs on the back of my neck rise—a warning. Danger approaches; I feel it deep within my fiery core. Yet when I scan the area with my warvisor, cycling through layers of spectral vision, I find nothing.
I slide across the loathsome blue crystalline floor, my senses sharpened like the claws extending from my fingers.
Then, the sound comes.
Titanic cracks of ice and the grinding groan of something immense halt my advance. Molten Rush floods my veins, my heart pounding with the fury of Scarn.Another cracking soundprompts me to spin with claws drawn, finding just walls of ice, cold, impassive.
By Arawnoth, what is this mockery?
A deep tremor shudders the ground beneath my feet, and I glance down. An immense shadow moves below, slithering beneath the ice.
Fool!I’ve allowed myself to be stalked from below!
The warvisor fills my senses with the immensity of the serpentine beast. Thick as a Draxxus tree and nearly as long. It can be only one thing—a sneachir.
The deadliest creature birthed from the frozen heart of Aroth, and now it hunts me, daring to deem me prey. It shall feel the scorching wrath of the greatest son of Scarn. Its enormous shadow darkens the ice, circling beneath the surface, before breaking apart the permafrost in its frantic hunger to reach me.
The ice beneath my feet explodes in a hail of frozen shards and icy water.
But I am prepared. Already in motion, I leap back just in time, narrowly avoiding the maned head that erupts from the shattered ice. Its whisker-like appendages droop from its massive jaws, and its milk-white eyes bore into me with bestial hunger. But I return its gaze with crimson hatred misting through the hazy cold. The Rush surges through my muscles, heightening my speed, focusing my mind.
I charge, roaring in defiance—where only a team of seasoned hunters would dare.
The sneachir’s gaping maw shoots out, almost snatching me as my feet slip mid-step on the slick ice. Its fangs, as long as my arm, scrape violently against the arcweave plating on my shoulder.
I retaliate, even in my stumble, my claws raking through its thick mane of icy tendrils, struggling to penetrate the interlocking blue and white scales beneath.
The screech of fangs on armor and claws against scales echoes like a death cry through the crystalline walls as sparks fly.
My momentum drags me across the ice, nearly toppling me despite my claws gouging into the permafrost. At last, I regain my balance, seeing the monster swivel to focus on me—its coming death.
This time, I approach low to the ground, one hand steadying my advance along the icy terrain. But the beast roars, forcing me to shield my face from a barrage of icy water and fallen snow cascading from the opening above.
The sneachir vanishes beneath the sheets of ice, submerged in its element, as an avalanche crashes down around me.
