The winds blew cold along the wintery landscape of the Ered Annon peaks. The mountains soared so high into the sky that they remained covered in ivory snow even as the rest of the land lanuished under the heat waves of summer. The sun, though it shined in full glory in the middle of an empty blue sky, did little to comfort the band of warriors that made their way through the veritable glaciers that covered the mountaintops. Sprinkles of precipitation picked up by the winds lashed mercilessly at the travelers as they struggled to keep themselves upright. With the layer of snow nearly waist deep, the going had been slow and painful for them but they had pushed on anyhow, until now when they were only a short destination from their objective.

In the three days since leaving the village of Emyitu, the warriors had little rest and even less protection from the storm. No less than four of their number had failed to make it this far, either due to frost bite or from taking plunges off the mountainside after slipping on ice. It was a dangerous journey, as their adversary had intended all along, hoping to utilize the enviroment to its defensive advantage, weakening attackers before it unleashed the coup de grace.

Several months before, an Ice Dragon had moved into the region, occupying a position high amongst the peaks, from where it had unleashed a reign of terror against the human villagers of Emyitu. Killing defenders and eating livestock, the poor peasants, under the guidance of their village elder, had called out for help and hiring mercenaries to deal with the pest. Most of those that did respond were far from heroic, mere mercenaries out for money and battle. Others were actual dragonslayers, whose profession it was to defeat the devastating beasts.


The snow piled beneath his boots as Jaz Verdek skidded several feet down the mountain. He reached out with his free arm and tried to brake his descent; the action only froze his fingers more as they clawed against the ice. As quick as it had started though, the slide ended, with snow eventually piling up enough beneath his feet to stop his motion. Steam curled like smoke from Jaz's mouth as he blew a sigh of relief.

And it hadn't been too soon; another ten feet would have carried him off the cliff and down into the ravine below. He looked up, noticing the rather impressive scar his slide had made in the otherwise unblemished bank of snow. He tried to focus on the others of his present company, to see how far he had fallen out of formation. Luckily, few had noticed, having enough trouble of their own fighting through the thickly layered terrain. Many barely managed to move on all fours; crawling more than walking in vain attempts to avoid sinking.

It was then that Jaz had his first negative premonition of the coming fight. He knew the warriors assembled were all seasoned men with long histories of taking down dragons and living to tell the stories. It had been one of Verdek's reasons for joining this party. That, and having no money. Being stranded in a strange part of the world in need of gold was always a bad predicament for anyone, especially when the only job around for a mercenary to perform was a suicidal anti-dragon campaign.

Captain Jaheel turned around from his spot at the front to signal the column of adventurers that followed behind. He was a veteran, perhaps the most experienced dragonslayer of the lot, and Jaz, who knew little about dragons or the slaying of dragons, followed his orders without much question at all. If the Captain was now using hand signals instead of verbal commands, it meant that the group was now close to the dragon's lair.

Or he was just trying to avoid a landslide.

It didn't really matter for Jaz, who was disinclined to dispute the point with the subject matter expert. If following the man's orders was the best way to survive this fight, then by Loth that's what Jaz had to do.

"Always trust the subject matter experts," Jaz mumbled as he clammered back up to his previous position in the line.

It almost wasn't worth it. Bitter, biting cold and heavy winds were hardly inspiring, and Nathaniel had a particular disdain for the frigid weather as it was. Currently he was dressed in a number of jackets, hands wearing simple gloves. Having not had any boots, he'd worn a few layers of pants. The bottom was tucked into his shoe, then the others over it. This sandwich meant that snow getting through was a slim chance, and it also helped keep him insulated enough that he wasn't ferociously cold. Still, he was far from comfortable, and the tips of his ears and cheeks were a flushed red, contrasting the pale look the rest of him had taken on. Much longer out in this cold and he was sure he'd freeze.

A gesture from ahead made Nathaniel pause in his steps all together, staring at the captain and temporarily forgetting the pain he was in. Buried to his waist in snow (which was not unlike being water, except there were no creatures foolish enough to swim through its depths), sword held at chest level in either hand to keep it from the snow, he was quite the sight. He didn't doubt he looked as he had in his younger days of adventuring, trained and ready for action. Though he wasn't fond of having someone to order him around, he'd be even ore grumpy leading this ragtag band of 'heroes'. Nathaniel had led some of the most brilliant, cunning men in his day. This lot was sorely lacking in that department. Already four men had died, some not careful where they stepped and others not prepared for the harsh cold. He'd done what he could with his healing magic, but at this elevation and in this cold it took energy out of him just to breath, never mind using magic.

Still, a shame he didn't have any fire magic. A shame this dragon couldn't have been a beast of fire, either. The gesture of the 'Captain' (he loathed to let anyone else have such a title) silenced the entire group, and Nathaniel drew in a deep breath of the stinging air. When he made no further movements, Nathaniel lt his mind consider what might be ahead. He was sharp, but in this blizzard it was hard to tell what was going on. Still, there was a certain respect to be had at the fact these men didn't run off the cliff now. Though they talked grand around fires and told stories of their slayings, Nathaniel had little faith in anything he hadn't seen for himself. Sitting around the pubs, one could hear many tall tales; it grew bothersome trying to sort between them, so he simply dismissed most of them.

As for him? He wasn't much of a dragon slayer either. Not alone, anyways. Nathaniel had slain one, once, many moons ago. It had taken months of planning, with all the traps and cunning of a fox. Many men had helped him with it as well, not the least of which was one of his more favored allies. Gustav. Would you call him Captain, too? His coming on this trip was not as noble as wanting to save the village of Emyitu, though certainly he didn't wish them any harm. Even the legends that told of dragons living with mountains of gold stored was not enticing. He had simply come along for the sake of killing the dragon, for being able to claim the feat as his own. He hated dragons, almost as much as water, and the thought of killing one filled his veins with an energetic fire. Though this one by no means represented the whole race, it would help to slay them one at a time. Who knew, perhaps he would even learn something.

As the party began moving again (slowly this time, like the inching of time), the wind picked up. It was harder here, and tugged fitfully on those who were ascending the climb. It had brushed away a good amount of snow as well, and there were patches of black rock encased in dark blue ice visible. The dragon was supposed to be one of ice and snow, if the villagers who'd survived the attacks could be trusted. Perhaps it was by the beast's own foul magic this icy terrain remained? Perhaps its death would blow away this environment. Nathaniel certainly hoped so; the descent wouldn't be much easier than the climb, especially if he intended to drag the dragon's head back with him.

With his eyes set he continued on, ignoring the pervasive cold and instead focusing on his goal. Their goal. Theirs. Yes, a team. He would need to remember that and use it to his advantage, for no single man would be able to take on the beast. With perfect timing some vibration rumbled the ground beneath. Not enough to break anything or cause an avalanche, but still a reminder a dragon was nearby. Though the sound may have faded, the vibrations had remained. There was a still silence, a waiting out for it to fade. Then Nathaniel pressed on, careful not to disrupt the man ahead or behind in the line as they moved. Hopefully the dragon didn't fly out and fight them here, or they'd be even more doomed to a horrid fate.

Look out Dragon-kin, there they go. Brave, intrepid warriors whose resumes show that they are just the team to perform what others merely dream. Through wind and rain and snow, they put the best that Nature can throw at them to the test, pushing forward like spear through flesh. With hungry heart and roving eye, the impossible is set in their sights.

Watch now as they go, changing legend into fact, they claw their way into history. Myth and truth are now as one, for soon they shall surely gaze upon the sweet victory they seek.

To battle with the creature of nightmare is surely folly, save for those who have nothing to lose. These great warriors know that paradise is close at hand, waiting for them just beyond the razor tooth and scything claw.

The path they walk is a road uncharted, over unknown earth to a pit of ice. There is no place for the weak, the faint-hearted, the cowardly. They know they are part of the sumptuous grand design of our Gods. But do the Gods favor them this day?

Bartimaeous trudged through the slush left behind by the members of the party that had already passed through it. Thus was the advantage of walking last in line; the path was almost perfectly clear to follow. The march had been a trudge of will power and sheer determination to battle it out against the dragon. He had never been to this part of the world before, and had not known what to expect. But it had to be documented, recorded, saved. The deeds of the dead live on through the words of the living.

As the snow lashed sideways Bartimaeous kept his head down and his cloak close about him. They were almost there.

His sense of the cold grew with every passing second that he waited. He blew his warm breath on his fingers as he rubbed them together; the wool-lined rabbit's fur mittens he wore were hardly effective at this temperature. Beneath his hard leather boots, his toes echoed his fingers' discomfort in the form of dull pain. Jaz took this as a good sign, for as long as they were in pain, they were, in fact, still there. Jaz well remembered the stories of frostbite; men returning home missing fingers and toes or even ears and noses. This thought prompted the half-elf to check his own ears as their distinct elf-heritage pointed nature made them even more suseptible to the cold than the normal human-shaped ones.

Jaz felt the tremor this time. No longer distracted by his own life-and-death slide off the cliff, he felt the vibrations through his feet. Not enough to cause him to lose balance again, but he definately felt their presence. The dragon, Jaz surmised, must be near. Perhaps the Captain, poised so stoically as he peered over the spur, could see the monster's lair. If so, it wouldn't be long until he gave the order to surround it. The mercenary directly in front of Jaz in the formation, dutifully maintaining the proper interval of some 10 meters, turned around and gave the half-elf a noticably worried look. Jaz could only shrug uselessly in response.

And then he noticed it too. The slow quaking, less pronounced than before, ever so slightly rattled the snow around him. Small rifts began to appear in the bank, the layers of underlining ice cracking because of the stress of the vibrations.

Jaz struggled to remember the name of the dragon hunter in front of him, just in case it was necessary to call to him for help. Pavel? It sounded right, but he couldn't be sure. He had shaken the man's hand back in Emityu, but it was a mere part of the formalities. He had shaken hands with all thirty or so of the other dragon hunters, and hadn't really paid proper attention at the time. But this one, Pavel, in particular had seemed so daring only a few days ago; self-assured and ready to go. Inspiring even. But now, half-frozen and exhausted, the man's true colors were showing forth. The look of concern on the man's face changed to a look of absolute horror as the shivering of the mountainside began to pick up in severity.

Suddenly, the gap between Jaz and Pavel was filled by a wall of white. A thirty-foot plume of snow violently erupted from the mountainside like a volcano as a massive Ice Dragon shot straight out of the ground into the air. The force of the blast sent Jaz to the ground again; lashing out with his longsword he jammed the blade into the layer of ice beneath the snow to brace himself against another slide down the draw.

Pavel, standing at the epicenter of the explosion, was nowhere near as lucky. His body, thrown aloft by the icy eruption, sailed through the air off the side of the moutain and then diappeared as it plummeted hundreds of feet down into the ravine.

Jaz swung onto his back to steady himself. This gave him an unabstructed view of the dragon as it banked in the air, veering back towards the mountain ridge and the couple dozen human mercenaries that sat like sitting ducks upon it.

The beast was as white as ivory, its scales rimmed highlights of black, which provided the dragon with a degree of natural camouflage that made it appear more skeletal than snowy. Its wings, tattered by centuries of hard flight, were almost twice the length of its body, giving it the unnatural power it was using as it dove on the stranded humans. Hate filled the thing's deep blue eyes, a fierceness magnified by the rows of jagged horns that covered the dragon's head. As it opened its fang filled maw, Jaz was treated to the magnificent sight of the frosty fumes that hung eminated from the back of its throat.

With an ear-splitting roar that was multiplied by the altitude, the dragon unleashed its most potent weapon. Its breath, a swirling cone of frost, seemed to spew from the creature's mouth like vomit, to decended like a hammer upon the men struggling in the snow below. One of the slayers, unfortunately caught in the open, took the full brunt of the blast, his blood freezing solid in less than a second. Fortunately for the others the dragon's deafening roar drowned out the horrified scream.

The dragon's voice boomed with teeth-rattling thunder across the mountain ridge as it verbally taunted the remaining humans. "Fool men! You insignificant rodents dare come and challenge ME? I am Syraxthusis, the Lord of the North Wind! YOU and ALL YOUR PEOPLE shall pay DEARLY for your IMPUTANCE!"

Great. Of all the dragons I could possibly get eaten by, I get the one that likes to talk. Jaz thought sardonically, struggling back to his feet.