The howling mountain blizzard tore across the jagged granite ridges of Mount Seraph, blinding the rocky mountain pass in churning sheets of white frost.
Sub-zero gales whipped violently against the dark fur-lined cloaks of the First Citadel's forward strike force as they advanced up the frozen goat trail.
Nox walked at the head of the column, his void aura forming a dark translucent heat barrier that shielded his companions from the biting frostbite winds.
"The ambient temperature on this ridge sits at thirty degrees below freezing," Vasa reported, shouting over the shrieking storm while clutching her brass instruments.
"The air pressure is dropping rapidly as we climb above the cloud line," Diana added, her silver eyes scanning the swirling white vortex for thermal signatures.
"How are the pack beasts managing the steep ascent across the ice fields?" Nox asked, glancing back at the supply line.
