Geldazar: Cold and loving it

This was a strange place to Geldazar. The windswept peaks and and glacial crevasses of Dornheim were more unforgiving and deadly than any mountain lands the he had seen before. The needling climate threatened to bleed all life of its warmth. Compared with the enduring Alk'Haran desert of extremes and the lush verdant gallery of life that was the Free Isles, these mountains were the dreams of dead warlords, desolate and soulless. Geldazar could feel his spirits dropping as each passing minute of warmth was leached from his aching bones.

Yet, something still remained. Geldazar's heart continued to beat with the spark of some distant storm, rumbling in lands unknown. Geldeneir's mystery still riddled this land, filling each lurching snowbound step with wonder. Looking up from sore crusted bandages frozen to his face, Geldazar could see his companions trudging up the path ahead of him. Billowing steam clouds sprayed through a frozen waterfall beard glued to Korrick's face, his thick Dwarven leg trunks pumping through the heavy snow. Arren's armor creaked with each heavy breath taken through his chiseled nose, upon which his frost covered glasses perched stoicly, though rendered useless. And the enigmatic Idwel followed in the cleared trail, his mutable form now graced with the wizened features of old age. His strange powers did not die with the cold here, nor did the melancholy bravery of Arren, nor the indomitable guile of Korrick.

This gave Geldazar hope. Geldenier would not let him fall here. With her hope he would breath and continue on, blood unconquered from all that it faced, life pulsing beneath his skin. He would help his friends until the day the world was bathed in fire and all returned to nothing. Nothing would stop them, not drow nor dragons nor Dornish piles of frozen rock and snow.