Cold. Everywhere it was cold. The icy wind howled through the air, swirling the snow that fell rapidly from the gray sky. Everywhere it was white but the light was quickly fading. Which was a problem for the man traveling across the mountains.
He was dressed all in dark blue; the traveling cloak whipped behind him, the hood pulled over his head, a scarf covering the lower portion of his face, a sort of half-skirt hung around his legs, and high snow boots was below his thick leather trousers. In his gloved hands was a weathered staff that had some ice covering it, which made gripping it a difficult task. But not as difficult as the trek that he was making. The blizzard was everywhere: snow covered the way before him and left no trace of his passing behind. It reached up to his shins, which was still deep enough to unable to notice what was underneath. With his staff he would poke the ground before him. At times it would serve him well, helping him avoid icy patches, loose rocks, or drop offs that led to rocky ravines or valleys. Other times it was not so helpful with ice suddenly breaking or rocks giving way underneath him after he had checked, making him stumble. The snow would be so thick in front of him that it was difficult to see where the snow was in the air and where it fell.
After falling down the third drop that he had failed to notice he spotted something on the horizon ahead. It looked like some sort of forgotten structure. With a wave of his hand the staff appeared in it and he made his way toward that general direction.
He found out that he was right. Upon a mountainside was a weathered and slightly damaged castle. He half-climbed, half-walked up the snow-covered side, the snow here reached up to his knees. After nearly a half hour he found a damaged and icy staircase leading up to the castle, crossing over a ravine that dropped to a hundred feet. At times the wind would pick up, and he had to grip the rail as hard as he could so that he wouldn't fall to his death. Other times the ice would be so slick that getting traction would be a near impossibility.
It took him some time before he made it to the gates and by then the sun was well gone and the temperature had dropped rapidly. With what little strength he had left, he stepped inside and shut the doors quickly with a wave of his hand. Leaning against his staff with one hand, he lowered the scarf to reveal his face. He was quite young, which masked his real age, and his amber eyes had a mischievous look to them. But it was his skin that was strangest: there was a slight golden sheen to it like he had been working in a gold mine or had fallen into a pile of gold dust.
He gaped at the sight before him. The entire castle was created purely out of ice. A foyer in the shape of a snowflake was before him and spiral staircases made out of ice led up to the towers and rooms, which he guessed was also made out of ice. There were several holes and cracks on the walls that let in the snow but everything was smooth and beautiful.
A low whistle of astonishment passed through his lips and then he proceeded to shake the snow off of his clothes and de-iced his staff. He then made up his mind to explore the castle. Like the foyer, the few rooms that were in the castle were made up out of ice. There were a few cases in which the room was filled with snow but that was due to a section of the ceiling or wall caving in. Emblems of snowflakes, with no two of them alike, were on the walls in the corridors and rooms. As he proceeded to go higher and higher in the castle there were less and less of the snowflakes and more and more of sharp icicles that spiked out at random locations on the walls, ceilings, and even floors. When he found the main room upstairs there were icicles everywhere and made it nearly impossible to walk without getting hurt. Finding the castle to be completely devoid of life he made his way back down to the foyer and huddled underneath the staircase. He didn't feel in the least bit cold.