Mage of the Frost
The name is Alex Sharpton, newly dubbed "hero" of the Valhallan Imperial Guard. Sure, receiving the title was an honor in itself; it meant receiving the blessings of the Emperor and the praise of the rest of mankind. Still, it is a far gaudier name than the tale deserves. You would think me something of a golden knight embraced by the light of heaven, when actually, I'm not but a man who refused to die, and barely escaped with his flesh intact. The truth is, in the dark shadow of fate's calling, you stop fighting for mankind and start fighting for yourself.
Trudging through the frozen tundra that had laid waste to this fallen city was far worse than the battles fought on it. Needless to say, the scenery gave no hope of survival. The rooftops of ancient buildings emerged from the snow, tips of mighty stone titans that stretched ever down to frozen earth. Frostbitten skeletons eroded from the south ends of the dunes. The wind was still, but restless on the horizon near the site of inevitable struggle: the legendary Tower of the Tundra, a frozen palace that seemed to pierce the sky in its height. Legend had it that no man to brave the "Tower of Death," as most had come to call it, saw the tip before frozen to the bone. I could only hope that I would be the exception.
The tower was not for miles yet; a distance that could only feel as long as it did when weather fights you back. For a portion of the trek, I had the aid of an armored snowmobile. However, the malice of the biting chill made itself known not long after the sky began to gray. Before I even had a chance to plan a way to survive, the cold had worked its way to the engine, and the energy cell had cooled to the point of instability. I was fighting for my life sooner than I'd thought; dodging the explosion and flying shrapnel didn't leave me unscathed. Cuts on my face, arms, and chest from my own vehicle were enough of an omen for me, and it wasn't a good one.
The heat from the flames left by the explosion felt pleasant, but I had no time to relax. The fire would soon die down, nightfall quickly approached, and I was far from shelter. So, weighed down by my own supplies, I continued on foot toward the tower. In its eerie silence, it seemed to stare back at me from over the ice and snow, mocking me in my misfortune.
It was soon deep within the dead of night, but I could still see the shapes of the dunes and frozen structures in a hazy, gray darkness. I must have walked for hours, struggling against my own feet that sunk ankle deep with each step, but I eventually found an acceptable form of shelter for the night. One of the nearby buildings eroded from within the snow was still whole and stable on its lowest story, though the window was broken and was at the mercy of the cold.
I stepped in and examined my surroundings. It was some sort of office building from thousands of years ago. A desk and chair stood flimsy in the far corner of the room, and in metal cabinets were old paper documents on partially rotted paper. The walls were chipped and lined with their own gravel and sharp cobble. There was old carpeting, but it was worn and torn from the floor at points.
The documents and wooden desk made for handsome fire material. The torn carpeting blocked out the cold nicely when pinned over the broken window by a couple of my throwing knives. All things considered, the ruins of the office made for quite comfortable surroundings. However, I nearly went hungry; I had only two emergency rations left, and they would have to last me the entirety of the journey. I ate slightly less than my fill, but I was satisfied. The cowardice of my comrades that retreated in fear of the elements left me at a lack of an appetite, anyhow.
I lay near the fire, supporting my head with my supplies pack and covering myself with my wolf pelt cloak, my sword and guns lying in wait for use against the wall behind me. Optimism escaped me, but rest brought me peace, though short lived. Hours later I awoke to distant scratching, and screeching, frustrated, agonized howls. It then became very clear to me that I wasn't alone in this frozen desert, and I would not reach my goal without struggle and bloodshed.
To be continued...
The name is Alex Sharpton, newly dubbed "hero" of the Valhallan Imperial Guard. Sure, receiving the title was an honor in itself; it meant receiving the blessings of the Emperor and the praise of the rest of mankind. Still, it is a far gaudier name than the tale deserves. You would think me something of a golden knight embraced by the light of heaven, when actually, I'm not but a man who refused to die, and barely escaped with his flesh intact. The truth is, in the dark shadow of fate's calling, you stop fighting for mankind and start fighting for yourself.
Trudging through the frozen tundra that had laid waste to this fallen city was far worse than the battles fought on it. Needless to say, the scenery gave no hope of survival. The rooftops of ancient buildings emerged from the snow, tips of mighty stone titans that stretched ever down to frozen earth. Frostbitten skeletons eroded from the south ends of the dunes. The wind was still, but restless on the horizon near the site of inevitable struggle: the legendary Tower of the Tundra, a frozen palace that seemed to pierce the sky in its height. Legend had it that no man to brave the "Tower of Death," as most had come to call it, saw the tip before frozen to the bone. I could only hope that I would be the exception.
The tower was not for miles yet; a distance that could only feel as long as it did when weather fights you back. For a portion of the trek, I had the aid of an armored snowmobile. However, the malice of the biting chill made itself known not long after the sky began to gray. Before I even had a chance to plan a way to survive, the cold had worked its way to the engine, and the energy cell had cooled to the point of instability. I was fighting for my life sooner than I'd thought; dodging the explosion and flying shrapnel didn't leave me unscathed. Cuts on my face, arms, and chest from my own vehicle were enough of an omen for me, and it wasn't a good one.
The heat from the flames left by the explosion felt pleasant, but I had no time to relax. The fire would soon die down, nightfall quickly approached, and I was far from shelter. So, weighed down by my own supplies, I continued on foot toward the tower. In its eerie silence, it seemed to stare back at me from over the ice and snow, mocking me in my misfortune.
It was soon deep within the dead of night, but I could still see the shapes of the dunes and frozen structures in a hazy, gray darkness. I must have walked for hours, struggling against my own feet that sunk ankle deep with each step, but I eventually found an acceptable form of shelter for the night. One of the nearby buildings eroded from within the snow was still whole and stable on its lowest story, though the window was broken and was at the mercy of the cold.
I stepped in and examined my surroundings. It was some sort of office building from thousands of years ago. A desk and chair stood flimsy in the far corner of the room, and in metal cabinets were old paper documents on partially rotted paper. The walls were chipped and lined with their own gravel and sharp cobble. There was old carpeting, but it was worn and torn from the floor at points.
The documents and wooden desk made for handsome fire material. The torn carpeting blocked out the cold nicely when pinned over the broken window by a couple of my throwing knives. All things considered, the ruins of the office made for quite comfortable surroundings. However, I nearly went hungry; I had only two emergency rations left, and they would have to last me the entirety of the journey. I ate slightly less than my fill, but I was satisfied. The cowardice of my comrades that retreated in fear of the elements left me at a lack of an appetite, anyhow.
I lay near the fire, supporting my head with my supplies pack and covering myself with my wolf pelt cloak, my sword and guns lying in wait for use against the wall behind me. Optimism escaped me, but rest brought me peace, though short lived. Hours later I awoke to distant scratching, and screeching, frustrated, agonized howls. It then became very clear to me that I wasn't alone in this frozen desert, and I would not reach my goal without struggle and bloodshed.
To be continued...