-
Chapter 18

Heart of the Freljord

The wintry bite of a small blizzard gnaws at the cold steel encasing Ephrial's torso. Frost and chills are kept at bay with the burning blade being held up front, slicing the opposing streams of wind and snow. Sharp eyes narrow to see through the storm, aiming to find some sort of tell-tale sign of civilization.

Piercing gusts whisper to a slow halt, and the treading ice-covered boots pause. With an ominous feeling, silence takes the air. The mercenary-knight examines his surroundings, spotting no visible indication of life. A distant howling echoes off from the distance, capitalizing on the eerily quiet ambience.

With as little warning as a lightning strike, a beastly figure erupts from the ground, sending ice and snow soaring. A grizzly set of claws dive for the traveling swordsman, tearing through the air with a slight whistle. The attack misses its mark, swiping a large chunk of the powdery, white blanket aside.

Ephrial rolls along the frozen layers, snow catching onto his hair and cape, and a streak of melting ice trails behind his sword as it scrapes along. Ready for battle, the Blazing Swordsman raises his eyes to examine his opponent. Before him stands a creature with the body and enlarged claws of a lion, and the head of an unnatural variation of yak. Horns of blue ice tilt in his direction, and powerful legs charge through the tundra.

The fiery mercenary-knight dives out of the way, choosing to evade rather than counterattack. He is not equipped, nor adequately experienced, for combat in heavy snow, and so he must adapt quickly. Ephrial plunges the blade into the soft sheets of the wintery veil, subtly thawing the ground in front of him into a slush. As the unknown creature charges once more, the warrior of resolve ducks and side-steps underneath a maiming claw, remaining in close range.

Faltering in its attack, snow-ripping claws slip and slide across the pool of water over ice. With the glassy momentum working in its favor, a fiery blade sweeps through, with a clean, precise cut. A shrill howl, and the beast fumbles over itself, leaving behind a trail of bluish blood before landing in a snowdrift. With a labored, yet furious growl, it slowly picks itself up and angrily glares at Ephrial.

Upon further inspection, he notices that the oddity only has one eye. What manner of creature is this? As new as the swordsman is to the deep Freljord, he has never encountered, nor heard of, a being of this description. It has a mane of the purest white, and the horns as blue and transparent as ice. Despite the snorting of fury and pain, there is no mouth, causing Ephrial to question whether this monster is of this plane or not. However, being on a tight schedule, he has no time to play around. He must find out where he is meant to find the Eye of Avarosa, and this creature stands in his way.

Without hesitation, Ephrial dashes forward, weapon at the ready. Mustering the strength left within, the strange beast dips its head low, then bucks its horns upwards, shoveling snow with a deadly arc. The mercenary-knight steps out of the way, only to find himself in the path of ice-like claws once again. The flat side of the ardent blade saves him from being torn apart, and the force knocks him rolling backwards with the mysterious enemy.

Quick on its hooves, the pale monster turns around abruptly, charging forward to follow up. Whatever this creature is, it has formidable strength and stamina. The next attack comes in as it did before, simple, yet effective. Its first offense acts as a defense as well, and the following strike comes in too swiftly to seize an opportunity in between the two. Additionally, the snow limits the effectiveness of the swordsman's agility, rendering attacks from the side vastly improbable.

Well, as per Noxian tradition, it's time to just go straight through the enemy. Ephrial's blade flares up as he answers the charge with his own. Mid-step, he swipes outward, sending a blazing streak toward the creature's eye. Using the brief moment of blindness to his advantage, he tucks his blade close to his hip, pointing it outwards with his other hand joining on the hilt. A dazed bestial figure launches its horns upwards, just in front of the calculating mercenary. At the first moment of the opening, Ephrial launches his blade into the creature's throat, and holds it in place. With elbows locked, he holds his stance as the weight and momentum of the creature pushes him backwards, sliding him across a sheet of ice, and driving him deeper into the snow. The follow-up claw fails as the creature gurgles and howls, yet keeps urging forward in a panic-induced state.

Teeth gritting, an unshakable resolve keeps Ephrial's body static as his frame gets buried into the snowbank. Quick moments later, and he is completely submerged, along with half of the enigmatic being. Silence is restored again, and a brief pause of stillness would have a bystander think the two shared an equal fate. With an eruption of flame, the snow pile bursts into sleet and steam, revealing a victorious man of fervor.

A few deep breaths, and his attention is directed at another howling. This time, a wave of multiple tones and echoes carry throughout the whispering winds.

"More of them, huh?" Ephrial turns his head to the side, looking up at a view-obstructing mound of snow.

Curiosity of whether this is a sign Zilean left out in his cryptic babbling, or just yet another obstacle in his path, the swordsman climbs the frosty hill. Sounds of battle become more apparent with each step. Reaching the top, cerulean eyes peer over the scene of a village under attack. Shouts of terror and battle-cries mix within the snarling and howling of vicious beasts, each like an unworldly monster. Some have multiple arms, others look more like animals, but they each possess one eye and ice-like horns.

In the heart of the battle, a lone man of extremely burly stature faces off with a surrounding ring of foes. With an enormous shield in his grip, he bashes his enemies one-by-one, shattering icicles-for-claws and tusks under his raw strength. While he holds most of the fight with him, stragglers chase down isolated Freljordians as they flee to the edges of the snowy village.

Ephrial decides to join the fray, sliding down the steep hill with his first target in his sights. As a leopard-like monster stalks an unarmed townsperson from the snow-covered rooftops of the humble housing, the mercenary-knight rushes to the unsuspecting victim's aid. In mid-air, a fatal pounce is prevented by a crashing blade, sundering the predator with the force of fire and gravity, and slamming the beast into the ground with a powerful, overhead cleave.

A sharp gaze of determination and experience rises from the upheaval of snow, and a torn cape flutters behind him with the icy breeze. Panicking villagers run past him as fearsome creatures of ice and flesh terrorize them. Warriors of the population fight to the last of their breath, their resistance being quelled with quick ferocity.

Blade set and feet in motion, there is no holding back in Ephrial's steps or strikes. As innocent people retreat past him, he defends them with a fierce offense. The ardent flames encasing unbreakable alloy creates its own advantage upon enemies, forming weak spots rather than requiring them. However, the nature of these creatures remains unknown, and the true threat they impose has yet to be revealed.

Grimacing howling and cries from mouthless monsters ring out with every slice. The Freljordians provide an effective distraction as Ephrial seizes every opening on his enemies, cutting them down with swift efficiency and decisive strikes. The civilians are now out of the battle zone, and the lack of distractions causes a spike in difficulty for the fervorous swordsman.

Contesting with beasts of eerie, unnatural shapes and sizes, he fights his way toward the champion of might and mustache. A ram-shaped blast of ice plows into a frozen enemy, sending it flying toward Ephrial. With a swift, snow-covered boot, the half-blooded swordsman steps onto the beast and flips over it, landing onto another. Planting his sword deep into the skull of something that seems to resemble an elk, he skids across the snow on top of it, landing behind the sometimes-gentle giant.

After headbutting a ram-like creature into the snow, the hulk known as Braum turns around to see the sharp antlers that would have dealt a critical blow to him. Looking past the icy spikes of piercing death, he witnesses the Blazing Swordsman retract his blade, only to place it into the heart of a flanking enemy.

"Ha-ha! Ephrial! You come to fight, too, no?" a friendly voice chuckles.

"Something like that," kicking a bestial body off of his blade. "What are these things?"

"Ah, yes…" Braum's voice switches to a grave tone. "They were once friends of mine… Now, I release them from their pain." A cryptic answer is given before the tower of muscle smashes the back of his fist into an enemy with a concussive blow, then smashes its head under the heft of his shield.

The two fight together as if in a League match, covering each other from enemy advances, and systematically taking down their foes with a carefully picked order of targets. Frost and fire work in a devastating combination of dazing strikes and stunning blasts. A swarm of foes begins to thin out, and the sea of snow is stained with dark blue blood running from the fallen foes that, otherwise, blend in their white surroundings.

"Good, Ephrial! Good! Fight, like ram! Against…er…ram?" the Freljordian observes a fervorous strike cutting down a goat-like fiend.

The remaining animal-like monsters turn to their inherent instincts of fight or flight, picking the latter. With moans and howls of a vengeful nature, they flee until they are out of sight, disappearing over a distant snowbank.

Sheathing his blade, and steadying his breathing, Ephrial asks, "So…they're friends of yours. Do you have any idea what made them so…twisted?"

"I do, and I believe you two have already met!"

"We have…?"

"The Ice Witch returns to the Freljord, bringing ancient creatures with her. They have turned my friends against me. But not all my friends!" he kneels, and a little poro hops into his large hand, climbing the mountains of muscle on his arm to his shoulder.

"Lissandra… Hm. You seem to be in high spirits despite having to…dispatch your friends like that," observing the aftermath of brutal, crushing blows around them.

"Perhaps you are right, my friend. That's because I get to see and help them one last time before they go."

"I see…" thinking about his past losses, the fresh image of Riven's demise weighing heavily. A hard slap on the back knocks him back to the present, with unintentionally powerful force, causing Ephrial to jolt forward a step.

"Keep your spirits high, friend! When life gives you curdled milk, be patient. You get very good cheese!"

"Right…" rolling his shoulder after the impact. "Do you happen to know anything of the 'Eye of Avarosa'?"

"Hmm…" Barum strokes his mustache in thought. "I have heard this before. Ashe has sent many looking for this 'Eye'."

"It's a historical artifact, so I'm told."

Braum lets out a cheery laugh, "You are treasure hunter now?"

"Not exactly. I need to find it before long…" Ephrial starts toward Rakelstake, the well-known city united by Ashe and Tryndamere after years of civil war between the many tribes.

An abrupt eruption of snow bursts from just ahead of the mercenary-knight. One of the more cunning creatures of the assault had buried itself underneath the layers of frozen precipitation, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. With a hiss, the icy monster launches a stream of ice shards, whistling their way towards Ephrial. Braum's protective nature kicks in, leaping in front of the mercenary-knight; heavily-honed reflexes, due to the fast action of the League.

"Allow Braum!" his shield blocks the needles like twigs snapping against a mountain.

With legendary strength, he raises the heavy shield above his head as he leaps into the air. A thunderous surge crashes down, sending a glacial trail of rising ice running toward the twisted beast. The frozen foe launches upward upon impact, landing with a clear imprint of itself in the snow, motionless. The real magnitude of the strike follows after with a subtle cracking sound. A moment of cautious silence, and the cracking multiplies along with a rumbling underneath their feet.

Visible gaps begin forming rapidly all around them, running outward and winding like snakes crawling erratically. Snow disappears into the fissures, indicating quite a depth. The heavy sound of sundering ice is all around them, and what comes next is obvious to the two. It's too late to make a run for it, seeing how far the frozen terrain has been compromised in such a short span.

"Eh…Sorry. Sometimes Braum does not know his own strength," a guilty expression.

Ephrial crosses his arms, half out of waning patience, and half out of expecting something like this to happen.

"Look on bright side. Now we embark on a grand adventure!" Braum puts a hand on the mercenary's shoulderplate with a big smile, and a cheery poro reappears on top of his shield.

With an Ionian-level temperament, Ephrial lets out a deep sigh. If anything, he must be on the right track. Zilean was indeed correct about finding a means of much faster travel. There is no reason to doubt that he will find the cave in which his objective lies. The confidence and level-headedness of the swordsman decides this may very well be part of the predicted journey he was sent on. If not, however…he'll make up the time by cutting through a mountain if he has to.

One final tumultuous crack, muffled by many layers of snow, and the permafrosted ground beneath gives in. A massive hole forms under their very feet, sending them into a freefall. Calmly, the two go with the flow, letting gravity take its course.

A frigid darkness swallows them as they descend into the unknown.