~♢~ Mjol the Iron Warden kneeled in the powdery snow. Her foggy breath and the slight uneasy shifting from her three companions sounded louder than it ought to be in this muted snowfallen tundra. She studied the snow carefully.
“Aye Aesgir, the scent?“ Behind Mjol, stood a stout man with thick mutton chops and a mane of hair. His brown eyes shifted for a moment to that of a cat. He inhaled deeply, the frost biting his lungs.
“Sorry Mjol, the winds-a-changed. I cannae get a die-rection.” Aesgir’s pupil shifted back.
“Thanea what say you?” Mjoll glanced over her shoulder to a goliath woman with charcoal smeared around her eyes. Her blue eyes turned pale as her vision changed to that of her great hawks, circling far above.
“Nay, Faer can only see white and the mists to the North of course. I dare not tell him to go much fear-ther.” The color returned to Thanea’s eyes. “Igmund up to you then. You're going to have to give that new spell a try.” Mijol stood up, and turned to the young girl bundled tightly in warmer clothes than the rest of the group.
“Wait,” Thanea interrupted. She put a hand on Mijol’s shoulder. “Love, are you sure? Maybe this is our sign to turn back.”
“Aye, it probably got pulled to the mists like a-verything else in this forsaken place,” Aesgir chimed. Mijol gave Aesgir a knowing look, and then took Thanea’s hand from her shoulder and held it.
“I understand we're taking a risk being so close to the Mists, but Skaal can’t survive the season with this beast circling them. With the Mists growing closer and strange magic stirring up more storms we ought to help these people with this beast, at the least. I’m not ready to give up yet. Besides, our young Igmund hasn’t had the chance to practice yet.”
Thanea nodded,“tis true. Igmund dear, remember to breathe this time.”
“I’ll try,” Igmund mumbled through the fur hood framing her face.
“Just try not te think about it too much,” Aesgir tried to say comfortingly.
“Okae,” Igmund looked down at her feet.
“But most importantly, believe in yourself as you believe in your ancestors that carried this gift before you,” Mjol said with a potent tone.
“I knowr.” Igmund shuffled a bit of snow with the tip of her hide boots.
“I think what's most important is that ye don’t accidentally cast that fireball you’ve been workin on insteade. The firebolt itself hurt more than a basilisk's spit. But eh, wha-do-Ir-knowe.” Aesgir gave her a hearty slap on the back. Igmund hid a smile. “Aye, just messin’ with ya kid, better get on with it before we lose the beastie fer good.” Looking quite small among three heavily armored figures, Igmund carefully took off her thick gloves. She clasped her hands together, and strained to pull them apart as a purple light formed between her hands. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes squinted. The purple light reflected in her iris. Then, with a release of effort, her face lit up with success, as a purple orb solidified. Within it, the image of a huge, ice-ladened, tunneling insect with razor sharp pincers. Mjol, Aesgir, and Thanea’s eyes shined purple with pride. ~♢~