Caradhas

Curse ye foul fiends for the havoc you wreak upon us! Etheswitha cursed bitterly as she in vain tried to keep up with her main group of travelling companions. The wind battered and sieged through the chill cold of Caradhas the Cruel, swatting Etheswitha around endlessly. She smacked her head in her foolishness. This wasn't what she had expected! How was she supposed to survive this weather in nothing but cold armour and a steel Greatsword, whose blade could shatter at any moment?

Minyelaire kept her hood down in her face. She stood rather relaxed there before him, like a crimson figure, a wraith of dread, light reflects on her from the snow, ltting her glow in a terribly light. Daerundros, in her horror, looked down to see her fallen companion being cornered by the hooded face. Amlarad slowed his breathing and slid his gaze down his blade, aimed squarely from afar at her crimson chest. No! In haste Daerundros jumped down hurriedly and landed lightly on her feet, losing her balance.