#uhm sorry for writing nearly a 2k story for my league oc. as if its my fault

[draklorn]

The harsh winds threatened to rip the Frostguard from their saddle, billowing off the sheer drop to a ground covered by clouds from their narrow path against the mountainside more ice than stone, now. Summer's Bane's walk had slowed as it pushed itself against the invisible barrier, sharp hooves stomping into the snow path in an attempt to get some footing. Both steed and rider kept their heads low to not challenge the wind's strength, Gauntleted hands gripping the horns sprouting from the creature's mane more intensely than leather reins. This path had been taken for its isolation, so that they did not come across heretics who bounded across the white meadows of the Freljord, confident in winning their petty squabbles. Who, in their blinding arrogance, forgot the power of those who protected them from themselves. Devan had not expected the blizzard to strike, its dense clouds rolling over from behind the mountain range they could not yet see beyond. There would be no caverns or outcroppings to seek shelter in along this pathway barely wider than their steed's burly width. They only prayed its full strength is what pelted the duo now, and that once they were no longer shielded from its side and found themselves in the open, they were not sent barreling off into that hidden landscape below the cloud they were in.

As the sheer mountainside rounded itself into a wider field, it revealed a river of snow softly flowing down a basin's smoother decline, before cascading down the drop far below in a makeshift, frozen waterfall, only to most likely join the blizzard on the lower fields below. Devan had carefully dismounted before testing the power of the wind here, taking the lead with reigns in both hands, and their split cape quickly tied around armoured arms to stay out of the way. A quiet sigh joins the endless howling around them when the only buffet they faced out here was the constant moving snow slowing their pace, and the Draklorn takes no time in moving away from the hazardous ledge.

Until something struck them, quick and hard on the helm.

There is a moment that is lost to Devan, before they come back to, with half of their body hanging off of the side of the cliff, one hand tangled in the reigns as Summer's panicked eyes look down at them from a strained neck. Battling against the daze of their mind and the torrential waves of snow, the Frostguard scrambles to solid ground. There was a sharp dent in their helmet where the arrow - they suspected - had hit its mark, and blinking away the snowflakes on their lashes, Devan frantically searches the white landscape for their supposed attacker. It was too dangerous to seek shelter along the narrow ledge in their stupor now, and so they march into the basin, drawing their sword and pulling their obedient steed behind them. Another arrow is loosed, finding a direct hit on their wrist. Shielded by their metal bracer, Devan still feels the shock rush through their entire arm and flexes their hand open on reflex, letting their sword fall aimlessly into the snow. It is pushed away and covered up to the blade almost immediately, and although they swipe at it, Devan knows it is a fruitless endeavour as its handle quickly disappears. Their shouted swear joins the howling choir, and they swing their attention to the rocky mountain side above them. Their attacker had to be nearby to aim so true. Gritting at the pain in their wrist and throbbing headache, they clamber over to the saddlebags, quickly reaching for their prepared long bow and a handful of bolts, before hitting Summer's back leg to signal it to flee the area. While its stampeding hooves made a break in the rolling snow, a black bolt was nocked and pulled taught. Devan's vision was uneven with their splitting headache, and frantically searching the spotted landscape for their foe was a near-impossible feat. It is at least a miracle they noticed the simultaneous figures arising.

The ambush charged with three brutes hurdling toward them, but their bow snapped and fired at one of the two other archers who appeared from the rocky cliffside. The whistle of their arrow was quickly lost to the wind, and their attention moved to the first heretic fast approaching. Her mace of antler was ready to swing up toward the Frostguard's helm. The gauntlet holding their bow meets her face first, carrying the weight of the weapon with it and making the warrior stumble. The next is close behind, dragging a warhammer behind him, unsteady as he underestimated the snow current rushing his footsteps forward. Devan rushes to meet him too, but kneels into the surging current, bow sweeping his legs as the momentum of the hammer swung carries him over. His landing is only temporary, and his yells are quick to evolve into distant screams as his grasping hands find nothing to hold his weight as he falls over the cliff face. Another arrow flies over Devan's head. "Svaag Black Clad!" The first raider had finally shaken off their strike, spitting blood and taking another run at them. Devan exhales a growl in return as they stand and face her. The third of the attackers was taking their arrogant time approaching. The Draklorn's opponent had her back to the void of grey now, but if following her companion into that perilous chasm worried her, it didn't show on her blood-smeared snarl. Devan's grip on their bow adjusts, and the other holding the arrows grows tighter. If they used the bow to fight, it might snap if drawn again. If they didn't, they were going to die in this valley.

Her attack is announced by her warcry, the axe swinging violently as it searches for a weakness in the Frostguard's armoured shell. Devan is a flurry of dark fabrics as they move with the attempted strikes, armour taking the brunt with inflicted scratches, and any swipes that get too close to joints are deflected with a bow limb. The raider gives an outburst of energy into one that aims to nestle between shoulder and neck. Devan jumps back into the rushing snow current, only to work with the momentum to rush back at her while the axe was finishing its arc. The bow is brought around her head until her neck caught between the string and lower limb, and Devan hauls the weapon to the ground hard. Cough stifled by the snow quickly falling over her face, a heavy, sharp outsole of an armour boot is raised as they aim for her neck. Until their helmet is yanked backwards by a powerful force. Tumbling to their feet, several arrows are lost to the snow drift. But Devan is far more focused on the third raider who had finally reached the action. They were not a short Iceborn by any means, but she stood more than a head higher even while hunched over, shouldering the pelt of a fully grown wildclaw. The fierce halberd in her grip looked too small in comparison. "Where's your pack, little priest?" The words rumble from her, footsteps heavy as the snow gave way to her wake. Devan's boots begin to skirt back in an attempt to keep some form of distance, but a bolt landing just behind them clearly sends the message they would not get very far. There wouldn't be much time to decide their next move anyway, the polearm is swung with one arm toward them. The force behind it is more than winding. Even when they had brought arms out to brace, the impact throws the Draklorn aside, helm flying as it was struck.

"No fun with only one mutt to kick around." The larger raider jeers over her shoulder to her battlesister, swinging the halberd in her grip like nothing more than a toy. The other was more solemn, chancing a look over the cliffside once she had found her footing again. A mess of decorative bone and hair covers Devan's features while they struggle to shake the daze, but they barely get the chance. The boot that kicks their torso meant harm with the dent that it left, but the grunt of pain and the little distance moved revealed the disappointment. "Oh just kill 'em, Kyrja!" The smaller one exclaims as she paces, out of frustration rather than cold. Perhaps she held hope for her other companion, even after that fall. Devan's thoughts lay elsewhere as they prayed for the will to stand and fight again, feeling something warm and wet quickly turn cold against their skull. A rough hand grabs at their neck, settling around their jawline as they were pulled up to and beyond their footing. Their bow tangled in their hair around their elbow, and one arrow stayed in their weak grip. Energy drained, Devan can barely call upon the strength to look their enemy in her eyes. Their own rolled into the corners, they watch her grip on the long weapon rises to their exposed, soft skin. In a burst of energy, Devan's teeth are brandished and close down on a course finger holding their chin.

Only having to bite down one more time before the index bones give out, their final arrow is sent directly down into the forearm holding the weapon at the same moment. The large raider, Kyrja, lets out a confused cry, not even giving the dropped weapon much notice as she looks at her hand in perplexity. Bloody-mouthed and reinvigorated with new life, Devan lands with the halberd quickly spun into their grip as they weasel their way about her legs, and swing at one of the fur-sewn boots. The other raider looks up at the sight with an angry and surprised cry, looking toward the archer as she lunged forward at the Forstguard. Devan snarls with bloody teeth in return. The halberd's beak catches her side before she even has the chance to swing her axe. Finally recovering from losing her digit, Kyrja returns to the present with a furious bellow, swiping furiously at the weapon to grab it back. Reinvigorated and heart pounding in their dented armour, the Frostguard bats the attempts away with the weapon's blade as they neared the rocky edge, until one over-reach allows them to maneuver around her. Point stuck in the ground, Devan heaves their weight into the air with the polearm's help, sending their boots into the raider's back with enough force to make her stumble over the edge. The grounded weapon keeps them barely on the side to scramble back up, leaving the pelt and its wearer to fall into the clouds.

Dark eyes spend little time observing the sight, locking on to the axe-wielder, who was seeing the bloody-mouthed, ragged Frostguard in a new, disturbing light. Instead of rushing her, Devan leans back as another arrow barely misses its mark. A smile creeps up their pale features, never breaking eye contact as the halberd to picked up, and a string around their neck is fished out from beneath worn layers. A makeshift, little horn appears in their adrenaline-shaking hand before it is brought up to cracked lips in a silent call. Unceremoniously dropped to clatter against deformed metal, Devan begins to march slowly forward. A drum of hoofbeats in the distance.

"O revered mistress, bless me with vision to perceive the dangers in the blizzard. Grant me the sense to feel the avalanche before I hear its growl. Gift me a tongue strong enough to call for aid as it bleeds. And with all I ask, be it enough to survive this darkest of times."