A World Frozen in Time
This world is frozen solid... a higher-pitched young woman's voice calls out from the drifting winds, It always has been. Cold gusts sweep over an icy landscape of glacial mountains, and oceans of snow so deep, to fall in would mean almost certain death. As far as Toklo, the man who raised me is concerned, it always will be. He was a nomad like me. He told me epic stories of days long passed, of villages in the Snow Plains out past the Shredded Mountains where they hunt the endless saber wolf packs as fearlessly as they do us, he told me of great cities beneath our feet where bright lights flicker during the night. Roads, bridges, and towers stretching far under the horizon. Treasures, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Although they are far too deep to reach by hand, must be miles deep ice at least, but it's clear as day though. Almost all of the ice underfoot is so clear that without the snow dusting over it, you might think you were floating. Sometimes on our travels, we'd see great spires reaching almost close enough to dig too and green trees and plains frozen in time below. During our last trek, he told me those cities were where we go when we die. That they were built by the gods to house the souls of all the people claimed by the wastes. I imagine he's there waiting for me now too. On the last trek, he made one wrong step in front of me and fell into the snow, I dug for days, but he was gone. Now it's just me and the wilderness. I wonder if there's anyone else out there...
