(Bunnying a bit on all sides, let me know if it's out of line and I'll change it.)
Brom could feel his mighty heart throb in rhythm with his heavy footsteps as he continued to fight against the roaring blizzard that slammed into him like a brutal wave. The Salvarian felt the savage winds nick and score the already scarred flesh upon his face, it's bite causing him to retreat further and further into his primitive garb for warmth out of instinct. The cold is the worst of it all, because just as the barbarian feared the parts of his body that were still exposed had long gone numb, losing feeling in even the most hardy parts of his giant frame.
All he could do now was try to keep his hands and fingers as warm as nature would allow, because once he lost feeling in those he was a walking ghost. Numb, frozen fingers made one clumsy and more likely to make mistakes, and Brom had seen too many friends and enemies die to such a bitter blunder that cannot be undone. Even the most seasoned of warriors wouldn't be able to count on a victory let alone staying alive when they are unable to perform the simplest of tasks like keeping control over their hands.
As Brom caught sight of the Russian and his hated enemy scramble to end each other, he picked up speed. Once they were in view, the barbarian began to ignore the growing pain in his joints and how hard it had been to move about in the deep snow because he was so heavy. He forgot about the bitter cold and the blood beginning to well in his ears. All Brom could see was the man whose life he was going to take and another he was going to try and save.
The lust for blood began to drive the barbarian wild as he moved faster and faster towards the pair that danced in a way that seemed deranged in the white backdrop. When only four paces away, he began to swing his heavy steel upwards as he peddled his feet harder and harder on the swirling plateau of snow. Brom could see his partner's attacker had his back to him, unable to see death approach with thundering steps in it's wake. Knowing the kill is imminent, a cruel smile curled his lips and the hunger to hear his blade sing and the wet, sloppy thud that quickly followed afterwards spurred him on. And then..
Thuck.
Brom stepped clumsily forward as he felt something sharp sink deep into a part of his upper right shoulder blade. He paused to reach back and with a swift jerk tore the foreign object from his flesh, taking some meat with it. Ignoring the fray, the Salvarian looked at the arrow that had struck him and the bright, almost overwhelming color of crimson gore that had quickly frozen to the tip.
Immediately, the same razor's edge focus that had driven the barbarian to kill turned, and the hunger for slaughter grew deeper as he felt his wet, red lifeblood drip down his back and freeze shortly after. Even beneath his lamellar armor, Brom seethed. Turning his back on his partner as he just began to gain the upper hand, the barbarian snarled as looked in the direction that must have been the path of the arrow.
In the distance, even with visibility this bleak, the Salvarian's gaze traced an invisible line upwards until he could see his mark atop the sheer cliff. It was enough for the barbarian to snap the shaft in two and let the winds carry it into oblivion as he hunkered down and began to move towards the base of the cliff.
The Russian may have needed him to pry his attacker from him and dish out long overdue punishment, but they both now had bigger problems. An enemy with the higher ground and a weapon that could punch through his thick armor was enough to turn Brom's attention elsewhere. Even if the archer wasn't as skilled as the barbarian had first surmised, he or she would only need to get lucky once. And the Salvarian wasn't going to let that happen.
Splashing snow upon his form with his gloved hands until he was sure he would be harder to pick out from up above, Brom ran as fast and low as he could manage to the cliffs and soon vanished under the cover of the savage storm.
(Summary: Brom tries to keep himself warm as he searches for Aleksy in the storm. Upon finding them, the barbarian is driven into a frenzy. Only a hair's breadth away from hacking into Mick, an arrow strikes Brom in the upper part of his right shoulder blade. Knowing what kind of dangers this could impose on himself and his partner, Brom leaves Aleksy to fight for his life as tries to sneak up the cliff and onto Petoux's perch.)
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