At the twang of a bowstring, Tobias jolted. The whisper of an arrow mere millimeters from his head coaxed him into spinning about. Whereas before there had been nothing to see, now Tobias observed his would-be assailant trembling at the torment of mighty Salvar. The cold was a cruelty beyond measure to one who was not accustomed to its touch.

Fortunately, Tobias had broken bread with the bastard before. Salvar's unforgiving chill did not daunt the Alerian Captain; instead, the Soldier adjusted his heavy cloak as he strode forward with confidence. Shaky aim did little to deter his forward march, for Tobias knew it was a matter of constant movement. Should he come close enough to give the archery any certainty, his steel would speak for him.

Uttering its cruel cry beneath the blasting winds, Tobias' blade yawned it's arrival on the mountain. The pale snow reflected in the mirror polished weapon, painting it with pristine pallor. Before long, Tobias was hellbent on tainting the peak with crimson. So far, nothing had been exchanged between them save an arrow and several tense steps. The best was yet to come.

In the number of feet between them, Tobias trudge through a drift of snow that served only to annoy him. "The funny thing about snow," Tobias called to his enemy, "is that it doesn't care how cold you are." A strange way to begin conversation, but Tobias decided it would be sufficient. Perhaps this man would explain why they he was here, or what he sought to gain from attacking a soldier.

Perhaps death would suffice to satiate Tobias' interests. Time and swordplay would decided the age old contest of wills. Beneath the howling, footsteps that faded away brought the two men together. Tobias chuckled at the irony. "Such is life," he murmured, and he raised his blade up.