Soon after, Artemis dozed off in the quiet comfort of the small cave. He woke a few hours later, fully refreshed due to the magic in his blood, and gazed out the opening of the enclave.

"Storm's died down," he noted, crawling out on his belly. Though the wind and snow had loosened its grip, the Skavian weather never truly let go. Where before he could barely see a few steps ahead, now he could see more than a dozen paces. Relatively, that meant 'died down' this far north.

The ranger resumed his march, each step taking him out of the foothills of the northern Skavian Highlands and closer to the Great White Expanse.

'Night approaches, Artemis.' Judicis noted.

'Should be fine,' Artemis answered. 'The weather and temperatures won't be an issue for me, and hopefully, the cold of the night keeps most of the orcs and other beasts at bay.'

Just a few steps later, Artemis sensed two creatures enter the edges of his sensory sphere. Hoping to avoid confrontation, he dropped to the ground, hoping to blend into the thick snow. Thankfully the winds that still raged were quick to blow away any signs of his steps and dusted over the shape of his body so as to look less conspicuous. During the valuable seconds that it took for the creatures to approach, Artemis concentrated on his sensory attunement, seeking more information on the entities.

'Orcs,' he thought, 'of course.'

The ranger lay perfectly still as the beasts moved closer to his reach. He hoped they would pass by and not notice. These were no ordinary orcs after all. The creatures that lived this far north and called such unforgiving lands home were demonstrably more dangerous than the orcs of warmer regions.

"Bah, Chief wrong!" one growled through broken tooth and tusk. "Our tribe not need stupid Broken Axe orcs."

"Tell that to Chief then. See if he listen," the other beside him grumbled. The pair of green-skinned behemoths sauntered along, dragging their feet through the thick powder with the ease of a fish swimming through water. All eight feet of their towering height had been covered in thick furs and hides to protect from the cold, with massive claymores strapped to their backs and wrapped with cloth to keep the blades from sticking.

The first orc that spoke simply shook his head in reply as the two continued on their way, too caught up in their frustrations and politics to notice the strange depression half a dozen paces to their side. Artemis remained quiet and still, waiting for them to leave his sphere of influence. A minute longer, and he picked himself up from the powder and stepped back atop the powder of white, once again trudging along.

'Would that I had killed those orcs,' Artemis reflected, thinking back on his first experience with the green skinned creatures of the North - though north is certainly relative. When he'd just arrived in Salvar as a teenager, heading to Knife's Edge, he'd run into a small group of the weaker beasts and struggled even then. He had no doubt that even these two that had just passed wouldn't have posed much of a threat to the man he'd become, but he thought it best to remain unseen and unreported. Any missing individuals would raise questions that were better left unasked, let alone unanswered.