The cold was driving Vex’ahlia mad.
Native to more temperate climes, she had only barely been getting used to the crisp chill of the air in Whitestone, a chill that never quite subsided no matter the season. And then the curse had taken her friends, her family, and the cold got personal.
Quite literally, Taken them. It happened like this:
Vox Machina had gone to investigate an apparition reported not far out of Whitestone, an entity of snow and wind, swirling through fields and glades in an eldritch miniature blizzard. Grog had been the first one taken, rushing in a rage to slice through the white maelstrom of snowflakes. As the first flakes made contact with his axe, the snow coalesced into a figure, almost humanoid, almost feminine, fingers outstretched to the blade itself. A second wispy hand seemed to beckon, and Grog froze. Literally, froze. The blizzard swirled up to encompass the goliath’s massive form; seco
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Readiness was a watchword Vox Machina had learned time and again in the fight against ancient dragons. Even when time was of the essence, every little bit of preparation -- every Vestige acquired, every copper saved by haggling, every ally sworn, every hour spent in honing their skills -- could make a world of difference.
Even now, when the world took a breath in safety between Thordak’s fall and whatever crisis would surface next, readiness was key. Vex’ahlia’s preparations for tomorrow, however, had nothing to do with battle -- not of the sort to which Vox Machina was accustomed, at least. The rulers and leaders of Exandria were converging upon Whitestone for the Counc