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You have been following the Ice Barbarian scouts for nearly two hours when a fierce ice squall rises from the west. The terrain becomes very broken with drifts of snow hiding the razor-sharp ridges and undulations of the ice beneath. For the Ice Barbarian scouts with their skis (fashioned from the ribs of Kalte mammoths), the treacherous surface presents no problems. But to cross it on foot is a slow and painful ordeal.
The biting wind whips across the glacier, bringing with it clouds of fine snow that obscure your vision. You realize the danger of being caught in the open in the middle of a Kalte blizzard, and signal to the others to call off the chase. Walking towards your scouts, you suddenly plummet through the surface of the ice.
