From the heights of the Lag'ranna Mountains, arrows poured down in unbroken sheets. They screamed through the air, each one trailing faint traces of frost magic that hissed as they cut the wind. When they struck flesh, the cold exploded outward, freezing muscle solid before the impact force shattered bone. Orcs fell in clusters, bodies locking mid stride, faces frozen in snarls or wide eyed terror.
Below, the orcish left flank collapsed into chaos.
Warriors who had been charging only moments earlier skidded to a halt, boots slipping in mud now glazed with ice. Shields were raised too late. Arrows punched through leather, through iron, through thick orcish muscle. Some warriors screamed as frost crawled up their limbs, turning arms useless and legs brittle before they shattered beneath their own weight.
