[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/5r7OTIh.png[/img]
[b][color=Aquamarine]wordcount:[/color][/b] 780 (+2)
[b][color=Aquamarine]Midna: level 7[/color][/b] EXP: [color=Aquamarine]///////////////////////////////////////[/color]////////////////////////////////// (39/70)
[b][color=Aquamarine]Location:[/color][/b]  Sandswept Sky - Graveyard of the Peaks
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Up and up they went, higher and higher, and while Midna learned a bit more about the things she had misidentified as bat-ish monsters they, fortuitously, did not return. As far as the twilight princess could tell they weren't being hunted by them either, her darkness adapted eyes not picking out any further movement out in the frozen caves. 

Indeed, no further foes assailed them. Other than the ever present cold of course, which  gnawing at them, wearing them down, and only increasing in intensity as they ascended, to the point that even Poppi’s flame production stopped working due to the ever increasing exertion needed to keep it going outpacing her ability to supply it with mana, or at least that was Midna’s understanding of the problem. 

As they arrived at the top of the lift and slowly headed for an exit to the caves, it became clear that one else was really doing well. Even those who were used to or adapted to the cold, like Braum, were feeling the chill, though it was honestly impressive that the big man had gotten this far without any clothes. Shame they didn't have any to give him and let him carry on unbothered. 

Midna meanwhile found herself curled up and hugging herself in an attempt to withhold as much of her dwindling reserves of heat that she could as she floated in the air. It was a position that wasn't quite fetal, but it would likely have gotten there if the blast of wind caused by the two big guys of the group throwing open the door hadn’t sent her tumbling backwards through the air, swearing as she went.

For a bit after that, she joined them on the ground, but her lack of friction caused by the mag-lev mod meant that she had to spike each step with dragon clawed toes. They trudged across the bridge beyond the caves like a line of pilgrims, though ironically enough the monastery the man who’s thimble she had in her possession had talked about seemed to be off to the side of their path. Given the state of herself and the party, the princess was in little mood for side-questing. 

That mood changed when they finally reached the far side of the bridge and passed through the stone gateway beyond and found a void of white, spotted only by a few frozen corpses and a star-field of what might be gravestones, neither of which boded well. Oh and, hiding in plain sight, there was also a giant white glove floating in the wall of white filling the air. Mind dulled by cold, it took Midna a moment to realize that this must be the so-called master hand, which spoke with bone shuddering words and more or less spelled out their doom, before confidently stating that they’d push on regardless, because that was what heroes did. 

Midna disagreed. Not about never surrendering, she wasn't about to call this a lost cause because of some very very very bad weather, but sometimes you found a impassable barrier that you needed a certain tool, or a power that was not your own, to bypass that you needed to get from somewhere else, and that was the framework she approached this wall of wind and white with. 

[color=Aquamarine]”The guy in the tree said something about scolding hot oil when talking about the monastery. Not going to engage in whatever crazy cult stuff is going on over there, but if they can heat oil, and, you know, live up here, then they have the fuel to warm people right? Clothes to stay warm? Magical resistance? Something to deal with this. Because if we try to brute force that as we are, it is not going to go well”[/color] Midna suggested, hoping there would be a key to this to be found nearby. If they could get around to the monastery in the first place.

If they did vote to soldier on together, well, she was not going to try and shove through the snow herself. That was quite literally impossible, the lightweight and low friction princess would be slid backwards if she tried to go under her own power. So she would summon her wolf-dran, the only one who had taken power from a mountain denizen for its own in hindsight, and then hide in its shadow as the cold adapted beast with its clawed grip and low quadrupedal form made the trek for her, the princess saving her strength for if, or rather when, she would need to try and bail the others out of the nightmare that was, goddesses willing, the last part of their accent.