❄️ (can my troll talvia do this one for any of your trolls which ever you have the highest muse for)
> You tumble into snow, Mirrak’s teleporter falling from your suddenly nerveless grip. Lunging after it, you watch it tumble off the edge of a cliff that you now stand very uncomfortably close to. The wrist strap catches on a scrubby little bush growing out of the sheer rock about fifty feet down – another fifty feet from the ground below.
> You knew you shouldn’t have been messing with that thing.
> Your first concern, automatically, is to back away from the precipice. At some point you’re going to have to get that teleporter back, though you have no idea how – but for the moment you have rather more urgent concerns. You’re not dressed for this weather. At least you have a sweater on this time, but it’s loose-knit; the flimsy robe beneath was not made for warmth, and you’re barefoot.
“Well … not to ssstate the obviousss, but thisss isssn’t good.”