My team had gathered upon a cliff's edge which overlooked the far-spaning glacial plain

and which stood the fog and trided fortress of the famed snowcleric, Santa Claus.

We had gone through enough reconnaissance of the frosted land and had identified several

snow-draped and placements wearing hid at elven lookouts and ambushes.

Stealthily, with their own southern breed of guile, we had neutralized these creatures who would have either

warned their brethren of our encroachment upon their land or spilled our blood upon the bare snow.

The many snow-capped towers of the fortress rose to the sky, and no part of any structure was adorned

by a semi-translucant coating of frost, as if armoured by the settled ice, every brick

of the fortress glimmered in the little light that the sun dared to cast down onto it.

Along the ramparts which encircled the inner castle strode

Elvin Watchman, equipped with their unfamiliar yet assuredly deadly weaponry.

Raffleman, in ice-wrought armour stood her top turrets, nearly indistinguishable from the

fortifications they awarded.

Their eyes, which could see through the dentists accumulation of the ever-present mist

scanned the areas around the castle for intruders.

Knowing beforehand of the far-seeing centuries, we'd come dressed in our appropriate

camouflage, which not only allowed us to blend in with our environment, but conceal

our vital functions from detection as well.

Specially made contacts allowed us to see each other clearly, as if we hadn't been wearing

the cloaking material. There were three of us, myself, my

brother and a person who will only refer to as B. My brother, had brought me the job, suggested

to him by B for reasons that will be revealed later.

...