The mountains of Ionia are almost as unforgiving as Freljord’s frozen expanses. During tha

The mountains of Ionia are almost as unforgiving as Freljord’s frozen expanses. During that hunt, I found myself doubting– doubting whether this trophy was worth it, whether I would ever find my quarry, and most of all doubting my ability to endure the cold.  I spend a week and a half in those frozen mountains tracking a legendary beast, one the Ionian mountain tribes revered as a god. A god of winds, slayer of massive serpents, and one who would ruin entire villages on a whim. A god that would block out the sun and carry dragons on its back.  I wanted this god’s crown. After hunting for days on end, my ‘prayers’ to see this god were answered. This villagers were right about its stature– however most of it was in the beasts wings. In fact, had it ever stood face to face with me, I would say it would have stood shorter than I. It was a beast of the wind, twisting and warping it to match its whimsical thoughts. It was excited to see me, having known of my hunt and my search. It knew well what I wanted, but would not give it up easily. It was a living statue, its body made of stone and adorned in gold and jade and ivory. Snakes lived in its crevasses. It fixed me with an intent bird’s stare and showed me pristine white teeth– sharp as my blade. This 'Garuda’ would fall to my steel.  So we battled, and as we battled, more doubts grew within me. It wove cunning words, not just taunts but stories, praises, and challenges.  It frustrated me. I knocked its crown from its head in our ferocious combat for life and victory. The cowardly nature of the serpent was strong in this beast made of gold and ivory and granite. I crushed its throat, but that would not be enough. I bled dry whatever ichor flowed through it and I broke its limbs and snapped its wings, but it still escaped me. I did not let it live of my own choice, I let it live because I would die if I stayed any longer. Frostbite crept into my toes and I became ever drowsier, threatening to succumb to winter’s siren tendrils of sleep.  The Ionians had told me the Garuda had properties of the phoenix, I hardly believed them then; but even now, I wonder. I wonder because sometimes, when I hunt in Ionia, the cold Northern wind will sometimes carry a familiar, hearty laugh. -- source link

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