On the cold, desolate expanse of the ice field, a bizarre and incongruous sight was unfolding. A mountain-sized entity, shaped from shards of ice and akin to a titan of lore, was striding forward with large strides. Yet, the strangeness didn't end there.
Amidst the ice, Blue Hand reverted to his Ice Form, capitalizing on his racial characteristic to sprint across the terrain. His three friends were following closely behind. The smallest of the lot was hanging onto the lanky, 4.5-degree figure, waving his spindly arms, and making a clinking sound akin to the collision of icicles with his mouth. No one among them, apart from Frost Spirit, could understand what he was saying. Ballsy, round as he was, wasn't running at all, rather he rolled over the ice like a huge ball spinning at an intense speed, the sound of his trajectory reverberating through the field, crushing any minor obstacles on his path.
