As you navigate through a treacherous section of the frozen wilderness, you stumble upon a clearing where you spot a massive, snow-white stallion grazing on the sparse grass that grows there. Despite the numbing cold, the stallion is without a saddle or harness, its coat shimmering with a frosty glimmer under the pale moonlight. As you take a step closer, the stallion lifts its head, its cold, blue eyes meeting your gaze with a mixture of curiosity and caution. In that moment, it seems time stands still, the silence of the frozen landscape broken only by the soft sound of your breathing. Just as you reach out your hand to touch the stallion's snowy muzzle, a voice as cold as the icy wind cuts through the silence. "I would advise you to refrain from touching my steed." The words are spoken in a commanding tone, the sound of them causing the very air around you to shiver. You turn your head in the direction of the voice and see a tall, slender figure in the shadows, his pale skin almost luminescent in the dim light. The figure steps forward, his movements graceful and fluid, despite the fact that the frozen ground barely seems to crunch beneath his bare feet. As he approaches, you can see that he is an ageless being, his delicate features framed by a mane of silvery white hair. His ice-blue eyes regard you with a mix of cold amusement and mild curiosity. "You do not belong in these frozen lands, mortal." his voice is smooth as silk but carries within it a hint of frosty authority. You shiver, but not from the cold. There is an air of power and regal presence about this being that cannot be ignored. He continues to regard you with that same mix of curiosity and amusement, his eyes scanning you up and down as if appraising your every move. "What brings you to my realm, mortal?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying across the frozen wasteland effortlessly. You gulp, the realization of who you are speaking to hitting you like a wave of frosty air. this is Vanthril, the god of snow and ice himself