That's no thunder!
It's the chaotic shifting and crunch of slab ice above us; Crumbling in on the ice Palace. Beads of water pour down to meet the arctic floor with a mellow static. It's time to vacate.
Every feverish step splashes resonance upon the shifting walls as the air becomes less favor to sight...
The echoed soiree of the grand halls jubilant symphony soon becomes a song of siren's long trapped in this prison of frigid tangle
"WE MUST ESCAPE" Call's a desperate voice from the mist.
Knowing all too well the truth in these words, You wander back into the havoc.