"GRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHGGG"
A scream emanates from deep within the trees. The rage within the scream can be felt to the core.
"FAAAAAANNDRAAAAANNIIIIIIIIIIIIX"
A very cold wind can be felt; One akin to the winter's of the most southern Shards.
About a mile in from the road, Raktilvenaesiix stands in the center of an iced over forest with fist clenched. He looks around, teeth bared. His eyes are enraged and glow with an unnatural blue. He stops moving for a moment, the cold wind brushes across his face, when suddenly he roars in to the air once again, then starts breathing ice on to anything he can see. This cycles for a while, going from motionless to pure icy destruction. Eventually, he falls to his knees and stops everything entirely with only the sound of his heavy breathing could be heard.
He was angry, obvious to any observers, but also drunk on mana making him unpredictable. His hands were soiled and bloody from digging recklessly for absolutely any sized mana that he could find within his cave and eating them without prejudice. He had quite a stash of fragments, but avoided eating them, and even hid them from himself, so his enchanting schedule would not be interrupted. He knew that he would regret this binge later, but he didn't care then and definitely doesn't care now. He felt amazing. ...And mad; very mad. Almost a rage that didn't feel his.
He stopped thinking, disgusted that he was even thinking in the first place. Thinking too much is what got him to this point and he had had enough. Now was a time for destruction- pure, unadulterated destruction.
Then he jumped to his feet and continued to cover the land in ice, caring naught for the life in the forest.