Annalísa's sword arcs through the air as she swings it at the zombie who tried to attack her. Anger, and perhaps horror at what was done to these men twists her face into a grim expression.
The pygmy mammoth digs his tusks into the zombie and shakes his head, jostling the zombie around, to get his tusk free again. A living man would have screamed in agony, the walking dead only looks at Ratatoskr with the same blank expression it had before.
Annalísa's blow lands soundly, but this zombie responds to her attack no more than his brother in arms did to the others.
R1
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Zombie 2, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z1 1
Z2 6
As the group closes, trying to bring the undead down, Machaera tries to remember everything she knows about zombies while trying not to think too much about Geb as she circles to be in flanking position.
Knowing she's taking a risk by shooting into the melee, Machaera tries for something that just needs to touch her target. Calling a small ball of acid into her hand with a quickly hissed word of power, she lobs it at the zombie Annalísa just hit.
Machaera's acid misses the zombie and instead falls into the snow near it's feet.
"Oi! What's going on over there?" Bjartur hollers and moves closer to the action, but not close enough to be of any real service. "By the gods!"
The younger zombie flails, throwing himself at Ratatoskr, knocking Aðvinr's familiar unconscious.
R1
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Zombie 2, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z1 1
Z2 6
Wide-eyed, the gnome steps beside Annalísa and levels his crossbow. "That... that's not nat'ral!" His last word ends in almost a shriek as he tries to steady his shaking hands to fire a bolt at the shambling corpse.
Fizzlewhisk's bolt sinks into the zombie's thigh, eliciting a groan from the zombie.
Dvalinn begins to move around Annalísa and Fizzlewhisk, only to find the path blocked by a fallen tree, so he prepares to climb over it instead of going back the way he came.
R1
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Zombie 2, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z2 6
Mervyn fires another arrow at the zombie directly below him. As his arrow connects again this time into the shoulder of the abomination Mervyn yells "Dror them back, right, give evry geezer more room ter fight them."
Mervyn has fired two arrows.
The older zombie rams himself into Annalísa, nearly knocking the woman back.
R1
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Zombie 2, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z2 8
"Be at peace."
Snjorrin takes a swing at the zombie!
Annalísa lashes out at the zombie, swinging wildly trying to get the damn thing off of her. She has never dealt with the likes of this, even having heard the stories of such blasphemous creatures she was not prepared to have one in such close contact with her.
Hundur, sensing that his mistress is in distress lunges at the foul creature attacking her.
Snjórinn's axe slices into the zombie but it does not seem to inhibit it's desire to attack the party in the slightest.
Hundur's teeth, though they sink deep, likewise do not stop the zombie's advances.
R1
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Zombie 2, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z2 8
Aðvinr drives his spear into the zombie as Ratatoskr's next attack fails to connect.
Aðvinr's spear digs deep into the zombie, deep enough that whatever foul magic kept it going is either severed or just unable to hold up to that much damage. The zombie crumples to the ground, finally looking more like a dead thing should look.
R2
Mervyn, Zombie 1, Snjórinn, Annalísa, Aðvinr, Machaera, Bjartur, Fizzlewhisk, Dvalinn
Z2 dead
Machaera repeats her trick with a little magic, but knowing she shouldn't expect too much of it, she throws aside her bow and draws Yuln's sword in case the group can't bring the monster down before she can close.
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Machaera's acid burns through the flesh of the zombie, causing the zombie to look down at it's torso in confusion for a moment.
Z2 dead
Bjartur moves forward and takes a wild swing at the zombie, he connects but it doesn't seem to cause the zombie any further harm.
Fizzlewhisk shoots his crossbow at the zombie again.
His bolt sinks deep into the zombies skull. It falls backwards into Snjórinn. It moves no more.
Mervyn sits down on the edge of the top of the carriage and sits his shortbow down beside him. He removes his now familiar pipe from his pouch and lights it. Inhaling deeply the flavor of the tobacco. "Wot the hell were that, isit? The welcome wagon, then, guv? Tryin' ter discourage any fairy followin' them into that." Mervyn says as he points to the woods.
"I didn't know witches and fey were capable of that. No bloke said nuffink about necromancy bein' part of this." he says in a matter of fact tone.
"So any fairy else want ter speak up and tell me a wee more about wot we are right facin' 'ere." he ask.
Annalísa nudges the zombie nearest to her with her boot. "I have no clue, this is not at all what I expected."
Snjorrin shrugs.
"The Cold Fey themselves tend not to animate the dead, but the Witches they work for certainly have that power... this was definitely no random attack. We should search this area carefully for clues."
"I agree. From what I know of the fey, they're closer to the powers of nature. The undead are ... not that," Machaera says, her voice tightening at the end, as if she is keeping herself from saying something sharper.
She retrieves her bow, but now having some idea to expect surprises closer to hand, slides it into her pack's straps, and keeps her sword drawn. "Let's see what we have here," she mutters, ducking into the coach and seeing if anything else was left behind that might let them know who was travelling in this one, and what might have happened to them. After a moment, she ducks back out again and starts searching the rest of the wreckage, but she goes over to examine more closely the unfortunate turned into a statue first.
Machaera finds a small jewelry box under the seat of the carriage that the bandits missed. Lady Argentea's signet ring is still inside, as are a pair of earrings (25 gp), a set of pearl-inlaid bracelets (9o gp), assorted gold and silver necklaces (75 gp), and one sapphire pendant (50 gp).
Mervyn grabs his bow and places it back on his back and works his way down from the top of the carriage as he did going up.
Once back safely on the ground he retrieves his two arrows from the zombie's skull and checks them over for further usability. If he finds either worthy he will add them back to his quiver. He then rummages around the carriage for anything that may have been missed by Machaera.
Once he is satisfied there he will move over to where Machaera is next to the ice encased man, statue? He then checks it over for anything of note and any traps that may have been placed.
plus one more for traps.
He then turns to Machaera and says "Well we could place them two undead fings right 'ere and set them ablaze. That should melt this poor soul out of 'is icy prison. Or do yer want ter just leave 'im 'ere like this, then, eh, mate? Wiv the ffreat of undead I say we burn the bloomin' bodies right 'ere."
Let me know if any of the arrows are retrievable and I'll make the corrections on my inventory.
As she emerges from the carriage, Machaera holds up the jewel case and announces, with slightly forced brightness, "Looks like somebodies forgot milady's jewels. Maybe I was just lucky, but I hardly had to tear the carriage apart. Whatever these people want, I doubt it's money, or ransom specifically."
Marching over to the grim statue, Machaera takes a closer look, trying to figure out why. Mervyn's words after his silent approach startle her out of her speculations, and she replies, "I was just thinking about that. I was hoping we could get the poor soul into a more respectable position and lay him out to ease his passage to Pharasma. If we can do that first, so much the better, but we might as well build a pyre here for the others."
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Ignoring the greed of the others, the small gnome walks over to the large man in furs. "Is your lil friend okay?"
Mervyn finds nothing new in the carriage, and no traps on the ice statue. Machaera realizes that beneath the ice, the frozen corpse still wears his breastplate, emblazoned with Taldan heraldry, and one of the chunks of ice contains the captain’s arm, still grasping his masterwork longsword. These could be useful... or valuable.
As to why the man was treated this way, it is clear that it was meant to strike terror in the hearts of any of those who found him, both to scare them away from following and to warn them of what they will face if they do.
Annalisa takes Bjartur and Dvalinn aside to speak with the men, "Perhaps it is best if you two return to Heldren and tell the council what we have seen here. They will want to know right away."
Strewn among the debris of the wrecked carriage are the handmaiden's belongings. Three courtier's outfits (worth a total of 90 gp) and in a simple leather case, a scroll of prestidigitation.
The tracks leading away from this area make it clear to Snjorrin that the remaining horses were taken along with the Lady. The tracks are very deep and the direction is clear, it should be quite easy to follow them from this point on.
-----
"Like hell, Annalísa," Davlinn says, "If you think the counsel needs to know about this right away then take your pretty ass back there and tell them yourself!"
Bjartur shakes his head, "That was foolish..." The older man wisely takes a few steps back, putting distance between himself and the Ulfen woman.
Snjorrin interjects:
"Do not come to blows; that is exactly what the Cold Fey would want - seeding fear and distrust between those who would be their foes. At the very least," he says, gesturing to the guard-popsicle, "this man deserves to be treated with respect, and taken back to town for a proper burial; not left here as some macabre icy scarecrow."
Annalísa throws her head back and laughs into the cold winter-esque air, her breath billowing out in misty clouds. As her laughter dies down she looks at Davlinn with a fire in her eyes just before she slams her shield into him, knocking the man flat on his ass.
She looks up at Bjartur, "Get him out of here, will ya? He won't last the night."
Having acted as he was speaking, she then turns to Snjórinn and chuckles. "He'll be alright, it was just a little tap."
Dvalinn scrambles back in the snow, muttering obscenities under his breath. Bjartur nods his head at Annalísa, "Alright, Annalísa. Alright. Come on, Dvalinn before your mouth actually gets her angry."
The younger man stands up, brushing caked on snow off of himself and with one last nasty look shot Annalísa's way he finally nods to Bjartur, "Just so long as the counsel knows that if things go wrong, it's on her head."
The two men turn in the snow and make their way back towards Heldren. Pausing to consider Snjórinn's words, Bjartur shakes his head, "These men were not from our town, though they died a warriors death. They deserve a warriors funeral."
Ignoring the greed of the others...
Squinting to make out details through the ice, Machaera tells Mervyn, "Based on the armour he's wearing, he seems to have been an important man."
She shakes her head. "Let's see if the others have found anything before we start building a pyre. If nothing else, we'll be wanting ... Goddesses, to thaw this," she adds, gently kicking aside the chunk of ice that holds both an arm and what Machaera's expert eye can tell is a very fine sword.
Mervyn finishes his smoke and taps the remains of his pipe on his boot watching as the black soot marked the white snow that now rested beneath his feet. Seeing the confrontation that was going on in the group Mervyn wondered if the group would last through the night. He begin to try to peace together the site that was before him.
Breaking from his thoughts Mervyn called out to Fizzlewhisk to come over. "Yer track animals right, isit? How about checkin' out these tracks and spot if yer can cop us a number of blokes we are trackin'. Just 'ow many blokes we are up against. Also can yer tell by the horse tracks 'ow many blokes the animals were carryin', isit? Trackin' ain't my specialty but I'm bloody well assumin' yer 'ave great skill in the chuffin' matter, yes?"
The gnome makes sure the furred beast is breathing, but unsure of how else to assist. He takes a few steps back and acknowledges Mervyn. "Aye. Trackin' game is the trickiest part of the hunt." The young ranger kneels down to take a look at the tracks in the snow.
Fizzlewhisk speaks softly as he investigates the prints, "I know we don' know each other very well, but we have to stick together, an' we have to watch out for each other. Some of us are doin' this for gold an' glory, but we can't let it tear us apart. If any of us fall, the others need to help. A pack hunts better together. That lil animal might not be important to anybody else, but it is to him. What if those dead people had taken me down, or Annalísa? This isn't just a random winter... this cold creeps into the heart. When you stop caring, your heart grows icy just like the winter-touched."
Aðvinr administers to his companions wounds, using all of his knowledge and skill yet is unable to get the little mammoth back on his feet.
"Snjórinn, would you be able to share your healing tough again?" he asks the scarred masked orc.
Fizzlewhisk is unable to tell a specific number of people and/or horses since the area is pretty well trampled and the prints overlap frequently.
Hundur makes a whining noise as he sniffs around the fallen mammoth.
Rejoining the others, Machaera glances at the mammoth, wondering what she might have been able to do, or if she would just have got in the way. "I'm sorry," she says softly, "Old habits die hard, and my skills lie elsewhere. If things are so desperate that my untrained hand at healing is required, I wouldn't be too hopeful. At least there's nothing else to suggest any other unpleasant surprises. Still, Mervyn thought it might be best to build a pyre for these poor people here, in case there's any lingering trace of necromancy, and I'm inclined to agree. It's the least we could do ... now that it seems reasonably safe just here."
Mervyn looks at the tracks behind the iceman statue that lead up to the edge of the woods. He is looking for one thing inparticular. Either a small humanoid footprints that could belong to a woman or any sign of blood that either she or some of the ones that took her was wounded as they headed off into the woods. This will be away from the area that the fight took place at the edge of the wood.
Scooping up his little companion, the shaman falls in alongside the others.
Mervyn is unable to differentiate much, other than what was already noticed before that someone was dragged through the area with a struggle. There is blood all around, but not a definitive trail of it leading off from the battle scene.
Seeing Advinr picking up his companion, Snjorrin moves forward, and puts a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Allow me."
He then steps forward, and places a hand on the wounded mammoth. Blood begins to weep from the scars criss-crossing his arm, dripping down merging with the mammoth's wounded flesh, rejuvenating it.
He then stumbles backwards, shaking his head for a few moments, before regaining his equilibrium.
"We should follow the trail..."
"Thank you." Aðvinr says sincerely as he sets the little mammoth down. Ratatoskr trots around the Witchdoctor and trumpets his appreciation before returning to the Shaman's side. "Yes, let's get moving. Anything capable of freezing a body in ice like this does not bode well for the Lady."
"The tracks are all jumbled, an' if I am gonna take a better look I will need a little time. We shouldn' just leave them all here to rot. I'd hate to see what would happen to the local game if they were eatin' on any of this..."
"In my homeland, the best way to deal with the fallen bodies of the White Walkers is to burn them." Aðvinr says solemnly.
"I agree, right, burnin' them would be best. We could use a the fire ter thaw this man as well." Mervyn says pointing to the ice block that encases the man.
"Shall we get started, then?" Machaera asks, hoping to get the unnerving task over as quickly as possible. "If we can at least get a pyre built, that should keep any animals away."
Unless the others demur, she'll start collecting the more manageable pieces of scattered debris to build up a pyre.
Glad to see Aðvinr's little friend back on hist feet, Annalísa leaves the others to gather wood as she starts dragging the corpses to where the pyre will be.
Within a half hour's time, a pyre with the bodies of both zombies and mundane corpses alike is being consumed by flames. Bjartur and Davlinn stayed long enough to aid with the pyre and speak prayers over the deceased before returning to Heldren.
Even next to the fire, with the smell of burning flesh seeping its way into your hair and clothes, you are all to aware of the increasingly dropping temperature. The sun still shines, there is till time to move forward if you wish to brave the cold or you may set up a camp here among the blood-splattered wreckage to use the what warmth the pyre provides to see you through the night.
Removing the gear from the frozen corpse, Aðvinr gathers everything as the fire burns. "Do you all feel capable of traveling further or wish to stay here before nightfall?"
Snjorrin shrugs.
"I am definitely capable of continuing."