The creeping chill in his bones from the dead alfur's hoar breath causes Skølrykk to lose all accuracy from his blow... the spear butt glaces the creature but strikes only the frozen folds of its cloak.
Luke grasps at another arrow but its flight shears off as he lets fly. Cursing he notes it was probably weakened by Gilstur's death grip back at the Hunter's Clearing...
Kevkul breaks into a sprint, miraculously skirting the rubble and undergrowth easily towards the undead elf.
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Reflex:
Instinct alone is what keeps Ragnar from the worst of the turned alfur's breath. The cold washes over him though doesn't penetrate the thick Northman's skin. Somewhere deep within Ragnar, a fire is stoked... embers burning.
Giving voice to his growing blod fury "Feh, kommer min stål skära ner dig odöda kräk. Darrar när du möter en människa i norr!" Ragnar throws caution to the wind and charges the alfur, howling all the while. Bringing skaggig to bear in a wild horizontal bludgeon...
Charging Raging Greataxe: for
Round 2
Muli moves closer while setting up to swinging a squirrel about his head while holding on to its tail.
Coming up just short of the hoarcrust the creature spewed, Muli lets loose and the squirrel flies toward the creature. Upon impact, the stuffed squirrel lets out a faint squeak of escaping gas before exploding in a small gout of flame.
9/26 HP
As the dwarven priest sprints towards the alfur, Ragnar barrels into the creature and brings his greataxe chopping through its waspish waist.
Skaggig bites deep and frosten blood crystals spill forth from its torso as the big viking wrenches his axe free. The alfur's mouth lolls open, and its windlike howl becomes more shrill as Muli's incendary squirrel explodes NE, showering the cold dead alfur in hot, burning flame...
Reeling it staggers away from the flames and rakes at Ragnar and Skølrykk with its ice shard talons...
:
:
:
:
The alfur utters a wheezing moan as its talons rake deep into Ragnar's shoulder as he ploughs a crimson furrow in the dead thing. Where the cold claws stab Ragnar feels an icy chill seep into his flesh and very soul... seeking to extinguish the blod fire within him...
The other claw leaves hoar kissed grooves upon Skølrykk's armour as he deftly sways to avoid its attack...
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Fort Save:
Driven almost to his knees by the raking claw Ragnar somehow maintains his footing. A bloody rent newly opened up across his chest despite the chain protecting it. Spitting blood at the alfur in defiance, and grinning like a man condemned and yet fighting for his very freedom - he launches into a barely controlled rising cross strike with skaggig...
Raging Greataxe: for
...returning the strike in kind to a bestial howl of delight.
Kevkul drops his crossbow before calling on the positive energies from the Spedig Wesa to ease Ragnar's wounds.
Let the man enjoy many more drinks of victory and let him fall not this day, o me Lucky Lord of the Drunks.
Step to D9, drop crossbow, casts CLW on Ragnar.
Burning Deep Breath for CLW on Ragnar.
Luke moves to E6 and fires a third Blood Root arrow at the Alfur.
LB ATT:
LB DAM:
"Bah! I can't even see him." Muli holds his loaded chipmunk ready, but knows he can't get a clear shot. Instead he hustles up to get a less blocked view (A-10 with double move). He draws out his sling afraid the explosives packed in his little friend could hurt his companions in such a wild scrap that they are in.
Round 3
Skølrykk brings the shaft of his longspear crashing down on the wraith again.
Longspear:
Damage:
Ragnar's greataxe splits the dead alfur asunder, opening a yawning rent from rib to collar. Crystalised blood explodes as the viking wrenches skaggig free.
The cold dead one's voice of the north wind keens eerily as it stumbles and falls to its knees. As it does so another blod root arrow burys itself into the folds of the creature's hoar crusted cloak.
Its slack jawed face glares up at the living, baleful eyes now only faintly glistening before Skølrykk's spear shaft caves in the front of the alfur's skull. The bone splintering more with the sound of cracking ice that a battle wound...
The lifeless and sundered form of the alfur lies at your feet...
Will Save:
The primal heart of Ragnar's blod fury feels the warmth of the dweorg's spell and strives in vain to resist it. Though as the focus of his rage departs to the icy tundra, Ragnar's anger is replaced by tiredness and he puts skaggig's haft in the snow to lean heavily against.
Clouds of mist arising from heavy breathing, Ragnar does nothing more than regain his focus for a few tens of seconds.
Liten Mun, sensing danger passed, trots over to his master from where he had been keeping safe.
Skølrykk knocks the ice off his spear with his hand and pokes at the once-man curiously, making sure he is finally at rest.
I am beginning to understand why we always burn our dead... He says, bending down to observe more closely.
A fate no one should have to endure, so unfortunate, this alfur. Let us burn him, cleanse the ice and return his remains free of his undead state.
Sadly looking at the cleaved remains of the ice lined elf, Kevkul whispers a few short prayers before looking around for wood to fuel the fire.
The alfur's weathered (and now fractured) corpse is gaunt and pale. His blood has crystalised with the bitter cold and upon his person he has little save his ornate midnight blue cloak, with its ornate threadwork depicting celestial bodies. It seems in good condition despite being frozen stiff.
Under his cloak reveals mundane and frost encrusted Scale Mail armour .
At his belt is a purse yielding 8 gold marks and 17 silver schillings.
An empty sword scabbard hangs at the frozen belt of the alfur.
Materials enough for a decent pyre are gathered relatively easily, and soon enough the hoar-corpse of the alfur can be laid to rest with cleansing flame.
Knowledge(Religion):
. Upon closer inspection of the alfur's corpse, you become more firm in your belief that he had risen as a Hár-Cargást or Hoar-Spirit... a form of fell cold birthed undead.
Worryingly they are rarely encountered alone as they are often drawn to one another...
After Ragnar's breath returns to him, he makes a point to clasp Kevkul on the shoulder and make eye contact. Nothing is said, but the dweorg would take it as an unspoken thanks for the warmth that kept the long cold at bay.
Looking at the frozen body of the elf, surrounded by the collected fuel ready to torch, Kevkul recollects some tales of frost rimmed undead, often encountered in packs...
Northmen, what do you know of the frozen undead? This is a Hár-Cargást or Hoar-Spirit, as I recall. Prepare yourselves, they are often not alone and surely there is more to come.
Feeling the hefty clap of the recomposed barbarian, Kevkul looks up, grey eyes seeing each other and he nods slightly at the Northerner's silent thanks.
Looking at the elf a last time, Kevkul just remembers to cast Detect Magic holding off any torch wielder eager to light the pyre.
Muli examines where the squirrel landed and the burn marks on the frozen corpse.
"Muli can make these stronger but must think on protecting his companions."
Skølrykk stuffs the cloak into his backpack to show the people of the town later, then helps with the pyre. Hearing Kevkul's warning, he arms himself with a burning brand from the fire and looks around.
I don't like the sound of that...
Perception:
I have no ken of this Hár-Cargást or Hoar-Spirit, but I do see us efentéam nicely. Well done all.
Luke searches around for the three arrows that he fired in hopes that a few are recovearble. Then he begins to circle their position to determine the existence of any other threats.
Pereception:
As you prepare the alfur's rime corpse for its pyre, any who handle it cannot but help notice the numerous ribbon like whorls that scar its exposed flesh...
These wounds are signature to the Iobarian Clawbats, or Einchadu... flying pests that can wound and drain the unwary of their blood and vitality.
Yet you have little time to dwell on any notions, as Liten Mun's wining growl alerts your ears to the now familar keening wind-like moan that accompanied the hoar-alfur...
The dark hooded cloak is decorated with embroidered comets, moons, and stars along its edge. It emits a faint aura of abjuration...
You perceive that the incoming moan of the north wind (that heralds the coming of a Hár-Cargást) comes from the West the group's current position...
Gritting his bloodstained teeth but making no complaint Ragnar hefts skaggig above his head and bellows "Come those who wear déadhrægl, my beard still hungers!" readying his axe and mind for what comes.
Feeling that the time is right, Kevkul raises his arms with mug in hand.
Come friends, let Cailean Caydean guide your way, and drink to victory!
Kevkul Casts. Bless.
Keep your eyes to the West...the forebéacen that is the moaning wind of the Hár-Cargást blows from the West!
Luke focuses his sights to the West and notches a regular arrow.
And from the west it does come... Shorter in stature than the alfur, more corpulent in shape, but frost rimed, slack jawed and hungry it comes nevertheless...
Luke Initiative
Ragnar Initiative
Skolrykk Initiative
Muli Initiative
Kevkul Initiative
Cold Dead Eyes
Muli moves up get a clear angle.
He pulls the stuffed chipmonk back out, "And here you thought you had been left behind. Go warm his hide." He uses a claw-like fingernail to poke a hole in the critter's pelt, and a high pitched sqeel insues, followed by smoke streaming out of the punture. He gives it a heave toward the ice beast.
"Gut Kritter!"
Skølrykk creeps around to flank the creature and avoid being in a group in case it breathes ice like the last one.
Luke looses an arrow at the beast.
LB ATT:
LB DAM:
Muli’s critter bomb sails gracefully through the air and explodes showering the icy dead man in flame. To Muli’s surprise the bomb seems to burn even more potently than he remembered.
The cold dead thing’s moan becomes a whistling screech as it struggles to avoid the fiery burst. It’s frozen eyes seem not to notice Skølrykk’s advance, but he cannot be sure...
However as the licking flames begin to dissipate the cold ghoul is rocked by an arrow burying itself deep in the deadman’s chest.
The Hár-Cargást hisses and moves stiffly forward to engage its flame bearing nemesis...
... with two clawed hands that rake at Muli;
:
:
...but fail to penetrate the Alchemist's tough leathery armour!
Round 1:
Ragnar grimaces a slayer's grin as he makes quick time across the tundra.
Die foul undead!
Kevkul charges headlong adjacent to the undead, heaving his warhammer in a downward arc.
move to E2
charge attack:
damage:
Skølrykk Dråthenborn charges up to the creature, swinging his torch at it as he flanks.
Torch:
Damage:
"Too close Hoar-Gást!" Muli steps back and pulls a walnut out of a pocket. He squeezes it to crack the glue he used to seal it, but not enough to release the Alchemist's Fire. He lobs the nut and watches it explode. Not as fiery as one of his kritter bombs but safer for those around the target....sort of
Luke fires again at the undead!
LB ATT:
LB DAM:
Kevkul's hammer leaves the Hár-Cargást lopsided as he shatters its shoulder and arm... the resultant icy skin cracking, spilling crimson crystals upon the tundra.
Skølrykk's torch flame licks at the creature, but fails to burn it further. The Hoar-Gást's moaning voice keens in fear, before being engulfed by the alchemist's fire.
As it falls to the ground Luke's arrow pins its sleeve to the hard ground, and the undead writhes in a fiery cleansing...
Until blackened and screaming it shatters and lies still...
Late to the party, Ragnar is left with nothing to do but give the burning beast a desultory kick. Speaking to his companions "Shall we track their path and see if more gleógamen may be had?"
Luke begins to attempt to pickup the trail and then follw the same to find any others.
Perception:
Survival: taking 20 for a total of 27
Skølrykk rolls the body in the snow to put it out, then searches the body for clues to who he may have been in life.
The second body is a human male by the looks of it... Much of his clothing and effects are burnt and charred, but scraps of his clothing appear to be of high quality.
Where exposed (and unburnt) his pale flesh also bears the hallmarks of the ribbon like wounds that the alfur also bore.
Upon his person is a burned money belt; .
You reason that the trail could be tracked, but with the tundra's whipping winds and frost it would be difficult (but not impossible) to discern their origination...
One thing is clear, their tracks are more Northward towards the Lake, rather than North West where Quern's hermitage lies.
Luke shakes his head, and returns to the party.
The tracks head north, but it would be nie on impossible to find their origin with the whipping snow. Northwest is our destination. I say we move on to Qern's.
Body wracked by a hacking cough, Ragnar spits a gobbet of blood streaked phlegm into the snow "Well at least Muli saved us from needing wood for this ones pyre." Ragnar nods at Luke's reasoning "Aye, we should be making for Quern..."
Skølrykk tosses the money pouch in his pack. We'll divvy that up later, lads. Let's get this body on the pyre, too. He says, lifting the feet and waiting for someone to help. When they do, they throw the body up into the flames.
Fléotige ellorsíþ, poor soul.
Skølrykk collects his spear and dusts the snow off of it.
Wiping off the oily residue from the lobbed alchemist fire, Kevkul feels for his singed beard and brows, looking sideways at the hairy hermit who've thrown it. Luckily his beard is intact, the blast trimming only the stray hairs Kevkul has bean meaning to cut.
Did that human throw that on purpose? Mebbe I was at wrong place at the wrong time. We'll see then.
Kevkul helps drag and consign the body into the pyre, letting the flames cleanse the icy undeath controlling them.
May Pharasma accept you into her boneyard, whispers the dwarf.
Kevkul moves over nearer to the human barbarian before clutching his holy symbol and discharging a healing pulse of energy.
To Kevkul after his healing: "Thank you dweorg. Kan din kanna alltid fyllas i livet efter"
Muli steps up and pats at the smoldering spots on Kevkal. "Muli needs to work on that." He then wanders off rolling his nuts in his hand.