Edwyn's fingers glide over the gilded strings of his long-necked rosewood lute, its supple body letting out soft moans like a willing maiden.
This, then, is the song of Summer: first the heavy, thrumming notes which bespeak sodden air thick with life and promise, then the quick plucks that hearken to the frantic, buzzing, mid-air flittings of thousands upon thousands of insects, and finally the longer, harmonious chords of the warm rain and soft breezes, the swaying grasses and leafy bows.
Edwyn reaches out, weaving his song into a graceful blade not unlike the one riding at his hip. Thrusting at the nearest afflicted, he attempts to pierce Winter's hold upon his mind.
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Opening the door brings you face-to-face with an elven woman carrying a dagger. She's fair and modestly dressed, with blonde hair and blue eyes and she is definitely lunging at you. She paradoxically shouts out "No!!" as she leaps through the doors, preparing to plunge the weapon down on your shoulder.
As Erland steps up from behind cover and levers his blade at the men, they seem to all pause with a strange animalistic fright. A second later, they turn and stare, wide-eyed, clutching what look like pieces of heavily charred meat. Suddenly, the group turns and begins to collect themselves in a haphazard, half-unarmed charge. They split the air with rabid, primal cries and screams.
The one in the lead, a Bloodaxe in chain mail carrying nothing but a dagger, stops upon hearing Edwyn's music. His companions barrel past him effortlessly, toppling him to the ground as his confusion makes itself apparent. He calls out "Wh-what? What in the hag's eye is-- what?" as he tries to find his bearings.
A second later, the fastest runner balls his fists and prepares to slam into Edwyn. Many others charge towards Erland, ignoring his authoritative request. What do you do?
Thorgrim
HP: 7/24, 1 armor
Sparrow
HP: 14/15, 1 armor
Erland
HP: 25/25, 3 armor
Edwyn
HP: 8/18, 1 armor
Uqaliak
HP: 16/18, 1 armor
Wendigo Men (5)
Horde, close
HP: 27/30, 1 armor
Non-Wendigoed Men (1)
Organized, intelligent, close
HP: 3/3, 1 armor
Edwyn falls back with a sudden grace, seeming to discard his aloof, foppish persona on a moment's notice, as if unshouldering a heavy pack in order to move more freely.
He drops backward and prone, trying to surprise the possessed man by scissoring his own legs around the other man's and rolling, twisting his opponent's footing out from under him in the process.
The frail woman lunges forward, her dagger intent on Thorgrim's nephew. Erland's mettle is tested and tempered, however, and the barbarian knows the elf's strike is that of a child's. Unlike his kin, however, Thorgrim's temperance is somewhat lacking. As her dagger sails through the air to meet Erland's shield, Thorgrim's massive hand reaches out and wraps around the woman's neck. The grim northman then speaks angrily, "Still yourself and those who defile this place may yet perish. Do this not, girl, and I will end you."
As one might expect, Thorgrim treats the room with about as much deference as a steaming pile of excrement. Sculptures are tipped over and kicked down, as if the secret of the frost clinging to them might lie beneath. The aged barbarian sifts through the snow with the tip of his sword, wondering if something lies concealed beneath.
What might be a sneer adorns Thorgrim's face as he surges into the wave of advancing madmen, the length of his sword protruding behind him as he steps forward and prepares to end in a wild arc the first man foolish enough to offer himself to the barbarian's culling. Seeing their seeming lack of organization, Thorgrim wades in front of the approaching foes and bellows out a furious challenge, echoing throughout the grove with as much fervor as a peal of thunder: ""
Edwyn waits a moment to gauge the results of Thorgrim's "diplomacy," and, if necessary, will attempt to shake any enchantment from the girl's mind with his music. He tries to recall an elven song from one of the most peaceful moments he has ever experienced: his head resting in the lap of an elven girl who sang sweet children's lullabies to him while she stroked his hair, lying on a patch of cool moss in a starlit meadow, completely at peace.
Edwyn is even less perceptive than the barbarian and paladin, if such is possible, but will still attempt to pick through the wreckage they leave behind to see if he can find anything they've missed.
Edwyn stands, cradling his lute like a precious child, and resumes his song, trying to free another of the attackers from the cannibal-madness that holds the lot in thrall.
Uqalik, unaquainted with civilized life, does not fully grasp the significance of the rooms he passes through, but blood is something he understands, something as primeval as wind or tide.
He has only just begun to follow the trail of blood when the sounds of conflict cause him to head back toward the party, arriving to find Thorgrim's hand around an elf-woman's throat.
Uqalik attempts to save as many statues from breaking due to Thorgrim's carelessness as he can, not out of any interest in art, but because he worries that breaking them may cause bad luck, either for Thorgrim or the subjects of the statues.
He remains alert for clues as to what happened here, even in the midst of dealing with the barbarian's blizzard of actions.