En route for the granary
Seems like the good luck that aided Eysteinn during the fighting competition carried over to the next day. The dagger hasn’t even hit the target yet and his hand is already grasping the longblade’s handle, ready to strike with force.
He steps aside to avoid the clumsy foe charging at him. “Madarikatu piz-ti!” he screams in their hideous, guttural tongue “Gure etxeko ateratzeko!” then swings for the throat of the ork he just wounded.
________________________
Seeing Lydd so far ahead of him, Knute chuckles under his breath, and hurries to catch up. When they're out of earshot of the orks, he whispers, "Have you seen an ork raid like this before? So organized? What do you think we should do?" Knute seems calm, but it's clear that he's more than a little unnerved by the uncharacteristic attack.
Rikka and Halla - Longhouse
This ork female seems especially strong of will...
The two men who were trying to hold the main door, and failed, swing ferociously at the ork that has burst through, stepping to tag-team him. They each land a cutting strike, but the ork is still standing, the brutes being notoriously hard to kill.
The woman who had run up to join Halla in defense of the home, snatching a crossbow of her own, seems to have something similar in mind to Halla's tactic: she looses the quarrel at the surrounded ork. Sadly, her shot just sings by the ork. She swears savagely, drops the crossbow, and snatches up a spear instead.
Old Hilde limps forward and touches Bjorg on her copiously bleeding shoulder... ...and the gods seem to have heard her invocation, as Bjorg's wound seals over in a matter of seconds and she gasps with relief.
Fighting with renewed strength, Bjorg swings at the ork, hitting it mightily in the head. "Out of my home, filth!" Arvid takes a swing with his club as well, struggling to stay upright with his bleeding leg-gash, but misses horribly. He nods at Rikka's shouted offer but is too hemmed in at the moment to accept it.
Seeing she has a clear shot, Halla lets loose with her own crossbow-- but her shot too buries itself in the wall, shattering a fired clay pot but not the wounded ork's bones.
Palli staggers out of his bed alcove, leaning heavily on his walking stick, slower to join the fray than his wife (despite her being his elder by several decades. Curse you, spry elf blood!).
The female at the haus's rear door spits contemptuously at Arvid and brings her cruel blade down on him... but her injuries are telling on her, and she misses, continuing to bleed from Bjorg's axe strike.
At the other end of the house, the ork that was hit by both of the men staggers in and slices at one of the warriors. The next ork is right on his heels-- they push in, knocking things off the shelves, barging wildly forward like animals, their blades rising and falling. This is nasty fighting, close-quarters, snarling and slavering... one ork finds the narrow passage of the doorway too tight to swing his sword freely, but the other finds home and opens a long, wicked line across the chest and belly of one of Palli's grandsons. He screams horribly, but stays on his feet through grim determination, continuing to fight for his home and family.
In the back, one of them snarls at the others in their brute tongue. "Ahaztu ezazu! Argia kaka-zulo hau sutan! Badira beste batzuk!"
One of the injured ones hisses in answer. "Argia zure aurpegia sutan, hau odol nahi dut!"
"Light your face on fire! I want this one's blood!"
The orkish speech sounding no less strange in her ears than the Skaldish shouts of the family, Maeve reaches forward to grab another bolt, forces it into the bow, and fires again, but the bolt goes even more wildly astray than last time. Giving a desperate glance to the other end of the longhouse and seeing no way out down there, she steps back behind the wall for a bit of cover.
Liberated from the stable, the tattooed boar snorts and rushes to the far side of the house, taking up a position on the defensive line between the two women. He shifts nervously and clacks his small tusks with snapping jaws, eyeing the bleeding ork.
The tattooist frowns at the still-standing ork and frets at the sound of the battle from the other end of the longhouse. She speaks a phrase of power and sends two bolts of energy lashing at the tusked female.
1st Spells (5): xx
Dancing Light (3):
Spell Effects:
Bless - +1 ATT; +1 Fear Saves - Rnd 3 of X
Grease - Rnd 3 of 20
Thrymr
There are three thralls running to join in the putting-out of the fire, and it hasn't spread much-- probably they will be able to get the fire taken care of.
As for what Thrymr sees... chaos. All around are orks, running from building to building, smashing in doors, cutting down the people of Hofn where they stand as men and women alike stagger out of doors half-awake, unarmored, many with hangovers like Thrymr's own.
This is not a raid; it's a war. Thrymr would judge there's at least a hundred orks running through the village. A few other buildings are on fire.
Two dwarves are shouting to each other in their own tongue and running out from the great longhall towards the crossroads at the center of town. One of them is Shale, Thrymr's drinking-mate from the night before. They are pointing towards the spot of lightless black that seems to sit like a fog over the crossroads, shouting to each other.
Thrymr sees an ork running that direction as well-- carrying a small, struggling body over one shoulder like a sack of grain. A thin, high wailing is coming from the carried figure.
Eysteinn
Eysteinn's sword hacks open the throat of the already-wounded ork, and the hot, black ork blood splatters across his hands even as the beast falls.
The other snarls at Eysteinn's command of their language. "Zure bihotza nire esku batekin agian!"
The ork's eyes shine yellow with savagery as he swings his blade.
The boast seems well-founded-- the blade opens a long and brutal gash along Eysteinn's belly and ribs. White pain lances through him even as his own blood spills onto the snow.
The wail of the writhing sack of grain draws Thrymr's misty eyed attention. To Gifr he growls "Dräpa" pointing towards the laden ork, and his hund needs little encouragement. The bearish hund streaks off, stout legs eating up the ground between it and the orc... a low growl issuing as he runs, ready to leap upon the orc as he draws near.
Thrymr leaves his broken mattock in the snow, instead gripping one of the orc's crude and heavy blades in his meaty fists as he rises. To the thralls that have come to fight the fire he urges "When it is out, grip spears and see no bastard sets light to it again" before he takes his blood spattered form after his hund and towards the crossroads.
Knute
The distance, and the distraction of the orks, is the ally of the sneaking elf and human. As neither of them trip in the snow in an embarrassing fashion, they make it to the watchtower without problems.
They climb up the ladder to the raised platform...
There is one of the guards here, a woman, Mara, a member of Hrolf's war-band. Her throat looks to have been cut and she is sprawled on the watchtower's hewn-plan floor, next to the tower's little fire. Mara is still wearing her chain shirt and heavy furs against the night's cold, but she has no weapon in hand-- clearly she was surprised by whatever came on her. Her saxe is still at her belt; a longbow leans against the wall with a quiver full of arrows, and a wooden shield.
Lydd looks these things over with one swift glance, then back to the orks. She takes the blade from Mara's corpse and nods at Knute to take the bow.
"No. Orks are not so clever," she says in a terse hiss. "Loose arrows at them. I will close on them, strike, hide, strike, hide."
Lydd picks up the shield. She is still wearing her boots, and has pulled up the leather trousers she was wearing, but her shirt is back with the rest of their belongings in the snow. Her silver-tinged skin is almost the same color as the snow by moonlight, and Knute finds it easy to believe she might be able to disappear from sight against it.
"Use the watchtower for shelter; they may return arrows at you."
Thrymr
Thrymr struggles to his feet again and snatches up one of the cruel blades the orks had left behind. He shouts to the other thralls, who nod their understanding of his orders as they grab buckets, cloaks, anything at all to douse and beat out the flames.
Thrymr runs forward, after Gifr. Out of seemingly nowhere, a black-fletched arrow slams into his left shoulder as he runs down the exposed stretch of road. He staggers back a step but is able to keep moving.
The ork turns with a snarl and his blade raised at seeing the hund closing in on him, but Gifr's reflexes are quicker and the hund may strike first.
Halla and Rikka - Longhouse
Rikka shouts words of power, and two blasts of golden light streak from her fingertips and into the ork... who drops, with holes burning in her green-blue hide from Rikka's words.
Arvid breathes out in relief and Hilde gives Rikka a split-second look before nodding to her as a sister, both in combat now and in practice of their respective arts.
One doorway cleared! The family lets out a ragged cheer. Bjorg peers out through the doorway, axe raised, in case more orks are incoming, before turning to run the other way and join her family in holding the other door-- Hilde healed the worst of her injuries, leaving her with only a scratch from the orc's blade. Arvid slumps against the wall, keeping an eye out and trying to put pressure on his copiously bleeding leg, but he picks up the falchion from one of the dead orks and and nods at Rikka to keep her spear.
A young mother is scooping up her toddler in one arm, a saxe gripped in her other hand. Palli hovers behind the line, looking at his badly injured grandson whom he can't currently get to.
The two young men, brothers by their resemblance, look to each other, nod, and simultaneously step forward to keep up focused attacks on the more heavily injured ork.
Despite his injuries, one of the grandsons manages to drop the roaring ork. Palli rushes in as soon as the ork drops, to get to his grandson's side and try and staunch the bleeding.
"Father, get out of the way!" shouts the woman to Halla's side, the one now gripping her spear. But the tide seems to be turning-- three of the orks have been dropped now, and show no signs of getting up...
One ork hacks savagely at Palli's injured grandson, taking the healing the man just received as a personal insult it seems. The blow drops the man to the ground, and Palli utters a hoarse curse.
The other ork looks back over his shoulder, hisses something in his gravelly tongue, and turns to run off another direction in the village, quickly disappearing from view from the shattered doorway.
Round 1:
Fort:
Slowing his advance along the road, Gifr draws close before attacking the orc's hamstrings...
Bite: for
Reeling as the arrow strikes him, Thrymr doesn't allow it's impact to prevent him from surging forward. The archer is likely far distant and out of his immediate concern. The haze of drink that had clouded his mind was now clearing also, and with bloody minded intent he rapidly closed the distance betwixt him and the laden orc.
With no snow to hold up his movements, Thrymr finds the distance easy to close and at the last moment he crouches low - aiming a heavy handed crossways slice at the orc's arse where he is more confident the wriggling sack will not be bloodied by it...
Charging Falchion: for
Knute growls at the sight of Mara's dead body. "Hel-cursed orks, attacking on Jól of all days." He stoops to close Mara's eyes, then looks up as Lydd is picking up the sword and shield.
"Loose arrows at them. I will close on them, strike, hide, strike, hide. Use the watchtower for shelter; they may return arrows at you."
Knute nods in agreement and picks up the bow, shouldering the quiver in one smooth motion. He waits for Lydd to climb back down the tower and begin stealthing her way towards the orks before nocking an arrow.
"Just like hunting," he mutters to himself, attempting to steady his nerves.
He takes aim at the ork opposite of whatever side Lydd appears to be approaching from, hoping to draw as much attention from her as he can. Guide my arrows, Skaði.
Knute releases an arrow, then fires another in quick succession.
Seeing his arrows strike true, Knute raises his eyes to the sky and offers a silent prayer of thanks to Skaði. There for me when I need it most, thank you.
Thrymr
Gifr bites at the ork's legs, earning a yipping snarl from the brute that could well have come from a dog. Only seconds later, Thrymr charges forward, taking advantage of the straight line of the road, and drives his claimed sword across the ork's backside. The yowl is louder this time.
This ork seems made of sturdier stuff than the first three that Thrymr felled. He drops his bundle with a snarl-- it cries out when it hits the ground-- and swings at Eysteinn in retaliation. His falchion catches Thrymr across the arm that he raises defensively, opening a deep gash.
Knute
Counting seconds under his breath and waiting until he can no longer see Lydd slipping through the snow, Knute decides that's a good time to let loose. His arrow whispers through the cold night air and slams into an ork's shoulder in one of the most beautiful shots of his life. The ork drops like a felled tree.
A moment later, though Knute can barely see this, Lydd hurls her belt knife at another orc.
Knute can just hear the orks shouting and snarling as they register there's someone at their backs-- putting arrows and daggers into them, no less. Though the figures are very distant and small at this range, Knute sees Lydd's slim figure dart forward to close with the ork that she put a dagger into-- she seems to strike, but the ork remains standing.
Two of the orks shout to each other and drop their bows, drawing curved swords with which they swing at Lydd; she dodges their slow strikes easily. But the third, the injured one, turns and looks back to the tower, and aims Knute's direction.
The shot clatters off the timber and stones of the watchtower, not striking Knute.
Knute sends an arrow at the one Lydd has closed with-- it's not quite up to the par of his first shot, but then, what could be? It still hits... the ork staggers, but is still standing...
Lydd pursues the last bowman, and swings again with her borrowed blade... ...dropping him to the snowy ground. The two orks try and surround Lydd and attack in unison.
Lydd dodges one strike, but not the other-- Knute can clearly her piercing scream as one of the blades bites into her arm.
Round 2:
Thrymr cannot help but let out a gasp as the orc's falchion cuts through his furs, and his arm becomes a crimson mess. The bearlike man responds with a guttural growl... not unlike the one offered by his companion Gifr. Risk of striking the sack-entwined youngling passed Thrymr unlimbers his thews fully, shouldering the orc backwards before using the power of his back to fuel a savage rising diagonal hack...
Falchion: for
...that opens a vivid wound upon the creature. Before it has a chance to react or fall, Gifr adds his own assault, another low lunging bite at the orc's calf...
Bite: for
...his hund separating from the green-skinned creature with a healthy chunk of it's leg still twitching in it's maw.
Palli's longhouse
Rikka acknowledges Hilde's nod with one of her own even as sprints to the other side of the longhouse. Catching sight of the last ork, Rikka utters a phrase to confound its mind and hopefully provide the family with a chance to cut it down.
1st Spells (5): xx
Dancing Light (3):
Spell Effects:
Bless - +1 ATT; +1 Fear Saves - Rnd 4 of X
Grease - Rnd 4 of 20
The boar holds its ground, ready to bite at any ork that approaches.
Knute winces at Lydd's scream, but there is nothing he can do besides drop the orks, and fast. Knute draws and hastily looses two arrows at one of the orks, hoping to put one down before he can take another swing at Lydd.
Both arrows fly a bit wide, singing past the melee. Knute grumbles under his breath, "Dang wind..."
Halla steps cautiously back around the corner and snatches the rest of the case of bolts she was grabbing ammunition out of.
“GAAAH!” Eysteinn screams in blinding pain when the rough blade of the ork cuts him open like a feast boar. His stance drops, he arches down his back, trying to stay focused Can’t take another hit like this! with a strength born as much from desperation as from actual muscles, he lunges forward, striking point first from the down up, putting all of his weight behind the blade, trying to impale the ork. Die. Just die! “Besterik ez hil!”
________________________
Thrymr
Thrymr and Gifr answer the ork's blow with two of their own-- they savage the ork together, blade and bite dropping the brute to the ground, where he does not get up.
The sack wriggles and a tow-headed boy of four or five years crawls out, gasping, looking around wild-eyed. One of the fishermen's children, who looks wordlessly at the downed ork and squirms free of the rest of the bag. The child doesn't appear hurt, merely scared.
Knute
The moment of beautiful shots seems to have passed...
Lydd darts away from the orks, a pale blur against the moonlit snow.
She is nowhere to be seen. Knute rubs at his eyes, but it's as if she has vanished entirely, become one with the winter. The orks whip their heads to left and right, looking for her as well with snarls that carry over the chill landscape. One of them gestures to the tower, and both of them sheathe their blades and snatch up their dropped bows again.
Eysteinn
Aye, that'll do it. Eysteinn drives the blade home with as much savagery as the ork had struck him. Eysteinn stands there breathing hard, his own life's blood running out to stain his clothing, but he is alive and no ork threatens him at the moment.
Looking south to the granary, Eysteinn sees several of the other thralls hurriedly hurling buckets of water, and shovelfuls of snow, onto the burning building. There appear to be no live orks there.
Looking around him... there are orks still running through the streets, kicking in doorways, smashing barrels and skulls with indiscriminate violence.
Rikka and Halla
Palli crouches by his grandson, putting his old weathered hands on the spurting wounds and trying to put pressure there. But the man is still bleeding copiously... The young man's brother steps forward screaming mad curses, and swings... ...but rage and grief make his shot swing wild and wide.
The woman with the spear pushes past old Palli and stabs at the ork. Her strike hits, catching the ork in his meaty thigh.
Hilde hobbles forward, while Halla collects the rest of the bolts.
The last ork hisses, realizing he is cornered. He swings savagely at the remaining brother.
The ork's strike is accurate, powerful, and deadly-- the blade bashes, axe-like, right through the human's arm, severing it at the forearm, and into his torso beyond. The man drops next to his brother, and Palli screams in rage and grief, a quavering old man's scream.
Knute blinks as Lydd disappears. Wonder if she could teach me to do that...
Noticing the orks picking up their bows, Knute focuses again on the danger at hand. He nocks another arrow and looses it at one of the orks, then fires off another. Right, Skaði, just need a few more good shots.
Both arrows find their target, striking the ork, though with less apparent effect than Knute would like.
Breathing heavy Thrymr likely looks like a spectre of death, orc blood flecking his form and reinforced by his own blod that seeps from the arrow wound in his shoulder and an arm that is now more red than brown... slick and dripping where he holds it to one side still gripping the orcish falchion. Gifr spits out the remains of the orc, returning to his companions side to nuzzle into his thigh in support.
Thrymr looks down to the boy, swiftly weighing up that he can walk under his own power and telling him in a bass monotone "Get to the storehouse boy... stay hidden." hopefully sending him scurrying along. The ulfen then looks to Gifr adding "Följa efter... then back to me." sending his hund to safeguard the passage of the boy. If nothing else the presence of the blood soaked hund will make the boy run all the quicker.
Thrymr turns then, continuing on towards where he saw the dwarves... and the field of inky blackness laying turgid over the crossroads. As he walks the pulsing threads of adrenaline and rage fill him... he was not yet done on the field. Filling his lungs as though unbidded he speaks in graven tones "Svá Þundr of reist fyr þjóða rök,
þar hann upp of reis, er hann aftr of kom."
As he spake and walked, the bleeding of his wounds slowed and his vigor was refreshed...
The case of bolts still in her hand, Halla is spattered by the blood spray from the arteries in the warrior's forearm. The severed arm falls almost at her feet, the fingers still twitching. Half in shock, Maeve shoulders the quiver and commands, "Ní gá bás."
Rikka silently curses the damnable willpower of these orks and lays some blame on herself for the severed arm decorating the floor. But from the myriad sounds of battle reaching into the longhouse, there were many enemies outside and her occult powers were finite and already dwindling. Cold calculation drives her choice. Once again, she tries to cloud the ork's mind.
1st Spells (5): xx
Dancing Light (3):
Spell Effects:
Bless - +1 ATT; +1 Fear Saves - Rnd 5 of X
Grease - Rnd 5 of 20
Lazy Sausage holds position by his mistress, the smell of spilt blood disturbing him.
Knute
The unwounded ork runs a few steps forward through the snow before dropping to a knee and loosing an arrow in the direction of the tower.
Luck is with him-- despite Knute's crouching in the tower's relative safety, and despite the distance between the ork and himself, the arrow hisses through the night sky to somehow find Knute's shoulder, clipping it painfully and sending a lance of fire down his arm.
The orc's colleague, still on his feet despite the two of Knute's arrows sticking out of him, draws on Knute as well-- but even as he pulls back his bow, another arrow streaks out from the dark...
...only to narrowly miss the ork and bury itself in a snowbank past the creature. Lydd has picked up the longbow one of the dead orks was using, it seems, but she is struggling with the unfamiliar weapon. As she is visible now on a small rise, the wounded ork turns his arrow on her.
Knute can see Lydd stagger back half a step in the snow when the arrow strikes, but there is no scream this time.
Thrymr
The child looks up wordlessly at Thrymr's battle-bathed self, then nods wordlessly, and turns and scampers off along the muddy path. Gifr barks once.
Thrymr manages to convey his desire to Gifr, who takes off at the child's heels. For his part, the barrel-chested man turns and strides inexorably towards the center of the village.
The rain of arrows seems to have stopped, and no more arrows come his way as he works towards the square and the stump.
Chanting to himself in his deep voice to grant himself strength for the struggle to come, Thrymr strides onto the battlefield...
Hrolf Half-hand is here: the goði stands barefoot in the mud and snow of the road naked as the day he was born, with his shield on one arm and his sword dripping with black ork blood. Three arrows are caught on his shield and two more have found their mark in his bloodied body, but the goði is in a sarkr-rage such as the stories tell of, and lays waste side to side with his famed blade Kalabíta, hacking at any ork that comes near and roaring at the top of his lungs.
Thorgal Magnisson is near, in trousers, using his shield to try and guard Hrolf's flank and slashing with his axe when he can as well.
Several dwarves are present, pushing through the snow and swinging with their solid steel blades. Shale has his burly arms around an ork and is bringing him down to the snow. On the other side of the darkness, Thrymr catches sight of an elf dancing through the battle, a long thin blade in her hand that has been blackened by ork blood as well...
As for the darkness. It sits like a soap bubble on the landscape, if that bubble had been made of ink. The moonlight does not penetrate into it, nor does the fire of a torch, when Thorgal hurls one into the blackness. The orks are moving freely into it, retreating into the sheltering blackness. Only the dwarves seem ready to follow them inside. Even as Thrymr arrives, he sees an ork disappear inside, hauling a screaming girl of ten or so by her long blonde hair; they both disappear quickly from sight.
"COME OUT AND FIGHT!" Hrolf Half-hand screams, spittle flying from his lips as he guts another ork with a blow that nearly cleaves the raider in two, and spills his bowels steaming onto the snow. Hrolf's eyes are wild, and the little silver Tor-hammer he wears at his neck is blazing brightly. Kalabíta burns with blue fire.
"COME OUT, CRAVEN DOGS! COME DIE LIKE MEN, MURDERERS OF MY PEOPLE!"
Halla and Rikka
This time, the enchantment holds: Rikka sees the ork stand still, its red-orange eyes dulling over a moment. The family wastes no time taking advantage of this-- the spear-woman strikes, and Bjorg with her axe a moment later.
Sadly, perhaps due to being shaken by watching their kinsman downed, neither of them is able to strike home. Hilde hobbles to the bed alcove, pulling out the drawer beneath the bed and starting to rummage through it. Palli flicks a brief glance up at Halla at her word and gesture, his eyes momentarily wide, then hurriedly tries to stop his other grandson's bleeding.
The ork stands there dazedly, its tusked mouth slack. The women try again.
This time, they strike! The spear lightly kicks the ork, but Bjorg's axe solidly drives into his gut and the ork crumples soundlessly around it.
The longhouse is filled with the sounds of harsh breathing, and a thin keening cry from a child. As everyone registers they are still alive, Hilde's old voice takes charge. "Gunnar-- help us get them out of the doorway! Arvid-- push the table in front of the door! Olva-- pour this down Njalli's throat! Has anyone seen Signy? Where is Helge?"
"He wanted to sleep at Alf's house with his cousins--"
"I haven't seen Signy since the hall--"
The quick babbling of checking for family members fills the room. Those who are able to stand and hold weapons are grabbing shields and preparing to run out and help in the defense of the village. Through the shattered door, you can see orks running past, and see flames of other buildings, and smell smoke.
Palli stands and grips Halla's shoulder with his hand still bloody from his grandsons' wounds. For a second the old man says nothing, his eyes searching Halla's face. Then he does something he has never done before, something unseemly given their social positions-- he grips her in a brief but fierce embrace, only to quickly let go as there is much yet to be done.
"We must get the wounded out of the way of the battle as best we can," he says to Hilde, who is already grabbing a leather satchel and nodding. Hilde straightens up, her blue eyes very bright. She and Palli touch hands a moment.
"Do not die on me today, old man," she says to him, and Palli gives his wife a nod as he starts to lay out his healer's tools on the benches.
To Rikka, Hilde says, "Your seithr may save more lives than ours, today. My family is in your debt. Halla-- come, we must try and save as many of our people out there as we can."
Hilde pulls on boots and stamps out into the snow, still wearing her sleeping shift; if Rikka and Halla follow her, they see the chaos of the village all around them, dead bodies in the streets of both Hofn-folk and orks. At area of the north gate, not so very far away, they see a terrible sight: a white-furred beast twice the size of a man is ripping brutally into homes and humans alike. To the south, a black bubble seems to rest on the landscape, and Hrolf's screams of furious challenge can be heard even from here.
Rikka listens while Hilde sorts her family, only adding a bit, "Arvid, have a care with the back door. The ground on both sides is slick and will stay so for awhile yet. It will slow any orks down and can be set afire."
"Your seithr may save more lives than ours, today. My family is in your debt."
Rikka throws on her boots. "All seithr will be of equal use today, Hilde, and there are no debts between friends. " She follows the older woman out of the house and surveys the ruin - scowling at the scope of it.
"Halla-- come, we must try and save as many of our people out there as we can."
The tattooist's eyes slide between the yeti and the black bubble, weighing the choice. "I'll send survivors and wounded to you, if I can." She looks down at the boar dogging her steps. "Come, Sausage. There are orks that need to feel your tusks." Spear in hand and boar at her side, Rikka sets off quickly toward the bubble of darkness, hoping her arcane knowledge or seithr might be of use there. Even as she moves towards the strange sphere, she searches her memory for any knowledge of such a thing.
Knute hisses in pain as the arrow clips his shoulder. He tests his shoulder, cursing as pain jolts through his arm. Still working, though.
Knute winces sympathetically as he sees the second ork's arrow strike Lydd. Hoping to put the wounded ork down, Knute fires another volley at the creature.
The first arrow whizzes past the ork, but the second finds its mark, taking another bite out of the ork's armor and piercing his leg. Just another few hits like that, and this'll be over, Knute thinks, keeping his breath steady as blood seeps out of his shoulder wound.
Eysteinn draws in one quick motion the blade out of the ork and looks spasmodically around himself, ready for the next one. When he sees he is momentarily safe, he exhales painfully, drops to his knees and rubs snow on his wound - hoping it would at least stop the bleeding.
Then he grabs his dagger from the fallen ork and gets up. Can’t do much by myself. The granary seems safe, so he staggers forward, trying to keep as low a profile as he possibly can without slowing down. He sees the big commotion at the crossroads. At least I won’t be the only target.
Longblade in the right hand and dagger in the left, he moves towards the crossroads, ready to engage.
__________
As the ork in the doorway falls, Halla gasps a moment, regaining her breath and equilibrium. The babble of voices around her in the aftermath of the battle is beginning to register as intelligible speech once more when Old Palli's bloody hand falls on her shoulder and she finds herself wrapped in his sinewy arms. Shocked, she stiffens until he releases her and turns back to ready the tools of his trade.
Obediently, she follows Old Hilde out into the snow, where she is momentarily overcome by dismay at the death and destruction around her. As little sense as it would have made that a small band of orks would single out Old Palli's house for attack, to see the whole village in the same straits is disheartening: There is no hope of a band of warriors arriving to turn the tide, as their hands are more than full everywhere.
Moving as quickly as she can, Halla checks for signs of life among the fallen, intending neither to approach the active battlegrounds too closely or to let Hilde get out of her sight.
Eysteinn
Eysteinn dashes along the road, running past bodies of orks and townsfolk alike. Finally he comes upon where Hrolf is swinging his frost-rimed blade and bellowing challenges to the shadow that hangs over the crossroads.
Eysteinn prepares to hurl his dagger at the ork behind Hrolf, but his footing is off from the run over here and the dagger slips from his hand to be lost in the bloody slush of the road!
Rikka
Though Rikka sees orks in number as she runs along the mud of the road, Lazy Sausage at her heels, none of them strike her as good targets to attempt her art upon-- they run in twos and threes, and she knows that were she to daze one, she would have the blade of the other to contend with in short order. She keeps moving, and avoids drawing their attention herself.
Knute
You are nickel-and-diming that ork to death, except you don't know what nickels and dimes are. Ahem. He staggers from another arrow.
The ork that successfully loosed at you last time tries it again, despite the distance.
The shot sings past the tower entirely.
Meanwhile, Lydd and the injured ork are trading arrows at fairly close range.
Correction: Lydd is putting a single arrow right through the injured ork's chest. The tiny figure drops to the snow. Knute has one target remaining.
Halla
You and Hilde pick your way through the village, using the longhouses for cover rather than striding on the main street-- there are too many orks using it to be comfortable.
Hilde watches the orks moving on the road with her face drawn and her gnarled hands clutching at the air as if she could strangle the orks by force of will alone. Clearly she wishes violence upon them, but the task before her and Halla is different right now-- they move to downed warriors, and do what they can for them.
Here is the miller's son, who hasn't yet seen his sixteenth summer but still tried to fight in the games of Jol... and now battle for real. A long, cruel, black-fletched arrow is in his belly-- but Halla (and/or Maeve) is able to staunch the injury with her whispered words, and Hilde pours a bottle down his throat that brings him to groggy consciousness... here is an elf-woman, with hair the color of an orange sunset and an ork falchion buried in her spine. Nothing can be done for her. And here is a fellow thrall, with hair the color of straw and a young man's scruffy beard-- Halla remembers his name is Olaf, and thinks she saw him once under different circumstances-- something to do with him laughing?-- but he is dead now, blue eyes staring sightless up at the sky.
They round a building, and Hilde's old hand grabs at Halla's forearm to stop her.
A hundred feet away, the white-furred monstrosity is hurling a human's body like a doll-- it lands with a wet and sickening crunch against one of the longhouses. Several of the elves are here, including Rys-- most of them are doing their best to fill the beast with arrows. The pale elf has some color to him now-- a bright streak of crimson down one arm, which hangs limp and crooked at his side, but he has his other hand raised and he is shouting words in a language that prick the hairs along the back of Halla's neck. A moment later, a burst of blue-white electricity tears from Rys's fingers to rip through the white-furred creature's flesh; it screams like a stuck pig, but does not fall, instead lumbering towards Rys with its eyes blazing cold blue hatred.
The snow here is littered with a dozen bodies, mostly those of Hofn.
Round 2:
With nary more than a throaty growl, Thrymr forces himself into a charging gait once more. Plunging into the fray he comes at the orc from it's dweorg-less side...
Charging Falchion: for
...his hand slips on the blood he's left upon the blade's handle...
Cursing he shouts to Shale "Hail... what foulness is the black?"
Father! And the goði! thinks Eysteinn, relived, as he gets at the cross-roads. His relief is brief, as he sees the unnatural darkness in the middle of the fight. I guess now some seithr to see through that would not be that much of a shame, Father, huh?
Clenching his teeth to ignore the pain from his wounded stomach, he maneuvers around the ork fighting Hrolf and takes advantage of the surprise, downing him cleanly with one strong swing of the blade.
“Lord Hrolf! Lord Thorgal!” he greets them, blood dripping from blade and wounds alike. He avoids calling Thorgal “Father” even in the heat of battle. He is reticent to talk about the bubble, clearly magical in nature, but can’t stop himself from looking over and try to understand it.
_____________________
Knute grins as he sees Lydd put down the injured ork. Three down, one to go, and the two of us still standing. Much better.
His grin turns into a grimace as his shoulder spasms in pain. Shrugging off the pain after a moment, Knute aims his bow at the final ork and nocks an arrow. Just need a little more help here, Skaði. He steadies himself, and quickly fires off two arrows at the ork.
Both arrows miss the mark, one whizzing by the ork's face, the other burying itself in the snow at the ork's feet.
Knute scowls at the missed shots. Well, maybe Lydd can end this...
Halla stumbles after Hilde, feeling strangely numb, not from the temperature but from the scene around her. She has seen gruesome injuries before in her time with Old Palli -- hunting accidents, animal attacks -- but never so many all at once, all around her, everywhere. She does what she can, but so many are beyond all healers' help.
As she comes around the corner of the last longhouse, her heart sinks again. As if the orks weren't bad enough!
Seeing the elf-goði with his injured arm flinging lightning like Tor, she is filled with a sudden defiance, more a desire to put the infuriating Rys in her debt than an impassioned defense of her village. She slings the crossbow off her belt, struggling forward through the snow, and loads a bolt in place.
Halla
You have heard of these. Among the tales swapped around the fire in winter, there is a funny story told of how Höðr, the blind god of winter, sought a wife, and that Lokke told him where on the earth a maiden might be found for him. Lokke praised the skills and virtues of the woman until Höðr begged to be taken to her. But Lokke led him to the cave of a she-bear, where Höðr took the she-bear to wife. Not until the cubs were born did Lokke reveal the truth. The offspring, half-god and half-beast, wandered out into the mountains, eternal testament to yet another of Lokke's jests.
It's a funny story, when seated around a roaring fire and with hot mead in your belly.
In the flesh, the winter-children are rather more terrifying.
The stories say that men can be struck dumb with fear if one of the vetrkind gets too close; that they can knock over a tall tree in their rage; that their claws bite like winter itself. Still, they usually pose little threat to men-- for they fear fire, and will not come near the homes of men where such are lit. At least... not usually. This one seems to be very angry-- the iron collar and bloody fur on its back may be part of the reason why.
Knute
It's arrow city up here. Knute's whistle just past the last ork, like teasing whispers, but he can take solace in the fact that the ork dodging his shot will, perhaps, give Lydd an opening. Even if she is still struggling with a bow made for a creature much stronger than her.
Another arrow, another howl from the ork. He drops his bow and sprints towards Lydd in the bloody snow, drawing his heavy sword again.
Again he manages to just get past her guard, despite the sudden, frantic back-pedaling she does.
Again, Lydd's cry rings out over the ice and snow, sounding more like the snarl of a wounded and terrified animal than anything else. She seems to barely be on her feet, now.
Thrymr, Eysteinn, Rikka)
Thrymr-- next time, clean the ork blood off the blade first! It slips from his hands when he hits the ork with it, dropping into the bloody slush and mud of the road. The dwarf whose aid he has just come to gives him a blink before refocusing attacks on the ork.
Shale turns his head a half-inch from his wrestling to see Thrymr's entrance (and falchion-drop)and offers him a grimace. "I do not know! Leave it to us, we see in the black!"
*
Eysteinn distinguishes himself rather better-- coming in with a strong attack to strike the ork on Hrolf's flank. The ork snarls in pain as he is hit, but somehow manages to keep standing despite the undeniable power of Eysteinn's strike. You might say the ork is ferociously still standing.
Alas, nothing in Eysteinn's cut-short studies have given him insight into the blackness...
Thorgal looks sharply to his son, eyes widening as he sees the powerful, ork-striking blow. For a moment, Eysteinn's father looks him in the eye-- but in the next second he has turned back to raise his shield and catch another blow meant for Hrolf.
Rikka and Sausage stalk along the road toward the black globe. The tattooist glances at the boar. "Kill the ork." She continues forward, muttering a phrase to bind the will of yet another ork threatening the nearest group of men. Hearing the dwarf's words, she shares what she has discerned. "It is a glamer of common darkness beyond my skills to defeat. Only a great fire might dim it and I cannot say what lies beyond the veil of black. If your eyes can pierce the darkness, then your people should lead the way."
1st Spells (5): xx
Dancing Light (3):
Spell Effects:
Bless - +1 ATT; +1 Fear Saves - Rnd 7 of X
Grease - Rnd 7 of 20