Tassidar's eyes gleam.
"Lodestone, precisely. Naturally magnetized mineral magnetite. These are two very large specimens. Had Eynisteinn not moved them before the rest of you proceeded, you may have been drawn to them and crushed within your own armor."
"This place is very old and holds many mysteries. I would love to make some notes and conduct some experiments to cross reference later, but Thorgal is correct, we must hasten our pace and move forward."
"Knute, if you could go first, I can control the lighting behind you. We should look at the path before us carefully as I heard something move on the other side when you were moving the stones. Also, we must have the group proceed quietly once more."
Before proceeding Tassidar calls his hawk down to him.
Knute shuffles his feet uneasily and looks to see if Thorgal disagrees with the elf's plans. He's already touchy about his authority, none of us, especially the outsiders, should step on his toes... He hesitates, then nods at Tassidar and grabs his gear from the wall. While getting ready to head down the tunnel, the ranger darts a glance over the rest of the Ulfens, hoping to spy someone better at spotting traps.
Before heading down the stairs, Knute mutters to Tassidar, "There aren't any unwelcome surprises, magical or otherwise, waiting for us just over the threshold, are there?"
Gripping his handaxe tightly in his right hand while his left hovers near his sheathed short sword, Knute quietly, cautiously makes his way down the stairs. His eyes strain, looking for traps or creatures concealed in the gloom.
Outside
Halla's feet in Signy's fur-lined boots immediately slip out from under her as soon as she tries to begin crossing the frozen waterfall.
Rikka can only watch with worry as Halla's feet slide on a patch of slick ice. Her gloved hand slaps against the cold stones inches shy of the rope, and she winds up careening down the icy, rocky slope of the cliff that holds the frozen waterfall.
Fortunately, Halla's thick furs serve as some insulation from the tumble down the cliff-face-- an impact against a rock that might have cracked a rib winds up merely taking the breath from her, leaving her bruised and aching at the bottom of her twenty-foot uncontrolled slide down the cliff. Ouch.
Tokko tsks, hovering not far above Halla as she tries to regain her breath and judge if she injured anything seriously. "Poor talls. Wings are much better," the little creature scolds.
Inside
Thorgal gives the elf a sidelong glance but nods jerkily for them to proceed in the fashion the elf suggests. As Knute looks down into the descending passage, he sees a bar on the ground. Closer inspection reveals it to be a length of rusty steel, about the general size and shape of a spear or a staff. It seems likely that it might have fallen from this side of the doorway when the first of the statues was moved away from the door.
Knute also sees, in the eerie glow from Tassidar's lights, a slight irregularity on one side of the rough-hewn rock of the passage wall, just a few feet from the door. Investigating it reveals a small niche carved into the rock, about three feet off the floor. Peering inside, Knute sees four tiny bottles. They are badly tarnished, the stoppers corroded green and the brass covered with a dark patina of mold in places. Still, exquisite metalwork is somewhat visible beneath the discoloring and muck. If moved, the bottles shift and slosh with the weight of liquid inside.
Should Tassidar check, the bottles do in fact give off a magical aura.
Halla gasps for breath, waiting for the ringing in her ears and her racing heartbeat to subside. Stupid men, to bring along a healer, make her carry a heavy load, and then stroll across an ice bridge into a dangerous cavern without making any effort to ensure she can follow them safely. Stupid, selfish, pig-headed men! She hopes the elf led them directly into an ambush and their lives are slowly bleeding away without anyone to stanch them.
What about the children, though? Maeve reminds her. What about Ingrid?
What about them? she replies sullenly. If we bring them home, they'll just grow into more men of Hofn, treating me like a beast of burden to do as I'm told. More raiders, she hits at Maeve's weakness.
Maeve winces at the low blow. Then what will you do? Sit out here and freeze? You can't survive in the wilderness alone.
I don't know, she answers wearily, pushing herself to a sitting position and leaning back against the rock that stopped her sliding descent. Her blind panic receding, she starts to feel the soreness in her back and limbs. The icy wind stings her cheek, an angry red where the top layer of exposed skin was scraped away on the rough stone. She becomes vaguely aware that the ice creature has been babbling something in a strange tongue but ignores it.
Gazing back up the slope, she sees Rikka's worried face peering down from the hidden doorway, looking small and impossibly far away across the slippery ice. "I can't make it!" she shouts up at her bitterly. "Tell them if they get hurt, they know where they left me!"
Rikka braces her spear against two hummocks of ice, throws a coil of the rope around the shaft, and tosses the rest of it down to Halla. "Tie this around yourself. I'll try to pull you up or get one of the stout lads to do it."
"Ah, of course, a metal bar was suspended on the wall from the magnitism of the statues. It fell when the power of the statutes was lessened so that we could pass. And these here. Just look at the metal work."
He checks the stoppered vials.
"Ah yes, potions of Bulls Strength these should be passed amongst our best warriors. They will boost your strength for a short time, handy for combat."
Tassidar studies the vials for any hint of whom might have made them before looking up and around as if a little puzzled.
"Ummm . . . the ladies were coming with us, unless I am somehow mistaken?"
Inside
Thorgal looks backwards with a grunt. "Go check on them, Leif," he says to the youngest of the group. Leif looks put upon, sighing in the way that only a seventeen-year-old can, but turns and trudges back down the hallway and to the ladder. Thorgal watches him go with his lips pursed thoughtfully before turning back to the others.
Thorgal takes one of the flasks from Tassidar, with all the ease he might accept a proffered viper. "And what sort of craft powers these drinks? Gods' will, or seidr?" he asks uneasily.
Yngvi sighs discreetly. "You have seen Hrolf call on Tor for greater strength, Thorgal. Likely it is the same as that. A... a liquid prayer, if you like," he says, cutting his eyes towards Tassidar's.
Outside
Rikka is indeed able to take some of the loose slack and affix it to her spear, but the issue is one of angle-- if it were a straight drop down, Halla could simply be hauled up. The horizontal nature of the traverse makes it difficult, for if Halla slips again she'll fall the distance of the rope's pay-out. Still, that might be preferable for Halla than another free fall...
While Rikka is judging this, Leif's blond head sticks up through the small door by Rikka's feet. He is mumbling about nobody will let him do anything, he's his father's son dammit. He squints up at Rikka's arrangement with the spear and climbs the rest of the way out into the ledge.
"What, she cannot cross the traverse?" he asks curiously, peering down at Halla who is brushing the snow off after her tumble. The brawny youth brightens. "Ha! She cannot weigh much. I can fix this!"
To Halla's no-doubt great irritation at the ease with which he accomplishes it, the tall young Ulfen cris-crosses back over the traverse with no issues. He gambols down the cliff-face like a goat and sticks down a hand to Halla. "Come on, girl! Leif will get you across. Give me your pack."
(It is also no doubt a source of irritation to be called a 'girl' by one younger than she is.)
”I’ll come with ye.” Eysteinn mutters as he follows Knute into the gloom. Upon discovery of the vials, he takes a moment to investigate each after the elf.
After sloshing them around, opening and sniffing, then touching a dab of each onto the tip of his tongue, he grimaces but nods at Tassidar’s findings. ”Yep. The elf is right. Makes a warrior stronger. Good to have.”
He pockets one, offers one to Knute, then waits for his once-father’s close-minded proclamations about their foulness.
To Halla's no-doubt great irritation at the ease with which he accomplishes it, the tall young Ulfen cris-crosses back over the traverse with no issues. He gambols down the cliff-face like a goat and sticks down a hand to Halla. "Come on, girl! Leif will get you across. Give me your pack."
(It is also no doubt a source of irritation to be called a 'girl' by one younger than she is.)
...and yet it cannot be denied that there is a modicum of satisfaction in handing over a heavy burden to a goði's son to carry. Wordlessly, she shrugs off the pack and gives it to him, already feeling lighter and more agile, waiting to see what he intends next.
Leif shoulders the pack like it's nothing, enjoying the chance as any young man might to show off his strength for two watching women (even if one is a seidrkona and the other a thrall). In the course of another minute or so he has climbed back over the traverse-- deposited Halla's pack at Rikka's feet-- and then made it back over the other side.
"I could carry you," Leif says to Halla, with a cocky grin. However burly Leif may be, this seems, perhaps, less than wise.
Instead, Leif undoes his belt, and uses that to tie Halla's own belt into the rope that stretches across the cliff face. "Here, now. I'll be behind you the whole way, eh?" Leif snickers at realizing his own innuendo, but gives Halla a rough clasp on the shoulder. "So don't worry, girl!"
Tied into the main line now, Halla can attempt the crossing again, knowing that she can't fall very far even if she slips.
Fortunately, this time there are no slips or moments of heart-clenching terror. They make it across without incident. As soon as they're over, Leif scrambles back down the ladder, eager to see what The Men are getting up to without his valuable input, leaving Halla to carry her pack from that point on her own.
***
Inside, Yngvi's words of divine strength appear to have forestalled any serious misgivings on Thorgal's part. The grizzled warrior tucks away one of the little bottles.
"Oh well it is . . . You see sometimes it is neither, just an affect from mixing ingredients. Like um . . . beer or mead or even bread. Processing, mixing and altering the state of the ingredients causes them to blend or activate or meld creating something more than their individual sums. That is called alchemy by some, but is essentially the same as brewing or baking."
"Individually honey or water won't get you drunk or ferment. Mix them together and leave them alone and you have mead, you get the nutritional values of the honey, the hydration properties of the water, and the recreational benefits of the Etoh-alcohol. You get the idea."
"Do any of you brew alcoholic beverages? I would love to share techniques once we have addressed our more pressing concerns."
Rikka walks into the grotto-like room at the tail-end of the conversation, running a hand curiously over the intriguing walls, Then she looks at the statues and gives them a non-committal grunt. "Let's stalk orks." She mutters a word of power and a cold white glow begins to emanate from the shaft of her spear.
While Halla is relieved that Leif didn't carry her on his shoulders like a sack of grain, it's little more dignified to be herded across the frozen rocks like a sheep. Still, it's better than repeating her slide.
She follows Rikka down the ladder, albeit more slowly and clumsily, and blinks around at the surroundings.
Ah, of course, a metal bar was suspended on the wall from the magnitism of the statues. It fell when the power of the statutes was lessened so that we could pass.
Knute's expression turns thoughtful. "A simple alarm, maybe? Did it sound loud enough to carry far? Whoever... Whatever lives here might be alert."
As Eysteinn offers Knute the potion, the ranger looks at it curiously, and pockets it without a word. Hopefully I won't need to use it... Noticing the patina, he wonders aloud, "Will they still work? The bottles at least look a hundred or more years old."
While Tassidar attempts to ease the Ulfen's mind about the potions, Knute mutters to Eysteinn, "Stay close, and keep an eye out for traps or other odd mechanics. I'll need help; I'm more experienced at spotting snares than spikes in the wall." The ranger grimaces at the thought, but gets ready to move forward again, carefully.
"Do any of you brew alcoholic beverages? I would love to share techniques once we have addressed our more pressing concerns."
Eysteinn looks over at the elf, then holds one of the sides of his heavy coat open to reveal a series of flasks and jugs strapped to his belt. ”Aye. But just about any Ulfen can tell you that much about ales and meads.” He grins, ”We learn to drink and swing a blade before we walk. It’s what makes us so Ulfen.”
"Will they still work? The bottles at least look a hundred or more years old."
….
Knute mutters to Eysteinn, "Stay close, and keep an eye out for traps or other odd mechanics. I'll need help; I'm more experienced at spotting snares than spikes in the wall." The ranger grimaces at the thought, but gets ready to move forward again, carefully.
Eysteinn gives Knute’s flask of potion a considering look. ”Should work. Or it might make you shite water for a day.” He gives the hunter a reserved grin, ”but I think that’s not likely.”
The tall skald follows Knute into the darkness, following at about a fifteen foot distance, whispering his reply. ”Oh, good! Toys to tinker with.” His whisper takes on a sarcastic edge, ”Lord Thorgal will be thrilled at my usefulness.”
Rikka and Halla climb down into the smooth tunnel. Tokko does not follow them.
Further in, Thorgal's eyes are glazing over at the elf's explanation of alchemy. He nods at Knute's taking the lead to scout, and Eysteinn assisting him with any pitfalls that may result. Thorgal unstraps his shield from his back again, readying it for possible combat. Others among the Ulfen do the same. With Halla and Rikka rejoining them, the war-band, or what passes for it, begins to creep further down into the earth, their progress lit by the eerie glow of the southern elf's magics...
The stairs that Knute creeps carefully down are narrow, enough that at times he catches his cloak on a rock outcrop or must turn to sidle past an especially tight spot. The ceilning is none too high either, and the taller Ulfen find themselves frequently smacking the tops of their heads, leading to curses that are silenced by Thorgal's demanding hiss for 'quiet!'
Still, what stealth may possible when the glow of light proceeds them into the earth is up for debate. The stairs lead down into darkness-- though at times, Tassidar's lights glitter off reflective surfaces on the walls. On inspection, these appear to be chunks of polished quartz the size of a child's fist, set deeply into the rough stone of the walls. (Sven tries to pry one out with his dagger, to no avail.) Once noticed, the crystal chunks appear with regularity, every twenty feet or so.
Small fissures branch off from the stairwell, most leading upward; the black cracks gust chill air onto the faces of the little group, but the gaps are too small for even a child to attempt, let alone a grown Ulfen.
The stairwell is damp, the rough-hewn stairs underfoot occasionally treacherous. For long minutes Knute carefully leads, his senses primed for anything ahead. The air is cool and moist, and the rock of the walls is often covered with the soft fuzz of lichens and the pale, tender caps of small mushrooms. Judging by the quality of the mosses on the steps themselves, Knute thinks that nobody else has trod these stairs in a very long time.
It seems forever (in truth, no more than five minutes, but tension stretches time out, after all) before the cramped stairwell space begins to widen. Knute pauses a moment, head cocked for a sound, and says quietly, "...I hear water ahead..."
The message is relayed down the little colum; Leif snorts. "I hear water too, it's dripping on my ear."
"Quiet," Thorgal growls to Leif.
Another bit of creeping, and Tassidar's elf-lights begin to reveal a large open space. Soon, everyone can hear the gurgle of moving water; in short order, the elf-lights reflect off dark, cold water as well. The open area is perhaps eighty feet wide, most of the space taken up by a stretch of moving water. It is thirty feet across to the opposite cavern wall-- and a narrow arch of stone spans the gap over the water's surface, though only a foot or so above the water's surface. The arch has the same unnaturally-smooth, no-sign-of-toolwork appearance as the initial shaft by which everyone entered the caves. The ceiling of the room is irregular, but at its highest is no more than ten feet above the water's surface.
Knute sees what look to be... barrels? on the cavern floor, both on this side of the bridge and on the other. On the passage wall leading into the room, there is script-- again in Sylvan-- and formed into the shape of a spiral. Tassidar's translation of it is thus:
O mighty lord of water
Whose dominion is under and over all
Accept our humble offerings, dragon-father,
And guard us when we call.
On the other side of the bridge, the other landing ends in what seems to be a blank cavern wall. Knute relays quickly and quietly what he sees, back over his shoulder to the others.
In the tight stairwell, thin as she is, Rikka has to squeeze past Thorgal and others to reach the landing. She runs a hand over the spiral phrases and ponders the words as well as the promise of meeting a dragon within them...
What race speaks the Sylvan tongue, mines well, may like gemstones over ores, and reveres dragons? Some gnomish folk I know not? Why write in a spiral? What does that say?
Rikka takes a moment to incant a spell that makes her eyes glow subtly before she looks around the room and into the water, half expecting to spy an underwater tunnel.
Rikka looks over the cavernous space hunting magic, her eyes gleaming like the cold light that wreathes the tip of her spear, but nothing she sees seems to her to be magical... However, she knows that her spell to detect magic won't function as clearly through the deep water at the center of the room as it does in open air.
Aside from the lack of magic in the open space, at least within sixty feet of Rikka, Rikka can see the barrels Knute noticed. They seem quite old-- indeed, closer inspection reveals the wood is waterlogged and rotted to the point that touching either of the two barrels on your side results in your fingers coming away with black smears of decayed wood pulp and mold on them. The barrels seem to be held in their 'shape' mostly by habit, and the reinforcement of some badly-rusted metal hoops that circle the casks. They smell like wet, rotted wood, with an undercurrent perfume that is distinctly fishy.
One thing that does occur to Rikka as she studies the script carved into the wall, pondering the spiral shape of it, is an old myth about the father of dragons-- supposedly a titanic linnorm that spawned all lesser such beasts. The myths say he is azure as the deep blue sea, and dwells within it, and is found at the heart of every true storm.
Thorgal gazes around the chamber grimly. "This had better all lead to orks," he mutters. "My gut mislikes this place. Even dwarves don't work stone like that bridge..."
Yngvi studies the spiral writing, thoughtfully. His command of the fey tongue is not as good as Tassidar's, but as it has already been translated, he looks it over whilst tugging on his beard.
"I think," Yngvi says uncertainly, "that some of the tribes of spirits that dwelt around here before Rolf came and claimed the lands... worshiped linnorms. I seem to remember some line about that in the old sagas. The storm-folk, standing on sea and sand / that sing the king of serpents..."
"Old stories are well and good," Thorgal interrupts him. "I care as to orks, and as to our children, and as to whether that bridge be safe to cross."
Tassidar had been sitting back a bit to observe. He noted the woman had cast a spell, but her eyes merely took in the writing as art, she did not appear to know their meaning.
"I believe we must do something here or suffer a trap of sorts . . . Like the statues."
"The text reads:"
How did you corn to learn this tongue?
Your people usually abstain from anything related to the fey.
I am sure this complex has felt their touch."
"O mighty lord of water
Whose dominion is under and over all
Accept our humble offerings, dragon-father,
And guard us when we call."
"Those barrels may have contained fish to feed whatever lies under the water. The fact they infer they can call on it to serve them suggests intelligence . . . Or powerful magic."
The elf looks at the barrel and tries to determine if the contents are still usable.
"I don't suppose any of you have a salmon in your rucksacks? Or . . . Can any of you call upon the gods to rejuvenate this food with purify food and drink?"
With wry amusement, Rikka notes all the 'stalwart warriors' are hiding in the stairwell. Someone is going to have to risk their skin here... She steps closer to the water's edge, looking into its depths and trying to ascertain how the water is running through the cavern and if her arcane vision reveals anything more.
She glances at Knute, "Be ready to shove that barrel into the water, if I say so." The seiðkonur responds quietly to Yngvi's observations, "I've heard those same stories. Let's hope any Linnorms have left this pool long ago... or we're likely f#<ked. I hope there is only some common predator in the water that can be pacified with fish - barrel-rotted or no."
With wry amusement, Rikka notes all the 'stalwart warriors' are hiding in the stairwell.
Yngvi starts a bit and gives a sidelong look at Tassidar before answering him-- in plain Skald, not Sylvan.
"I... thank you for your compliment, master elf, but there is no mystery to me. I am a keeper of our people's history and lore, through song and saga handed down for generations. I have learned several languages to best sing the sagas, and to speak sweetly to visitors; I learned the tongue of which you speak so that I might converse courteously with... those like you, as it is a tongue they favor, at times.
"I have no such prayer at my calling," he adds on to Tassidar's request for a purification of food. "Our goði is the one most devoted to the gods among our people, and he lies back in Hofn, injured. Unless any among us have gifts of which I know not," the blond skald says, with a glance towards those standing around him.
Rikka steps to the water's edge and looks in. The water is definitely not stagnant, but flowing, moving the length of the cavern. An underground river, likely, open to the air right here before sinking down again into mountain-rocks. It deepens right away from the edge, no gradual slope, but rather a stark drop-off into the river. Rikka sees no underwater caverns... or anything else but dark, cold water.
When she taps the bridge with her spear, it seems to be solid, reliable stone. Nothing comes to eat her face.
Thorgal shifts his weight impatiently, drawing his sword. "Very well. You say there's no seidr on this bridge.... I'll cross, then, unless you wise-workers wish to keep puzzling out the ways of long-gone spirits."
"So noted Yngvi."
Rikka frowns, "Like yours, Thorgal, my gut finds something wrong here. If you will cross the bridge, let's tie a rope around you and have one of these stout lads hold it. Also, keep an eye on that other barrel. Something smells rotten - and I don't think it's the old fish."
Knute looks over the bridge, squinting in the eerie magical lights. "Well... it looks solid enough to me," he says. "Shall I cross, jarl?"
"No," Thorgal says with a sharp shake of his head. Following while others go first seems to be sitting poorly with him. "I'll take the seidrkona's advice to tie myself, but I'll not send others to take a risk I shy from."
The rope is fastened; Leif and Eysteinn are deemed the brawniest of those remaining, and settle in at the end of it. Thorgal holds shield and blade ready as he crosses the little bridge, shooting dark looks down into the water as he goes. "Master elf, if you'll send your-- lights-- over to the other side, so that I--"
The rest of that sentence is lost in an eruption of water. Something moving fast, in a dark-blue blur, bursts from the water on the far side of the little channel, rising to strike Thorgal in the chest.
Thorgal's startled cry is brief-- the impact knocks him off the smooth stone of the bridge, and he lands in the cold water. Good that he's got a rope on him, eh?
"Tor's hammer!" shouts Yngvi in startlement. The shape in the water that knocked Thorgal off the bridge appears long, sinuous, and serpentine-- though it's hard to see it clearly, as most of it is still beneath the dark surface.
Knute hurriedly nocks an arrow and looses it at the serpentine form that is nearly entirely obscured by the water.
Sadly, his arrows skim across the surface of the water. "Leif, move!" the archer shouts at the burly young man before him.
Knute grumbles unhappily at the churning water ahead of him. Give me something to shoot at, Skaði! He frantically motions for one of the Ulfen without a ranged weapon to toss a barrel into the water. Maybe it'll take the fish, instead of Thorgal, the ranger hopes.
Tassidar tries to get a barrel in the water without getting near the edge.
"I guess no one understood what I was meaning about the barrels. Hopefully it isn't too late."
Tassidar tries to hurl a barrel into the water, getting it out a distance from 'shore.' The rotten, water-logged wood crumbles beneath his more aggressive gripping...
...but with quick reflexes, Tassidar is able to toss the barrel out into the water with it still-mostly-intact, though when it hits the surface of the cold water it more-or-less-disintegrates. The barrel was light enough that he wagers there might not be much of anything left inside; however, a puff of moldy, foul-smelling air arises when the barrel breaks on the water's surface.
Yngvi shouts, "Leif! Pull Thorgal from the waves! Everyone else, to arms! Strike true, strong sons and daughters!"
The sound of Yngvi's chanting seems to combine with Leif's own strength and penchant for fury. Veins bulge on his forehead as he starts hauling on the rope, like a bull pulling a plow.
Thorgal is yanked to shore by the arms of the goði's son. Sven meanwhile loses his crossbow at the beast in the water, then backs hurriedly into the cavern's mouth, finding himself standing too close to the water's edge for his liking. Alas, the bolt misses.
Bjorg hurls a javelin from in the back, but there are far too many bodies between her and the beast to give her a clear shot. She winds up nearly hitting Halla with it.
Soaked head to toe, Thorgal scrambles upright where Leif hauled him, blinking water out of his face furiously. "Come back here and try that again!" he shouts at the water snake, brandishing his blade.
Halla winces as Bjorg's thrown javelin whistles past her ear and clatters off the stone wall. Seeking to clear the way for the warriors and avoid the dangers of friendly fire, she backs up the stairs behind Sven and rather reluctantly drops her backpack in case she has to move quickly, then readies the crossbow she took from Old Palli's Jól-night.
The serpent's head twists towards the impact of the barrel on the water, like a dog's reacting to a thrown stick. Another blue head breaks the surface of the water, just a few feet from the first, and the two heads bob and weave a moment above the surface, one rising as the other descends, like a merchant's scales. The two heads hiss at each other for a moment-- then the two heads turn together towards shore.
The snake undulates in the water towards the 'shore', one azure head striking at Eysteinn and the other at Rikka.
Both snake-heads strike with deadly accuracy, long fangs sinking deep through warm fur clothes and into human flesh below.
Rikka gasps as the fangs are torn from their sheathes in her abdomen; she sways unsteadily from the pain and poison but remains on her feet - driven by rage. Fair as she is, the seiðkonur's vengeance is black. Rikka spits a horrid phrase, full of fell syllables. With a subtle flick of her wrist, the cavern is redly lit by a harsh arc of searing flames that flashes towards the beast and scours everything above the waterline.
Rikka doubles up, pressing a hand to the wound in her gut. Seeing no safe retreat route and unsure if she'll survive the snake's next strike, she growls a warning. "It's a damned, poisonous Tvinnr-ormr! A blade might split it into two snakes."
I must maintain my concentration.
"Yes! And it can climb or swim as fast as it can slither! Use bludgeoning or piercing weapons or we will soon be fighting multiples of this magical beast!"
The white quarter staff flies from Tassidars hands and streaks spinning towards the head that just bit Rikka.
Tassidar moves as far away as he can, but remains where he can see what's happening still make attacks. The staff returns to his outstretched hand.
The blast of fire washes over the serpentine creature, but it appears both fast, and... well, largely submerged in water. To Rikka's no-doubt-great disappointment, it does not appear as though her flame even singed a scale.
"We have only a fool's prayer of hitting it when it's barely sticking out of the water like that!" Eysteinn shouts to those gathered. "Maybe if we back up into the tunnel we can lure it out onto the stone!"
Despite his words, and his own injuries, Eysteinn makes no motion to withdraw himself. "Seidrkona! Pull back, I will cover your retreat!" he cries, and swings guardedly at the serpentine mass with his bastard sword.
The attack misses.
Knute, with Leif's motion, you now have a clear shot. You think you are far enough back from the beast to safely fire, if you wish to do so, though Eysteinn's words seem to have some truth-- with the bulk of the beast underwater, the two heads make a small and difficult target. What would you like to do?
Knute hears the wisdom of Eysteinn's words, but with Yngvi's battle song pounding in his head the Ulfen ranger is more interested in attacking than retreating.
Please, lend me your grace, Skaði, so I can hit this monster! Knute draws and fires an arrow at the beast's head, hoping one shot will strike where two hasty ones did not.
The arrow is poorly placed to begin with, but with the additional cover it appears Knute's arrow misses entirely. He growls angrily, and takes a few steps back down the tunnel, as Eysteinn suggests. Shuffling behind the skald, Knute calls to the Ulfen (and elf) still at the water's edge, "We should probably take Eysteinn's advice! Much as we want to strike it down, that will be almost impossible while it is still in the water."
Tassidar focuses, ignoring the call of the Ulfen war-chant. He cries out more knowledge of the beast: "Yes! And it can climb or swim as fast as it can slither! Use bludgeoning or piercing weapons or we will soon be fighting multiples of this magical beast!"
His staff flies from his hand, but fails to connect with the monster's writhing bulk.
Yngvi continues to try and rally his brothers-and-sisters in arms, roaring out words in Skald that echo off the walls.
"I sing of a great sword!
"In the hilt is fame - in the haft is courage,
In the point is fear - for its owner's foes;
On the blade there lies - a blood-flecked snake,
And a serpent's tail - round the flat is twisted!" the skald shouts, while his fingers gesture as if drawing a blade in mid-air. Golden light wreathes his fingers; he nods to Thorgal, beckoning him closer. His other hand urges Leif back down the stairs.
Leif is clearly torn between the rage that bids him leap into the fray, and the words of wisdom. With an animal growl, the young man pulls back up the tunnel, his face wild, shoving past the others as he tries to keep control of his anger.
Bjorg holds her javelin, pulling back further up the stairs. Sven reloads his bow, but sees no point in wasting a shot with all the people in the way-- he, too, moves further up the stairs.
Thorgal darts around Eysteinn-- brushing against the skald's oustretched hand as he passes-- and strikes at the serpent with his blade, despite Tassidar's words. "Get back, all of you! I'll hold the beast while we clear the landing," he snarls.
Though Thorgal is known to be obstinate and sour-tempered, as well as possessing other flaws, nobody denies the mature warrior's skill at arms. Bolstered by Yngvi's song and charm, Thorgal leaps with the grace of a younger man, slashing with his fabled sword, Windsplitter, at one dark-blue neck. Skillful as the strike is, the serpent nearly dodges it.... nearly. The cavern is filled with the sound of hissing, and red blood spurts from the gash Thorgal's blade has opened.
Halla hesitates in the passage as Sven and Bjorg retreat past her. If the warriors cannot stand and fight, there is little her sharp sticks can do, but she waits to see if everyone will make it out of the bridge-chamber in safety.
The serpent strikes, lashing out furiously at the human that caused it such pain with the sword.
The twin heads strike and bite, inflicting injuries on Thorgal in turn, but the veteran warrior merely spits mockingly back at the snake. "Bite harder, wyrm!"
Rikka almost spits her disgust at retreating from this creature... but it is the only sensible plan if they want to kill it quickly. So long as the beast can actually be lured from the water.
With a moment's hesitation, the sorceress retreats painfully up the stairs.
Despite the bad blood between them, Eysteinn can't help but feel a flush of pride at Thorgal's strike. He takes another cautious swing, then backs away.
"We're all back from the edge, Lord Thorgal!" Eysteinn calls. "If you step back, it will have to come out of the water to strike!"
Knute lets out a cheer at Thorgal's hit on the monster, trying to boost his own confidence as much as congratulate his leader. "Well struck, Thorgal!" He mutters more quietly, suddenly conscious of how loud his voice was: "May we all find marks as sure as your own..."
Hoping to fulfill his own wish, Knute waits patiently for an opening for two more shots.
Tassidar is frustrated when he sees his staff bounce off the scaly body without damaging the beast.
He summons a glob of acid and attempts to splash it over the snake.
Arrows and acid fly forward, well-aimed-- but the serpent is a tricky target, shielded by the water as it is...
From near the back, Leif shouts, "Is it on the land yet?!"
Yngvi's voice continues to ring out inspiringly over the group, while his hands lift, this time miming the drawing of a bow. Again golden light flickers around his fingers; this time he reaches back to touch Knute, before he pulls back up the stairwell. "Strike well, with Skaði's grace!"
Sven and Bjorg both hold shots, on account of how crowded the tunnel has become.
Thorgal nods his hearing of Eysteinn's words, then steps back, his blade raised at the ready. "Come, you wretch of a lightless place!" he snarls.
Two heads presumably equals two brains, but the serpent does not seem particularly clever-- it slithers out of the water, hissing angrily, towards the two-legged creatures causing it such pain. The blue, gleaming body is almost iridescent in the eerie glow of the magical lights that still bob in the dimness of the cavernous space.
Thorgal attacks as he had waited to do; his blade whistles a scant inch from the snapped-back neck of the serpent. The blue heads respond in kind, one lashing out towards Thorgal, the other at Eysteinn.
Thorgal is able to turn his shield to catch the fangs; Eysteinn is not so lucky.
The young Ulfen staggers under another painful bite, but stays by his estranged father's side, trying to press the attack. He steps forward and swings his own blade, despite the blood seeping through his furs.
Though the snake is inarguably a bigger target on land than in the water, Eysteinn's injuries are telling on him, perhaps-- the blow does not land.
Given the beast's quickness, her position in the tunnel, and the milling warriors in front of her, the seiðkonur quickly considers and discards a number of magics. She settles on a simple dweomer that rarely fails. Rikka shifts until she can see the snake then weaves her incantation. Two stabbing pulses of ghostly moonlight launch from her hand, separately thread their way among the warriors, and strike at the beast's heads.
Rikka sends two unearthly pulses of light weaving through the dimness of the cave; each strikes one of the two heads perfectly, leaving sizzling flesh in their wake. The beast hisses furiously.
Seeing an Ulfen use magic missile made up Tassidar's mind to use his own. Pulling a scroll from the case at his waist, he sends one more unearthly pulse of light at the serpent which unerringly strikes home.
"Please. Be careful with the bladed weapons or we will be facing multiple snakes."
A bolt of light from Tassidar's fingers follows after Rikka's, further hurting the serpent.