Ramundr sets into the wolf with a flurry of blades and ending with a shield bash that threatened to send the beast flying down the mountainside.
Seeing what they face, Þyrnir is quite certain that today is the day he dies. But rather than fear, he finds calm acceptance in his heart. All life ends; so must his, as well. And what better end than to face the forces of evil alongside stalwart comrades? He takes a deep breath of the frigid air and flashes a white-toothed smile as he sends a burst of brilliant light at the onrushing cultists.
Eldgrimr cloaks himself in the protection of illusion in preparation for battle, multiple forms of himself cascading over his true form.
Signe's fingers continue to work in a blur as she shoots arrow after arrow but she shifts her focus from the dogs to the humans behind them.
Stepping from next to Signe, Ragnar's booming voice begins challenging the shouting of the men and the roaring of the dogs. His song echoes, channeling the bloodlust and mocking his foes.
Ramundr sets into the wolf with a flurry of blades and ending with a shield bash that threatened to send the beast flying down the mountainside.
Seeing what they face, Þyrnir is quite certain that today is the day he dies. But rather than fear, he finds calm acceptance in his heart. All life ends; so must his, as well. And what better end than to face the forces of evil alongside stalwart comrades? He takes a deep breath of the frigid air and flashes a white-toothed smile as he sends a burst of brilliant light at the onrushing cultists.
fail
fail
fail
fail
The light of Frigg blinds some of the dogs and dazzles others, though their primal, animalistic nature transcends good and evil and they suffer no judgment.
Eldgrimr cloaks himself in the protection of illusion in preparation for battle, multiple forms of himself cascading over his true form.
Signe's fingers continue to work in a blur as she shoots arrow after arrow but she shifts her focus from the dogs to the humans behind them.
Otryggr, raising his gleaming sword so that it shines like a dazzling brand against the sere light of day, lets out a bellowing roar and charges forward, boots pounding, eyes so wide that the whites can be seen all the way around his irises, lips peeled back from his teeth so that he appears more beast than man as he falls upon the hounds, blade descending like a falling star.
Several of the dogs whine and snap blindly while others move in, one nipping Otryggr through his armor . With a command, the cultists send another wave of dogs racing down the hill. They snap at each other in an effort to get close to you on the narrow ramp.
hit
no
Eldgrímr 42/42
Ótryggr 66/72
Ragnar 45/45
Ramundr 58/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 44/44
Fate was spun, the bones had been cast. Now all that is left to do is swing metal and flesh until one side lays to rest. He moves forward, deep base roar joining the others as his blade comes down.
With the ramp getting more crowded, Signe chooses a less obstructed path for her arrows . She turns slightly and aims up at the ridge before loosing her arrows.
Standing at Otryggr's side, Ragnar's spear flashes with lightning, as he feels the roar of combat, the roars and the rending blows all together forming into the song of death. The pulse, the tone of battle seems to speed up, and his heart begins racing in tune with the furious combat before him as he raises his shield.
Otryggr hews!
His companions had formed a wall before him, and while foes cannot reach him, his blade and shield do not find their flesh either. He can, however, empower those standing beside him. With a whispered prayer, he clasps a hand on Eldgrímr's shoulder.
Fate was spun, the bones had been cast. Now all that is left to do is swing metal and flesh until one side lays to rest. He moves forward, deep base roar joining the others as his blade comes down and decapitates the savage animal.
With the ramp getting more crowded, Signe chooses a less obstructed path for her arrows. She turns slightly and aims up at the ridge before loosing her arrows.
Otryggr hews!
His companions had formed a wall before him, and while foes cannot reach him, his blade and shield do not find their flesh either. He can, however, empower those standing beside him. With a whispered prayer, he clasps a hand on Eldgrímr's shoulder.
Ramundr hews!
hit
hit
More dogs rush forward, two of them clamping down on Ramundr’s leg!
Eldgrímr 42/42
Ótryggr 66/72
Ragnar 45/45
Ramundr 48/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 44/44
Otryggr sings as he lays about him with great ferocity!
The blade rises, the blade falls, claiming the next soul.
They were too tightly packed for him to reach the dogs with his seax, so Þyrnir prepares instead for when they will gain the ridge and engage the children of Althunak in earnest.
Shaking off the biting hounds, Ramundr Æiþorn swing sword and shield at the hound on his right, attempting to send it flying down the mountain side. Mindful of his flanks, Ramundr disengages and thrusts his icicle deep into the gut of the hell hound before him, a feast for ravens.
Ragnar's spear darts forward into a hound's flesh, though whether or not it's already dead, is hard to see. The blood-icicle flashes back into his hands, as he takes a step to form a shield wall, hurling his weapon with all he's able into the next line of beasts. "Are you too wolf-hearted, so that beasts must do your war for you?", he roars, as his spear leaps back into his waiting hand, spilling the wound-dew on the way.
Signe continues to take aim at the cultists atop the ramp...
Otryggr sings as he lays about him with great ferocity!
The blade rises, the blade falls, claiming the next soul.
They were too tightly packed for him to reach the dogs with his seax, so Þyrnir prepares instead for when they will gain the ridge and engage the children of Althunak in earnest.
Shaking off the biting hounds, Ramundr Æiþorn swing sword and shield at the hound on his right, attempting to send it flying down the mountain side. Mindful of his flanks, Ramundr disengages and thrusts his icicle deep into the gut of the hell hound before him, a feast for ravens.
Ragnar's spear darts forward into a hound's flesh, though whether or not it's already dead, is hard to see. The blood-icicle flashes back into his hands, as he takes a step to form a shield wall, hurling his weapon with all he's able into the next line of beasts. "Are you too wolf-hearted, so that beasts must do your war for you?", he roars, as his spear leaps back into his waiting hand, spilling the wound-dew on the way.
Signe continues to take aim at the cultists atop the ramp… One arrow lodges in a cultist’s throat, sending him or her tumbling down the side of the cliff. The body lands hard on the ice, now a mere broken shell.
More dogs race down the ramp, snapping uselessly at your armor. More advance, but hold back, baying furiously. The wolf-hearted cultists remain at the top of the hill, allowing their beasts of burden to whittle away at the defenses and resources of the aggressors. They howl insults, but do not advance.
Eldgrímr 42/42
Ótryggr 66/72
Ragnar 45/45
Ramundr 48/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 44/44
Bathed in blood, Otryggr hacks as if he could do this all day.
Ramundr sends a strike against the dog that rushed to his right, then his boot slips on the slick ramp, sending his blows errant.
Eldgrímr takes another swing, but he is off balance from his last hew and bites into nothing but ice.
Stepping forth into the shield wall, Ragnar's spear bites deeply into the wolves, as the thundering of shields carries over the blood-dripping carcasses. The spear darts left and right, in a frenzy of speed, though it's clear that even Ragnar himself can barely control the speed of the gods through his maddened blows.
Signe shoots three more arrows at the cultists atop the hill, piercing the armor of one square in the chest! His death scream carries down from his perch, though it dies off into a wet gurgle.
Thyrnir holds, allowing Frigg's favor to bolster the front line.
Bathed in blood, Otryggr hacks as if he could do this all day. The dogs fall quickly to his massive blade.
Ramundr sends a strike against the dog that rushed to his right, then his boot slips on the slick ramp, sending his blows errant, though the dog falls nonetheless.
Eldgrímr takes another swing, but he is off balance from his last hew and bites into nothing but ice.
Stepping forth into the shield wall, Ragnar's spear bites deeply into the wolves, as the thundering of shields carries over the blood-dripping carcasses. The spear darts left and right, in a frenzy of speed, though it's clear that even Ragnar himself can barely control the speed of the gods through his maddened blows.
Seeing the tide of this fight turning and realizing the strength of the invading force, the cultists bark commands, retreating back deeper into their plateau. The dogs scatter, some following their wicked masters and others racing off into other fights.
Atop the massive slab of bedrock the cultists have established a semi-permanent camp to serve them while the Second Temple of the Lord of Ice and Stone is completeld. Here a small encampment of tents clusters around the slab haphazardly. Here you find a 15-by-20 feet stone structure made of crudely cut stones layered with ice and snow. The walls rise up fifteen feet into the cold air, but do not support a roof. The cella itself is open to the sky, the better to feel the breath and blessings of Althunak. Inside, a horrid statue rests, a 7-foot-high, finely carved stone masterpiece showing a fierce and gaunt bearlike man clutching a scepter in one hand and a sickle in the other. His face is a snarl of hate and rage that display shartp teeth. A crown of spear-like icicles covered in dried blood surmounts the figure's head. The holy symbmo of Althunak, a gaping maw filled with icicles, is painted in blood on the walls.
Before the temple, seven cultists stand guard, greatclubs clutched tightly in bloody hands.
Behind them, atop the edges of the walls perch two creatures. Skin the color of thunderheads and wings made for soaring through the most violent winds mark these lean, cyclopic beings as masters of terrible storms. The sound of shrieking wind emanates from their mouths full of needle-sharp teeth.
With a beat of their enormous, dark wings, the demons take flight. One circles around behind you, while another flies ahead of the cultists, shrieking violently. The clouds that have grown darker and heavier over the course of the battle reveal their true purpose, opening above you unleash a rain of heavy hailstones.
Just as the stones strike, the cultists surge forward, clubs raised. One swings around, catching Otryggr in the knee.
A great, basso roar emanates from within the temple, as something massive awakens to battle...
Eldgrímr 42/42
Ótryggr 56/72
Ragnar 45/45
Ramundr 48/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 44/44
The flying creatures were like nothing Þyrnir had ever seen or heard of, but there's scant time for wonder as battle is joined once more. Stepping forward and turning so that his back isn't to any of the foes he can see, he delivers two quick slashes with his seax against the cultist harranguing Eldgrímr.
Though stones of wyrd and tales of elders have taught Ragnar many things, the Godwytch was the Godwytch for his dreams. In those, he'd seen creatures of ice and wrath, their scream the wicked howl of winter winds, their claws blood-caked icicles. Watchers of the Winter King, from stormy skies to ice-gripped shores.
"Halas!", he roars at the beasts. "Comes your day to seize your wolf-hearted spying, and fall like all others will!", he roars at the skies, as he steps forwards. The glowing runespear finds home into the greatclub wielding cultist's armpit, and thick blood begins smoking on the icy ground.
Signe's eyes widen and she resists the urge to rub her eyes in disbelief. These creatures are nothing like what is found in nature but the fact that they are winged make them perfect targets for her arrows.
She nocks an arrow and follows the one creature as it circles behind them. She dodges most of the barrage of hailstones before letting loose her own storm of arrows at the creature.
Eldgrimr dodges the worst of the hail, but in doing so finds little solid footing to make a solid swing.
Otryggr barrels forward, seemingly driven by the cold wrath of Odin himself, and doesn't seem to care for anything beyond the next foe that steps in his way.
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A feast for Ravens, eh Ótryggr Grímsson?!