Ramundr, considering, sheaths his spear and shield into their loops and draws his bow for its range. Ragnar of the wyrd, what do you know?
Signe has no idea what is being said but she recognizes a foul language when she hears it. The pit of her stomach clenches and she immediately readies her longbow as her eyes scan for threats.
Þyrnir has a sudden fear that the statues are in fact real people that had been frozen; he rushes from statue to statue, searching its face for familiar features, all the while lamenting to himself. "Jarl, where are you? Oh, my jarl, I've lost you. How can I face the girls ever again? Oh, what doom."
Moments pass, as gravid with dread as the depictions carved into the ice: men and women being ripped apart and devoured by demons, or feasting on one another. The carvings, though terrifying to behold, remain as lifeless as before, offering Thyrnir nothing in return for his pleas.
Again the voice booms across the processional, seeming to come from multiple directions at once.
Otryggr swings his greatsword in a slow arc, causing the bronze blade to gleam in the brilliant, merciless light of day. He glances at his companions, trying to gauge if any of them can understand the language, and then, with grim intention, begins to make his way forward across the causeway.
Speak the word, or feed the winter wind.
A riddle? A prompt for a command? I think it is spoke by a spirit or demon.
An intuition that evil is linked to evil.
Althunak? Ramundr whispers, reluctant to speak a name.
Þyrnir turns at the sound of the cursed name. "Of what do you speak? I cannot understand these words."
If this is indeed a riddle connected to the demon-lord... He racks his brains, trying to come up with the word most likely to fit the demand. A password of sorts...?
This is a foul place. Why are we trying to enter it? We should be looking for the Jarl's ship. Ramundr asks honestly.
As he lets them ponder this question, Ramundr could feel the threat in the seemingly disembodied voice's words. Speak the word or feed the wind
The Liturgy of Icy Death and the Way of Hunger. Demon Lord of Ice and Cold, Master of Cannibals, and Winter King Ramundr recalls what they had learned about Althunak.
Ragnar's face is impenetrable, as he glares at the statues with a suspicious look. "I can only hear their words. I know not the foul speech they're uttered in, but the Valfather grants me understanding.", he utters quietly. "Althunak's mentioning brings me back to the winter... It would be foolish to venture forward, and yet more foolish not to follow the signs of what may come."
He pauses, hand tapping on his chin as his brows furrow. Do I remember anything of Althunak? Have I been taught a lesson I forgot?, he thinks, as he strains his memory to think of a word.
Having had someone translate the words, Signe thought it unwise to advance before the smarter of the group could figure out the word to let them pass. "Otryggr, hold. Let us not feed the wind if we do not have to."
She continued to search their surroundings with her eyes, her bow at the ready. "I agree with Ramundr that we should not enter if we do not have to. But I fear we cannot leave this island of ice without venturing inside."
Only the wind, gusting implacably across the frigid plain, answers. Whatever was said seems to have worked. The statues do not speak again, though their horrid depictions seem to lure you closer to the palace...
The central plaza is 70 feet wide and runs 50 feet from the end of the processional to the main entrance of the palace. The plaza is open, partially framed by two wings of the palace projecting from the base of the spires. Toward the western edge, several blocks of ice fell from the crumbled tower, and lie strewn across the pavers. They are old, and both wind and snow have smoothed their surfaces and filled the cracks that their fall made in the pavers. Old, frozen blood stains portions of the ice paving, especially near the front steps and portico of the palace.
Beyond the central plaza, enclosing the gate is a deep portico that stretches 30 feet across the front of the palace. A set of thirteen steps leads up from the plaza to the portico, each step carved with a series of snarling faces across the risers. Carved into the corner posts of the portico are two statues of demonic women, their faces locked in ecstasy as they consume human limbs.
A short processional leads to the entrance at the base of the eastern spire. A short set of steps leads up to a thin door of solid ice banded with frozen blood. A snarling, demonic face with an open mouth framing the doorway decorates the base of the spire. Long icicles of frozen blood drip from its fangs.
To the west, fallen ice blocks from the collapse of the spire block the north end of the processional. The blocks are huge and moving them would require a herculean effort.
Otryggr gives the others a curt nod; he doesn't quite understand what just took place, but he doesn't have to. When the statues seek their Helish speech, he half turns to his friends, pointing with his bronze blade toward the castle.
"Come! Whatever wytchery has seized the jarl and stranded us here no doubt resides within! Let us find it in its icy splendor and tear our its throat - let us bring an end to this evil!"
That said, he hunches his shoulders and begins making his way down the processional toward the main plaza, where he pauses to scrutinizes all that lies before him, from the frozen blood to the tumbled blocks to the carvings that flank the main door.
Ramundr follows Otryggr into the plaza and looks about, noting all the various horrors depicted. Friendly.
He puts his bow away, and unslings his cold-iron shield and ashen spear. He puts an arm on Otryggr's shoulder. Think you could lift those ice blocks away?
Without waiting, he calls over to the party. Let's look closer at those fallen blocks of ice. Maybe we'll surprise whatever evil is waiting for us with an unexpected entrance.
Signe stays towards the back of the group and keeps an arrow nocked. While the others decide on the direction to go, she keeps an eye on their surroundings and looks for any tracks. If she can find evidence of other beings then it would help decide which way to go.
Þyrnir sighs inwardly as Ramundr mentions lifting the ice blocks. There were two other perfectly good entrances, but in his experience some men would use any excuse (or fabricate their own) to engage in manly displays of manly manliness by lifting heavy things. Even if the blocks could be lifted, they would likely be frozen to each other and the floor, and trying to get them unstuck would probably make a racket - enough to give ample warning to anyone inside, and thus rob the party of the element of surprise.
Instead, he follows the huntress into looking for tracks or any other signs of the jarl and his warriors.
Taking tentative steps over the ice courtyard, you can see that the interior of the portico is decorated with bas-reliefs depicting a great feast or orgy, though from this far away it is difficult to discern the details.
As you approach the lower step, the western ice sculpture, a grisly depiction of a fanged female grasping a dismembered arm in one hand and a longsword in the other, shifts and moves! The ice from which it is so carefully carved somehow flows as fluidly as water, preserving the remarkable detail but retaining its solid state. It steps gracefully forward, then utters a sort of snarl in the same language from the bridge.
የሕይወትን ዋና ምንጭ ይናገሩ
Ragnar, still endowed with the knowledge of tongues, is able to translate. He frowns. "It is a command. Speak the wellspring of life!"
"B-blood?" stutters Þyrnir at the apparition.
The sun? Ramundr drops his ashen spear and draws out his cold-iron spear.
The statue slithers back with unnerving grace to its former position near the stairs, although it assumes a different pose.
Nothing else stirs.
Ragnar shakes his head at the statue. He nods at Þyrnir. "Blood is the language all living things speak.", he mutters as if quoting someone. "A wise choice, Olafsson. Their tongue scratches like wolven claws on my ears.", he whispers, his wary eyes studying the walls with equal measure fear and interest. "And remember this, no matter what lies beyond, a glorious death is a far better fate than letting winter take us.", he steels himself, continuing forward.
And here the monstrous ice-carved bas-reliefs within and beyond the portico reveal themselves in greater, lurid detail. Great feasts and orgies decorate the walls, though the ice is worn and the exact nature of the acts being committed is somewhat obscured. However, and most unsettling, the images seem to writhe ever so when glimpsed out of the corner of the eye--a truly disconcerting effect.
Ahead, the interior is dimly light by daylight that filters in through the ice walls. A ten-foot-wide passageway leads approximately forty feet before opening up into some sort of grand chamber or courtyard, for daylight illuminates the hall. Tall columns can be seen, though their terminus extends beyond your view from the portico.
Let us proceed forward. Ramundr is getting impatient to die a good cold death.
As you pass through the entry corridor, all remains quiet. Otryggr notices a hidden door concealed behind a screen of whale hide painted white to resemble the ice of the wall. Beyond it is a room used to store cloaks, weapons, armor and other items. Little of interest is in this room save for antiquated clothing frozen and stiff with dry rot, discarded items, and a few old weapons, which either hang on hooks on the wall or lie in heaps on the floor. A quick examination of the room produces a usable dagger and assorted cloak pins and other trinkets crafted in an ancient but unknown style, though certainly like nothing used in the Northlands .
Slowly, you make your way into the main hallway of the palace, which splits to go around a central courtyard. This open area in the middle of the palace at the base of the three great spires is open to the cloud-streaked sky above. Tall columns support the portico roof, and ice pavers like those on the plaza outside cover the floor. The columns reach up 20 feet to form arches set into the upper walls and ceiling of the surrounding building. A final arch leads into an anteroom to the north. The northern arch has a niche containing a small gold statuette of a death’s head. The walls of the courtyard bear more bas-relief carvings, these of human skeletons in acts of vile torture.
Looking up through the courtyard’s open roof allows a good view of the central ice spire. Eighty feet above, the spire is banded by a frieze of images depicting a demon-god descending from the heavens, the capture of humanoid figures by armored warriors, and the sacrifice of these captives into the hungry maw of the demon-god. The frieze is very ornate and well carved with lifelike detail. Colored water, possibly blood in some cases, has been applied to the ice and left to freeze, thus painting the images. Just below it, a narrow ice bridge soars between the central spire and another ice bridge that connects the east and west spires.
Around you, the halls branch off in various directions, with many doors, each imploring you to enter its bleak embrace.
By the time they make their way into the courtyard, Signe's skin is crawling. She has never been exposed to so many disturbing images and she finds the mind who thinks them pleasing truly unfathomable.
If she hadn't been a Norlander, she would have truly fled and hid. But she knows she is made of a hearty substance that won't give up so easily.
The sheer number of doors seems daunting but they have to begin somewhere. "Shall we start to the left and work our way right? A systematic search will limit us being surprised by foul creatures."
As you say, Signe. Ramundr agrees.
What are we doing here? This place holds only madness and death. If the jarl came this way, I can see no traces. Þyrnir shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself, shivering in this icy tomb of horrors. He averts his eyes from the statues and reliefs on the wall; his mind can only take so much depravity. But the others want to search this place, so he goes along with it.
"Left it is. Let us hurry, in case the jarl is here and needs our help."
Ramundr could read Thyrnir's thoughts from the man's expression; they were all likely pondering the same thought. The Jarl had been on the long boat. If the longboat and the Jarl had been whisked up here, then they are up against a magic too powerful for them to withstand. But if not, they were exploring this evil place for...what exactly. Treasure? What good was hacksilver if they die frozen on an iceberg? Glory? Sure. But he'd rather find glory back on the longboat.
Then again.. Whatever happened to the longboat probably came from something here.
Signe moves back down the hall towards the door they had just passed. She listened carefully to see if she could hear any movement or voices from inside the room.
Not hearing anything, she opens the door.
Hearing nothing but the chattering of her own teeth, Signe tests the door, finding it locked or frozen shut. It is made of mere wood, so might be forced, picked, or destroyed with weapons.
Ragnar's gaze lands on the door. "We've not been forceful so far, but I doubt that those who dwell in this place would care much if we force the door.", he reasons, drawing his Andovan longsword. "Let's quickly see what lies beyond, and leave if it isn't our quarry.", he says, moving in to batter the door.
Otrggyr readies his blade as he stands behind Ragnar, prepared to help batter the door down if need be, or else repel any horror that comes screaming forth from the chamber beyond.
The cold was sapping their strength, for otherwise how could three grown men fail to batter down a door?
Looking almost sheepish, Þyrnir slams a shoulder against the door and is rewarded with a satisfying crack. Not wishing to show up the others, he mutters. "Your efforts weakened it."
Assaulted by blades, picks, and shoulders, the door caves in with relative ease, revealing a chamber apparently used for records storage. Wooden shelves holding a set of ivory scroll cases line the western wall. The center of the room is crowded with desks made from human bones held together with ancient dried tar, each with a chair and built-in inkwells and lockboxes.
There are no less than twenty-two scroll cases, which contain icy, faded scrolls made from human skin in an unknown language.
The south wall has a faded map painted directly on the frozen wall. If the map is to be believed, a structure very much like this palace once sat in the middle of a large land mass along a ridge of mountains running roughly east-west. It does not match any known areas of the Northlands.
Near the palace is a small icon that resembles a stack of golden bricks, and protrudes slightly from the rest of the map. Like a button...
Studying the scrolls, Ragnar raises an eyebrow. "Those scrolls are in Old Uln.", he says, before continuing. "It writes of taxes and tallies of hacksilver... This place is a place of power, but I wasn't expecting them to tally such things. Either the temple was once inhabited by more... human inhabitants, or those here aren't the mindless horrors they appear to be.", he notes, before pointing his attention to the two scrolls wrapped in arcane runes. "Valfather, grant me your sight.", his voice echoes with unnatural tone, as his eyes glow with the colour of lightning. As he glances onto the map, he frowns. "This engraving... Would it be showing us to their riches, or is it a trap for those greedy enough to fall in it...", he muses, before clacking his spear on the ground. "I say we leave it be, for now. Gold is not our purpose here, and if we survive what lies in the other rooms of the palace, we can return to muse on it again." He harrumphs. This is the wisest way, is it not?, he ponders as he gives the room one more glance, before stepping through the battered door.
The macabre furnishings in this room cause Signe to keep an eye out on the hallway instead of focusing into the room. That and it was filled with scrolls which she doesn't find very interesting.
However, her ears perk up when she hears Ragnar mention a trap. She moves over to the man to see what he's referring to.
"If it is a common trap then I can say with certainty that it is not a trap. But it is possible that it is something that I have never seen before. I cannot see any workings suggesting it to be a trap but it may be wise to leave it for now. I highly doubt this is hiding a prison."
Ragnar is able to determine that two of the scrolls are imbued with arcane magic.
Signe does not notice any evidence of a trapped or rigged device.
Signe turns to leave the room but something causes her pause. "What if there is a cowardly foe hiding and that button reveals them? Maybe we should look to be certain."
It may be a trap. It may be that it will reveal a treasure of great worth. It may release a demon, heretofore trapped.
Ramundr sheathes his spear and hooks his shield to his back. He draws his longbow. I will push the button. I will try to do so from the other side of the door using an arrow.
Signe's gloved finger grazes the icon when Ramundr tries to push it away. This causes Signe to jump, and she presses the button accidentally.
A low grinding is heard, slabs of ice sliding across one another, as a segment of the southern wall slides back and away, revealing a frozen staircase leading down into darkness...
Ramundr hmphs, and then leads the way down with his shield and spear. Listen to our backs. I don't want to be trapped behind this door.
"Clever." Þyrnir nods approvingly as he retreats outside the room. He grips his seax and raises his shield, in case the button triggers anything hostile... more hostile than this place already is, with its frozen horrors. With surprise, Þyrnir realizes that he had barely registered the macabre desks in the scroll room. This place is devouring all that is good and holy and replacing it with depravity and evil.
Ramundr presses his shoulder against the cold wall to keep his balance as he descends the staircase, which leads into complete and utter darkness.
The hall at the base of the stairs splits in three directions, each ending at a massive double door carved of thick, opaque ice. The pair to the east is open and half off their hinges.