Wary, his bronze greatsword held out before him, Otryggr moves toward the cylinder of ice, stepping around Signe and touching her shoulder as he goes. Each bootstep causes ice to crunch beneath his soles, and the Vataviklander's breath plumes out before him as he eyes the tunnel.
"Come to me, beast of Hel," he murmurs, barely audible beneath his breath. "Come dance with me, wolf-hearted scum. Bring me your battle-dew so that I may drink deep."
Ramundr steps out with Otryggr, blue ice sheathing his drawn longsword. He feels danger, but does not yet perceive its source.
It looked like whatever had been imprisoned in that pillar of ice had escaped, and was now roaming free through the place. Best to deal with it quickly, lest it ambushes them later. Shield on his arm and seax at the ready, Þyrnir comes up behind the Vastaviklander, getting ready to face the unseen threat.
The firelight from Ramundr’s torch flutters and shrinks back against the looming darkness of the gaping chasm in the east wall, as though it were itself fearful of what it may reveal. A deep shudder can be sensed within the blackness as something large begins to clamber out from within. Deep grunting and growls presage the glinting of two eyes at the edge of the light.
Then, a great roar, as large fangs are revealed, attached to a massive, white body of some horned, mammalian beast. The creature stands like a man, yet is half again the height of most men and covered with a coat of thick white fur.
Ragnar: 17/17
Ramundr: 21/22
Otryggr 24/24
Signe: 18/20
Thyrnir: 15/16
There is naught but misery and cold.
As a hunter of often skitterish animals, Signe cringes as Otryggr stands at the hole and yells. She immediately readies an arrow for the moment whatever is growling shows itself.
Her eyes widen slightly in surprise before she looses her arrow. "It is a yeti. I thought these things were creatures of legend from the mountains. I cannot say how it found its way here but nothing of this ice island surprises me anymore. I doubt it can be reasoned with."
As she spoke, she drew another arrow and let it fly.
"Legend or no, it does not seem friendly. Hold fast, my friends." Calling upon the blessing of Frigg, he braces his shield arm in case the creature charges their group.
Seems like such a beast would not be hurt by ice.
Ramundr drops his longsword, draws his spear and throws a spear at the center of beasts chest.
Signe has heard of yetis, tales of woe wherein men are slain, while women and children are dragged off for yards, their violently dismembered and partially consumed remains found in ravines, canyons, and caves. Truly, such creatures have no souls. Indeed, the cold seems to permeate their very being, freezing even their hearts.
She also knows that the very gaze of the beast can paralyze a man with fear, and that its claws, if ever allowed to latch simultenously onto a doomed victim, can literally tear a man apart .
Both of her arrows strike the creature in the chest, eliciting a high pitched yelp, followed by a roar of anger as it twists its fanged maw toward her.
At the sight of the yeti Otryggr lets out a howl that is both fury and joy incarnate; the veins swell across his temple and spittle flies from his mouth as he bounds forward, crossing the distance between him and their enemy in a flash of the eye.
"Hel! To Hel! Die!"
Ragnar's gaze lands on the yeti. His spear leaps in his hand, as he slams the hilt down in the ground. But this time, the sound from the hit isn't the usual thud, but that of a mighty crash. And with this, Ragnar starts singing, but the words leaving his mouth are nothing like any have heard. The harsh words and the melody itself, however, holds a low pitch with steel in its words, and the clapping from the godwytch rings like a drum of war. The blood of those fighting alongside him flares up with anger, anger at being lost and anger at being in a cold place that doesn't belong to them, and a stubborn refusal of death. "Elnaþ hira hátheort!", he roars at the end, every unknown word a new kindling into the pyre of anger. "Hægtesse.", he finishes the verse with spite.
"Do not meet its gaze for it will freeze your resolve and fill you with fear. And it will try to rend you limb from limb if it gets both its claws in you so take care."
She continues her assault of arrows even though she is painfully aware that it had turned its destructive anger towards her. Hoping the others will run interference, she tries to focus on having two more arrows find their mark.
Thyrnir’s blessing ignites sparks within the hearts of his allies, while Ragnar’s words stoke them into a blaze.
The creature spins toward Signe, but Otryggr achieves a mighty blow against it, striking its shoulder as it instinctively raises an arm to protect its face . Ramundr’s spear expertly flies past Otryggr and embeds itself in the creature’s flank.
The yeti roars in Otryggr’s face, its hot, sour breath sending his hair flying back behind him. It thrashes with both of its enormous claws, but its grevious wounds have weakened and disoriented it, and it only succeeds in creating jagged claw marks on the frozen ground.
Ragnar: 17/17
Ramundr: 21/22
Otryggr 24/24
Signe: 18/20
Thyrnir: 15/16
Otryggr sways back as death slashes past him and misses by inches, but if he's sobered or intimidated by his close call he doesn't show it. Instead, he howls his defiance right back at the yeti and strikes again, swinging his blade in a mighty, two-handed blow from the hips.
Otryggr's blade cuts deeply into the yeti's neck, spraying a fount of dark, steaming blood through the darkness.
The creature issues a deep, gurgling moan as its lifeblood spills out, then topples over lifelessly, crashing onto the ground.
A search of the room reveals nothing of note. The tunnel leads through the ice as far as you can see, with no apparent ending.
Otryggr reels back, gasping for breath, then launches a few kicks into the yeti for good measure before hewing its head off with one downward stroke of his blade. He wipes the back of his wrist across his brow, smearing the yeti blood that's spattered there, and then lets out a deep breath as the worst of his rage leaves him.
He crouches before the corpse, studying the severed head, then grunts and wipes his blade clean on its white fur.
"Hel take your soul," he mutters before rising to his feet. "Still. A worthy foe."
He turns to his companions and nods back out the entrance. "The other door?"
Moving protectively at Signe's side, Þyrnir readies a blow against the creature, should it come within striking range. The exchange of hits between it and the Vastaviklander seemed a dangerous thing to come close to, so he hangs back, ready to lend his aid if needed.
Signe watches with baited breath as Otryggr and the yeti face off. She breathes out in relief as both the yeti's claws miss their prey and the creature slumps to the ground.
Not wanting to be in such an environment of death and torture longer than necessary, the ranger agrees with Otryggr. "Even though there is the tunnel I agree that the other door should be checked before we decide whether to follow this route or not."
Ramundr was readying his next spear when Otryggr felled the beast with a mighty swing of his blade. Care to share the glory sometime? asks Ramundr with a smile, Twas a might blow, Otrygg.
Ramundr walks over and pulls his wood spear from the thick hide of the Yeti. Twould make a beastly coat, this Yeti would. He puts the spear back into the slot in his pack, then walks over to retrieve his dropped longsword of ice. I agree with Signe. Let us have no surprises at our backs.
Þyrnir crouches next to the vanquished beast, pulling off one glove and running his fingers through its fur. "A shame we have no time to skin it, the hide looks warm and solid. As Ramundr says, a beastly coat it would make." He rises, pulling his glove back on and turning back into the corridor.
"Let us see what other secrets this place holds. Although so far, I haven't liked any of them."
I am not sure if there will be many scavengers in here. Perhaps we can come back and collect the skin later.
Leaving the hulking, bleeding yeti to freeze, the group moves west again, back toward the stairs that led you down to this level, and toward the western door ahead. Signe, now aware that the doors may be trapped, inspects this one carefully, but is unable to find a similar mechanism on this one.
Ragnar's verse ends as briefly as it began, the last few Andovan words echoing as the yeti falls to the ancient sword. "Rah!", he lets out vigorously. "The other evils of this land, too, will fall, for our cause is right and our wrath is unbridled!", he says, pointing towards the tunnel. "I can guard the rear, if need be.", he nods at both Signe and Thyrnir.
Otryggr makes a wry gesture to Ramundr, his smile half teasing, half horrific through the drying yeti blood. "Your turn for glory, brother. I shall follow in your shadow."
That said, unless Ramundr protests, the Vastaviklander moves to take the second place position.
Otryggr finds no threats.
My glory is getting my nose chopped by a trap.
"Wait!" Ragnar calls, pointing his spearhead to the top right corner of the doorway, where a thin cord runs between the door and its frame, then up through a small opening.
Signe approaches, carefully trying to sever the cord, but her hand trembles and her blade pulls the cord rather than severing it. Another scythe blade drops quickly from the doorframe, escaping from a narrow space within the stone. Signe jumps back, but it catches her in the foot, the blade slicing deeply through her boot and into her flesh.
The blade quickly retracts back into the stone from which it appeared, its triggering cord still in tact.
Ragnar: 17/17
Ramundr: 21/22
Otryggr 24/24
Signe: 12/20
Thyrnir: 15/16
My prophetic nose. Ramundr looks to Signe in concern, but decides she will do. Ragner, I do believe you carry a long spear. Might you trigger the trap from a safe distance?
Signe curses her own clumsiness as she not only fails to disable the trap but then gets caught in it. She lets out a choked cry of pain as her foot is sliced. "Human traps are proving to be much trickier than animal ones."
She waits to see whether Ragnar does what Ramundr asks as this will dictate whether she tries to disable the trap again. While she waits, she tries to bandage her foot - but really all she does is wrap her scarf around her foot and shove it back into her boot.
Ragnar's mouth opens, as his eyebrows frowwn at Ramundr. Is the spear the only thing his hands are borne to?, he begins saying, before his mouth snaps close and smiles. "Perhaps, the simplest way is the best one.", he says, nodding at Signe's bleeding foot as he reaches for the spear safely tucked in his cloak. He reaches with the spear, but just before he attempts to cut the rope, his head jerks back. "Even if I were to trigger it, would it not simply come back again?", he asks. "And the blades may cut the hilt, leaving us where we are now, but spearless.", he reasons as he pulls out another runestone from his bag, his hands gesturing towards Signe's foot. "I'm afraid it is too late for the boot, Oddvarsdottir. And for the cold I can do nothing.", he smirks, as the familiar blueish power of the runes flows into Signe's foot.
He raises the blade. "Say the word, and cut I will, but would it not be wiser to simply step over the rope? Ha!", he lets out with a chuckle, venturing forwards and stepping over the rope.
Wiser may be to not step through at all, clumsy as we all seem to be.
Ramundr wanders a bit closer thinking on upon it. If we aren't disabling the wire, then we need the blade to be blocked. Perhaps my shield?? Ramundr dislikes the idea. His shield was an integral part of his chosen fighting style. His eyes crinkle, but a solution comes.
Otryggr. I have an idea. I need your muscle. Without waiting to see if the man follows, Ramundr walks back, past Ragnar, down to the felled Yeti. I say we drag this thing, and shove her into the trap. The trap will be sprung, and the scythe will swing into tough hide meat, and bone.. and should not again swing freely.
Signe gently flexes her foot as Ragnar's magic flows into her. She can't hide her amazement as she didn't have much experience with receiving magical healing. "If I have to choose between having the hole in my foot fixed or the one in my boot, I choose my foot. You have my thanks, Ragnar."
Otryggr grunts and follows Ramundr back into the other chamber, upon which he helps him wrestle the yeti's body back into the hallway and then dumps it upon the trap.
It takes three people to drag the bloody, beaten body of the yeti down the dark hole and push it into the door.
Immediately, the trap triggers, the razor edge of the scythe slicing into the already torn beast like an overripe apple. The blade sticks, remaining lodged in the corpse, allowing you to climb over.
The room beyond is empty and plain, though it is obvious now that the southern door leading out of this room is similarly trapped to the others.
Once again, the ravaged yeti's body serves as a means to bypass the blade.
The door, however, is still locked.
I'm just meat. Someone else choose. Ramundr says wryly, pulling out his longsword.
Even as Ramundr speaks, Otryggr lets out a deep, basso growl and charges past him, turning at the last moment to tuck his shoulder and slam into the door at full force.
Signe takes a step towards the door to see if she has better luck with the lock than she did with the traps but stops abruptly when Otryggr flies past her and crashes into the door. So much for not announcing ourselves.
She steps back to give the barbarian some room and waits to see if the door can best the man where the yeti could not.
Otryggr slams into the wall, easily ripping it from his hinge and sending the frozen wood slamming into the floor beyond. Here, a narrow corridor runs the length of this area, flanked on both sides by cells. Doors of rusted iron bars block access to these cells. The unmoving shapes of human forms slumped on the floor of the cells are covered by a thin layer of frost. From somewhere down the hallway comes a faint cry for help.
Ramundr brings his shield and frost sword up, and he squints in the dim firelight. Not bothering to whisper, given Otryggr's entrance. Frost covered corpses. I've seen enough walking dead for one man's life, and this is the kind of place to have 'em. A small cry echoes from down the way ..Aii, what was that?
Otrygrr staggers as he bursts through the door, catching himself on the far wall, and then draws his blade slowly as he takes in their new environment. His face settles into its customary grim scowl as he considers the frozen prisoners, and then he turns quickly in the direction of the cry for help, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Nothing could survive down here but the dead. Let's go kill it."
Strange that there was not one, but two traps protecting these cages. Ramundr muses, then nods at Otryggr in agreement. But let us not get surrounded. Skewer the corpses as we move forward.
Signe enters the corridor and immediately her eyes are drawn to the bodies in the cells. "Are they anyone we know?"
Completely focused on the bodies, she doesn't even hear anything until Ramundr mentions a noise. "What was what?"
"Maybe the traps were simply to prevent potential rescuers from succeeding. Although this place was very well hidden."
Perhaps it was the noise of battle outside. Perhaps it is the crash of the door. Or, perhaps, it is the seductive basso of living hearts beating. Whatever the cause, as the living enter the corridor, the corpses within the cages rattle into unlife. Buried in this darkness for an untold time, the prisoners quicken once more. Long-frozen bodies shuffle and lurch, struggling to stand on brittle and broken bones, their frozen flesh rotting and freeze-dried. Black-fleshed fingers reach out from between frozen bars and, with unnerving silence, dozens of corpses attempt to break free.
To the south, two of the ancient doors fail, and the zombies lurch forward!
Ragnar: 17/17
Ramundr: 21/22
Otryggr 24/24
Signe: 18/20
Thyrnir: 15/16
Careful Otryggr. Charge too far you may find yourself surrounded. Þyrnir you and I stand abreast, while Signe and Ramundr can use their weapons' range from behind. Ramundr growls.
We might also consider a retreat.
Olaf is not in that den..
Otryggr adjusts his grip on Hægtesse, rippling his fingers open and closed as he holds it two handed before him. The sight of the restless dead spilling forth into the hallway along with their echoing moans and the sheer sense of how many of them are fill him with a primitive fear; there is no nobility to these creatures, unlike the ones they encountered on the Barrowlands: these are unhallowed filth, mockeries of all that is good and natural, and Otyrggr wants nothing more to back out of this room and slam the door shut forever.
Which is why he hunches his shoulders and begins to growl, a low, threatening sound more wolf-like than human. His chest expands and contracts as if he's just exerted himself greatly, and he sinks into a combat stance, Hægtesse waving gently before him as if seized by a mind of its own.
For now, he'll wait. Wait for the hallway to grow choked with the dead. For the scope of this battle to be made apparent. And then he will fall upon them like a thunderbolt unleashed by Thor himself.
Þyrnir stops in his tracks, listening intently. "That was no cry for help. Just something moving. This may be just another trap, and the ones before it a clever ruse to lure tresspassers into thinking there is something of value here. As for retreat, that might be difficult with the door broken. And if we stand and fight, cast aside your spears and arrows, for those would only vex such as these. Swords and seaxes and other weapons with an edge are what can hurt the unliving flesh."
He draws his own as he sets his shield and awaits the coming of the abominations.
Ramundr drops his shield and grip his longsword with both hands. They may charge us. Be ready.