Gunnar prepares his Detect Magic ritual as Scramsax scouts, the better to read magic auras as he comes across them.
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As his frontal lobe reached boiling point from maintaining the psionic telelink, deep in his subconscious Scram was on the lam. He had found a hidden path from the Dawnflower's tower that branched into one of Zove's memories...
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Before she was Ambassador to the Court of One Million Stars, Zove was a mere attaché in Dalliance -- a hedonistic pleasure resort disguised as an out of the way, discrete trading post on the edge of the 'civilized' kingdoms of the Shadow Realm. Pleasurable company, illicit substances, any manner of amusement (no matter how taboo) could be had for the right price...or if one could find the right ear to whisper into.
Avoiding the twisted courtiers (the way they wear their loathing for the River-folk like Scram on their sleeve), and more importantly avoiding the debt he owed (currently under the management of the Whimsical Wild Witches of Western Ozru)...well, that required a drastic change of identity...
"Enough babbling. You will tell me who you are, or we will feed you to the Black Prince's peryton." the shadow fey demanded of his captive. A delicate paper moebius strip hung by a thin chain at his neck, signifying his rank as Master of Roads...not to mention his power over travel and spatial geometry magics. He was Lord Haylcaster Montylgrue of House Roren, once removed cousin to Baron Gael Nerizorwyn, first heir of Quinnendale.
"I'm...my name is...Scramsexy." the female shadow goblin responded. Despite the convincing effiminate voice, Scramax was a terrible liar. The few times he actually managed to pull anything over on anyone was just pure luck.
"No. I don't think so." Halycaster asserted, yanking off the false goblin ears and glued on facial warts to reveal a female halfling. That much was true anyways, Scram had 'procured' a Potion of Gender Bending from one of the pleasure houses as a way to avoid his debts. The contract (which doubled as a bill of sale) had a tedious way of listing all the attributes of its indebted. Name, alias, gender...Scram thought he could nimbly dodge the clause 48.5b.12 legalese by holding such small details in reserve, so to speak. "That name sounds manufactured." drawing a thin stiletto and putting it to her neck "You are one of the Shadowsworn agents...this is some gambit of the Scarlet Heir, confess."
Scramsax was a master escape artist, but Scramsexy was even better. Thin wrists soundlessly contorted with the tiny bone in her left opposable thumb to wedge their way out of half the cold iron shackles, and lacking the ordinary bulky package downstairs allowed her thighs to cross suddenly with an amazing agility! The chair itself did a perfect backflip to land again on its feet, as Scramsexy rolled free of bonds in the opposite direction of Haylcaster's dagger point. Roren sighed and sarcastically droned "Oh no, you're free..." as the girl ran off.
Turning a sharp corner, she saw a well recessed into the floor made of the same polished slate...a fountain for the poisonous inky nightmare that substituted for water on this plane. There was also a small clay cup, and a larger jug resting on the brim. ::The decanter brings forth strange banter...:: a voice in her mind whispered...it repeated and echoes again and again until it was rather irritating and distracting. "Agua pasa por mi casa!" Scram shouted to dull the thought in an ancient limerick of Barsellan common. Scramsexy didn't have time for riddles, running past..into..away from...back towards? Haylcaster and the small questioning chamber.
"Do you know what an infinite loop is, lilliputian? Oh, what am I saying, of course one of your kind would not be taught the topologies of non-orientable surfaces." picking some crud from under a nail with his blade "I should warn you, each pass through the loop you come back to the same location, but mirrored." Scramsexy glanced down to realize the half escaped manacles were now on the other wrist. "If the reflection bounces too many times, it starts to fade. So you see, you are safest here with me...until you give me the answers I seek."
A jail cell on the surface of a moebius strip...how would she get out of this one...
With his attention slightly divided between multiple realities, Scramsax sneaks down the tunnel. The first and most glaring difference is the glitter of glass bit lining the floor. Fused from the sandy floor and heat of the witchfyre the halfling catches the occasional sparkle of the stuff reflecting the distance light of the cavern entrance. The second is the utter lack of any living growth. Lichens, fungi, mosses. Rotting scraps of food and filth. All is gone, leaving nothing but the slightly blackened stone of the cave.
A few small areas of white ash mark the location at the intersection where Scramsax had planted his bean and issued forth the screeching mushrooms. The sound of dripping water still plip-plops somewhere along the right hand tunnel while only silence and darkness issue forth from the left.
::Looks like that flame cleared out whatever magics were ensorcelling the path...and everything else for that matter. I think I hear some blood dripping, going to take a look.::
Scram knelt and lit one of his last candles (cupping it in his hand to prevent the light from spreading) before heading towards the Drippity Drops of Doom.
Watching from near the cavern entrance the other members of the Narg Nasty Six see Scramsax light his candle, turn right and disappear around the corner. For about half a minute the shadows and candlelight dance upon the wall stretching and growing dimmer until finally darkness regains its supremacy at the tunnel's end.
::Looks like someone was playing tic-tac-toe down here. 'O's lost.:: he joked, flipping off the darkness with the middle finger of Radovan's devil.
He took a moment to consider the X earnestly, imagining it was probably a warning against whatever was in the chamber of darkness. But with a shrug, he continued towards the dripping, figuring his companions would probably just leave unless he found something.
A dim green phosphorescent glow illuminates the deeper depths of the pool where the glitter of gold and silver can be seen at the bottom of the crystal clear waters along with the yellowed ivory of old bones. It is difficult to tell the depth of the pool, your initial estimate is at least fifty feet at its deepest. You can also see that the waters extend underneath the walls of the cavern to the north and south.
There are two exits from the cavern. One to the south and one to the east, in addition to the one heading west that you just passed through. To reach either requires crossing a set of wet rock formations poking out of the pool to create a path of stepping stones or trying to climb over and around the slick walls of the cavern.
Hidden across the distance of the cavern, barely discernible in your candlelight is what appears to be a set of shelves cut out of the wall. Several skulls appear to have been carefully placed upon the shelves. At least twenty although there might be more as you can only see a portion of that far wall from your current vantage point.
::Looks like a tzompantli set into the walls of a natural cavern...wasn't blood after all, just a big dripstone. Or its one of those damned darkmantles. Some treasure at the bottom of a pool at least fifty feet deep. Someone come hold my tinderbox I'll go get it. These caves go on and on...branches into even more chambers.::
Before approaching the pool he shot his psychic blades at some of the stalactites, suspecting them to be living monsters. If none react, he finds the biggest rock he can and chucks it into the pool...standing far away and watching for any tentacled monstrosity or sexy nymph to make their appearance.
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::Alright. Alright. We're coming. It's probably not wisest action to swim in cavern pool.:: Luthael replies telepathically.
What's the worst that can happen?
Ingryd nods as she holds her hammer and looks at the others. She hrumps and then takes a swig of the flask Aterro gave her. After that, she begins to walk down the cavernous corridors ready to strike.
Gunnar hefts his hammer and shield, then follows along carefully, detecting for magic as he goes.
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"A rather dull scene seemed like exactly the sort of thing we might sleep on before examining further," Aterro rumbles, wondering what exactly their plan was now.
'If we just let Scram walk forward until he finds trouble, then we'll definitely find some.'
It wasn't that he was out of tricks, just the ones where he could save other people.
He follows in all the same.
The echoes of the stone hitting the water slowly drift away as you watch for the anticipated attack. Nerves poised and ready to strike or run. You hear voices, both telepathic and mundane. Your companions setting out to join you in this minor bit of exploration.
Watching and waiting you are about to breathe a sigh of relief for certainly you suspicions were the simple imaginations of a paranoid mind. Then you spot the ripples in the water, the growing whirlpool that is most certainly not a direct result of a few simple stones dropping into the water.
You also notice the temperature has dropped very substantially and rapidly. Already ice and frost are forming along the edges of the pool even as each breath you take issues forth as a flowing cloud.
You each quickly gather your things and begin making hurrying down the long tunnel to the intersection where the ashen remains of the screaming mushrooms mark the sand and glass littered floor of the cavern. From the right hand passage you each hear the snapping of breaking stone and the rapid fire splashing of several objects plunging into a body of water.
He lied ::What did you guys do? Something just woke up...ice monster or something...:: before hiding behind a stalagmite.
Having stayed up all night provisioning for his favorite girls, Scram could hardly argue. If he could keep them open, he certainly would get eyes on the beast as his companions suggested before a tactical retreat.
"Khors, the Sunlord, protect me." Luthael prays, grips his shield, and follows the path that he thinks Scramsax took. He readies to save the halfling.
"If he needs too, I will wait for him and scoop him up and rush out. If Scram is okay with it.Especially if an Ice Monster is after us!" Ingryd says shifting and standing ready to strike with her maul.
The water near the center of the pond continues to boil and surge upward. It takes just a moment for your mind to register that while the water rises, it does not fall. Instead it continues to twist and swirl upward until brushing to top of the cavern a good fifty feet above.
That's when you spot the frost coated shape forming from the frigid mist and water. A hyena head with pale, frost-blue eyes and rows of icicle teeth loom above looking toward your flickering candlelight. Massive claws of purest ice glitter and sparkle. The light shattering into a myriad colors upon the frozen form. The rest of the creature's 'body' remains fluid. A churning mass of chaotic, elemental water that starts to flow in your direction even as the screech of a hundred banshee's bursts forth upon a cloud of freezing air.
Luthael turns and begins walking along the right hand passage, thirty paces in and you all round a corner. The air is cold. And growing colder with every step. Already your breath hangs in the air before your faces and you spot the glitter of frost gleaming upon the occasional bit of moistened stone.
Beyond another bend you spot the dim flicker of frail candlelight just as an the piercing screech of some otherworldly creature shatters the silence of the cavern. Racing from below like a coven of banshees the sound washes across your hearts and minds. Ripping at the fabric of your very being.
::Ah, yep...just as I suspected, a hyena face made of ice. Better run unless you plan on fighting it, its spotted me.::
::Scramsax, you'll be the death of us.:: Luthael thinks and readies to defend when the halfling runs by.
Ingryd smiles as the temperature feel more like home. She then hears the message and growls a bit before she looks at the others and readies her hammer. She'll back up to the entrance and ready her maul. She'll hold the line long enough so the others can get away.
Gunnar sighs heavily and moves back towards the entrance alongside Ingryd. He readies his fire spell to cast if the icy creature approaches within 15 feet.
Scramsax practically flies around the corner. Arms and legs pumping as fast as a jack rabbit on a hot tin roof as he scurries past Luthael and Aterro. A cacophony of hideous screeching follows close behind accompanied by a bitterly cold wind and rapidly spreading ice and snow.
Fortunately the halfling did put a bit of distance between himself and the riled winter elemental. So Luthael has an opportunity to act before the massive ice hyena head that rounds the corner can reach him. With it's appearance within the tunnel, the temperature plummets further. The cold easily biting through any lighter weight summer gear. Snow billows from its slathering jaws and puffs in great clouds from its fist sized icy nostrils. Spotting the warmth and light of the two priests, it grumbles out another complaint and readies itself to rush forward.
Luthael raises his holy symbol and praises, "let Khors' holy light burn this creature." Holy radiance destroys the shadows as brilliance explodes from his holy symbol.
Scram was never so happy to see 700 lbs of bear flesh, making his touchdown run to Ingryd and Gunner's side. Were he allowed to boast, he might mention the sprint hadn't even broken a sweat on his brow...playing up his athleticism and ignoring the cryogenic conditions of the cavern below.
Then he turned and said something like "I don't like the looks of that slathering..." before rapidly projecting a burst of psionic energy down the hole...
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Yumyum winces and adjusts the volume on the crystal console as the chaotic cacophony of elemental winter burst from the pool and the halfling went scurrying back up the dark tunnel. The image in the polished mirror wavers as the rage of the beast rattles the skull harboring the small bits of cut quartz uniquely attuned to the master crystal housed within the old witch's device. He couldn't help but admire the depth and breadth of the crones surveillance and information network. It really did put to shame the paltry resources expended by the Empire in their, looking-back-upon-it, feeble attempt to establish a foothold in this wild land. For now, he was happy to be the Official Imperial Liaison to the Queen Mother of Wild Orzu. It certainly beats digging tunnels and facing blood thirsty adventurers. The ghoul thinks while grabbing another handful of fried Bits from the bowl resting near his elbow.
The image stabilizes as the creature flows out of the chamber in pursuit of the halfling and the companions that Yumyum was certain were somewhere back in the tunnels. The loss of four of her Enforcers put the old hag in a bitter mood. Not too mention having the safe house discovered and forcing the Circle to flee. It was a bad mistake old Gort had made. All for a few sausages. Yumyum shook his head and winced as a new round of screams echoed up from the depths. Working out her anger on the new arrivals.
He seriously doubted a simple elemental of winter would stop this group of meddling adventurers, but she'd told him to keep an eye on them so he did.
It was this focus, some might call it a growing obsession, with a small group of wandering sell swords that would ultimately prove the undoing of the crone's entire scheme for keeping the Orzu Hills wild and under her demented control. For had Yumyum not been directed to monitor the progress of that ragtag band, he would have likely witnessed much more important and region changing events taking place within the bustling common room of the Ice Maiden Inn at that very same time.
For it was there, and not in some lonely cave tucked away deep in the woods, that the world was about to change. Had Yumyum been attuned to the crystal that provided him an easy eye and ear on everything happening in the Ice Maiden he would have seen the young, dirt covered, long bearded, road weary boy come striding up to the bar. He would have witnessed the young man flop a heavy bag upon the hard mahogany surface and pour out a half dozen fist-sized gold nuggets. He would have heard the hush that came over the crowded hall as young Tomas Archer, a Zobecker prospector and two-time loser, declar with a gap toothed grin. "I'll take your best room, a hot bath, a meal with your best whiskey and your best woman! There be gold in them hills!"
For certain Yumyum would have been able to report back to the Grand Old Witch those infamous words. And with her arcane and otherworldly resources, the whole thing could have simply been nipped in the bud from the beginning. Memories changed. Nuggets declared fakes. A young man run out of town as a fraud and charlatan. Preferably wearing a healthy layer of tar and feathers.
But he wasn't and so she couldn't. Thus by the time the news spread and did reach the vile old hag via more traditional channels it was too late. For though her sources were many and loyal, she was busy and no one wished to disturb her when she was in that mood. So things took their natural course. That being, news of such a nature spreading like pox in a bawdy house. Before the first buckets of water were poured into Tomas' tub, men and women were scrambling for supplies and racing to set out into the wilds in search of their own claims and dreamed of riches. Fights broke out. A dozen folk were killed before the Red Queen's Commandant could find enough men willing to stay on her payroll and restore order. The rest were already forming their own company's and mapping out the quickest, best routes north and east. Trader's set out for Courlandia and Zobeck, hoping the be the first back with ships full of overpriced supplies and equipment to feed the rush they knew would come. Especially since they'd do everything possible to fuel the frenzy.
To make matters even worse and in the grand scheme of things much more complicated for the forces of good and evil both, the loose lipped Tomas let slip to the young lady he'd acquired for the evening that his entire boon and good fortune were caused by a simple blessing he'd received from a young girl he met outside an old ruined temple not more than a days ride from Nargenstal.
A second world changing moment. Some might say of even more epic proportions. For news of gold is a lure for many folk. News of gold and a potential goddess, or at the very least, one blessed by the pantheon, well that was how cities were born. Not to mention more religious wars than any historian could willingly count.
But this was all still to come, for now, at this very moment, Yumyum watches and listens to a simple elemental force of the world accost a group of nosy adventurers while enjoying his latest batch of Crunchy Bits. Screams of agony and torture drift up from the chambers below, while giants arm wrestle and break wind across the room. Just another day in the life of an Imperial Conscript.
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Aterro advanced more out of habit than desire. He knew that attacking when 75% sure of victory wasn't being a bully, it was being smart. With full Grace in his pocket, he could afford to be confident. But with all this...with everything that had happened and is happening? Confidence was a coin quickly falling in value.
He watched the halfling run with little interest. Of course he would run. He could do two things well and running was one of them. Then he watched the LightCleric.
Luth could run or fight. Fight or run. 'Run, you fool, run!' he thought, unwilling to play the taskmaster and order a retreat. He might not be confident, but he could not yet utter the prayer of the craven.
Luthael did not run.
"Alright, so we're doing this," he mutter stoically in the manner of soldiers everywhere.
He called on his training and raised DeathMetal high.
The light of the summer sun flares within the dark confines of the cavern as Luthael unleashes his power against the rapidly approaching winter elemental. Ice and water vapor initially melt, hiss and vaporize into the suddenly warm air. Aterro steps forward to meet the onrushing force of nature shattering a great chunk of the frozen form. But then a chilling, grating moan like wind upon a frozen moor echoes through the cavern. The light and warmth fade. Replaced but deep bone gnawing cold.
I am winter's harsh breath.
I am the frozen tundra glittering in the cold sun.
I am the driving blizzard upon the mountain pass.
I am the ice soaked embrace of darkness and death.
As the words rattle in the snow filled air, the breath of winter's cold heart fills the tunnel. Skin turns blue and cracked. Ice forms upon bearded chins. Damp clothing freezes hard and the cold, cold, breath of winter burns your lungs and claws at your hearts.
Winter: 128/150
::Bring it towards the entrance just a few steps more!:: the halfling pleaded, ready to take a deep dive into the tundra scavenger's mind...as he hid behind the towering bearkin.
"Yes, bring it around the corner that we may help you," calls Gunnar, keeping his spell ready, but making sure to move in tandem with Ingryd (moving up if she does, moving out if she does not, etc.).
Hearing the clamor and seeing our Halfling safe, Ingryd will step forward preparing herself for whatever came around the corner. Hammer ready she will strike hard and fast, letting her rage take over and bring this creature down.
Ice and frost crystalize on every exposed surface of Luthael facing the creature of Winter as it exposes the power of a Blizzard within the cave. He turns his face just in time toward the maw to coat his eyes, nose and mouth, too.
He spits out the wet snow from his mouth and wipes his eyes. Seeing Aterro and only Aterro standing next to him, he looks for reinforcements that are not advancing. "Controlled withsraw." Luthael states and starts to retreat keeping his shield between the beast and himself.
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As the maelstrom of cold air rolls toward him, Aterro lifts his shield just in time, and the chiefest parts of the frigid blast roll over and around him, leaving the WarCleric untouched by the harshest parts of the frosty blaze.
"Aye, you have the right of it," Aterro mutters, carefully backstepping. He uses the time to take great sweeping breathes of un-frigid air, restoring a part of his warrior's vitality.
Luthael and Aterro round the corner. Coated in frost and with snow swirling up the tunnel, the two steadily and stoutly hold formation as the retreat toward their companions. With the withdrawal comes winter. In an eerie, discomfiting display frost forms on the so recently burnt stone of the upper tunnel. Snow begins to fall upon Ingryd, Gunnar and Scramsax even as the late summer sun shines outside. The icy, ever changing form of darkness and cold surges around the corner swiftly pursuing the clerical brothers in arms.
Scramsax uses Ingryd and the protruding rock surface of the cavern to duck out of sight. Thinking himself well hidden from the elemental force, the halfling unleashes a psychic blast.
"Neither shadow filled crevice or ursine girth
can shroud thy mortal soul from winter's curse.
The wind whispers through the cavern as the elemental slips away from the whirling psi-blades, their peculiar psychic glow quickly doused within the thick mass of the living blizzard.
It continues its rapid race up the tunnel. Twinned claws of pure ice emerge from the freezing mist and snow. They lash out at Aterro and Luthael. The first slams into Aterro rending armor and flesh with icy talons. Blood flows, but only for a moment as the cold quickly freezes it solid. The second strike lashes out at Luthael, but having witnessed the attack against Aterro, the cleric of Khors is already on the move and he avoids the bone shattering blow.
What cannot be avoided by any now within such close proximity of the wild elemental force is the freezing cold of its mere presence. Even Ingryd, Gunnar and Scramsax feel their flesh grow numb and stiff as they are caught within the influence of the otherwordly beast's aura.
Winter: 128/150
" Not even cold enough to chill mead with" Ingryd says seemingly unaffected by the cold and roars as she enters her rage.
She goes forward to meet the embodiment of Ice and strike with heavy steel twice.
More ice and frost crystalize on the exposed surfaces of Luthael facing the creature of Winter as it emits the power of a Blizzard.
With reinforcements near at hand, Luthael raises his holy symbol again and praises, "burn creature with the holy light of Khors." Holy radiance destroys the shadows as brilliance explodes from his holy symbol.
Scram pretended to crawl inside Ingryd's honey pot, before somehow appearing way over behind Gunner flipping out his hot pink energies...
Unable to contribute much with his limited selection of spells, Gunnar approaches and tries to get close enough to bathe the icy foe in flame without hurting his friends.
Once again winter shrugs away much of Luthael's radiant power. The ice and snow and cold quickly dissipating the warmth of Khors radiance.
Recalling the Midwinter Festival of Storms celebrated in her far northern homeland, Ingryd shakes of the frost coating her fur and lunges forward. Her hammer fails to find anything solid in her first flurry of strikes, but the second cracks loudly against the icy elemental form.
Sneaking behind the broad shouldered bearkin, Scramsax unleashes another blast of psychic energy. The blades whirl through the mist, their telltale whistle coming to an abrupt halt when they strike whatever solid mass marks the core of the elemental's form.
It is difficult within the tight confines of the cavern for Gunnar to arrange the perfect angle, but he does his best before unleashing a fiery blast of arcane power against the beast.
Winter: 88/150
Gunnar brings his hands together fingers flared wide as his thumbs touch. Arcane fire sprays down the tunnel. In an instant ice and snow are turned to steam filling the tunnel with a dense, damp fog. This hiss of boiling water turns to hissing fury and hatred as the chaos elemental focuses its attentions on the reviled caster of it's most hated enemy.
The blast manages to catch Aterro as the war cleric moves up to strike a blow at winter's foul representative but it doesn't hinder his aim. Thor's warrior slams the spiked head of the Imperial warmace into the center of the elemental's semisolid form. Magic meets magic and great chunks of icy flesh splinters from the creature.
With Aterro and Ingryd blocking the way, the creature cannot pass to reach Gunnar's flaming hands. It's aura of cold knows no such mortal boundaries. As soon as the dwarven wizard's spell runs its course, the freezing cold returns. Long ice claws lash out once again at bearkin and war cleric.
Aterro's shift's his stance ready to deflect the coming blow. He doesn't see the glimmer of smooth glass beneath his feet. Crafted in the heat of the witchfyre, the ice-slick sheet of glass is the war clerics undoing. His foot slides much further than he wanted. For a heartbeat his balance is thrown completely off, his guard down. A moment is all it takes as a trio of foot long ice blades slam into Aterro's chest and shoulder sending him staggering backward under the heavy blow. With Aterro no longer on her flank, Ingryd is left open as the elemental swings the second claw around in a hard swipe. A series of deep gashes open along her side and arm, blood flowing until frozen by winter's cold.
Winter: 52/150
A favorite of the Barsellan beach girls came to mind, girls new to the bar hopping game that is. One started with a blend of both white and dark rums (slightly favoring the white), then added equal measures of coconut cream and pineapple juice. All that was left? A little shaved ice...
Ingryd shakes off the cold, and her rage lessens the slash. With hammer poised she pivots and strikes with the downward motion followed by a quick upper cut.
Even more ice and frost crystalize on the exposed surfaces of Luthael facing the creature of Winter as it emits the power of a Blizzard.
Luthael raises his holy symbol again and praises, "burn creature with the holy light of Khors."
With Aterro momentarily shunted out of melee, Gunnar steps up and releases a torrent of fire point-blank into the ice creature's face, trying to coat its whole body with burning wrath!
Cold continues to bite at flesh and wounds even as each of you battle with all your might to drive winter back to its icy realm. From the frozen tundra of the psychic landscape, Scramsax sends forth his whirling mental blades even as Ingryd pounds away with her much more material hammer of steel. Both once again savage the entity of seasonal chaos.
Luthael calls upon Khors' light and this time the power begins to take a toll only to wink out with frustrating quickness as the god's attention is forced elsewhere within the vast realms of Midgard.
Recovering his feet Aterro calls upon Thors own radiant flame, but the war cleric is foiled as the elemental shrouds itself it a winter's coat of fog and mist.
Such things are effective against Gunnar's fiery blast as well. Arcane fire boils from the wizards hands and again melts ice and snow, but the creature itself manages to avoid the worst of the magical blaze. And yet, fire's fury is enough to turn the tide of winter toward a spring respite.
Winter's fury gives way to summmer's bright light.
Retreat to rise again during the cold harsh night.
The chilling voice whispers as the beast suddenly disengages from its blizzard rage. Ice and frost glitter upon the rocks and sandy floor as it retreats back down the tunnel. Whirling upon a crystal mist of ice and snow, the beast of winter slips around the corner and flies into the darker depths of the cavern.
Winter 10/150
Ingryd Snorts and looks at the others. Though the cold had a bit more bite than she was used to, she smiled.
" Felt like fighting the embodiment of the first few weeks of Winter" She says as she looks at her wounds and grimaces.
"Though between that and the fire thing, I'm beat, how about we get some food and recuperate before we head into the tunnel further"