The howl reaches Caith's ears, and again, the urge to run, not as a woman, but as a wolf with teeth to bite and rend grips her mind and shakes it like hapless prey caught in a lupine's jaws.

She almost turns, intent on letting the beast have it's way, then wonders where Gat is in this seething battle, with a master turned to raging mayhem to all near him and more bones that fight back into the bargain.

Out of her concern, the bitter query of Does Gatenades care for a dog enough to help them, or even their master from mortal danger? arises in her head. That unexpected theological quandary is enough to hold her to human shape for the moment, and she keeps running on two feet, even as she sees yet another of the angry dead claw at Alphail.

Only the need to hold fast to what keeps her balanced between hot rage and cold despair keeps the howl forming in her own throat from bursting forth. Instead she silently runs closer to the Hunter of Artia, and lets the healing sorcery of the Moon's power speak through her louder than any wolf's throat could howl to the heavens.

[OOC]Caith casts GREATER HEALING on Alphail (3MP, +7 HP) and keeps running.[/OOC]
This message was last edited by the player at 13:35, Tue 15 June 2021.

"Hearthmother preserve us, grant us your strength and your protection..."Brannon is chanting in prayer as they proceed, using his shield to protect Colm as best he can, grasping the lantern in his other hand. His attention is largely on the Hearth Flame and the shadowy figure weilding it. "Your warmth to comfort us, grant us your boon that we might reclaim your gift from those who seek to misuse it..." Occasionally, his prayers are interrupted by yells of encouragement: "Onwards! The Hearthmother has brought us this far... she is with us... she will not abandon us now!"

OOC: I don't think these are the sort of Undead who create Fright Attacks, but even so, Brannon's chanting will count as his Bulwark ability: those of the same faith get a +2 against Fright Attacks.

The companions began to work their way down the slope trying to keep their feet under them as the tide of dead continued.

The armoured men hacked their way forward in a wedge formation; Colm moved up with them but his foot hit a patch of ice and he slipped forward crashing into the back of Turrens legs and sending him sprawling...Osric went down and crashed into Usopi.  Brannon reached for Colm but went over himself and half the group tumbled down the slope at speed hurtling end over end on the almost frictionless slope towards the towering colossus and the bonfires at its feet.

Half the dead rushed after them, most of them also losing grip on the slope and tumbling after the fallen.

Usopi was suddenly surprised to feel Gat licking his face and wondered why his friend had dared the dead....and then the huge brass and iron doors they had entered through exploded out like they were made of paper.

The figure holding the Hearth Fire stopped and turned toward the sudden cacophony and seemed to notice the intruders for the first time.

.................

Those who had managed to keep their feet at the top of the slope were beginning to be hemmed in by the remaining dead.

Prince Doron, Deise and Aphail put Leofwyn and Caith at their backs as the thinned horde of dead closed in....and then the world exploded.

The doors behind them exploded into the chamber, huge twisted chunks of metal ripped through the dead, only avoiding the five humans by sheer chance.  The next few seconds were a blur of white expanse, noise and fury as something thrust itself into the chamber with a roar that shook huge chunks of ice from the ceiling and the towering figure of Balor.

The wyrm was reminiscent of the chthonic immensity of Hrimnir with whom they had spoken beneath the mountain, but huge scars criss-crossed its misaligned jaws and neck and open sores and flaking patches of scales dotted its corpse-white hide.  Its eyes were dark pits of inky blackness as its neck snaked forth and long ribbons of gray drool dropped to the frozen ground...it seemed to notice the five mortals and cocked its head to regard them.


( The group at the bottom of the slope- Usopi, Osric, Brannon, Turren, Colm- has 60m to cover to reach the bonfires. And are surrounded by a couple of dozen undead, mostly intact but prone.

The group at the top of the slope is about 20m from the dragon and is surrounded by three dozen undead ( most of which are injured or damaged in some way).

Osric surges to his feet with a roar and will lend a hand to any who need help to regain their feet.

“We should spread out now and charge the fires and the fiend stoking them!”

Leaf looks up at the great beast, hesitates, and then grins at it.

'Either we're dead, or we just got reinforcements... Better to bluff and assume the latter!'

She nods her head slightly at the wyrm, and curtseys, "Thank you for finally joining us!" She turns towards the slope, and calls down to the group at the bottom, "I'm coming down!"

She dodges out of the way of one of the undead, and slides down on the heels of her feet. She uses Deise's dagger to help keep her balance.

In reply to Leofwyn (msg # 729):

OOC: Caith happy to take a fair share of dust to throw on the fires.
“Friends I’m not staying her, let’s go.”
Deise runs, then crouches to JUMP to evade the dead and build momentum before sliding down the slope.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:27, Thu 08 July 2021.

Turren accepts Osric's hand up. As he hears Leaf and Deise call and slide down, Turren attacks any surrounding undead that might obstruct his comrades' smooth arrival. He nods at Osric's suggestion with an incline of his head toward the incoming friendlies.

'Right behind you, Osric. Just lingering a moment for our reinforcements.'

Usopi’s instinct to pat Gat on the head was interrupted by the arrival the ice dragon with the open wounds and unpleasant appearance. Instead he scowled and tried to push himself to his feet. He agreed with the sentiment that they aught to focus on the fires. With Moralltach still in hand he began to move as quickly as he could in the slippery cavern toward the figure holding the Hearthflame. Moralltach hungered for the blood of the living, and Usopi had no intention of holding it back at the moment.

”Gat, sick the man with the fire!” the large knight ordered as he pointed toward the villain with one hand.

Brannon's attention is entirely on the Hearthflame, and the figure holding it. He glances across at Colm, and follows the Hearthfather's lead, using his shield to try to keep any approaching undead away from himself and his liege.

Alphail looks to the blackened wyrm, then the seethe of dead approaching, and by his scowl in response, does not like the look of any of them.

The look of pity for a pitiless beast writ large upon Caith's face as she hands a jar back to Deise, while not taking her eyes away the wyrm's twisted face, and the growing expression of despair on Price Doron's does not please the Hunter any either.



It is all Alphail can do to not to laugh at this unexpected but crafty response, but bows instead, even as he reaches for another arrow to send towards the quicker of the dead.




"How do you know that's a 'her'?" the Hunter asks, edging towards the leap.

"Come on, those balefires won't put themselves out!" he urgently reminds the pair seemingly frozen beneath the wyrm's ponderous gaze, then jumps over the same cliff as everybody else.

Caith's pitying eyes study the great wyrm, noting their size in comparison to Hrimnir, puzzled by the difference until it occurs to her that this is a younger creature.

The tale of eggs told on the bronze chest's wall seems all too true to her now, but then this is a wyrm that has known no kindness, not even an ice wyrm parent's cold affection.

Leofwyn's plea to the wyrm is one that makes a certain kind of sense, all be it to an ally of circumstance, and one already wounded.

She listens as she hands a recently found jar to Deise, telling him softly but sternly "No half measures here. Those are big fires." all the while keeping her attention on the wyrm.

Alphail's question raises a dimly grasped memory in Caith, of an ice giantess shapeshifter, oft hidden in a dark disguise to aid humans, and their sire, a great lord of the winter's wrath with an oddly familiar name...

She smiles as she gathers her wits, and advises Prince Doron in a whisper "Bow, and then join the others quickly, afore the dead get their bearings!"

The hedgewitch wrenches a bronze bowl from her pack, bows to the wyrm as she places it on the ice, and pours the contents of a green glass bottle into it.

Caith addresses the vast reptilian head with a plea of "Drink first, and be healed, Lady Hljod, for the angry dead are all about us, and those balefires are more difficult than most to put out."

She backs towards the edge, and adds in explanation as she looks down and prepares to leap "Forgive my haste, but I dare nay tarry in this task."

OOC: If Doron hasn't already done so, Caith will grab his arm to drag him along with her if need be.

Osric surges to his feet with a roar and will lend a hand to any who need help to regain their feet.
“We should spread out now and charge the fires and the fiend stoking them!”
Leaf looks up at the great beast, hesitates, and then grins at it.
She nods her head slightly at the wyrm, and curtseys, "Thank you for finally joining us!" She turns towards the slope, and calls down to the group at the bottom, "I'm coming down!"
She dodges out of the way of one of the undead, and slides down on the heels of her feet. She uses Deise's dagger to help keep her balance.
Deise commented, “Friends I’m not staying her, let’s go.”
Deise runs, then crouches to JUMP to evade the dead and build momentum before sliding down the slope.
Turren accepts Osric's hand up. As he hears Leaf and Deise call and slide down, Turren attacks any surrounding undead that might obstruct his comrades' smooth arrival. He nods at Osric's suggestion with an incline of his head toward the incoming friendlies.
'Right behind you, Osric. Just lingering a moment for our reinforcements.'
Usopi’s instinct to pat Gat on the head was interrupted by the arrival the ice dragon with the open wounds and unpleasant appearance. Instead he scowled and tried to push himself to his feet. He agreed with the sentiment that they ought to focus on the fires. With Moralltach still in hand he began to move as quickly as he could in the slippery cavern toward the figure holding the Hearthflame.  Moralltach hungered for the blood of the living, and Usopi had no intention of holding it back at the moment.

”Gat, sick the man with the fire!” the large knight ordered as he pointed toward the villain with one hand.
Brannon's attention is entirely on the Hearthflame, and the figure holding it. He glances across at Colm, and follows the Hearthfather's lead, using his shield to try to keep any approaching undead away from himself and his liege.
Alphail looks to the blackened wyrm, then the seethe of dead approaching, and by his scowl in response, does not like the look of any of them.

The look of pity for a pitiless beast writ large upon Caith's face as she hands a jar back to Deise, while not taking her eyes away the wyrm's twisted face, and the growing expression of despair on Prince Doron's does not please the Hunter any either.
It is all Alphail can do to not to laugh at Leafs  unexpected but crafty response, but bows instead, even as he reaches for another arrow to send towards the quicker of the dead.
"Come on, those balefires won't put themselves out!" he urgently reminds the pair seemingly frozen beneath the wyrm's ponderous gaze, then jumps over the same cliff as everybody else.
Caith's pitying eyes study the great wyrm, noting their size in comparison to Hrimnir, puzzled by the difference until it occurs to her that this is a younger creature.
The tale of eggs told on the bronze chest's wall seems all too true to her now, but then this is a wyrm that has known no kindness, not even an ice wyrm parent's cold affection.
Leofwyn's plea to the wyrm is one that makes a certain kind of sense, all be it to an ally of circumstance, and one already wounded.
She listens as she hands a recently found jar to Deise, telling him softly but sternly "No half measures here. Those are big fires." all the while keeping her attention on the wyrm.
Alphail's question raises a dimly grasped memory in Caith, of an ice giantess shapeshifter, oft hidden in a dark disguise to aid humans, and their sire, a great lord of the winter's wrath with an oddly familiar name...
She smiles as she gathers her wits, and advises Prince Doron in a whisper "Bow, and then join the others quickly, afore the dead get their bearings!"
The hedgewitch wrenches a bronze bowl from her pack, bows to the wyrm as she places it on the ice, and pours the contents of a green glass bottle into it.
Caith addresses the vast reptilian head with a plea of "Drink first, and be healed, Lady Hljod, for the angry dead are all about us, and those balefires are more difficult than most to put out."
She backs towards the edge, and adds in explanation as she looks down and prepares to leap "Forgive my haste, but I dare nay tarry in this task."

............................

Gat rushes forward at Usopis command and closes the distance to the cloaked figure who notes the hounds approach but does not react, Gat leaps into the air and his teeth close around the cloaked figures throat....but Gat carries on and passes harmlessly through the man yelping suddenly and scrabbling away from the figure shivering violently.

Osric, Turren and Usopi move forward in a wide formation and the cloaked figure laughed at them in apparent delight, he threw back his hood revealing a bald head...the skin tight over the skull and gray of pallor.  A strange moon-like symbol marked his forehead and his eyes were deep pits of shadow.

Aphail, Leofwyn and Deise skid to a stop besides Colm and Brannon then move forward towards the fires in the shadow of the colossus towering above sheeting frost and water all around them.

The dead crawled and twitched across the ice raking at those advancing but through armour, shieldwork and luck none were able to get a grip upon the living.

Above, Caith spoke with the wyrm and Prince Doron shook off the malaise that had gripped his heart.

The wyrm regarded Caith and the departed Leofwyn with a strange gaze.

" Back to your lair beast! You were not summoned!", hissed the voice of the figure brandishing the Hearth Flame, carrying unaturally across the cavern.

" I scented....kin....", boomed a sibilant voice in their minds. " I....my name...he calls me only beast.....Named I am and have always been...I....drink."

As Caith disappeared over the edge she saw the great damaged wedge of a head dip to the bowl, a long black tounge lapping like a dog.

As some of the wyrms injuries closed slightly a loud almost purring sound echoed through them all.

" Fengil? How do these small ones smell like me? I am alone."

" Back to your pit beast! I have no time to speak with a witless worm."

The huge form wavered were it was as the dead began to climb upon it, its head drifted back and forth surveying the strange tableau.

Fengil turned and seemed to take in the mortals charging towards him in the shadow of his god.

He threw the Hearth Flame down and sighted his spear then tossed it at Osric.

As the spear arced toward him it transformed into a thing of dark shadows and flickering nightmare.

The spear struck him in the chest and exploded into a galaxy of shadow and night and everything went dark.

The spear rebounded harmlessly off of Osrics plate and appeared back in Fengils hand.

OOC:

23:10, Today: GM, for the NPC Fengil, rolled 11 using 2d10.  MA 34 vs MD 8.

Osric is blinded.

Sir Turren casts Falchorus at Fengil, more through instinct than consideration. 'Javelins it is then, heathen!'

The knight rips out his sword, eyes on the eerie green trajectory of his family heirloom as it missiles across the gap.

“The cur has blinded me with foul sorcery! Lead me Turren so I can crush the life from him with my bare hands!” Osric growls.

In reply to GM (msg # 736):

Looking around, Deise tries to gain some composure surrounding by panting tired colleagues, chaos, death and the noise from icy waterfalls. Spying the nearest bonfire, he just looks at those around him, “With me, with me” pointing at the fires.

Deise begins to run toward the closest fire with the powder (from Caith) in hand, when the opportunity presents he will douse the flames with the powder.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:25, Thu 05 Aug 2021.

Caith leaps, and lands if not heroically, then at least on her feet, and looks to the tasks at hand: the angry dead, a doubtful dragon and an apocalyptic arsonist at work to be stopped.

Moments later, she regrets what her senses have conveyed to her, but swallows her dismay and simply gets on with what must be done.

The exchange betwixt Lady Hljod and Fengil does not go unnoticed however, and provokes a loud assurance of "YE ARE NAY ALONE!" in Hljod's direction from the hedgewitch, a denial of the lies dripping from Fengil's mouth.

The passing through of Gat to a foe their teeth cannot get a grip on is met with a shocked look, then a furious glare as it dawns on Caith that this Fengil fella is but a shadow of their former self, wrought of spite and darkness, not flesh and blood.

The wolf within the woman growls wordlessly in frustration at yet another foe their fangs are useless against, pent up and ready to spring, yet held back by a caution born of past experience.

Seconds later, two arcane concoctions in a beltpouch are flung through the air towards Alphail with a yell of "CATCH!" from Caith as the darkness falls on Osric, and her mind jumps to a conclusion quicker than her body has time to argue with.

Osric's blinding confirms that the foe is one who wields elemental darkness, so she runs towards him, intent on a cure she can only hope is the equal of Lann's work in the past once she is in range to cast it.

[OOC]Caith casts DISPEL MAGIC on Osric (6MP) once she is close enough to Osric and far enough away from anything or anyone she doesn't wish to affect with it.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:50, Wed 11 Aug 2021.

Once more Usopi must tend to that which he is capable of tending, and so as Osric is blinded, Caith moves to help, Deise sets about putting out the flames, and Turren throws his javelin, Usopi continues his steady march toward Fengil. Perhaps the magical blade might cut where Gat's teeth and claws could not.

Brannon glances for a moment at the Hearthflame, then joins Deise in attempting to extinguish the fires. "For you, Hearthmother! Better a flame extinguished than misused..."

Alphail looks astonished at Gat's encounter with a man's shape with no body within, and utters "Artia's Light, another one of them?!" even as he reaches for the relic arrow in his quiver.

There is only a slight pause as Caith's warning reaches his ears over the din, and a reaction to a familiar object hurtling towards him caught only by the reflexes of a man who has spent his life living by his wits.

The pouch caught and tucked in his brigandine sleeve, the hunter grasps the Quarrybolt, aims and sends it flying toward the cause of all this strife, Fengil.

Leaf runs towards the far left flame, seeing Deise run toward the closest one with some form on powder in his hand.

Once she gets close enough, she throws her hand out in front of her, and tries with all her might to extinguish the blaze. Part of her hopes that it could be enough for all the fires - but being magical fires, she is unsure.

OOC: Leaf casts EXTINGUISH (6MP).

Falchorus flew true and struck into Fengils shoulder as he stooped to retrieve the Hearth Flame drawing a terrible hiss of anger.  Aphails Quarry Bolt arced toward Fengil and took him in the other shoulder.

The robed figure whirled about just as Usopi crashed in but the immaterial form flickered away from his blow.

Caith drew forth ancient energies and scoured the darkness from Osrics eyes allowing him to charge in....Ghost Eye sliced through Fengils form rending shadow and spite.

Prince Doron swept at the encroaching dead, trying to keep them back from his otherwise occupied companions.

Deise and Brannon moved to one bonfire and began scattering it and using Caiths gift to try and lessen its intensity.  Leofwyn ran to another and called upon her power to snuff it out.

The bonfire near Leaf instantly went dark and all of the others sputtered a little but then flared again...

A huge chunk of ice the size of a castle crashed to the ground nearby among all the falling sleet and water and they all stared in horror as one great arm flexed and moved impossibly above........

Colm gasped as Balor moved and a look of steely determination came upon his face, he cast off his pack, dropped his ancestral sword to the ground and ran into the midst of the fires standing between the two great cloven hooves.

" I am Colm of Clan Cernach! I am a Champion of Brigantia! Gifted by the Aos sí!"

" You will fail this day, Fengil, Prince of Darkness. "

He raised his arms and met the eyes of Brannon, his oldest friend, " Thankyou for your wisdom and guidance."

He looked then to Caith, " Cernach needs a leader with fire in her belly and a kind hand."

He then looked to Doron, " Be the man your people need."

He raised his hands as Leofwyn had done, but as he did so a strange silvery light played about his form. Fire lit in his eyes and a halo of flame descended about him.

The bonfires began to darken and flicker as he drew the flames within himself, his bones began to glow and his skin blackened and charred turning to ash as all of the bonfires went out the Scion of Clan Cernach was nought but cinders.

OOC: Uses Gift of the Aos sí to cast Extinguish with 22 mp converted from hp and remainder of pools.

Fengils face went from rage to triumph as he saw Balor move, to abject hate as Colm extinguished the bonfires.

He screamed an animalistic scream and thrust one hand to the ground with his eyes fixed upon Hljod who still dithered upon the rise occasionally shivering to throw off climbing dead and crush them between her claws.

He reached for the Hearth Flame once more, " Bah....I need more time....to relight..."

He rent the frigid air with a booming howl and the ice to the west of Balor exploded upward as yet another great wyrm pulled itself free of the glacier....but this was no living beast....

My sister......, Hjolds grief echoed throughout the cavern as the tortured wyrm went into a frenzy smashing legions of dead beneath her ravaged scales.

The dead wyrms eyes fixed upon the companions and it suddenly rushed toward them with all the fury of an avalanche.....
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:54, Fri 13 Aug 2021.

Brannon looks for a moment confused, then a look of horror crosses his face as he realises what Colm means to do. His words are meant as a scream, but come out more as a strangled rasp: "No!"

He watches Colm's incineration with a strange mix of horror and admiration. He lifts his holy symbol to his lips, and kisses it. "Fly true to Brigantia's embrace, my Lord."

There are tears in his eyes as he turns towards the now extinguished fire, and begins to scatter its fuel with his shovel, throwing what would and ash he can away from the mountainous figure that has ceased to stir above them. "Scatter them! While they are unlit!"

He works with feverish abandon, glancing only briefly at the newly arrived Wyrm, as if he either does not register it, or no longer cares...
This message was last edited by the player at 12:21, Sat 14 Aug 2021.