Cold Mountain: 26th Sept - Val's Write Up
Oct 1, 2017 15:43:00 GMT
Neil, Nowhere, and 3 more like this
Post by The Sergeant / Alisha on Oct 1, 2017 15:43:00 GMT
Val’s foot sunk two feet down into the crisp snow. Even through the thick furs, he could feel the cold wrap around his leg. Behind him his companions followed. Dorian, Rholor, and Big, a Druid from the Firbolg village. All were silent as they furrowed through the thick white snow. Their bodies tired, steam rose around them from the effort. Flecks of crimson blood would mark their return to Daring Heights until the next snow fell.
Hours later the four arrived at the outskirts of town. Although the snow that had slowed them was melted from their clothes, they still carried the evidence of their journey into the mountains. Each with his own wound; broken ribs, ice burns and lacerations. And deeper wounds others may never seen; sadness, anger, grief and regret. The group paused for breath, still silent. Seeing Val continue his march Dorian spoke for the first time in hours, “Val.”
“I’m going to the Four Fair Winds.” He didn’t look back.
The night sky was clear as Val stepped into the inn. The warmth of a nearby fire welcomed him in. Laying his cloak, fur coat and backpack by the fire he made his way to the bar. It was a quiet evening, save for a small group at one table who laughed as they rolled dice. A man with a thick grey beard won a round, rubbing his hands together. Val turned to the bar, where a portly man stood arranging bottles of wine on a shelf.
“You the owner?”
The man turned at the gruff voice, and saw figure slumped at the bar. A figure he had seen in his tavern before, talking in whispers and plans. Despite the man’s muscular frame, this evening he looked small and tired, as wet black hair tell over his face. “Yes friend, what can I get you.”
Val looked up, “Moth won’t be coming back.” He watched the owner’s brown eyes tighten
“Why -”
Before he could finish, Val spoke, “He’s dead.” And he turned toward his backpack by the fire.
“Helm have mercy.” The portly owner sighed. The door shut with a bang. “Wait,” he called after Val, following him outside, “Thank, thank you for telling me.” The owner, Alfred, looked for the right words to say to this messenger, “He was a fine chef.”
Val stood silent, looking into the night sky.
“Not sure what I’ll do with all that blue cheese.” The owner laughed lightly. Val could hear sadness in his laugh. He turned, “I can take it for you.”
“Help yourself.” The two nodded in silence. “This way.”
Val followed Alfred up a set of stairs on the outside of the tavern, through a door that lead into a small corridor. As they walked down the corridor Alfred turned to Val, “How, how did it happen?”
Val’s jaw tightened as he breathed deeply.
The hydra lay dead at their feet at the mouth of the cave. Moth wiped the blood from his glaive as he entered the cavern. Skeletons of goblins and kobolds snapped under the Half-Orc’s weight. Corpses lay across the floor, all the victims of the hydra. Two of the corpses, a humanoid cat, and another humanoid with the features of a walrus were new sights for the group, even to Rholor, who made note of the bone structure, muscle mass and decomposition of these strange cadavers.
“There’s a path leading this way.” Val motioned to the group. Dorian, Rholor, Moth and the Firbolg followed. For many hours they made their way through the caverns under the mountain, slowly climbing. Light faded behind them, as they lit their way with torches. A cold chill joined them as they wound through tunnels. Ice began to appear on the cavern walls. They continued on, all thankful for the thick furs they had wrapped themselves in. After many hours in the darkness, a faint glow could be seen in the distance, along with the dull sound of hammering.
A group of kobolds were chained together as they dug away at the cave walls with small pickaxes. Within the wall gold shined brightly.
“One troll in the centre.” Moth smiled at the easy target. Moth and his companions had fought together many a time. One troll was no longer a fight, it sport. In unison the group advanced on the unsuspecting troll. Within seconds sword, and arrow, and glaive and spells brought an end to the troll’s life. The green body hit the ground. The Firbolg looked around at the adventurers with whom he had made this trek to the mountain and silently nodded to himself.
The kobold slaves stopped mining, and barked and howled at the sight of the dead troll, both in fear and excitement.
“I will free them - they may help us. See what is through there.” Rholor whispered urgently, pointing Val and Dorian to an adjoining cavern.
Moments later the two returned, “More slaves.” Dorian reported.
“And another dead troll.” Val flicked blood from the end of his sword.
They had left the nature of the slaves as a surprise. The rest of the group were greeted with a variety of races. The Walrus-humanoid corpse they had seen in the hydra’s lair may well have been part of the group that stood in front of them. A group of goblins lay huddled and bound in a cage of ice. And in a corner, sat alone grey skinned figure, 15 foot tall, “A stone giant.” whispered the Rholor.
“Don’t stand there staring, we need all the help we can get.” Val headed to the Walrus-men.
Each adventurer released slaves, bargaining as they did, “Join us. Fight for your freedom.”
Every goblin ran for the exit, for fresh air and for the sun they had not seen for months. The giant stood tall, looked down to the small men and promised his help. By their side the few Walrus-men who had not run joined them, as did several of the more excitable kobolds.
“Looks like we’ve got your army.” Moth smiled to Val. His smile faded at sound behind them. First a low hiss filled the air, then a rumble. Moth turned. The first thing he saw were two large bright blue eyes. The eyes swayed in the cavern, revealing a huge white body, lined with light grey scales, and two white wings. Then a voice, full of hate and coldness,
“You fools.” The Dragon’s jaw opened as he spoke. Teeth like a row of swords lined its mouth. The temperature of the cavern fell as the Dragon spoke in common, “You will pay for your trespasses.”
The Dragon watched as the invaders slowly fanned out around him, joined by many he knew as his slaves. The beast smiled to himself, “You will line my halls as statues of ice.” The Dragon roared, as a freezing blast shot from the his mouth. Screams filled the air. Many tried to run, and were caught in the ice. When the white frost settled the only sound was of light cracking from a group of frozen kobolds. Their mouths open in fear, frozen solid.
Then footsteps on frost, as those with warm blood left pumping in their veins raced towards the evil lizard. Giant fought side by side with Firbolg. Half-Orc and Tiefling and Human and Walrus all attacked the same foe: the white winged beast.
Arrows and spells filled the air, as the Dragon’s wings beat down. It flew up, and circled in the large cavern, before bearing down on the Firbolg. Big was sent flying across the floor, blood spilled from the Druid’s broken ribs. The Dragon hissed, as it swiped its wings at a group of Walrus-men, one of whom was ripped in two by the force.
Dorian threw flame at the Dragon, and it screamed in pair, as the skin of one wing tore and burnt. The Giant lifted a boulder high above its head and throw it at its cruel master. The stone flew through the air, with the precision of a bolt, before landing against the Dragon’s neck. Rholor summoned a spiritual weapon that pierced the flesh of the fiend, while a arrow from Val’s bow found purchase under the dragon’s scaled side. White blood, mixed with red as the two sides fought.
The dragon turned, its jaw clamping onto the head of another of the Walrus-men. Again a cold blast filled the air, and wings swiped, and large jaws tore at armour and shield and flesh.
Val picked himself up from the cold ground, his hands numb as he spat blood, before taking a handaxe from his side and throwing it toward the fiend. The Dragon’s movement was slowing as the handaxe stuck into its back. It cried out and swiped again.
A spear from the hand of a Walrus pierced. Again Dorian threw magic that pushed the lizard back. Each adventurer in turn attacked the Dragon.
The Dragon snorted and coughed, looking around the cavern, then it smiled. These small men, these slaves were tired and wounded. Then it eyed the Giant. The giant it had captured so many years ago with trickery and cunning. The Giant who had mined so tirelessly. It pounced onto its slave and sunk its teeth into its belly. Hot crimson blood spread across the floor, as steam rose from the giant’s corpse.
A sudden pain in its side sent shudders through his scaled body. The Dragon backed, turning and eyeing a Half-Orc wielding a glaive dripping with white blood.
“I shall make an example of you.” The cold voice hissed. With that a razor claw pierced Moth, and brought him toward the Dragon’s mouth. Moth’s companions saw an explosion of blood, as the Barbarian was lifted into the air. With all his might, Moth cried out as he flung his glaive through the air. It shot out, and pierced the Dragon’s head. The Dragon’s cry joined Moth’s as it rose into the air, still holding the Half-Orc. The a mist of red blood rained down as the two circled high into the cavern. Ice filled the air and the even the cavern itself bgan to scream. The ground rumbled and groaned.
Val let a final arrow loose into the mist of red.
“Val”. Dorian shouted. Val looked to see the Tiefling running from the cave behind Big and Rholor and the few remaining Walrus-men. Val turned to see snow and ice and rock begin to tumble from the ceiling. Large cracks appeared in the rock and the mountain shook. Through the falling ice there was no telling if Dragon or Half-Orc were still tumbling, or moving or dead. Val followed Dorian as the cavern collapses behind them, and into the cold air of the mountain side.
Their armour covered in the blood of their allies and their enemy, all were silent as a cold wind whipped through the mountain.
Val looked to the brown eyes of the tavern owner, and breathed in the smell of warm wood.
“He died fighting.”
“Shame.” Alfred paused for a moment, before he turned toward the door nearest them, “This is it. Feel free to take what cheese you want. He’s got barrels of the stuff. Seemed to be an acquired taste. You need anything I’ll be downstairs.” He turned, leaving the door open. Val peered inside.
“See,” Alfred called down the corridor, “You don’t happen to know anyone who can cook do you?”
Val shook his head and owner mumbled to himself as he made his way back behind the bar,
“Where you been Alf - I need another Ale.” Called the gambler with the grey beard.
“Coming right up.” And Alf filled a mug to the brim with a fine dark ale.
Val stood in the corridor, peering into the darkness of Moth’s room. He mind wandered, thinking of Moth’s fight with the Twilight at the Gorge, of his defeat against Keladry, of his speech to the Grungs and the Boli’s. Val smiled, and opened the door a little wider before stepping in.
Hours later the four arrived at the outskirts of town. Although the snow that had slowed them was melted from their clothes, they still carried the evidence of their journey into the mountains. Each with his own wound; broken ribs, ice burns and lacerations. And deeper wounds others may never seen; sadness, anger, grief and regret. The group paused for breath, still silent. Seeing Val continue his march Dorian spoke for the first time in hours, “Val.”
“I’m going to the Four Fair Winds.” He didn’t look back.
The night sky was clear as Val stepped into the inn. The warmth of a nearby fire welcomed him in. Laying his cloak, fur coat and backpack by the fire he made his way to the bar. It was a quiet evening, save for a small group at one table who laughed as they rolled dice. A man with a thick grey beard won a round, rubbing his hands together. Val turned to the bar, where a portly man stood arranging bottles of wine on a shelf.
“You the owner?”
The man turned at the gruff voice, and saw figure slumped at the bar. A figure he had seen in his tavern before, talking in whispers and plans. Despite the man’s muscular frame, this evening he looked small and tired, as wet black hair tell over his face. “Yes friend, what can I get you.”
Val looked up, “Moth won’t be coming back.” He watched the owner’s brown eyes tighten
“Why -”
Before he could finish, Val spoke, “He’s dead.” And he turned toward his backpack by the fire.
“Helm have mercy.” The portly owner sighed. The door shut with a bang. “Wait,” he called after Val, following him outside, “Thank, thank you for telling me.” The owner, Alfred, looked for the right words to say to this messenger, “He was a fine chef.”
Val stood silent, looking into the night sky.
“Not sure what I’ll do with all that blue cheese.” The owner laughed lightly. Val could hear sadness in his laugh. He turned, “I can take it for you.”
“Help yourself.” The two nodded in silence. “This way.”
Val followed Alfred up a set of stairs on the outside of the tavern, through a door that lead into a small corridor. As they walked down the corridor Alfred turned to Val, “How, how did it happen?”
Val’s jaw tightened as he breathed deeply.
----
The hydra lay dead at their feet at the mouth of the cave. Moth wiped the blood from his glaive as he entered the cavern. Skeletons of goblins and kobolds snapped under the Half-Orc’s weight. Corpses lay across the floor, all the victims of the hydra. Two of the corpses, a humanoid cat, and another humanoid with the features of a walrus were new sights for the group, even to Rholor, who made note of the bone structure, muscle mass and decomposition of these strange cadavers.
“There’s a path leading this way.” Val motioned to the group. Dorian, Rholor, Moth and the Firbolg followed. For many hours they made their way through the caverns under the mountain, slowly climbing. Light faded behind them, as they lit their way with torches. A cold chill joined them as they wound through tunnels. Ice began to appear on the cavern walls. They continued on, all thankful for the thick furs they had wrapped themselves in. After many hours in the darkness, a faint glow could be seen in the distance, along with the dull sound of hammering.
A group of kobolds were chained together as they dug away at the cave walls with small pickaxes. Within the wall gold shined brightly.
“One troll in the centre.” Moth smiled at the easy target. Moth and his companions had fought together many a time. One troll was no longer a fight, it sport. In unison the group advanced on the unsuspecting troll. Within seconds sword, and arrow, and glaive and spells brought an end to the troll’s life. The green body hit the ground. The Firbolg looked around at the adventurers with whom he had made this trek to the mountain and silently nodded to himself.
The kobold slaves stopped mining, and barked and howled at the sight of the dead troll, both in fear and excitement.
“I will free them - they may help us. See what is through there.” Rholor whispered urgently, pointing Val and Dorian to an adjoining cavern.
Moments later the two returned, “More slaves.” Dorian reported.
“And another dead troll.” Val flicked blood from the end of his sword.
They had left the nature of the slaves as a surprise. The rest of the group were greeted with a variety of races. The Walrus-humanoid corpse they had seen in the hydra’s lair may well have been part of the group that stood in front of them. A group of goblins lay huddled and bound in a cage of ice. And in a corner, sat alone grey skinned figure, 15 foot tall, “A stone giant.” whispered the Rholor.
“Don’t stand there staring, we need all the help we can get.” Val headed to the Walrus-men.
Each adventurer released slaves, bargaining as they did, “Join us. Fight for your freedom.”
Every goblin ran for the exit, for fresh air and for the sun they had not seen for months. The giant stood tall, looked down to the small men and promised his help. By their side the few Walrus-men who had not run joined them, as did several of the more excitable kobolds.
“Looks like we’ve got your army.” Moth smiled to Val. His smile faded at sound behind them. First a low hiss filled the air, then a rumble. Moth turned. The first thing he saw were two large bright blue eyes. The eyes swayed in the cavern, revealing a huge white body, lined with light grey scales, and two white wings. Then a voice, full of hate and coldness,
“You fools.” The Dragon’s jaw opened as he spoke. Teeth like a row of swords lined its mouth. The temperature of the cavern fell as the Dragon spoke in common, “You will pay for your trespasses.”
The Dragon watched as the invaders slowly fanned out around him, joined by many he knew as his slaves. The beast smiled to himself, “You will line my halls as statues of ice.” The Dragon roared, as a freezing blast shot from the his mouth. Screams filled the air. Many tried to run, and were caught in the ice. When the white frost settled the only sound was of light cracking from a group of frozen kobolds. Their mouths open in fear, frozen solid.
Then footsteps on frost, as those with warm blood left pumping in their veins raced towards the evil lizard. Giant fought side by side with Firbolg. Half-Orc and Tiefling and Human and Walrus all attacked the same foe: the white winged beast.
Arrows and spells filled the air, as the Dragon’s wings beat down. It flew up, and circled in the large cavern, before bearing down on the Firbolg. Big was sent flying across the floor, blood spilled from the Druid’s broken ribs. The Dragon hissed, as it swiped its wings at a group of Walrus-men, one of whom was ripped in two by the force.
Dorian threw flame at the Dragon, and it screamed in pair, as the skin of one wing tore and burnt. The Giant lifted a boulder high above its head and throw it at its cruel master. The stone flew through the air, with the precision of a bolt, before landing against the Dragon’s neck. Rholor summoned a spiritual weapon that pierced the flesh of the fiend, while a arrow from Val’s bow found purchase under the dragon’s scaled side. White blood, mixed with red as the two sides fought.
The dragon turned, its jaw clamping onto the head of another of the Walrus-men. Again a cold blast filled the air, and wings swiped, and large jaws tore at armour and shield and flesh.
Val picked himself up from the cold ground, his hands numb as he spat blood, before taking a handaxe from his side and throwing it toward the fiend. The Dragon’s movement was slowing as the handaxe stuck into its back. It cried out and swiped again.
A spear from the hand of a Walrus pierced. Again Dorian threw magic that pushed the lizard back. Each adventurer in turn attacked the Dragon.
The Dragon snorted and coughed, looking around the cavern, then it smiled. These small men, these slaves were tired and wounded. Then it eyed the Giant. The giant it had captured so many years ago with trickery and cunning. The Giant who had mined so tirelessly. It pounced onto its slave and sunk its teeth into its belly. Hot crimson blood spread across the floor, as steam rose from the giant’s corpse.
A sudden pain in its side sent shudders through his scaled body. The Dragon backed, turning and eyeing a Half-Orc wielding a glaive dripping with white blood.
“I shall make an example of you.” The cold voice hissed. With that a razor claw pierced Moth, and brought him toward the Dragon’s mouth. Moth’s companions saw an explosion of blood, as the Barbarian was lifted into the air. With all his might, Moth cried out as he flung his glaive through the air. It shot out, and pierced the Dragon’s head. The Dragon’s cry joined Moth’s as it rose into the air, still holding the Half-Orc. The a mist of red blood rained down as the two circled high into the cavern. Ice filled the air and the even the cavern itself bgan to scream. The ground rumbled and groaned.
Val let a final arrow loose into the mist of red.
“Val”. Dorian shouted. Val looked to see the Tiefling running from the cave behind Big and Rholor and the few remaining Walrus-men. Val turned to see snow and ice and rock begin to tumble from the ceiling. Large cracks appeared in the rock and the mountain shook. Through the falling ice there was no telling if Dragon or Half-Orc were still tumbling, or moving or dead. Val followed Dorian as the cavern collapses behind them, and into the cold air of the mountain side.
Their armour covered in the blood of their allies and their enemy, all were silent as a cold wind whipped through the mountain.
----
Val looked to the brown eyes of the tavern owner, and breathed in the smell of warm wood.
“He died fighting.”
“Shame.” Alfred paused for a moment, before he turned toward the door nearest them, “This is it. Feel free to take what cheese you want. He’s got barrels of the stuff. Seemed to be an acquired taste. You need anything I’ll be downstairs.” He turned, leaving the door open. Val peered inside.
“See,” Alfred called down the corridor, “You don’t happen to know anyone who can cook do you?”
Val shook his head and owner mumbled to himself as he made his way back behind the bar,
“Where you been Alf - I need another Ale.” Called the gambler with the grey beard.
“Coming right up.” And Alf filled a mug to the brim with a fine dark ale.
Val stood in the corridor, peering into the darkness of Moth’s room. He mind wandered, thinking of Moth’s fight with the Twilight at the Gorge, of his defeat against Keladry, of his speech to the Grungs and the Boli’s. Val smiled, and opened the door a little wider before stepping in.