B1 Chapter 1: The Lord of the Tundra

Once again Fenix tugged at his thick fur lined hooded woolen cloak that he wore. Seeking to adjust it so as to keep the smallest draft of frozen air from reaching his body within it's folds. For more then the thousandth time the Hobb wondered how he ever gotten it into his thick head. That it was a smart idea to travel to the far northern Coldlands in search of the hidden supposed treasure laiden Tomb of Axton. Now he just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. So he could head south to warmer climes as fast as he was able.
With a gloved hand he gave a encouraging couple of pats on neck of the long haired gelding northern riding pony. That was named Sure Hooves. Looking around, he saw his companions seemed to be about as miserable as he was. Barely able to keep his teeth from chattering he said to no one in particular, he said. "Remind me again, who's brilliant idea was it to come to this Gods forsaken place? I just hope it's worth it!"

Belga nudges her pony a little faster to catch up with Fenix. She gives the Hobb a jaunty grin and takes a pull from the skin hanging from the saddle horn, then tosses it over. "Here. A little fire water from the undermountain might help take the edge off. And it's a sure sight better than fermented yak's piss."

She squints ahead into the distance. "So.... that must be the place, eh?" She tried to sound more confident than she felt. It hadn't been until they got fully out in the tundra that she began to feel how big the emptiness was, and just how small their little band was. Before that thought could fully take root, Belga shook herself out of her reverie, and turned back to the rest of her companions. "Looks like we're finally getting close!"

Theodore pushes his cloak’s hood back from his face at the sound of conversation starting. The bitter cold hits him and he raises his arm to shield his face from a frozen gale. "It’s about damn time too, feels like we’ve been riding round here for an age." Theodore takes his turn with the fire water, grunting as he swallows and feels the warmth hit him though it is short-lived. "I’ll be glad to have some shelter from this wind, that’s for sure" he says as he passes on the skin.

Peering onwards, Stoneshadow begins to take in the outcropping and just how much it stands out from the empty surroundings. The slightest beginnings of doubt start to form in his mind before he pushes them back down. Readjusting his position in the saddle and pulling his hood back tight, Theodore focuses his thoughts on preparing himself for the challenge to come.

Riding next to his companions, Thran remains wrapped in a sullen silence as thick as his woolen scarf, a behaviour somewhat unusual for the mild-mannered, soft-spoken elven mage.

His almond-shaped eyes, barely visible through the layers of clothing and glistening beneath the shadow of the fur-coated hood of his winter robes, stare at the approaching tumulus with intensity.
Finally, the secrets he had been hankering after were close at hand, yet he shivered both from the cold and the prospect of facing the perils within: he'd studied the legends attached to the place and couldn't share his companions' light-hearted banter.

They would be lucky to get out with their sanity intact !

Of course he could not, would not tell them the extent of what he'd read in the ancient tomes he'd poured over for weeks and months on end; why sap the little courage they'd been able to muster ?
One thing was clear: he had to conquer the tomb's mystical secrets and he'd do what was necessary to reach his goal, even at the cost of his own life. To complete the task he'd joined with like-minded individuals and after weeks of arduous journeying there they were, a most unlikely band of tomb robbers if there ever was one !

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and grabbed the reins of his chestnut mount a little tighter: they'd reach the place any moment now and there still were preparations to complete...

Snatching the not frozen liquid filled liquorskin out of the frigged air. Fenix opened it an took a small swig of what was inside. Feeling it burn all the way down from gullet to gut. Putting the stopper back in. He tossed it to Big Teddy, who had motioned for it. Muttering, "Thank's Belga, that really hit the spot! It's fermented yak milk, not piss. That is unless you have drank something different then I have!"

To her proclamation that claimed they were in sight of there destination, He somewhat sarcastically replied . "That's what you told us a half an hour ago! We are still riding along freezing our asses off! I can't wait until we get there and get a yak dung fire started, so we can warm up a bit."

"Making smoke or fire may not be the wisest of choices, Fen. At least not that close to the funeral mound. There exist in these places... things that are drawn to the heat like moths to the flame. Things long dead, who hunger for the warmth of the living and thirst after a life long gone. We have to remain on our guard as we approach these accursed grounds !"

Despite the alarming words, the elf spoke in his habitual melodious tones, his voice carrying across the frozen waste effortlessly, almost disturbingly so.

Thran’s words send a shiver down Theodore’s spine. He plays it off as being caused by the weather by pulling his cloak tighter, but also touches a hand to his sheathed sword. "Nothing that we can’t handle though, eh?" Theodore’s words continue the confident persona he’s displaying to the group.

Responding to the Elf, the Hobb said. "Then let them come! I'll be damned if fear of such will keep me from warming up by a fire. Because if I don't get warmer soon. The blood will start to freeze in my veins."

Withdrawing slightly from the conversation, a movement in the corner of his eye catches Theodore’s attention. Turning his head he sees a swarm of cavalry mere moments away. "Shit," Theodore yells, flinching at the sudden appearance, "incoming!"

Pulling at the reigns with one hand, he turns his horse whilst drawing his sword with the other. Bracing within the saddle, Theodore prepares to defend himself.

The young elf spell-caster is taken aback by the suddenness of the attack but he quickly pulls on the reins of his small horse, rising in the stirrups while chanting an ancient magical ritual. A ball of crackling white energy materializes in his right palm and he flings it towards the oncoming horde.

"Oh bloody hell," Belga mutters as she less-than-gracefully dismounts from her pony. The feel of solid ground beneath her feet made her feel much more confident as she readies her warhammer and shield and braces for the assault. As she does, she silently calls upon the spirits of the earth, rocks and stone to give her strength.

Belga wades into the fray, glad to have the earth beneath her feet providing the foundation upon which her attacks and defenses were built. As each horseman passed, she would duck and turtle under her shield, striking at the passing beasts vulnerable leg bones with her sturdy hammer.

Theodore remains mounted, picks out a target and charges into the melee. Roaring as his mount rushes forwards, Theodore slashes with his blade and prepares to swing his horse round for the follow up.

Seeing he and his companions swarmed by enemies, Thrandaryl slashes at the nearest thundra thug with his short, curved elven blade, spurring his panicked mount on to try to take them some distance from the fray.

Mad with rage, bent now on revenge as well as defending their sacred king, the eagles of the tundra, the tomb defenders whirl around and go in for another attack- Screaming like hawks in the sky.

Surrounded by the hordesmen, Belga whirls in a frenzied circle, laying waste to anything that enters her 'personal space,' while protecting her flank with her shield. "This... is no way... to treat... a lady!" she shouts between delivering bone crushing blows.

OOC: Is that DARO Twice???

As soon as he sees he's broken away from the fray, Thran pulls on the reins of his horse and swings about to face the second wave of attack. As the thunder of their hooves become deafening, the elven combat mage holds a hand up, shouting a word of power as a stream of firebolts starts raining down on the assailants.

Continuing to charge amongst the opposition, Theodore shouts to his companions, "There’s nothing like a bit of action to warm up!" Noticing that Thran has broken free and is preparing a magical attack, Theodore attempts to direct the rushing enemy into a group. Meanwhile he continues to slash at them with his weapon.

With spit and blood over their flesh, the eagles of the tundra continue to push against those who dare desecrate Lord Axton.

OOC: They some serious spite in that one!

Understanding that the time for magic is past, Thran grabs his blade with renewed vigor, and whispers a prayer to his elven ancesters before delving into the fray...

Now slightly bloodied, Belga lets out a mighty war cry and continues smashing her foes into smaller manageable pieces.

Seeing the enemy numbers dropping spurs Theodore on. Again, he turns his mount and charges with swinging blade.

"Careful, their blades are poisoned!" Belga shouts to her comrades between blows.

The horseman ignore Belga and start a stronger assault on the remaining adventurers. The hazy sun, becoming lower in the sky, shines on the blades of the tomb's defenders.

Thrandaryl has heard Belga's warning and he twists and turns on his saddle, trying his best to get under the enemy's guard while keeping their lethal blades away. As he fights on, his lips move in a shrill elven cry and his curved kukri starts glistening with its own, eerie light...

"Time send these birds South for the winter!"

Heeding Belga’s warning, Theodore focuses on keeping the poisoned blades away using his shield, whilst trying to find openings to respond with his own weapon.

The elf dismounts next to one of the fallen tundra swordsmen and examines the body with circumspection.

"I did not think anyone lived that far into the tundra, certainly not armed men. Do you think they came from the Tomb ?" he looks around the frozen plains with trepidation, "Let us hope there are no others coming our way... My magic has limits, after all."

Belga nudges one of the bodies with the toe of her boot. "Did they say anything other than 'Agghh' and..." (she grabs her throat and makes a choking gurgling sound). "I don't remember, but if they did it might give us a clue."

"D'you think we ought to borrow their robes and such as gear against the weather?" Belga casts a quick glance at the bodies, then grumbles, "Not that it'd help me much." She gathers whatever looks like it could be of use and stows the survival supplies in her pack. As she's doing so, something on the horizon catches her eye.

"Um, anyone with better vision than mine want to take a gander at that? Looks a bit like a cairn or ceremonial mound or something, from what I can tell." She points in the direction of the mound.

Thran stands up after gathering a handful of the talismans he found on the bodies. "These do not seem to be cursed, yet I feel some sort of ancient shamanic magic emanating from them."

He gets back on his saddle and shadows his eyes with the palm of his right hand, peering intently at the tumulus to the northwest.

"Looks like we found what we're after. I don't see the humanoid shapes moving... probably statues ?"

Looks as though," Belga replies thoughtfully. "Or very tall people standing very still."

Theodore takes some of the furs from one of the bodies and puts them on. "That’s better already, they knew how to keep the cold out!"

Looking into the distance Theodore can’t make anything out himself. "Thran, which ways looks best for us to approach from?"

The elf doesn't turn his head and keeps observing the distant mound for a moment before replying soberly:
"Whichever way we may choose to approach, we shall be easy to spot out in the open. Yet I fear the greater danger lies within..."

"If we're going to be visible, it might be best to use their clothes so we look less conspicuous." Belga scans the horizon again, looking for any signs of someone or something moving. "Unless, of course, whoever built that thing hates these guys."

The elf nods as he starts getting one of the fur-lined cloaks from the eagle-warriors and wrapping it around his frail shoulders.
"Good thinking, Bel."
He seems to hesitate, looking sideways towards the dwarven warrior and trying his best to conceal the fact he's sizing her up, comparing her muscular, stocky frame to their enemies' longer, somewhat thinner coats.
"Do you... will you find something to your, er... liking ?"

Belga removes a set of robes from the smallest of the fallen, then takes her hunting knife to the sleeves to shorten them. Broad of shoulders and torso, the robes seem to fit passably well, although the hemline makes them look more like a duster than a jacket. "It's not artistry by any means, but it ought to work." She gives Thran a thumbs up, then has to quickly push the sleeve up a bit so that it's visible. "More or less."

After waiting for everyone to change into their salvaged tundra clothing, the elf Thrandaryl addresses the group:

"Now...we need to decide if we're going to camp outside of this place - and risk another attack from whoever these savages were - or try and find the entrance into the Tomb - and risk all other brands of untimely demise, but we all knew the risks when we signed on for this. I'm saying we go in now, what do you all say ?"

"I'm for in as well. At least it'll be a little less exposed."

The elven combat mage shows no sign of impatience as he waits for everyone to speak their mind, yet inside him the thirst to finally uncover the mystic secrets of the legendary Tomb of Axton is almost too much to bear.

Glancing at Theodore, who's sofar remained silent, he decides it's time to settle the matter: as he turns his luminous, almond-shaped golden-green eyes towards his companions, their irises seem to gleam with an unsettling intensity. After a few moments spent in ominous, utter silence, he calmly announces:

"May The Five Fates Be With Us All."

He then prods his small horse towards the mound and the macabre figures guarding it.

"Hyah!" Belga urges her pony forward across the barren wastes to find whatever fate waits them.

Thran reins his chestnut horse in about 15 feet from the first standing stones and, after dismounting, approaches carefully . He peers intently first at the stones, then at the three figurines, before his eyes finally fall upon the mess of dried blood upon the altar.
What ancient horrors roamed this site ? What evil still burrowed in its depths ? He scanned the surrounding scene in search of anything that looked like a way in, but remaining careful not to touch any of the grizzly relics.

Belga hangs back slightly, preferring to feel 'useful' looking out for flesh and blood (even if decaying) enemies rather than magical threats. She whispers a few quiet words, makes the sign of the hammer, then turns back to observe her compatriots. "Anything I can do to help, or should I just keep watch. Over here. Not too close to that thing."

Thran smothers a sigh of disappointment as he realizes his excitement at having found what they sought may have been premature. His eyes turned towards the stone circle and the symbols, trying to find a clue as to what this place was, and if there was anything like a map or directions of any kind to Rappan Athuk's tumulus.

"Hmm, not what we were looking for then? Unless its hiding something somewhere..." Belga gives the whols tableau an appraising look - from a safe distance, of course.

Thran answers, his voice calm but his eyes roving warily from the grizzly-looking scarecrows to the sacrificial altar:

"Who knows what ancient curses still hover in this evil place ? I guess we could try to approach and enter the circle, but I'd advise caution."
After a moment he adds: "Maybe tie a rope around my waist, if I am to step inside ? These tumuli are known to cave in..."

"Right," Belga replies with a nod, and takes a length of rope from her pack. She ties a loop with a rather ornate and substantive knot and tosses the looped end to Tharn. "This ought to do the trick." She plays out the length of it to give him freedom to move, then sets her feet, wraps the rope a few time around her forearm, and takes a firm grip.

Still looking around warily, Thran will approach first the figures covered with rags, then the elevated stone slab.

"It doesn't look like there is anything for us here, besides rags, half-erased symbols of the crudest facture and some dried-up blood stain, probably a goat's or a pig's. Maybe this place is sacred to the tundra people and they were trying to protect it... but this is not the Tomb, not even close," he says dejectedly as he climbs across the small mound.

Once he reaches the top of the hill, the elf will scrutinize the horizon on all sides, see if he can spot any other signs of elevation across the frozen plains. "The tomb must be close, now..." he thinks, using his hand as a makeshift visor to block out the cold glare of the distant sun filtering through the clouds in a pale halo.

The elf battle wizard calls out to his companions:

"Over here ! Help me lift that slab !"

All the while he keeps darting worried looks around the place: this felt too easy, the bedraggled figures and carved stones seemed to almost taunt him, beckoning as if daring the party to enter to their doom...

"Careful for tricks and traps," he warned them, "Warlord Axton was famed for his mischievious and cruel ways in life, I have reasons to believe his methods remain just as wicked, even long after His death... !"

Belga cracks her knuckles and approaches the slab. "At least its something I can get my hands on. Ready lads?" Despite her bravado, she makes sure to loosen her weapons before she gets to the appointed spot.