whitescar A Test of Will (Closed)

[Bellosh]

 

"You're... you are certain of where we are?" Lími had a bad feeling about this, as expressed by the gagging from the overpowering stench that infested every square inch of air. The smell of rotten flesh was not foreign to the adolescent lad, but none of his experiences today could prepare him for this. Knowing his folklore, the young buck suspected that some trick of the Barrow-Fells was at play. A foul enchantment laid upon this entire region, dooming many an unwary caribou voyager in times past. For all Lími knew, he and Chipper Demise had just walked into a trap that the ravens were smart enough to avoid.

One thing was for sure though: the unearthly cries from before were no longer mere whispers. If the two companions couldn't get their bearings straight now, they'd be trapped in this thick mist for eternity. And with every minute that passed, the light faded little by little. The night must be approaching... and night was the absolute worst time to brave the Barrow-Fells! "We have to find shelter now," the nervous buck quietly warned his companion; "Come nightfall, these hills will be crawling with terrors!" Find a safe place to wait out the night, then explore the Fells by day; that was how the wise adventurer journeyed through this part of the Southern Wilds.

[Blueblood]

"Oh, there's no doubt about that!"  Chipper Demise reassured his companion, his normal buoyant demeanor having by now fully recovered.  "This here's the barrow-fells alright, nyahaaha!"  The young stallion jumped onto of one of the nearby mounds of earth, and looked as if he might start actually frolicking at any moment.  "Fun place when the sun's out, but you should see the Nightlife!  Ahahahaaha!"

 

He coughed, the foul air cutting short his laughter at last.  "Ach-achuc-cah!  Bleah, one of them must have opened up recently.  Look for a small hollow to hide in, or a big one to run away from!"  He looked around himself, half-lidded eyes squinting in the dim light.  "Hm... no more noise than usual; they must be on the march somewhere else... I wonder what's going on?"

[Bellosh]

 

It was almost impossible to believe that only a short while ago, Chipper Demise had displayed a twinge of fear for his existence. But nope, he was back to his usual jovial self... and all it took was to reached hallowed ground of a cursed nature. Bleh, sounded about right.

 

While Lími would have preferred to know where exactly they were in the Barrow-Fells, the unicorn's words seemed to indicate that Undead opposition would be light for the time being. Following Chipper's suggestion, Lími's eyes scanned for a suitable mound in which to hide; a hard task given the failing light. But after a couple minutes, the caribou thought he saw a promising candidate over to the right, one smaller than all the other barrows glimpsed so far, at the very edge of their vision. "Over there," he pointed towards the location in question; "Perhaps that place will be suitable for our-"

In that moment, the communal cry of a dire wolf pack began ringing from a distant place, but nonetheless too close for comfort for Lími. Something sounded off with these canines; undead wolves, maybe? The young buck stiffened in alarm, hastily looking towards Chipper for guidance. If any undead wolves (ensorcelled ones anyway) catch the scent of the two travelers, it'd be game over for them.....

[Blueblood]

"Hum..."  Chipper peered into the mist where Limi was pointing.  "Worth a look, for sure!"  And he set off with a jaunty trot, barely pausing a moment to listen to the Dire Wolf howls. "We better hope it has a narrow entrance, 'cause we're not gonna have time to go running for another, Nyahahaha!"  Was the laughter just a verbal tic, rather than evidence of madness?  Even under the direst of circumstances, the young necromancer seemed bound and determined to insert unwarranted mirth.  Perhaps it was a point of pride with him, or something that just barely kept him from curling up and giving up.

 

Well, it had worked for him so far, and luck had made up the difference.  Just like it was doing so now, as the small barrow did indeed have a small hollow or cave.  "Ah, perfect!  You go in first, and I'll stay in by the entrance.  Dire wolves hunt in packs, but if they come at you one at a time, you can use fire.  Or rather, I'll use fire, Nyahaaha!"

[Bellosh]

 

The barrow Lími found did indeed meet Chipper Demise's standards for a hidey hole, although the young buck could have done without a harrowing, brisk jot to the tune of wolf howls. Regardless, the two travelers remained out of trouble for now. Still, Lími found it nerve-wracking not knowing when danger would in fact emerge to put him and Chipper in mortal peril.

Lími was the first to enter the mound, but he dared not venture too deeply inside the cave. As the adolescent buck slumped onto the ground to catch his legs, Chipper mentioned an idea that seemed rather worrisome. "Fire?" the caribou repeated half-incredulous, half-fearfully; "But that will let the rest of the Undead discover where we're hiding! And if those two hunters are still in pursuit... Odýrr....."

[Blueblood]

Chipper Demise dove into the little hideaway with considerably more eagerness than his companion, before turning around right away as he stationed himself at the mouth.  He hunkered down with all the shaking and happy anticipation of a colt with a water balloon, about to ambush unsuspecting passers-by.  "That's the point!  The hunters are warmbloods!  If we use fire, that will attract both the undead and the hunters to the same spot.  Then they'll fight each other!  After watching the fun for a few minutes, we can slip out without them noticing the likes of us.  It's brilliant!  Nyahaha!"

 

Whether or not Limi actually agreed with Chipper's prediction of their likely future, that was the one he had signed up to experience.  For the wolves had by now caught their scent, and their howling was growing closer in the mist.  As was the smell, a foul combination of wet canine and gangrenous flesh.  "Stay put... stay put..."  The caribou could hear the necromancer mutter to himself.  "Don't shoot until you see the red of their eye sockets..."

 

Shambling shapes seemed to appear and disappear in the misty distance, as the howls grew louder... and then stopped, just as the vague shapes coalesced into the silhouettes of huge, four-legged beasts.  They had stopped, catching the scent, but not the intruders... yet.  The muscles on Chipper's back tensed as his hackles stood at full attention.  Closer.... closer... even in the dim light, now, the Dire Wolf was fully visible.  This was not the friendly Ulfbrecht, no, this was a dog of prey that not even death could keep from the hunt.

 

Or so he doubtless thought, until the bright purple light of a fireball exploded in his face.  "HOT DOG!  AHAHAHAHAHAHHAAA!"

[Bellosh]

 

Was Chipper Demise's mind sickened by lunacy? How could anyone expect his foolhardy plan to work as intended? No living hunter would be stupid enough to wade into an obvious ambush by those of cold blood. They'd be better off leaving Lími and Chipper for dead. And if the two pursuers were that idiotic... well, more meat to add to the ranks of the Undead. What good were two warmbloods against an entire horde? Were Lími and his companion still being tracked at all?

 

None of Lími's doubts mattered though; the last traces of sunlight were rapidly vanishing, leaving naught but darkness and canine shapes within the mist. The cold-blooded Dire Wolves would soon be upon them, and the caribou buck had no other plan to get them out of this grim situation. How could the wolves even find them so easily if- OF COURSE! Unlike Lími, Chipper hadn't been covered in anything that'd mask the scent of a living creature. To the Undead, his trail stuck out like a sore thumb.

 

By placing his misguided faith in a necromancer, Lími would soon meet his doom!

 

Letting his instincts take hold, the frightful adolescent back stepped deeper into the shadowy cave. Without a weapon, or even long-enough antlers, Lími wouldn't be of much help to Chipper anyway. As long as the unicorn's life signature overshadowed that of the caribou's, there was still a chance that Lími would come out of this horrid mess intact should the worst befall his guide.

 

Hopefully, no other horrors lay hid inside the barrow.

As one of the wolves was set ablaze by Chipper's magic, the rest of the pack turned their predatory gaze upon the fire's source. Without hesitation, they charged at Chipper's position all at once. However, the Dire Wolves needed to all go through a narrow entry way to reach the maniacal warmblood.....

[SteelEagle]

The Red Jarl's pursuit was dogged and constant, if also cautious and intelligent. Maybe the teat-drinkers of the Loyalists had forgotten the art of the hunt, but the rebels hadn't abandoned the old ways, the old skills. A few undead wandered in his path and were quickly and silently dispatched as he pursued, ducking in between shadows and trees, underbrush and the dead. Limi and the necromancer were never too far away. He could hear fragments of the conversation when they spoke louder. They weren't getting away, but he wasn't getting closer. Time was on his side, not theirs. Especially if he was going to have to take Limi back to the rebels and give him a proper upbringing. A proper caribou would have gutted that pony. But he would give that creature the benefit of the doubt that for the moment, he wasn't hurting Limi. That was worth something.

 

Until wolves showed up. They had gone into a barrow with a mouth, where the pony was quite boisterous about his plan. It wasn't the worst idea ever. He would like to work out his axe hoof some more and get rid of some dire wolves. On the other hoof, it might distract from trying to ensure that Limi passed his Will Test. Ehhhh. But was he going to with or without his aid? He was hamstrung. This life he had led was weak. He had been raised more like an Equestrian filly than a Caribou Bull. In a way it was comforting to see that this Civil War could only end one way. So it wasn't an honest to goodness problem if he intervened by destroying all of the wolves. Maybe he was wrong and was just justifying it, but if it wss wrong, he didn't want to be right.

 

So the necromancer would get his wish, and Limi a show. He leapt from his hiding spot and brought the axe down on a wolf. It fell in combat immediately. With one swift motion while landing he picked up the body and threw it with great power at another one, catching it midleap and sending both of them flying into the deep woods. Another swing of the axe and another and another and another, greasy fast and otherworldly powerful. One wolf tried to leap at him from behind, but he bucked it directly in the skull- it gave in. Another swing. Another swing. He used one body as a club, knocking several aside- another axe, another axe, another axe and another axe.

 

Then he brought out his spear in the other hoof, thrusting with one hoof and slashing with his axe in the other. It was a bloody ballet of destruction, unmerciless and as swift and fatal as a lightning strike again and again. All the while, the caribou in the middle of it smiled, making his way closer and closer to that pony and Limi, one more body at a time.

[Blueblood]

Dire Wolves, living or undead, possessed all the instincts of pack hunting.  The targeting of the isolated, cutting off of retreat, and worrying the prey until it lay helpless before them.  What they did not possess, at least when not ensorcelled, was the brains of a tactician.  Chipper Demise did possess them, and inside his own skull, to boot!  At least, he had enough of them to recognize a defensible position, and to know that one defender placed well can hold off a pack for quite a while.

 

Of course, the specific tactics he used were more likely to escalate the conflict than bring it to a close, as fire would attract all surrounding.  "BOOM!  Headshot!  Nyahahaha!"  And, of course, laughing maniacally whenever he lit up a wolf's head like a candle didn't exactly help the situation.

 

Or, perhaps, it did.  For he had succeeded in drawing out the warmblood hunter, another caribou, as it happened.  This one was significantly more intimidating, it had to be said.  Especially considering the way in which he used his enemies corpses so effectively as weapons.  As a necromancer, Chipper could appreciate and applaud that.  "Wow, would you look at him go!  See, what'd I tell ya?  Now keep a look out for an opening to get away..."

[Bellosh]

 

Just as Chipper Demise said would happen, the fiery projectiles had drew one of the warmblood hunters out of the woodwork. But Lími absolutely refused to believe his eyes; it had been many long years since their last farewell, but there was no mistaking who the caribou warrior was. Here, against all probability, was Brann: elder half-brother of Lími!

 

Many horrid things have been said about Brann since he deserted his blood clan to wage war against the High King of Whitescar. The most fearsome and ruthless of all the rebellious warlords, the so-called "Red Jarl" championed all the old traditions of the Viking Caribou... most notably, raiding peaceful lands and enslaving the helpless. It was the Red Jarl who joined forces with the resurrected King Sombra to inflict the most brutal sacking the Crystal Empire had ever seen in its history. Lími himself had witnessed the aftermath of that brutal assault when Clan Askr had come to lend aid to the crystal ponies.

 

Out here in the dark of the Barrow Fells, none of that counted for anything. As he and his friend were mired in a grim encounter with the Undead, Lími was simply glad that one of the best warriors he's ever known was here to bail them out of trouble. Survival was all that mattered.

 

"WAIT!" A wide-eyed Lími forcefully moved a foreleg in front of Chipper to dissuade him from leaving; "That's my brother! H-he's come to avail us!!!" His heart beginning to be filled more with joy than fear, the young buck urged his unicorn companion; "Quick! Lend him your firepower!"

Unbeknownst to Lími and Chipper, a dread form was sneaking out from the shadows behind them. It was the skeleton of a caribou, eyes glowing with a magical red. No doubt it was the "resident" of the mound that the warmbloods attempted to seek refuge in, reanimated by a nefarious power. The skeleton held a ceremonial dagger in its bony hoof, and was on the verge of making a strike.....

[Blueblood]

The mind of a madpony is either obsessive over one subject, or else apt to focus on irrelevant issues at inopportune times.  While Chipper was perhaps the most cheerfully morbid pony who ever walked the earth, he wasn't obsessive about death.  No, he was that other kind of mad, which was unfortunate in the midst of a battle.  Somepony obsessed with death might at least still be focused on killing the enemy.  Instead...

 

"Wow, you have a brother!?"  The unicorn's eyes were in that rare pose of wide-open and shining.  There was something awed and eager about it, like a starving colt seeing a full table of food for the first time.  "I never had a brother!  What's that like?  Do you parents play favorites?  How much is he like you?  Does he like you?"  Turning to face Limi, he shot these rapid-fire questions at the young caribou, completely ignoring the battle outside, a potentially fatal move.

 

On the other hoof, ignoring the battle outside the hollow allowed Chipper to see inside the hollow.  And that was crucial, given that the pair were currently being snuck up by some undead monstrosity.  Welp, no matter, easily taken care of.  Well, easily enough alone.  Limi was currently in Chipper's line of fire, and there was no room to maneuver this close to the entrance... "Heads up!"  The unicorn shouted out, with no explanation, as he suddenly seized the young bull by the antlers, essentially using his head as a mounting sight as he aimed his horn for the skeletal warrior.  There was a bright flash of purple as a bolt of firey magic was shot straight towards the glowing red eyes...

[SteelEagle]

The Red Jarl attacked and spun in place, his axe cleaving several foes at once in half, before bringing his spear ito play again, thrusting and moving and thrusting and slashing and bucking his way through like a self-contained maelstorm. The horde fell in place, unable to handle the one-bull army, and it gave him time to see. Time to see that the fire attack launched by that necromancer had hit home, sending the skeleton warrior reeling up against a wall. The Jarl stepped into his throw, sending his spear at extreme velocity towards the head of the undead foe. The head vanished in a white explostion of dust. the spear cracked through the wall, shattering the spear ad part of the rockface, sending rocks tumbling over the skeleton warrior and snapping many of the bones before they lost cohesion and the warrior fell apart.

 

There was silence from the Red Jarl. He approached the two wordlessly, his body covered in the cold entrails of the undead. His breath was even but in this cold land it blasted out of his nostrils like a furnace. He sheathed his axe and came upon the two younglings, considering what to do with them. Both the disappointment of his brother's consorting with necromancer and his unwillingness to bull up, as well as the necromancer who had shown a different color other than black and red this day. He was kind to his brother and hadn't yet killed him. This all spoke positively, and as such, his life would be spared. For now. Necromancers were scum and not to be trusted- not killing him was as good as it'd get. 

 

Without stopping, the Jarl back-hooved the necromancer away from them, sending the little one flying. He then looked down at his brother and shook his head.
"Willingly cavorting with a practicioner of the undead arts? Cowardly hiding from battle, being led around like a pup on a leash?" He gave a disgusted harrumph, "I knew Sigrun and other loyalists were soft, but their raising of you confirms my fears. You are soft! You are weak! This is NOT your blood. This is their coddling, their pampering. Are you to be a calf forever, coddled and hugged and petted like a pup as you grow old and the ice takes you? Pah!" The Red Jarl said, picking his brother up and throwing him over his mighty shoulders as one might a large doll.

 

"You are going to be a bull by the time your Will Test is over, no matter how weak they've raised you. You will be worthy of your heritage!" He yelled, stomping out of the area defiantly. Goal: The absolute middle of the Southern Wilds, where the truest of all Will flowers rested.

[Pretzelparty]

 

The walk through the dangers of these lands was proving the most trying thing for the caribou chieftain. Not due to her tiring so much as the monotony of trudging through snow and trying to locate any traces of those she was tailing after she had been so thoroughly lost. Fortune smiled upon her though when she took notice of three sets of tracks in the snow that brought her to the cave only in time to see things had taken a turn for the worse... then for the better and then even worse again! The Red Jarl seemed to have caught up but only after a pack of dire wolves had entered... She could already hear the sounds of the conflict echoing from the cave's inside even while a good distance away from the mouth.

 

A hoof raised to attempt to rush in and join the fray but before she knew it, the sounds of conflict had ended: Mostly likely thanks to Red Jarl's influence. As usual the Jarl was in fine form apparently. Sigrun would need a plan if things were playing out how she assumed they were: The necromancer down and out thanks to Brann and Limi being pulled out by his brother's 'insistence'. 

 

"Hmm..." She thought to herself and glanced to the bundle on her back with her equipment inside. The bow would do nicely... and she did bring something that she had planned to use on any of the larger beasts that came in her way in this land and she had just enough to use here. Hooves stepped lightly over the snow so as not to leave too noticeable prints, she moved around to a good distance away from the cave mouth so she wouldn't give away her position. The cow drew her bow  and pulled out an arrow as the sound of hoofsteps coming closer to the exit met her ears. She also pulled a small, sealed leather pouch with a small opening at the top, she opened it and let some curious viscious liquid meet the bladed top of the projectile.  The warrior's eye's narrowed , watching for the perfect moment to let the arrow fly...

 

First the horn's came out... Not yet.

 

Then the bulk of his form came out with Limi swung over it. The cow grit her teeth but still did not free the arrow...

 

Then the perfect target. She let go, the arrow speeding through the air to plant itself deep and square in the Jarl's rump. The Red Jarl had a very thick hide so it was hardly lethal but it was enough to draw blood and prove to provide massive pain as something was introduced to his system. A warrior as experienced as the Jarl may have recognized this feeling (well in addition to having an arrow in his plot) but the after effects as a kind of drowsiness began to set in to him. Diluted lesser lindwurm venom: Often used by various clans in order to weaken large prey or dangerous adversaries by dulling their reflexes and making them slower. An underhoofed tactic Sigrun would admit, but some lines must be crossed in order to save others.

 

The bow fell to the snow before in a quiet charge, Sigrun pulled out her sword and attempted to drive the Pommel of weapon into the Jarl's stomach with enough force that if it landed would force the air from his lungs. If successfully stunning him Sigrun would pull Limi from his brother's back and on to her own before jumping back and leaving lines in the snow as she slid away from her former lover.

 

Spoiler

Sigrun has returned!

 

[Bellosh]

 

Lími did not know whether to scold Chipper Demise for asking questions about Brann while he struggled in battle, or thank the unicorn profusely for dealing with that abominable skeleton in time. For a brief moment, the adolescent caribou thought he was a goner. But not only did Chipper fire on the skeleton before it struck, Brann was able finish it off with a marvellous use of a thrown spear. Lími had to hoof it to his brother; he remained in every way the superb warrior that the younger caribou remembered from his early childhood.

 

When the fighting ceased, Lími joyously cried "Brann!" as the elder brother trotted forth. What happened next... was not so joyous. It what seemed like a blur to the young bull, Brann first sent the necromancer reeling with one strike of the hoof, then berated Lími for his failings as a Viking Caribou. The younger brother's legs trembled, unable to cope with Brann's verbal onslaught. Of course, Lími knew better than take the misguided Brann's words to heart, but they still stung with all the fury of the Ancient Ones. Not the least because despite Loyalist reforms, worth in Viking Caribou society was still fundamentally determined by one's skills as a fighter. Although his foster mother could never bring herself to admit, Lími felt he would always be a failure in that regard.

 

"Brann..." the caribou lad meekly remonstrated; "What is the meaning of-" Lími's tongue silenced as Brann swept him up onto his back, intent on leaving Chipper behind. "Wait!" the adolescent started shouting in futility as he realized what was happening; "We can't leave my guide behind! He'll be doomed if we abandon him to his doom! Please! Turn back Brann! Brann! BRANNNNN!!!"

If Brann contemplated silencing his ruckus-causing little brother, he lost his chance when a sudden arrow pierced his rump. Due to the way he was slumped on Brann's back, Lími couldn't see the arrow, nor who fired. All he knew was that something was going down. Maybe it was a rescue. Maybe it was something more nefarious.....

[Blueblood]

Barely had Chipper time to be elated by his quick reaction to old Skullface in the nook, than he found his kill stolen by the intruding caribou!  Having nothing in his mind more than a rebuke of Brann for his 'unsporting' nature, the unicorn found himself sucker-punched right into the side of the hill, tumbling on top of one of the disposed wolf corpses.  He was substantially uninjured, but mentally dazed.  Well, more dazed than usual, perhaps.

 

"Woo, whoa!  Ouchies...."  He muttered in a high-pitched voice, stumbling off the messy pile and staggering into the field.  His hoofsteps were erratic, and his head just wouldn't stop banging.  The echoes of a gong inside his skull just wouldn't die down, and the stench surrounding him did not help a bit in his recovery.  "Hey, man, why'd you have to go and steal my friend like that, huh?  I only have the one.... Ow....."  He sounded more like a hurt foal now than anything else, quite unaware of the drama around him that he was literally stumbling into.

[SteelEagle]

Limi's protests fell on deaf ears. He had been bred for something much grander than being the milk-drinking eternal colt of the loyalist's dreams. How sick were they that they targeted little Limi for a life un-led. Perhaps it was because of his reputation as well as his success in the field of battle. They couldn't beat him openly nor could they really deny themselves his truth. So in the absence of engaging him in any way that mattered, they used their sick and twisted agenda on Limi as a form of revenge. He was destined for better things, not this permanent calfhood that was no doubt comfortable and limiting. Limi wouldn't understand now because he had been stunted, but when he was tall, big, and strong, intelligent, with cows falling all over themselves for him, he'd thank his brother. "You will be a bull, whether you want to be or not."

 

What wouldn't be thanked for in any case was the arrow. It stung just a little. His hide was thick and even without armor it was hard to find purchase behind his packed muscles that rippled across his frame. What really vexed him was whatbhe could feel pumping through his veins soon after- besides the hate which swelled inside of his heart as he recognized who did it. It was a venom made to slow down larger foes and give caribou hunters a decisive enough advantage in speed to compensate for size and strength differences. The attack was going to cause trouble for him. No doubt. And as he turned and saw a charging Sigrun move in, all he could do was applaud her audacity.

 

Even slowed however he had enough time to act. He jumped out of the way of her attack, landing in a combat position a few feet away. Mid-jump he found a nice bank of soft snow and tossed Limi into it- not hurting him, and freeing him from some light distraction. He pulled out his undead-drenched axe, and huffed. "Using...VENOM such as this? Pahh, is this the best the loyalist scum can do? Poison their enemies and destroy their brothers?" He spat upon the ground. "Even...poisoned, I am superior to you, Wench-Cow of the Loyalists. Run back to your little king and his falsehoods and allow me...to...help Limi become a Bull and not this eternal Calf like you want!" he bellowed, his breathing heavy but steady. 

 

So caught up was he in this that he didn't turn to see the necromancer, barely acknowledging that he was up. If the Jarl had been given to feel pity, he might have felt some. But that thing was a necromancer, and it was a great kindness that he was allowed to live. The Jarl couldn't understand why Sigrun would have allowed this to go on either. Surely she must have seen what the Jarl had seen? There was a point where even the loyalists had to draw the line. Was consorting with Necromancers now an allowable thing in Whitescar? Were the caribou truly becoming so base, vile, and weak that they looked at the Undead Arts as anything other than a desecration of the mind, body, and soul?

 

Today was making clear the differences in values between the two camps, and the Red Jarl silently thanked the Old Gods for their aid in helping him choose the right one.

[Pretzelparty]

 

 

The only sound that was uttered from the attacker was an almost mechanical sounding hiss as twin gouts of steam came from beneath the cow's hood. The Red Jarl's words stung slightly. If she had thought him worth fighting at his full strength like she did back in the days when they were bonded she would gladly challenge him what at his best. Now in her eyes he was just a monster that needed to be slain like any other: He may have started out a caribou but now he was just another force that threatened to rip this land apart, and Sigrun would NOT let him have Limi. The only thing that Sigrun wished to tell the Red Jarl at this point... was that now there weren't any words that need to be said.

 

 Limi was still visible in the snow... mostly just his hooves and some of his back sticking out from expected angles in the snow bank that Brann had placed him in. If She coudl just get a hold of him somehow, but the look on the Red Jarl's face made it clear that he would do his best to stop the attempt. Even with his senses dulled, Brann was still a dangerous aspect of the situation. The cloak clad cow kept her eyes's on brann even when her ears flicked behind her as the sound of a stumbling pony came out... She would have words for him but those needed to wait.

 

Seeing as Limi's ears were likly clogged by snow at this point she said something loud enough for the necromancer to here. three simple words. 

 

"Get. Your. Friend."

 

The Cow drew her sword, the metal making a faint glint in what little light shined on this land. A wave of snow surged up behind her as she charged forward. It looked as if she were going to for a tackle but at the last minute she changed it into a thrust that was aimed right at the Bull's Chest. Sigrun may have been a bit winded by her trek, but her speed and ferocity hadn't dulled from the time Brann had known her. Now that the blade was rapidly coming up to the bull to make his aquaintance, Brann might notice it was very well made... a sturdy creation that was tough enough not to be broken easily... but it had a good deal of weight to it as a result.

 

In the case of Brann managing to deflect of block her thrust, She would jump back and hold up her blade in a defensive position, the weapon's flat held up cautiously but from her prepared stance it would be clear any attack from her former mate would draw out a fierce counter attack from the cow in the cloak.

 

 

 

[Bellosh]

 

Before Lími knew it, Brann had thrown his younger half-brother into a snow pile. Although he was uninjured, the young buck was still very much in a daze. How..... how could Brann interfere with Lími's Will Test like this? Such a thing was unheard of in Viking Caribou society!

 

The caribou lad had to remind himself that he needed to worry about all that later. Right now, an unknown assailant was attacking Brann! Lími shot back onto his hooves, but couldn't make out who the unknown warrior cow was. With the shroud of nocturnal fog about and the warrior's cloak, Lími found it extremely difficult to perceive the situation. To be honest... he had no idea how to proceed. Although Brann had attempted a calfnapping just now, he was still Lími's big brother, and there was no telling what the mysterious warrior wanted. Should Lími try helping one of the two combatants... or make a run for it?

 

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

Lími couldn't choose! He saw nothing but cons for each course of action! The frightened adolescent, who struggled to breathe calmly, became paralyzed with indecision!!!!

[Blueblood]

"Little birdies, little birdies... will you stop tweeting around my head?"  Chipper entreated in a plaintive tone to the phantoms surrounding his head.  Focus, focus!  He was in a place with a lot of undead- well, no, just plain dead wolves, now.  His friend, he had a friend here, where was his friend?

 

He had to get him!  He wasn't yet sure if the voice that told him that was one of the Voices, or some other voice of some actual living being.  Or possibly a dead one, they sometimes talked to Chipper.  "Was gonna do that anyway, haha."  Even his laughter was more subdued.  If he talked any louder, the tweeting birdies would become great big honking geese.  But then, maybe the wolves would eat them.  Oh, wait, they were too dead to eat.

 

"Limi, Limi, where are you, ah, there you are!"  Fortunately, his eyes worked better than his ears.  Hardly waiting for the young caribou to object, he began to magically tug on his short antlers.  "Let's leave the warmbloods to their battle, we've got a flower to find!"

[SteelEagle]

Sigrun didn't even bother responding to the Red Jarl and that was for the better. Like most loyalists she knew her position was indefensible and her cause unjust. Caribou could try and lie to themselves all the time but when the truth looked you in the eyes and pierced whatever you had set up as a defense, best to be silent, and allow your cowardly ways to dictate what you would do next. She was silent, and the Jarl smiled. She wanted to play off as if she was some noble heroine or protecting some ideal? She could do so. Even poisoned the Red Jarl was confident he could handle this business. But Sigrun knew that deep down she had been a terrible role model for Limi, and all this was just a pathetic lashing out by a sub-par cow, and she would come to that realization sooner rather than later.

 

She chose that moment to charge him. In normal combat against the Red Jarl that would be a guaranteed death sentence. He was too fast, too skilled, too strong, and she would have fallen in quick order. But he was slowed by that poison and he could feel his heart pumping in huge, powerful bursts, like a sonic boom across his tingly body. His reactions were a little slowed. He had fought poisoned before, fought drunk, fought while tired from three or four days straight of no rest. He was not arrogant enough to not understand that he was fighting at less than his best and was especially less keen on trying to overdo it when he knew his opponent was skilled and armed well. A Darvaargek blade- not especially rare among caribou elites by any stretch, but its rarity was less vital than the durability it offered. 

 

Against a skilled foe, a lunge was always a poor choice. He evaded it by jumping back himself. She pulled back into her own position and set up defensively but a lot happened in that short time. He was the victim of dirty fighting, but he could play that same game. After he had jumped back, his front right hoof sunk deep next to a rock. With a mighty kick he sent that tuft of snow, rock included, towards Sigrun, as he charged towards her. This flurry of motion, the fact she herself was just getting set, the fact the rock was covered by the snow- it all enabled the rock to find her snout for a loud crack. It disoriented her just a bit but that was all he needed.

 

The Red Jarl was aware that, skill wise, he was not at his best. But he was big and strong and could hit like a longship. He slammed into her shoulder first, sending her end over end until she hit a tree. The tree wobbled, and a large amount of snow started to fall on her, packing her in nice and tight. She too was lucky that he was here for a cause other than putting Loyalists in the ground. "Stay down, Sigrun, and allow me...to...aid my brother before that vile necro...mancer...corrupts him," he spat, starting to lose some part of his strength. He turned around, felt wobbly, and went down to one knee for a second- then got back up, trying to find Limi. 

[Pretzelparty]

 

 

As usual Brann underestimated his former mate. A hoof pushed out of the mound and then another as Sigrun managed to free herself from snowy confinement. A throaty chuckle came from her as she got back up. It was a foolish idea to try and lunge, an amateur mistake she was not keen on repeating. Thankfully her mistake brought Limi and his questionable new friend time enough to escape... now she needed to keep that time going long enough that she could put some distance between them and the mad bull. Once she was fully freed from her white prison she smirked at the bull, not minding the damage to her snout.

 

"Aide your brother... Please." She said in an a mockingly confident tone of voice, "You weren't even able to aid your personal longboat into one of whitescar's narrowest tunnels... even after all that boasting of your skills as a helmsman and you couldn't get it though even after all the forsaken work I did to prepare it... " The cow loosened up her stance and shot a devious look at the Jarl, "Such a wasted night that was. At least I had a fun story I could laugh about with Randgrid afterwards." She picked her blade back up and let her gaze remained fixed on the rebel bull.

 

She knew Bran didn't take even jokes about such... private... things well , even when only being lightheartedly prodded. Odyr only know what his reaction would be know that she spoke of it as if were as simple and pure a fact as the Serpent's spine being too dangerous for even the royal sisters to approach and expect to come out alive. Her muscles were only half tense, flexible and ready to react to any movement that came in her direction. "If you can't even steer your boats right... You've got no business teaching your brother anything. Besides... He's much better off with a loyalist whose been watching over him, letting him figure out his own path... By the stars in the sky he's even shaken hooves with a pony. You wouldn't believe how much better he is than you could ever hope to be." She hoped this goading would prove fruitful. A big reason for her failure earlier was her taking the initiative. One of the things that made her a dangerous combatant was a talent and speed bordering on unearthly when countering attacks. Combined with her raw strength within her she was now cow to be brushed off in a fight...

 

 

[Bellosh]

 

Aside from the usual indecisiveness, there was a part of Lími's mind asking itself just who was the second caribou who came to his rescue. Before any answers were learned however, the magic of Chipper Demise started pulling the adolescent caribou away from the scene of battle. There was truth in the unicorn's logic; "Yes..... let us flee before others arrive."

 

Lími high-tailed it not a moment too soon, as shrill unearthly moans rang out in the fell night air. Thankfully for the retreating noncombatants, the noises didn't originate from the direction Lími and Chipper were fleeing it... but it extremely evident that they were closing in on the two Viking warriors. For the Undead hosts of the wrights will soon come to do battle with the champions of the Living.

 

As for the mortified caribou buck, all he could do now is trust in Chipper's guidance as they penetrated further into the Barrow Fells.....

[Blueblood]

Chipper's guidance at this particular moment was, perhaps, not the most trustworthy of things.  He was still recovering from a blow to the head, after all, and his path reflected that.  From the outside, it might have looked like evasive maneuvering, weaving, bobbing, zig-zags through the barrows.  In reality, it was just a while before the pony could walk in a straight line.

 

That didn't stop him from smiling and prattling, though.  "What are those flowers again?  And what do they look like?  I don't know if I'd know them on sight, I don't hang out around here all that often."  They were still close enough to the sparring caribou for an occasional clash or roar to reach them.  "Do you know who that other one was, too?  I think I heard her speak to me, but that may have just been the Voices again.  They don't usually say such sensible things, though.  Most useful thing I ever got from them was a recipe for lemonade, and lemons don't grow here!  Nyahahah!"

[SteelEagle]

If he could have slit her throat at that moment, he would have. What an impudent cow she had turned out to be. If he had known in their younger days what a weak-willd pathetic excuse for a caribou she would turn out to be, he wouldn't have given her the honor of being with him. And now one drunken night was being used against him when dozens of others- what an impudent, poor excuse for a cow. He barked at her in anger before spitting on the ground. "Maybe if you didn't look and sound like a bull somebou would find it easier to guide. Scar knows I have a bevy of better wenches who could tell you very long tales of what sort of helmsbou I am, you impudent little piece of cattle," he said, spitting out his invectives.

 

The poison was having its final effects now, his lower half slumping to the ground. "Just because you and your kind get your jollies off of weakening boukind doesn't mean you'll win this time, loyalist scum. You'll find a reckoning. I've been far too kind to you. Next time we fight I'l remove your head from your shoulders and parade the body around before I send it back to Randgrid. She'll be next," he said, clearly trying to taunt her into an attack. He was having a hard time moving now but if she tried to attack him he knew for a fact he could end her. Let's see how entertaining she found the past when in that same area she could qualify her material existence. As the sounds of the undead closed in, he was more content to just wait. He could dispatch them without much movement. She had more options available- like running.

[Pretzelparty]

 

 

In response to the bull's venomous tone, Sigrun only shook her head with a smirk. "Such a shame I have." She stood up once more and began to walk... But she did not move straight for her former mate: Instead she went around him in a circle. She could smell the undead in the air approaching. She kept a good distance away from the bull, well out of a pouncing distance and her eyes locked on him for any movement as she moved... back to the entrance of the cave. "I can hardly believe I took a bull who is Deaf and dumb as well as a pathetic helmsman." She quickly took up her bundle of weapons. The bow was still there, if a bit moist from the snow. Her quiver still had ammunition.

 

She raised the bow... seemingly read to put one arrow square in the heart of the Red Jarl... his death here would be a great boon to the cause. The disappearance of the figurehead of Rebelllion: Dying alone, and devoured by the undead encroaching upon him on all sides. It would be just the kind of death he deserved. "You know... If I shot my remaining arrows in your knees... I could just leave you here. I can smell the undead coming... I could let them devour you as you lay there paralyzed, but awake to feel every bite into your body." A snort of steam blasted out her nostrils...

"You should count yourself lucky I'm not as big a monster as you wish to be."

 

 

Sigrun turned around and picked up her bundle of weapons. "The poison should wear off ... maybe  a few seconds before the undead reach you. Until then... I'll be moving along to keep any stragglers of my son. Good bye, Brann." With that she galloped off in the white horizon, following the dissapearing tracks of the two smaller creatures int he snow.