The mild weather of the Flatlands had turned into the ice and snow of the Frostlands so abruptly that one might have suspected it was a curse rather than meteorology that gave the region its name. Between his sensible outfit and knowledge, Cyrus didn't give a thought to such superstition, but that didn't mean there was nothing to fret.
The newly minted party of four was almost to Flamegrace when they encountered their second patch of blood red snow. A wise man would have been stricken with panic, but Cyrus hadn't ever considered himself as exceptionally intelligent. As he stopped to examine a black tipped spear left at the scene, he once again proved to himself that his smarts came from determination. The professor recalled, what was it that Odette said? My focus is... unequalled? Or was it unmatched? Unrivalled perhaps.
The scholar could have guessed at synonyms for a while, but a ball of snow hitting his cheek forced him to divert his thoughts elsewhere. He turned to Tressa, looking quite proud of herself with gloves caked in evidence.
"Sorry, professor," she said clearly trying not to laugh. "But I said your name three times and you didn't seem to notice."
Cyrus' mind was still on the abandoned weapon, but engaging a young mind was more valuable to him than learning something new. "Then you felt the best course of action was to engage in a snowball fight with me?"
"What are you going to do about it? Summon some giant magical snow boulders to hit me back?"
"Nonsense, my dear. Using such tactics would be shameful, but I suspect you are still woefully outmatched." Tressa began creeping down to the ground to acquire more ammunition to try and prove him wrong and Cyrus mirrored this action. "Winning such a fight requires an array of factors which, judging from your first attack, you have not considered. The physiology of where to best strike; the geology needed to quickly gather the right materials, not to mention the physics of crafting, throwing and dodging them."
Both of them reached the ground, preparing their next attack when Cyrus, sure of himself, was hit once more, this time in the back. He turned to see Olberic painfully apathetic about the whole thing and Primrose dusting the residue from her hands. The two of his quieter companions were nearly fifty metres back, so the young woman clearly knew her physics.
The dancer called out, "don't take it personally, Cyrus. Us girls have to stick together." It was the first real interaction he had with Primrose since they had left Atlasdam. The scholar felt reassured by the gesture. For reasons he had yet to uncover, women tended to be fairly reserved around him and any deviation from this was welcome.
"Perhaps," the scholar mused out loud, "I have underestimated the importance of the sociology of warfare." He dropped his perfectly spherical weapon in surrender and turned back to Tressa. "Now what was it that you needed?"
Tressa gestured toward the spear laying in the matted snow. "You had your eye on that. I was just wonderin' what you thought was up with it."
Investigating and teaching at the same time. Perhaps the role of road scholar suits me more than I predicted. Cyrus picked up the spear to study it as best he could. "It's of a crude construction, but functional all the same, so it was probably constructed by a monster of mild intelligence. The blade is laced with some sort of black substance that likely has some effect that even I dare not test."
Tressa asked the obvious question, "why would anyone leave something like that behind? It must at least be worth something."
Before Cyrus could give what he felt was a compelling answer, Primrose and Olberic caught up and the warrior offered up what seemed like the obvious answer, gesturing to the red snow and coldly saying, "I suspect the natural order of these lands are responsible."
"A logical conclusion, my burly friend, but the monsters in this region are known to be quite fierce." Finished with the spear, Cyrus dropped it with a poof so he could wave both hands more dramatically if need be. "I can't imagine anything short of death would convince them to discard their weapons."
Olberic responded, "I must have not been as clear as that is exactly what I meant by the natural order."
Shivering, Primrose added, "you were very clear." Tressa didn't nod in agreement.
"I suspected as much," Cyrus said as he swept away clumps of snow with his foot, "but beasts of the Frostlands are known to kill only for survival and they eat their prey with haste."
Olberic asked, "your point being?"
One last clearing of snow confirmed Cyrus' point. "There are no remains whatsoever and I'm not familiar with any local creatures interested in or even capable of eating an entire skeleton for desert."
Olberic grunted which was something Cyrus was still trying to figure out how to translate. The scholar loved to read, be it books or people, but his imposing new friend left him feeling like an illiterate in a library.
However, Primrose was solvable to a degree. The dancer was a centuries old tome written in an ancient, nearly ineligible language on each left page and a child friendly translation on each right. Her expression was somewhere in the dread family, but was she afraid for herself, her companions, or for whatever or whomever she was going to kill?
Primrose polled the group, "hunters? A person might take the whole body."
"Perhaps," Cyrus answered. "But we must have passed hundreds of easier game than an armed monster. These are men hunting for sport and they've chosen to do it in such an inhospitable area. I suspect they enjoy the thrill of it all."
Olberic and Primrose's hands reacquainted themselves with their weapons and the warrior said what every unidealistic person around was thinking, "we would make for quite a thrill."
We need a plan. Cyrus thought this, very much using the royal we. Most important is to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. If we drag our feet through the snow, we'll make less noise. I could possibly lob some balls of ice to create a distraction.
The professor had become more excited at the chance to hatch a plan than he was worried about being attacked. The four of us are formidable enough, so they would need to strike at range, so if we move in a unpredictable pattern, it would make things difficult for them and maybe we can find some higher ground.
Amidst his scheming, Cyrus recalled something essential. I remember the word Odete used. Unpara-
That focus was cut violently short with the crash of something far larger than anything a human hunter could throw.
The ringing ears, the muscles begging him to stay still and the surrounding world spinning. These were comforting sensations for Olberic. Familiarity of a simpler time, though something was missing. No one was giving him orders. He would have to do that himself.
On your feet, Olberic! Your comrades – no, your people need you. On his knees was a start, and gave him the chance to see the object that had sent them flying. A snowball. Not in the traditional sense like the ones the women were throwing but a boulder with a dusting of snow on it.
Olberic called out to himself as doing it out loud was beyond his current abilities. Where are they!? He scanned what was now a battlefield.Cyrus was knocked are away from the impact, limp. He must have been hit the hardest, possibly dead. Tressa was down, twitching ever so slightly and Primrose was getting herself up almost quickly as he was.
The rising warrior was impressed by his friends constitution. He knew the faster a fighter was able to recover was based on the number of times they had been knocked down and, in his ignorance, he attributed Primrose's abilities to something far more noble than the depressing truth that he would one day understand.
The admiration would have to wait. Now all the way up, albeit a bit wobbly, a sound of a tree falling in the distance, then another and another. The thuds kept intensifying and it occurred to Olberic that forests didn't tend to collapse this suddenly and violently. When he heard a, 'grrraaawwwrrrrrrr!' Olberic considered the possibility that most trees don't make a noise quite like that.
Olberic's voice returned to him in full when the source of the rampage came into view and he and Primrose said in unison, "good gods." It was now obvious why bones hadn't been found with the patches of blood. They were probably crushed into dust.
Had Cyrus not been removed from the fight, he could have informed his allies that this beast was the legendary Jotunn, but Olberic, left to his own educational devices could only identify it as a massive human shaped collection of jagged ice blocks. It seemed angry and Olberic felt it unfair that they should reap the the effects of whatever upset the beast in the first place, but those culprits would likely be unable to apologize for the bind.
Olberic finally gained his full footing and met the side of his companion. Disregarding any moral conundrums, he asked her, "any chance your magic could work against this beast?"
Primrose, blood running down her normally unblemished face was laboured with each breath. "That doesn't matter right now. I can barely see straight, let alone cast a spell. Is Cyrus alive?"
"That's unclear. Either way, he's unable to fight."
"What a shame." Primrose readied her dagger as Olberic began unsheathing his sword. "A fireball or two would be very helpful."
"Indeed." Olberic readied his blade which was well established as unbending. Unfortunately, the jotunn's body looked like it was unequally unmalleable, but there was only one way to know for sure and the warrior charged to find out.
"Olberic!" Primrose called out from behind him in objection to the aggression, but when that did nothing to slow Olberic down, he could hear her limping after him. The giant in front of him didn't react to him. Perhaps it's mind was too slow to keep up, or it just didn't care, but it gave the charging warrior a free shot, a slash against the jotunn's ankle.
It didn't grrraaawwwrrrrrrr! this time. It made some kind of noise, like it was trying to laugh but didn't know how. This didn't sit well with Olberic and seemed to revitalize him. He took a windup and thrust his blade with everything his body had. This time, it managed to accomplish something. A small shard broke off and smashed to the ground.
This didn't sit well with the jotunn.
With a surprising amount of speed, gave Olberic a boot with the leg he had just chipped. He flew far into a pile of snow. A few things were likely broken, but not anything crucial. He was hoping to get back into the fray before Primrose had an opportunity to get herself hurt, but he was too late. As soon as Olberic got back to his feet, the dancer was speeding toward him midair.
The giant had impressive aim for something so seemingly brutish. It had managed to toss Primrose right into Olberic and the two were removed from the fight against their will. All Olberic could do was lift his head just high enough to see Tressa run in front of him.
"Time for Tressa to save the day!" The young woman launched her spear with impressive force and grace. Olberic's vision was too blurry to get a good look at the result of the attack, but he did hear a distinct and pathetic clink as the metal uselessly made contact with the frozen form.
"Ah come on!"
Olberic couldn't fathom what else the merchant might try but before Tressa had a chance to do anything particularly characteristic, an unfamiliar voice yelled out, "shield your eyes!"
Despite the tenacity and volume of the call, the source sounded timid but it was a self assured kind of meekness like the shouter doubted everything about themselves except for this one order. Like a good soldier, Olberic followed the command and shut his eyes as tightly as he could just in time. A bright light shined so luminously that the warrior doubted that his eyes were actually closed.
He could tell Primrose had either followed the instruction as well, or was unconscious, but Tressa shrieked in pain. Her reaction was nothing compared to the terrible and prolonged cry of the jotunn though. When Olberic's eyes regained some of their prowess, he could see why. The overwhelming light had seeped through the giant's exterior and was reflecting between each particle of ice suspended underneath its skin.
Olberic wanted to rise up, to help the voice he followed, but regaining himself was going to be a drawn out and painful process. For better or worse, before he had the chance, a robed figure was standing over him and he heard them say something about the miracle of healing.
