The man died. Twain smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Alright now for some straight answers..." He closed his eyes and touched the Mikkel on the forehead and began to whistle cheerfully.

Twain stopped whistling abruptly, the last note turning flat and sour. His eyes snapped open. "What the fuck? Where did he go?!" Twain frowned and he looked at the frostbitten body before him as if Mikkel had just insulted him. 

He began to pat down the body and rifling under the frost-stiffened fabric. "Ah-HAH!" he finally exclaimed. Tearing open the front of Mikkel's shirt. "Oh shit..."

In the center of the man's chest there was a nail driven through his skin. It wasn't the type of nail one would get at the hardware store, clean lines and mass produced, this nail was much more archaic: Raw iron, uneven edges, thick, forged by hand in an archaic fashion or in an archaic time.

The overlarge head of the nail there was a [url=http://www.symbols.com/gi.php?type=1&id=700&i=1]symbol[/url] engraved.

Around the shaft of the nail, as if something had been tied to the nail, were wisps of red... What remained of an unraveled string.

"Whelp... I think we should get out of here... As soon as possible..." Twain smiled again, thought, given the context it was not likely to be reassuring.