"Maybe take off the other sleeve and make it a vest?" Jocasta postulated as she tried to catch her breath as she absently admired Beren's muscular arm with one eye and watched the ancient barrow king with the other. The later continued to stare at them, greenish witchfires glowing malevolently in its eyesockets. Despite its evident hate, the creature did not seem willing to risk passing the blades. Evidently the ancient steel was heavy enough and sharp enough to give pause even to ancient champions of undeath. As always, Jocasta was unable to help herself. She stuck her tongue out at the wright. The witchfires flared white hot and the ancient corpse thrust its head forth and unhinged its mouldering jaw. Arctic air blasted forth in a torrent of physical cold that coated every surface of the chamber. An almost physical ball of ice struck the swinging blades and burst around them like a crashing wave. Jets of cold struck hard enough that Jocasta felt stones crack as the moisture in them flash froze in a heartbeat. The blades slowed almost to a stop for a fraction of a second as she stood with frost in her eyelashes.

"You were clearly the child who poked the beehive with a stick," Beren remarked dryly. The barrow king rehinged his jaw, then abruptly turned and strode off out of view beyond the passage. 

"Well, anyone you run screaming away from," Jocasta replied. She turned and surveyed the new chamber, greedy eyes following inscriptions on the wall with the care of a librarian.

"What now? I don't imagine our friend there is simply off to make a complaint and I don't fancy trying to double back through the Demon Cheesegrater," she asked.

"Oh, I'm Jocasta by the way," she concluded brightly.