A5G

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

Another series of explosions, incomparable to the previous ones, rocked the fort yet again. The mercenaries, the zombies, and Ragnar himself was caught dead center amidst the blast, not even the slightest errant scream could be heard from them. Then, as the remaining acidic fog dissipated, the still combat-capable members of the party charged back in. Jazdia at the helm, closely followed by Veronica and Chounan, back to the room desolated by repeated indiscriminate magic.

"Rangvald? Jotnar? Off to meet the Ironhand, I see." As the dust settled Ragnar's figure emerged, clad in baleful crimson aura from head to toe. The explosion seemed to barely rattled him as he got up to his feet, sparing only one glance at the fellow northlanders torn to shreds nearby. "Felt that one! You're all that's left, hm. Bring it on!"

Axe raised, Ragnar the Red charged forth like a rabid beast, lopsided gait barely seemed to inconvenience the brute.

*****

Above, Asevor went unhindered toward his room... at least, until he got close enough that his necklace reacted to the presence. Taking a glance at the trinket, he frowned at the undeath influence nearby as he slowed and paused on the corridor. A druid and a necromancer, among other things. The most annoying of spellcasters if they're spared just the slightest room. Seems that another purge was in order.

Crooked fingers began tracing the construct, Koriloth's working seeing yet another use. Perhaps he should pay the eccentric a visit after this business was done - maybe there's a new variation of the construct that Asevor could trade for.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

The door was beaten and battered, axe blows carving deep grooves around the lock while constant slam further weakened its structural integrity until finally an explosion broke that particular section apart. With the lock and handle separated nothing stopped the remaining part of the door from swinging open, still in mostly one piece despite the abuse it's getting. Just about everyone filed out of the room in great haste, save for Veronica and Ragnar (and an unfortunately immobile Bartholomew), and not a moment too soon.

Hisses and sizzles echoed repeatedly from the room as the caustic cloud spread, filling every inch and spilling out of windows in a sickly wave of verdant green. The hall was blackened and corroded, from the furniture to decorations to scraps of food and even the surface of the stone walls of the building. None of the vines survived the contact, and grass likely wont grow for quite some time in the immediate area surrounding the windows where the fog had spread.

Amidst the thinning cloud was the northlander and the vampire, locked in deadly combat even as their surroundings went to hell. Veronica seemed to exist in an entirely different plane of existence, the fog washed straight past her figure without disturbing a single hair on her head. Meanwhile Ragnar was clad in a near-opaque layer of red, thick stench of blood radiating from every inch of his body. Without the combined attack slowing him down he's quite handily overpowering Veronica, who made a steady retreat toward the open door before finally disengaging and bolting away.

"COME ON, WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?!"

Ragnar didn't pursue far, testing the illusory wall before fetching the axe discarded by the door before yelling at the cracking barrier encased by blackened plant matter. He had a few spots of chemical burns where Veronica's strikes disrupted his aura, but otherwise wasn't doing too bad - beside the eye and the leg issue dragging his performance down.

"You can handle it, no? You sounds perfectly fine." Asevor's muffled reply came from within the shell, soon enough another tesseract formed and merged into the northlander's burly figure. "There, Gaster's Mandate of Impetuous Strife. I need a moment until the fog fully dissipate, dont let them escape."

Of course, it turned out he didn't have a moment. Asevor saw the magic taking hold before it was physically apparent, clicking his tongue at the near-simultaneous trespassing attempt on his room. A finger brushed against a sapphire ring, minute cracks expanding against the inlaid gemstone as the dispel indiscriminately washed out. His own bulwark held, but the half the room was instantly cleansed of the fog while the gleaming arrows lost their connection to their creator. With great displeasure he found that it was not enough to entirely stop the reanimation, four zombies lunging at the nearest person with whatever weapon they could reach. At least the incorporeal ghosts were banished.

"Change of plan." With a wave of his hand Asevor cancelled the barrier, the dispel already clearing the most immediate caustic hazard. Blackened remain of the vines fell on him like sooty rain, a disgusting sensation that the archmage would need to take care of soon, but it's of no issue. "Assist your men here, I have an intruder to deal with."

Forming another spell construct, this one took shape akin to a four-leaf clover that had one leaf missing. Asevor vanished from mundane sight, a single step brought him into the antechamber where a section of the stairs laid in ruins. Without missing a beat he simply floated straight up, soon enough entering the hallway of the second floor.

Close by, the shades pushed on and was initially met with some resistance before they simply found a thinner section and punched through... much easier than expected. The room within was the height of opulence, feathered bed laid with fine silk big enough for six people taking the centerpiece. The bedside table had a platter of cheese and a half-filled bottle of wine, trace of the drink still visible at the bottom of the wineglass. At the foot of the bed was an enchanted chest, large and heavy and - most importantly - locked, the warding several degree beyond what's applied on the room itself.

On the far side was a travel dresser, unfolded and open to reveal rows of fancy clothing of various style - way too many than its outer size would suggest. On the other wall was a desk, tall mirror attached to one end while various bottles of self-care tonics were carefully arranged on top.

Unfortunately, the room seemed to be devoid of life with no apparent hiding spot.

*****

The party that fled out was greeted with a veritable warzone, on the walls by the northern gate men with blades and axes hacked away at invading overgrowth while mages sent down spells on something beyond the wall. The west and east side were abandoned because they're quite literally on fire, flickering red and orange visibly caressing the top of the rampart from the other side. The flame seemed to have started spreading to the wooden palisades, the loud hubub of panicking villagers audible even from this far up the hill. The keep's southern gate wa closed shut, and with the inner village's entrance further south blocked by an overgrowth the resident were trapped within even as flames threatened to consume them all.

The party somehow didn't even attract any attention, everyone's eyes pointed outward to the sheer chaos Augustus caused. Veronica joined late, but after that there didn't seems to be anyone else coming out for quite some time. Vague echoes of combat could be heard from within, though visibility wasn't great due to the lingering fog still lazily spewing out of the hall.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Acid? Godspit. Yvonne had seen what a magically conjured glob of those could do to flesh, she wasn't about to linger around and find out how painful exactly it was to quite literally melt off your own bones. There were two exits. One's at the other side, beyond the damnable mage's barrier and out of reach. The other was the entrance that was locked earlier. Would it be easier to break the windows? No, those were all stone and way too narrow.

The entrance, then.

"Someone hold back Ragnar, go!"

Disengaging, the mercenary's eyes locked on the heavy axe forgotten in the corner. To think that it's useful now, huh? She picked it up, grimacing at the sheer weight of the weapon and the insanity of someone who crafted the whole damned thing out of metal, but that's a boon now. The door was at least two inches thick, regular axe just wouldn't make it.

With an angry yell, Yvonne tapped into her inner strength as she swung the axe with as much force as she could. Over and over. Then Cedar came barelling with his bulk, the two taking turn axing and slamming to the stupidly sturdy door.

Will they make it? Yvonne didn't quite felt like turning back to look.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

Well now this was quite the pickle. Six of the mercenaries had perished, and just as many lost limbs in the short altercation. The baron, too, was part of the casualties. Asevor clicked his tongue in annoyance, that one death meant he no longer did the perfect job. And Antigone wasn't even present! By all right there's no mage that could match him in the surrounding area, yet they snuck a low blow on him regardless.

Unacceptable.

"Bah, give a druid a moment and- Quit yammering, this is nothing."

As the magical bulwark was overlaid with vines, it darkened inside until the only source of light was the tesseract Asevor was constructing. The distraught mercenaries stopped their hushed whispers at the order, though the death and dismemberment half their rank just experienced had rendered their morale wavering they still had enough trust on the archmage's prowess. For now, at least.

It took some time to construct this one, the elderly mage needing to consult his notebook multiple times in the process. He couldn't see what's going on outside, what's with the vines physically and magically hindering the sight, but it's quite unlikely for his foes to have blown the door open. The clean up wouldn't be pretty, but this particular surprise wasn't an easy one to defend against. Tracing the final line into a vaguely serpentine abstract shape, Asevor pushed out the magical construct as it phased through the barrier and emerged outside.

"Caustic Cloud of Ruzpin."

A few moment earlier, Ragnar's swing of the makeshift bludgeon was interrupted by the vines. It missed, the excess force separating the Tempest at the elbow joint. Bartholomew's attempt to swing back, meanwhile, also failed just as hard as the vines weren't made to support the still significant momentum of steel plates. The root came off the wall, the undead clattering back down on the floor.

At least he's away from Ragnar at the moment.

The northlander wasn't having a good time either. He abruptly realized that the electrifying current within his blood had dissipated, rendering him only as strong as he normally would. He stepped back again, this time picking up a chair for a weapon, but the experienced combatants wouldn't miss this chance. A few probes and they confirmed that the magical power-up had ran its course. Yvonne hooked the chair before dragging it down, making enough opening for Chounan to slash through an eye while Veronica landed a deep gash through the neck. There seemed to be some tug-of-war as the blood was pulled between the weapon and the juggernaut's veins, but in the end a glob was split off as the scythe greedily drank the crimson essence.

At that time, the glowing tesseract emerged from the shell. Veronica's eyes widen before it even took effect, stopping her assault to shout at the rest of her team.

"Acid fog incoming! We need to get out of here!"

*****

Not far away, Solomon's search would find some more rooms. The presumably heirs' rooms were empty and seemingly unlived for some time, though it's kept clean and spotless still. There's a few guest rooms, empty save for one - it had a number of magical wards enclosing the entire room, Asevor's mana signature littered all over the formation. These weren't meant to be particularly strong, but enough that it'll take some effort to physically dismantle. Magical intrusion still would met some resistance, though not as severe, yet the biggest issue was that any trespassing attempt would've alerted Asevor of the fact.

The third floor was a rather clear split. About a third of it were servants' quarters and kitchen and whatnot, currently filled with cowering peasants unsure of what's going on with a number of them sporting injuries. The rest of it seemed to be where the mercenaries were housed, enough bedding for fifty men yet currently completely empty.

A stairs up led to the battlement, the door leading up locked tight.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

The mercenaries did not do well at all, but that's probably expected with the adept mages out there dealing with magical infestation instead of behind them providing a modicum of security. Well, no matter. The shieldwall took the brunt of the blasts, and what remaining force that washed over it was absorbed by the remnant of the first instant barrier.

The next explosion, however, were more infuriating.

Another crisp crack marked the cracking of a different ring, the instant barrier protecting the false archmage from harm. Yet the same couldn't be said about the baron who stood closest to the explosion, and judging from the groans and screams neither were the arbalesters and the servants in the vicinity. Thankfully, there's no interruption to the creation of the tesseract as Asevor added the last line into its form.

"Koriloth's Purge Undead."

A familiar pulse washed over the room, the three skeletons disintegrating like a pile of ash on contact. Not far away Bartholomew fared better, yet it seemed like the spell weakened him anyway as a good section of the living armor caved in under Ragnar's pressure. The berserker roared, burn spreading on his face as he headbutted the tempest back and receiving even more burn in the process. With a final snap he finally folded the undead in half, smashing the remnant to the floor as he roared victoriously.

The wave struck Solomon's shadowy form too, and while it likely wouldn't be nearly enough to put him down it's probably not a comfortable feeling either. On the other hand, Veronica seemingly were unaffected by the indiscriminate attack.

Things still seemed to be spiralling out of control. The undead were done, both the bones and the one Ragnar was pummeling, but now the mercenaries were taking severe beatings. And vines were growing all over the damn place, as if there's not enough issues to deal with. A glance at the northlander showed that he's still full of vigor, one less thing to worry about. Good enough. A big working was needed to stabilize things, in the meantime Ragnar can rampage all he wanted. And if he wanted it quick, well, his own developed formula was the fastest to complete.

"Enough of this. Asevor's Bulwark."

A flick of the wrist. The forming shape was different, all curved and elegant as it flowed rapidly into place like liquid metal in a mold instead of the ponderous artistic strokes of earlier workings. A chunk of his mana went into the spell, an opaque layer of crystalline growth spilling through the floor before turning sharply up and finally enveloped a good quarter of the room on Asevor's side. The arrow struck and exploded, yet the still-forming barrier actually shook less than the fort itself. A chair clattered on the surface before falling on the floor, the rest of it came right through toward a few screaming crossbowmen who immediately fell silent as it passed them like ghost. Verdant growth in the path were sliced through. One of the mercenaries inside experimentally tapped the protective shell, but it seemed to be a two-way blockade.

Just like that, the exchange of projectile came to a pause.

"You are lucky I'm here, I'll heal you lot. Shoot the elf when the wall comes down, would you kindly?"

The mercenaries looked at each other as they exchanged quick command, the injured men brought closer while those in good shape reloaded and spread out in small group. Another shape started to form at the flick of the wrist, different and more compact compared to the previous spell yet it flowed just as smoothly as its predecessor.

"Asevor's Purification."

On Ragnar's side, just as he dealt with the tempest he was ganged on four sides. Kaito went for the eye, but the northlander whipped his head sideways and instead of gouging the ocular organ it scored a shallow gash through his temple instead. Chounan came swinging with his blade, Veronica with a scythe she pulled out of nowhere, and Yvonne with the newly acquired billhook. The man flailed madly, unconcerned that he meet steel with flesh, injuries mounting yet still he managed to overpower the assailant with sheer unnatural savagery. If one were to observe, his severed leg were attached to the stump by what looked like a thick blot of blood - his steps were uneven and clumsy, yet it was undeniable that he's fully capable of standing up still.

Kaito, the first to strike, was the first to get out and wasn't caught up in the rampage. Chounan proved to have met a bad matchup, all the finesse meant nothing against a foe where his full-powered swing barely score a light gash. The blade clashed with a fist, Ragnar gaining another inconsequential line of wound while the ronin's weapon flew out of his grasp. Yvonne held strong to her weapon even as her palm cracked and bled from neutralizing the impact, scoring deeper yet almost equally inconsequential gashes on the meaty fist and arms. On the flip side, Veronica seemingly overperformed as she dodged every wild swing by the milimeter before her supposedly unwieldy weapon snaked through the flurry of blows and striking at the body.

For the first time in the battle Ragnar retreated, a moment of clarity surfaced through the red haze as he glared warily at the vampiress' weapon. Whatever that was, it's doing funny things with his blood. That's a bit too dangerous when there's already an array of worthy opponents sitting before him. He need to play smart... or dirty.

Thus Ragnar the Red reached down, grabbing the top half of Bartholomew by the arm as he swung the Tempest like a makeshift bludgeon.

Above, away from the cacophony of combat, Solomon was finally left alone. He had emerged in the center of the second floor, in what looked like the baron's private chamber. On the nearest table was a small, finely crafted wooden box inscribed with enough runes to make it hum with power even to uninitiated folks. Beside of that out-of-place object, the room itself seemed like a completely mundane residence of a noble and his wife.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

The baron paused at the bottom of the stairs, the words from the herald bringing his doubts into surface. Was it truly the best outcome? He had chosen after much deliberation, yet the spectre of doubt never quite went away. If he turned to have made the wrong choice then his lineage might very well ends, but still. Was there even a choice at all, in the first place?

No matter. The die is cast.

"Do you want to see them again, Otto von Kruber?" Asevor quipped, his words laced with annoyance. "Up. Now."

Otto sighed, turning to look back to Jazdia's distant figure. He shook his head once before resuming his pace.

"These are not my men, miss Crystalspark."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

A crisp crack could be heard a split second after the concussive blast of the explosion rocked the room, momentarily obscuring Asevor from sight. The force knocked the baron off his chair, the rotund man tumbled to the floor right on the path of the two juggernauts that took to the shockwave in the same manner a boulder took a gust of wind. He sputtered awake and stared wide-eyed at the unstoppable force coming his way... and somehow the two managed to step around and past the oversized roadblock right he wasn't there at all.

It would'be be quite comical, should there be any unrelated onlooker left in the room.

"Wha- What's going on here?!" Then the gravity of the situation hits him. "MY HALL! BY THE OLD GODS, MY HALL!"

"Return upstairs if you value your life, would you kindly?"

As the dust settled emerged Asevor, not a hair out of place nor a speck of dust on his attire. A flickering layer of bluish white light covered his entire being, for what wizard would leave their tower without an emergency measure or three? He looked more annoyed than anything, glancing down to the cracking and crumbling gemstone on one of his rings. That wasn't cheap, but oh well. Money and material can be earned back. Life, not so much.

The aged wizard surveyed the room again. Magic source... several. The bear was there, doing some druidic mischief by the window. The fox, still where he last left him but the illusion wasn't going away yet. And finally, the summoner- no, necromancer. His eyes narrowed at the rising dead. Even he could be overwhelmed with sheer number, sooner or later. But as the skeletons approached, Asevor allowed himself a slight smile.

He would not be outnumbered just yet.

With a valiant shout the mercenaries finally arrived, a motley crew of men from north to south spilling into the room like a tide of steel. They took one glance at Ragnar's duel before shrugging and forming rank, shieldbearers forward while spearmen and arbalesters filled the back rank. The second the last man stepped off, Baron Otto and the remaining servants immediately took flight and disappeared into the stairs.

"You lot, keep them occupied."

His book flipping to a different page, Asevor began tracing yet another tesseract as the crossbowmen opened fire.

Meanwhile, two coincidences cancelled each other out to create a favorable outcome. On one hand, the prediction that Ragnar felt no pain could not be any further from the truth. The northlander was perfectly aware of every injury, yet he relished in the sensation as if he's only truly alive when riddled with wounds. On the other hand, he was protective of his eyes. His instinctual reaction to the sudden, all-encompassing piercing sensation was to close the ocular organs, but that momentary blindness bought enough time for the axe to bite deep. Through the already broken shin it went, hewing through the leg bone before exiting to the other side.

Barely a strip of skin and flesh were left connecting the limb, yet it wasn't a time to rejoice. Striking so low with a two-handed grip left Bartholomew open for the vengeance act, Ragnar latching onto the armored undead in a tight grapple where the axe had no room to swing. The burly man flexed, metal groaned as he slowly crumpled the Tempest like a can made out of tin.

Back to the other end of the room, the explosion had woken up not only the baron but also Chounan and Reinhold. The former immediately prove his worth as he stood and deflected all the projectiles coming his general direction, while the latter... was doing his best. Not far away was Veronica and Matilda, the vampire covering for the orc as she also intercepted the incoming bolts without even looking directly at them.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Gah- ow! Godspit, now I'm pissed off!"

Everything hurts, and Yvonne gained a newfound hatred toward wizards. She had squared up with Ragnar before. Several times. Bastard was resilient as a cockroach, but he's not quite that powerful. Or fast. Yeah, normal people wouldn't stand a chance, but she ain't exactly normal. She's perfectly capable of overpowering him for a few moment, usually enough to land a crippling blow before disengaging. Crippling enough that even some new conscripts would have no issue staying away from his grubby hands.

"Can anyone cut off his leg? Stab him through the heart maybe? That'll slow him down quite a bit." She could hardly believe the words coming out of her own mouth, but that's the plain unpleasant truth. "Or cave his head in, if you can. That's the only part the bastard ever bothered to protect."

Scrambling to her feet, Yvonne wiped the blood going down her eyes as she reached for the decorative weapon rack. The... billhook will do just fine. It's actually quite well-made, if looking old. Probably older than her, if she had to hazard a guess. It'll work just fine.

Hopefully.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

"There's no need to be uncouth now, is there?" Asevor scoffed dismissively at the bear, his attention diminishing as other, more pressing matters presented themselves. That one's... not bad, for a hedge mage, but nowhere near enough for a mage of his caliber to take on seriously.

Next, the elf. A smidgen more polite, this one, in the gruff soldiery-type ways. Brimming with magic too, shame that she took the martial path. Well, no matter. It's only proper to reply, for communication was the sign of civilized men. Even if they're still going to try kill each other the very next moment.

"Unfortunately my honor cannot allow me to comply with that, eternal one. So let's do our best and see who comes on top, shall we?" Grey eyes flickered toward the latest addition, the disdain almost palpable as eye contacts was established with the original Kaito. The free hand extended, dismissively flicking in the fox's direction akin to shooing a persistent fly. "I dislike interruptions."

A plain grey ring lit, forming a relatively simple tesselated pattern that erupted with pure force - throwing Kaito back, the sensation akin to getting punched by air turned solid.

On the other side, Ragnar met the thrown Tempest with a wild bellow of laughter even as the battleaxe bit deep into a muscled arm. Little droplets of blood sprayed from the impact, way too little for a wound that went deep enough to reach bone. The two bruisers clashed there, the man steadily overpowering the undead, hint of crimson slowly tinting the air around him.

"Must I do everything around here?"

A leatherbound book floated out of an inner pocket, hovering in front of Asevor as the pages flipped rapidly. The arrow was shot, yet as it neared the trajectory swerved wildly before impacting the floor a few feet in front of the elderly mage. Another arrow from the vampiress fell to the same fate, clattering powerlessly onto the stone floor. Unconcerned by the projectiles, he traced multiple times to form a glowing tesseract that shot and merged into Ragnar's being.

"Gaster's Mandate of Impetuous Strife should fit someone like you, now do your job. And try not to maul the baron in the process, he still have his uses."

He didn't even finished the sentence when the balance broke, the northlander momentarily blurred before punching Bartholomew hard enough to dent his chest plate. Yvonne's attempted to attack the brute while he's busy, but her strike went astray and missed the heart from the sudden burst of speed. A backhand caught her before she fully retreated, the woman bounced twice over before managing to kill the momentum.

"I feel POWERFUL! Where have you been all my life, old man? Gahahahahaha!" Pearls of blood floated in the gash of Ragnar's arm, slowly pulling itself together until only a jagged red line was visible. Shin broken inward, an arrow in his neck, and a sword sticking into his back and out of the front, he's completely unfazed as he stomped forward to pummel the Tempest some more.

To Cedar's newfound detection, the two figures glowed brightly with magic albeit at different form. The brute of a man was a self-contained cycle of vigorous energy, the sheer amount of mana coursing through him only a fraction weaker than the old man beside. It pulsed alongside the heartbeat, the injured spots slightly brighter than the rest as the magic slowly leaked out of those pinpoint locations. The buff from the old mage ran like electric current within Ragnar's stream of energy, a simple yet effective method to boost his already heightened physical capabilities.

Meanwhile, Asevor was like a deep well that kept his magic inward, only a few tendrils connected to the various bright stars of enchanted objects that he wore - a ring on each finger, three different necklaces, the book, and finally the cane being the brightest of the lot. Another tendril temporarily snaked out of his fingers as he traced the tesseract before the pool stilled again, the old man in near-perfect control of his magical side.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

[GM Post]

"Hmm?"

The only reaction that registered the blow was a slightly surprised grunt, Ragnar's leg sliding an inch forward but that's it. The following slice produced more result, slicing into flesh yet nowhere as deep as it should. An angry red line was left, none of the blood escaping the wound. The northener himself didn't seems to be bothered at all as he recognize Cedar's ursine form, even as he's tackled with the full momentum of a bear.

That one showed more effect, Ragnar's displaced bulk slamming to the table with dull thud. The table violently slid a bit from the impact, waking the two sleepyhead with startled "huh?".

Then the arrow struck, its glimmering tips punctured through the brute's neck. Another arrow from Veronica followed, right into the eye, but with a shake of the head it missed the soft target and scored a light scratch on the forehead instead. Yet despite the supposedly fatal blow, Ragnar laughed uproariously as he let his axe go, reached, heaved, and tossed Cedar on to the armored newcomer running on top of the long table.

"Gahahaha! Not enough! Not in number, not in strength! More! Ragnar shall take you all!"

The northener reached down to grab his axe when Yvonne's figure bolted from the false wall, swinging the mace low through the legs with the full force of her inner strength. A meaty thud and dull snap echoed, followed by a much louder crack of the weapon's handle breaking in half. Still tapping into her strength, the mercenary kicked Ragnar back to the stairway he came from where he collapsed - and promptly get back up, no apparent discomfort despite one shin quite obviously broken inward.

"Huh, what? Oh! Mad Blade! Here for a rematch, ain't you?!"

"Piss off, you motherfucker." Yvonne rolled her eyes, grabbing the axe to slide it off all the way to the other side of the room.

Unhurried footsteps from the stairs. An old man with slick, white hair and even slicker, whiter beards came into view, his entire attire practically screaming "pompous wizard". Formal, double-breasted frock coat the color of burgundy with silken lapel, trouser of the same shade, cashmere waistcoat, immaculately shined leather boots, and a fancy purple cloak to top it off. He carried an ebony walking stick, the handle studded with various gems with more adorning the fingers in the form of various rings. Clear grey eyes surveyed the room, an illusory monocle hovering over the right side as he focused his attention on Ragnar.

"Downed already, Ragnar? I thought you northeners tougher than that."

Behind him more footsteps echoed, coming closer and closer to the room. Sounds like mundane reinforcement, but even the strongest can still be overwhelmed with sheer number.