Chapter 1 - Change

Seeing the spikes weeds fade, Magan runs forward, intent on keeping ahead of Kara's count. He rushes his shield out, knocking the head clean from the first skeleton, and punches out towards another, just missing it as he realign his natural focus on it, marking its movements and structural weak points. 

Seeing his companions press their advantage, Gawen allows the channel to Annwn he had been holding open to heal over. Without the animating vitality of the otherworld, the spikes shrivel, their razor-sharp thorns dulled and harmless.  The druid follows his companions into the central chamber and, now with a clear line of sight, is able to hit one of the skeletons with a well-aimed shot from his sling. It impacts hard, cracking the creature's skull. The pale fire in its eyes goes out and the bones drop to the floor, inert. 

Guthric marvels at the flash of light and divinity shining from Kara. If this was the power of her god, maybe she should get some attention alongside The Great Wolf? The brief thought was cut short as she slammed a skeleton to the ground and the sight of two more nearby caught the Pict's eye. All hunters follow the huntmaster, but where does the master know where to go? The thought hadn't registered in his mind as a query so much as an instinctive urge. He felt his body pull and surge, duck and weave. Under celestial wings, over grasping hands from the floor, then face-to-face with a draugr more threatening than any other. Since that night...there's been a joy I've never known. Guthric's eyes met the dead sockets, and a smile krept across his face. His shield was next to rise, and it connected squarely with the dessicated chest before him. The decrepit form collapsed, and fangs fell. Guthric's primal jaws sunk into rotten armor, ripped and teared, and old flesh was quickly spat and heaved. Such a thrill! I feel like I could sing, could laugh, could scream!

Locked in a deathless melee with one another, the undead warriors are mostly oblivious to the Red Wolves encroaching from behind. Several more skeletons fall to their former brethren, and only a couple turn to ineffectually lash out at Magan and Guthric. The trained warriors are ready for such strikes, and easily sidestep the blows. Kara's action.

Kara growls at the skeleton's, but feels her wound pulling at her. She places a hand on it, muttering a small prayer for help, as the wound glows a soft golden light. Then, seeing how Guthric places the beefy skeleton on the floor, she steps up and takes her chances on finishing it. As she moves, it is clear her wings worked with her, flexing and moving, as if they assisted her in her attacks. She quickly strikes for the neck, Helgi managing to slice down and remove the head from the body, it rolling away to be crushed by the other skeleton warriors as they thrashed about. A wing flutters down with her arm as she does so, and a brief flash of confusion comes across her face. Anyone who notices would think this was the first time Kara noticed the wings. However, that is quickly gone as she looks to the next opponent

Taking careful aim, Gawen lobs another stone at one of the skeletons near Magan. It hits, but not with enough force to down the creature.

Magan swings up his shield, taking the head clean off another skeleton. He sees Gawen getting a little close to the frey and steps infront of him determined not to let harm come to his friend again, As he steps he refocuses the natural energy and becomes acutely aware of the crack where Gawen's stone is lodged in the skeletons spine after breaking a rib on the way through. He strikes with all his strength driving his fist through through the sternum on his way to driving the stone the rest of the way through the back of the horrific undead being, causing it to drop to the floor.  

Guthric can feel his rage starting to fade, just in time it seems as the skeletons withdraw to their tombs. Before another can escape, he cleaves his makeshift club through its skull. Another withdrawing is caught on the shoulder blade by Guthric's jaws. Just one more! Just one more before The Gift fades!

With only few of the undead warriors remaining, they slowly begin to turn on the intruders once more. One swings a flail at Kara in a wicked arc, but the blow merely bounces off of her mailcoat. Kara takes 2 bludgeoning damage to vigour, negated by DR. Guthric is missed by a clumsy swing of a broadaxe. The largest of the monsters swings twice at Magan with its bastard sword. The ranger deftly ducks out the way of the first, but the second catches him hard on his shield. Magan takes 9 slashing damage to vigour, reduced to 5 by DR -> 18/28 Vigour. Meanwhile, one of the skeletons by the entrance way falls to the other. Kara's action.

Despite having something on her back that would normally change, for even her glance made her think they were sized to her, it had no affected her swings. Until she missed, but at the moment she was not with the time to make a good call. However, her slight thought drift was enough she missed her next swing, passing through the rib cage of the skeleton in front of her. But while Helgi missed, her shield found a nice target in the skeleton in front of Guthric. She knocked it prone, giving her battle buddy a better chance to finish the beast. She would then turn her attention back to the one in front of her, coming back to the ready to smash it to bits in the next few seconds.

Grateful for Magan's intervention, Gawen takes aim at another skeleton and again launches a stone from his sling. This time, his aim is true - it hits one of the skeletons' vacant, glowing eye sockets and impacts the back of its skull with a crack. The light in its eyes is instantly extinguished.

His path now clear, Magan steps up to the larger undead warrior. He hits it with a sharp one-two to the head with his shield and fist, that would have killed most living beings or any of the weaker skeletons outright. This one though was made of softer tissue and seemed less reliant on its skeletal structure and it remains standing. "Kara, this may be a job for that sword of yours." He calls over his shoulder. 

On the right hand side of the chamber, Guthric crushes one skeleton with a powerful swing of his makeshift weapon, before leaping upon the other monster with bestial ferocity. With the mass of undead finally thinned out, the remaining creatures turn on the living. The skeleton facing Kara strikes again with its flail, but, yet again, the spiked head rebounds harmlessly off of her mailcoat. Kara takes 4 bludgeoning damage to vigour, negated by DR. The archer by the entrance readies its hunting bow once more, loosing an arrow at Guthric, but the shaft scatters off the stone wall of the crypt. On the other side of the chamber the remaining skeleton closes on Magan, striking true with its langseax. Fortunately, the ranger's leathern jacket protects him from the worst of it. Magan takes 5 slashing damage to vigour, reduced to 1 by DR -> 17/28. Finally, the largest of the undead also directs the brunt of its fury towards Magan with a pair of powerful overhand swings. The Saxon is able to deflect the first attack with his shield, but he's too off balance to do anything about the second. Magan takes 10 slashing damage to vigour, reduced to 6 by DR -> 11/28. Kara's action.

Seeing the archer firing at Guthric, Gawen takes aim and again launches a stone from his sling. This time, his aim is true - it hits the skeletons' vacant, glowing eye sockets and impacts the back of its skull with a crack. The light in its eyes is instantly extinguished.

Kara takes a swing at the last skeleton before her, crushing it with her shield. She would then move towards the other battles raging, but time was against them, for she was clearly slowing down, as things dragged on. It was their second major battle within so many hours, and she was tiring. However, she took strength from the knowledge that Freya would provide and lead them to safety, giving her the strength to continue foward

Magan swings his shield out hard to take the head off of the skeleton to his right before reaching for a hand axe and giving a swipe at the big figure in front of him. It is a clumsy slash though and gives nothing beyond buying him some space.

Guthric rushes across the room and brings his seax about in a wild swing, trying to finish the fight, but the undead warrior moves with uncanny speed and side-steps the attack. The skinwalker turns and sinks his teeth into the monster's shoulder, but the flesh is tough and foul tasting. The wound doesn't seem to both the thing at all. Guthric deals 5 piercing damage, reduced to 3 by DR, halved to 1 by resistance. Turning on this new foe, the undead creature swings its blade clumsily in Guthric's direction, before reaching out suddenly and grabbing him by the throat. He struggles and chokes as the grasp drains his life force, and then he is released. Guthric takes 7 necrotic damage and his max vigour is reduced by 7 -> 21/28 vigour. Kara's action.

Kara takes flight for a brief second, her wings sweeping downwards in a rush as she moves forward, driving upwards a few feet, only for her to land back down as she swings, the movement of her sword a blinding trail to follow. To view her it to look upon all the savagery and beauty of battle, the backlight of her golden wings highlighting the path of the word as it comes down in its strike, holy power radiating from both this holy Paladin of Freya and the sword she carried. The previous wounds seemed to be nothing, bothering her none. She struck, and with one blow took the foul beast down, as if Freya herself had found this long dead warrior worthy of his proper rest, for nothing blocked what those watching could only say should have been easily swept to the side. There was a crackle of energy, a bit of white energy popping along her armor as she then takes a knee, a prayer being offered up to Freya for not only those who died here, but also thanks for the living. The verse was old and practiced, a simple, but graceful way of thanking the opponents for being worthy, and so Freya may grant them safe passage to the golden fields where Freya roamed. She finishes the prayer, looks to her group, and says simply "Tonight, we rest, and eat. Surely there is a town nearby to party no?"  before simply sitting down, clearly exhausted from all those undead foes, her wings folding back behind her as she did so, disappearing from view.

A young woman, dirty and wary stalks through the woods around the Wookey Hole, her heart hammers away inside her chest, but the cold exterior betrayed nothing. ‘I’m close now, Gruff.’  Her eyes constantly swap the tree-line, her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air for the stench of man, and her ears listen for sounds of movement. Like a prowling cat, she is silent as she moves among the shadows and pauses as she’s hears something; a heavy wheezing like a wounded creature. No... not a creature... a man! She hears the tale-tell grunting cough, similar to the one her father made when the fevers took him. Low to the ground she peers around the aide of a fallen log and spot she him in a hollow, propped against a fallen tree. He was sick, she could tell that from here and wounded. She could smell the stench of infection on the breeze. He would likely not last long in his state, long enough to give her what she needed though. With practiced movements she draws her warseax silently from the oiled leather and begins stalking around the lip of the high ground to come up at him from behind. He never even knew she was there until the cold iron of her blade slipped against his throat and she grabbed a handful of his sweaty hair, pulling the head back. She spoke quietly and quickly in the tongue of the Mercians, it was the only Saxon language she knew. “Quiet now, beast. If you shout I’ll end you. Nod slowly if you understand me.”

Magan looks at Kara with a grateful nod. "Indeed we must rest, but for now we must return to the others, I fear we have left Branok, Theli and Isolde for too long already. Let us gather the statue, and whatever is of value in the other rooms and return it to Isolde." He leans on his shield as he speaks, but as he finishes he hefts it back up onto his back and puts the axe back carefully at his side before heading to collect the statue, mindful of the trap that Gawen had spotted previously. 

The man by the tree breathes with difficulty, a deep wheeze that trails along an elevated heart beat. He doesn't even register the direction of Glöyn's voice before the cold touch of the steel meets his throat. There is a fast trained jerk of his right arm towards the grip of a langseax wrapped in animal skin and set aside at an arm's length but it is halted quickly and halfway. The hand itself is massive for such a man of inconsiderate height, calloused and grime with the dirt of the earth. Once could easily take him for a vagrant trespasser or a deserteur, clad in worn out leather and a light chain shirt that has seen too many cuts and repairs. His beard and hair are scraggly and thick with dirt and early autumn leaves. He bides his time to respond, whether weighting the situation or too weary to even move his head. Glöyn senses are assaulted by the rancid stench of vagrancy. The worst of it comes from his extended left leg, heavily bandaged in dark cloth from the boot up to the knee.  The man nods slowly and struggles to swallow. 

As she watches his hand jerk, she pulls the blade up tighter and snakes up closer and lower away from the massive paw. She halts before cutting as the man slowly nods. ‘God’s the stench is overwhelming. If he is part of this group, I fear what they have done to Gruff.’  Her voice stays low and sounds a little husky as she whispers. “Good. You are sick and dying. I can help you, but only if you help me. I am looking for a group of slavers, they have my brother. Do you know anything about these men?”

The wounded man tilts his head only so slightly that his ear can detect Glöyn's whispers better and he can test the blade by his throat. His eyes wander around, shut close to wrinkled slits, and he gives up on trying to get a better look at his ambusher. His weathered face, painted by old nicks and cuts looks like he could be in his thirties, the waining season for any man. "Nɑȝ." The man speaks in rasping Mercian gutted by a heavy caledonian dialect. The voice is deeply guttural but resonant, and dry like a salt mine. "Ei trɑvɛl ɑlonɛ."

“...you are no, Saxon. You have the sound of the northern lands about you. Do anything foolish and I will kill you.”  The blade eases slowly from Gann’s neck, but the figure remains behind the log. As the volume rises, Gann can hear the Welsh accent. “The men I seek are hiding in the Wookey Hole. Did they do this to you?” The voice is clearly belonging to a young woman based on the timbre and pitch, despite the husky quality to it. “Perhaps we could help each other?”

Kara groans wearily as she stands up, and puts Helgi away. She was happy her new blade required little to no cleaning, but at this point, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath. And to somewhat honor their fallen friends memory, even though there was nothing left of him to burn or bury. She mutters under her breath "Freya, save me from men. They all are fools." Standing near another of the doors, she would carefully enter that room, unsure if it was trapped, and trying to see what was of value in this room.

The man lets his shoulders rest back against the coarse bark of the tree. His breathing is strenuous, easily exhausted by the simplest of speech. "Ei hɑs sɛɛn.  Fivɛ ɑnd morɛ. " He nods repeatedly, his head weighting heavily on the left side. He slowly raises an arm, only barely at first to signify no intent of striking then slowly point south, then southeast. His tongue traces lips so flaked they have turned darker. " Ƿɛnt þɛrɛ.  Plɛɑsɛ... lȝtɛl ƿɑtɛr."

There is a sound of rummaging from behind the log before a waterskin appears over the top of the log . “ Sloƿlȝ noƿ. Þou doþ not ƿɑnt to coκɛ. Ƿhɑt is ȝour nɑmɛ strɑngɛr? hoƿ didst ȝou ɛnd up hɛrɛ?” Goewyn leans over the log to examine the wound while Gann is distracted with the waterskin, but she can not determine exactly what sort of infection has set in and is unsure as to which herbs would be most useful. 

The wound looks nasty and is made worse by the dirty bandage. There's some sickly green paste applied that shows through the cloth and you may probably recognize a self-made attempt at treating the wound but from the sheer smell of soil coming from this sorry creature you can tell it has not been changed in a while. There has been brooks and ponds outside of Wookey Hole you have crossed maybe more than a couple days away from here, enough suggest this man has not walked out of the shadow of the woods for quite some time now. Hiding is the first that comes to mind.  "Gɑnn." The man barks and pants between the sips of lifesaving liquid, savoring the wetness that mixes into his beard. He choked and coughed on the first gulps, but has since contained himself to waste as little as possible. " þancian-- Þɑnκ ȝou." He reaches very slowly on your side to return the waterskin. "Ei mɛɑn no hɑrm to ɑnȝ."  Though he speaks with weary honesty, he seems to evade the last question.

As Gann speaks, the young woman pushes the waterskin back into his hands and nods to the skin. She stands and comes around the fallen log to examine the wound. She slips the weapon back into its sheath as she kneels down next to Gann. She wrinkles her nose at the smell and takes out her dagger to cut the cloth away. “ Drinκ dɛɛp, ȝou nɛɛd it morɛ þɑn Ei ɑnd þɛrɛ is plɛntȝ morɛ. Þis bɑndɑgɛ is foul ɑnd nɛɛds clɛɑning, gɑnn. Ei hɑvɛ somɛ sκill in such mɑttɛrs if ȝou ƿill ɑlloƿ mɛ?” Unless Gann moves to stop her, she begins to her dagger to cut away the filthy rag. “ Ei ɑm cɑllɛd Glöyn. Well met, Gann, of the north.”

Gann rests the waterskin in his lap and takes an ample moment to look over the comely features of the young woman that held a blade at his throat a moment ago. His eyes has dulled from dehydration and exhaustion but he still musters some curiosity. From this close his broad Pictish forehead and crudely-chiseled cheeks cannot hide behind the bush of unkempt hair. His neck, glistening with either sweat or some of the wasted water, looks sinewy and strained with each swallow. "Ei didst much to hɛɑl it, but it ƿoun't." Gann nods slowly, bowing his head in greeting. His rough and tortuous speech in Mercian reveals only shallow grasp of the local language. "Ƿɛll mɛt, glöȝn. Gods hɑvɛ spoκɛn us to cross pɑþs. Mȝ lifɛ bɛ in ȝour hɑnds." As Glöyn comes close to the bandage, she has to wave off couple flies and insects who seek too early to feast on the dead. Tearing the bandage reveals it has caked into a crisp. Gann grits his teeth and goes silent dealing with the throbbing, burning pain. Below the bandage it is an ugly sight, and the smell is worse also. The wound is made of animal teeth that bore deep into his ankle and ripped a whole tapestry of skin, flapping freely from meat and bone, and glued to the green paste that coats the bandage. It has festered and it looks bad, really bad. It is hard to tell if the leg has to be written off or may still recover.

A small black statue of a sitting dog rests atop the pedestal where Gawen left it. It seems like such an innocuous, tiny trinket after that exhausting fight. In the western chamber, Kara steps on another unseen pressure pad with a soft click, but she is able to raise her shield before the resulting hail of darts hits her.

Gloyn was keenly aware of the man's eyes upon her face as she kept back from retching at the sight and smell she found beneath the bandage, if one could even call this disgusting piece of cloth that. She was used to such looks from men, which was ironic given that the condition in which she had found this man Gann was not so different from the way her mother had found her father all those years ago... She ignores the wince and groans of pain as she removes the cloth. She stares at the pus-filled, infected mess of his leg for a moment and wondered if she was up to this task... and after several moments of panic she realized she was not quite prepared to tackle this much of a disaster. He would need herbal remedies, rest, and possibly more bandages than she had here in this little hollow. It would take some time to heal this, if she could do it at all. She noticed that some of the flesh was turning gangrenous and that would have to be cut away to keep it from getting into his blood. Mother also told her that anything green could kill a man just as quickly as a blade if the infection got into their blood. He would need more water too and food. He looked famished. She takes out a clean cloth and applies a few dried herbs she kept within her small pouch that would help to sooth the ache of the fever wound, but it likely was not going to be much comfort for this man. She begins wrapping the bandage around, careful to avoid getting on of the infected pus on her hands as she works. "Gann, this is bad. Your leg is in terrible shape. We need more supplies than I have, water and herbs. I can possibly purge the infection with the right remedies, but its turning green and some of it will need be cut clean. I will hide you as best I can from prying eyes, then I must forage for a time. I'll bring some food, water, and supplies back for us. We will need a fire to heat my knife." She gives him an intense look. "I have been told it is quite painful experience and you cannot scream aloud. If you do, you will surely kill us both or land us in irons. I will not be taken a slave." She begins gathering some dead fall and leaves, building it up around him in such a way as to appear naturally occurring. She uses several of the saplings in the area and yanks them up by their roots and quickly digs up the loose soil around Gann, dropping them in and pushing the soil up around the roots. After some time she steps back and looks at her handy work. "Not bad, it'll work for now. I'll be back."

To an idle observer, the tired and expressionless face of Gann having dealt with the initial pain and feeling the tingling coolness of the air cast upon the exposed flesh could remind of the disassociated stare on a soldier's face staring at the suffering of their nameless victims. A face that has seen death so many that one more, even this one being his own, would be just as meager and meaningless. "I know. Pain, I can deal with." He nods, shaking off that state of mind and making a grimace not so much of suffering but frustration with being able to do much in this dire state. "I have faith in you, Glöyn." He remains motionless and politely averts his eyes off her torso while she works to cover him with autumn folliage and leaf-covered branches.

Kara blinks at the darts as they assail her, but even tired her sense of self survival kept her once more on the positive side of life. The only issue now was, what to do. She looks about the chamber, unsure about walking forward any more, but this time she does look around, wondering what the view she had held

Magan braces himself, looking around for any further risks before picking up the statuette. Hurrying back across the floor to the central chamber, he pulls his shield back out before carefully checking the final room. 

But for the rasping scrape of stone on stone, the crypt is silent as Magan lifts the figurine from its pedestal. The adjoining chamber that Kara is in is lined with sarcophagi on all sides. Dusty cobwebs fill the ceiling, and water oozes down the walls from above, leaving tracks on the ancient stone. On the ground, the water has turned the dust into thick paste-like grey ooze. The walls here were once decorated with brightly painted images painted directly onto the smooth stone. The colours have long since faded, and now only a suggestion of what once was remains.

Within an hour Glöyn returns with the waterskin full once more and a small pouch filled with berries and some edible nuts, as well as a rabbit slung over her shoulder. She hands Gann the skin and a handful of nuts and berries. “Eat and drink of this slowly. Chew it is fully into a paste before you swallow. Drink small sips with each bite. I will gather firewood and skin the rabbit. Do you know the skills of a tanner? Your clothing is fouled and perhaps we could put the creatures hide to good use.”

Hidden under a thin carpet of autumn leaves and crooked branches, Gann had barely moved from an hour ago. For one drawn moment he almost appears dead, but then he snapped out of a sleeping haze and his squat hand seeks the hilt of the seax is a stroke of muscle memory-- almost, for the dizziness betrays him. He focuses his sullen eyes on her and raises hand to accept the gift. A small beetle has been crawling over his beard and he huffs air out to clear it off his parched lips before he accepts the gift. "Thank you." He satisfies his unquenchable thirst with the berries, their sourness welcome and filling. To the barrage of questions, he nods. "Yes. I've scoured and bated furs. I can make thread and saw skin." He casts his eyes away and down his leather tunic, the charred edge that no rubbing will do. "Ei has only little of fat, and is for the blade." He observes Glöyn handling the small game for a while, unable to contribute much other than maintain the conversation. "Is the wood safe? Has you noticed anything on you way?"

Glöyn glances over her shoulder as she peels the skin from the rabbit. “This is good. Yes, I did... a cart near the Wookey Hole with an old man and a child. I did not get much closer for fear that there would give me away to the slavers. It gives me hope that Gruff May be in the cave. Once you have eaten, I will return and watch the area. Mayhaps I can put some arrows into some of the slavers and then slip off into the shadows... draw them out into small groups and kill them one at a time.”  As she speaks, Glöyn becomes aware of something moving through the underbrush. She immediately grabs her spear and puts her fingers to her lips as she moves into a hidden position just as a dog wanders into the clearing and begins making its way towards Gann, sniffing the air as he approaches the wounded man. 

Gann weights the information in his mind while chewing, the rhythmic movement of his jaw slowing down. He had hoped to withdraw from people for as long as he possibly could but the world was catching up to him out of sudden, from every direction. "Old man and a child... could be trap but not likely." He swallows the thick paste that sticks dry to his tongue and taste more fresh berries. He tries to move his bad leg to fight the growing tingling and then quickly reconsiders it. "Don think of me Glöyn-- you done much. Those men were many and battle ready. You has lytel chance." He opens his mouth to maybe add or ask something, but reconsiders it. He can't help but ponder possible approaches and their outcome and many of them lead to the same conclusion. "If you take one down and you run, they will search the woods." Lost in this thought Gann almost misses on the sudden warning movement from Glöyn and turns around with leaden-headed sluggishness to come only few yards away from a dog sniffing at the plentiful smells in the air. Gann's eyes narrow and a slight wince of hesitation draws across his face trying to slowly acertain of its intent. Gann's breathing slows down and his right hand just barely traces the damp ground looking for something wary not to provoke any motion.

Magan also trips a similar trap to Kara, but the darts simply stick harmlessly in his armour. A faded mosaic covers the floor in this chamber. It depicts a stylised representation of the afterlife, but exact details are hard to pick out as some of the tiles are cracked and others are missing. Otherwise, it appears much as the one Kara is investigating.

Magan returns to his companions with a shrug. "I believe this statuette is the only thing down here, it must be what Isolde was so keen to find. Strange as that is. We should find a wise person to tell us more about the girl's gifts." His breath begins to fall heavily again with the fatigue of combat, and as he thinks of the young girl and his mind drifts back yo Theli in the wagon too, the pain in his chest begins to return and he has to fight an instinct to clutch towards it.    " Come, we should return to the ground above, I fear for their safety left alone much longer."

Above ground, Branok has returned to the carriage to care for Theli and watch over the prisoner. Isolde is dancing in circles through the dappled sunlight beneath the trees and gathering wildflowers from the riverbank.

Glöyn holds her breath as the multicolored dog comes into the hollow, sniffing about and looking towards Gann. She shifts slightly to bring her spear up to a throwing grip, preferring to have her bow, but not wanting to draw attention by removing it. The dog didn’t immediately seem aggressive, more curious about the smells coming from the area. This was no hunting beast, but rather a pet or just a warning companion. Likely belonging to the little girl and old man then, not the slavers. What were they doing so close to Wookey? Did they not know who was within? Were they there to purchase slaves?  Glöyn’s mind whirls as she watches the little dog sniff closer and closer to Gann. ‘Thor, what should I do? Silence the beast?’

Magan leads the way carefully back up the broken staircase, securing a rope in the wall and pulling his companions up over the gaps. loose bits of stone slip underfoot and threaten to send the group tumbling back down, but fortunately with some careful teamwork and a positive mindset, the warriors are able to return to the surface. Shielding his eyes from the dazzling daylight, Magan allows himself time to adjust. He breathes a sigh of relief to see Isolde playing and safe and runs forward to greet her, holding out the statue for her to take.  Running over to the wagon he finally takes the time to sit with Theli. His eyes fill with tears as he looks on her face and the mangled mess of the wound beneath. He takes up her hand in both of his and buries his head in them as he fails to fight back his emotions. "I am so sorry, I failed, I tried... I couldn't... I should have... I wasn't good enough... I'm sorry. He kisses her hand. "I was buying something for you, that's why I wasn't paying attention. I didn't know how to... I'm not so good with the words, but I thought a gift..." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the armband, not forgotten even in the heat of the battles that followed. " It  seems so silly now... not nearly enough after everything... but its all I have." He slides it onto her arm. "When you are better, I ahve something more if you will take it. But you have to agree..." He whispers a prayer as he holds her hand, tears running down his face. He places a kiss on her forehead and lies down in the wagon next to her, his heart pounding and feeling once again set to burst as the energy all drains from him, but he directs what he has into her. [casting cure wounds]

The small dog stops whilst still well out of reach of the two, and sits near the edge of the clearing, watching Glöyn and Gann watch it. It is evidently torn between mistrust of the strangers and a natural curiousity in both the new people and, judging by more than a few meaningful glances, the rabbit. Meanwhile, Gawen emerges from underground with the others, leaning slightly on his staff - although less physically exhausted than the fighters, he can feel a deep weariness from where a part of him reached out and touched Annwn . And more than that - the happenings of the last few hours - almost losing Theli and Isolde, the living dead, the strange manner of Ewan's death (Was he dead? He had looked but there was no body to be found...) and Kara's shining wings - there was a lot to digest. As he exits the cave, he blinks in the light of day - although they hadn't been in the crypt for a great length of time long, he'd somehow been expecting it to be dark when they emerged - and is relieved to see Branok, Theli and Isolde safe. His immediate thought is for the wellbeing of Theli; His earlier ministrations had been rushed and he was still afraid for her life. Upon seeing Magan with her though, he decides it can wait for a moment. Instead, he looks for the statue to investigate it in more detail in the light of day. He kneels down and beckons to Isolde, gently motioning that he wishes to see the statue Magan had given her.

Gann holds his breath while he intently studies the canine behavior of the companion dog. He tries to discern a pattern of behavior such as scouting, or hunting, or traces of hunger or the deeply ingrained distrust of strangers from a stray. He finds very little other than idle curiosity. Gann exhales and breathes normally with a faint wheeze, and his right hand ceases its barely discernible movement towards the seax sheath and instead raises slowly with an open hand, palm turned sideways. Not too far but not too close either - just enough for a dog to choose whether to sniff at it or not.

Theli is still phasing in and out of unconsciousness and very much unable to talk due to the damage to her throat. Her eyes struggle to focus on Magan, though they do water slightly. Her body trembles, but whether it's with fear, anger, or relief, nobody can tell. Isolde happily turns over the dog statue to Gawen and gives him a meaningful look, before pointing towards Kara.

Kara comes wearily out of the cavern, for while everyone else managed to gracefully ascend back up the stairs, after having fallen down them once, she was not sure of them anymore. Any careful planning was most likely due to her weight with armor and all, though thankfully only a few curses about Hela and Loki seemed to keep anything worse than her bruised ego from taking more hits. Though she felt more drained than normal, she knew she still had some of the blessings of Freya left, and felt no problem sharing her gifts to her companions. And while Theli was a good traveling companion, the fighters would come first, then the supporters, for if they got attacked now, it would be by Freya's grace they got out of it again safely. She settles her shield on her back, the symbol of Freya a bit more worn and tattered than when they entered. After healing who she could, she would look over to Isolde and smile. That girl was worth the trip, reminding Kara of the younger girls back home. Though she wasn't sure who in the group knew, Kara was aware of how special Isolde was. And after Magan's well meaning blundering, she also tried to keep a better eye on her. Four was better than two. Muttering under her breath "Let those warriors again join you Freya, and unless Loki stole my mind, watch over the fallen Ewen. He was a good looking one."

As the standoff continues Glöyn slowly draws her seax and cuts a hunk of rabbit flesh from the haunches. She tosses the hunk over near Gann. “Maybe this will help. It could even be a stray... useful in our endeavors.”