They huddled together, trying to both relax and be ready for the command when it came. Most were wrapped in furs and leather with hard worn and beaten plate armour over the top. All looked intently at the hulking polar bear, who was resting on a barbed harpoon long enough to skewer Lenanuki herself. His breathing was laboured and thick dark blood seeped from some unseen wound beneath his breastplate.
When the undead first came to the frozen north the Winter Jarn had beaten them back into the sea time and again. But the assaults never stopped. When they pulled back to defend homesteads and halls it all fell apart. They were raiders and war makers, hopelessly unprepared for a protracted siege and guerrilla warfare. Their knowledge of the terrain had bought them some time, but soon the sheer numbers took that away from them. Support from the winter elves under the command of the Phoenix soon ran out. The jarls and thanes had long since stopped looking for ways to win Faran Gloss back and were just set on survival of as many as possible. A beachhead had been secured and two ships made fit to sail. Thankfully the soulless did little to destroy things and focused on killing and raising.
The party were there to make sure that the 100 or so survivors made it un-disturbed. Every man, beast and elf there was as a volunteer. None expected to make it to the ships. They had been waiting for the two mages to give them the go, but it had been a long time. Those with keen ears and eyes waited for the distinctive gate and trudge of the dead, but none came.
Weasel was the first to smell it, and when he cried out they all saw it. A dark green smoke falling into the crevasse that was their hiding place. The small scout tried to stand but his legs failed him, then his arms. Sores and welts appeared through his fur. Others panicked and found their body's turning against them while all they could do was watch wide eyed and fearful.
"GO!" barked the bear
Those that could ran, some stopped to pick up others that couldn't move. Several were left behind. Soon only two stood, the great white bear and a winter elf who's skin was covered in shimmering silver scars. The elf wore the blue and silver of the Phoenix king and well beaten plate, in his right hand was a mean looking flail and in his left was the standard of the Winter Jarn, a grey keep over a white iceberg on a grey field.
"Two of us against an endless army, I hope they brought backup"
"I can think of worse ways to go Anders" replied the bear in a deep rumble.
Both warriors put hand and paw on the ridge of the crevasse looked at each other and leaped up over the ledge. In front of them was maybe a handful of mindless undead. But further in the distance was the army. A disorganised sea of shambling corpses, scavenged from all corners of the known world. Anders swung his flail and two zombies fell. The bear slashed at two more and speared a third with his harpoon. They built up a rhythm, kill, step, kill, step. Swapping flanks when needed.
Soon they were deep into the undead lines and those at the vanguard started to turn back to swallow these two.
Standing a head above most of the horde he fought the bear could see the bay they sought to protect. A small boat lying low in the water was making slow progress to a galley anchored away from the shore. The other large boat was no where to be seen, having either fled already or been sunk.
"We must keep their attention, 5 minutes is all they need."
Anders nodded grimly parrying with the banner as a clumsy axe blow came at his un-covered head. The bear pulled the leather thonging around his neck, snapping it and letting fall countless shark teeth that were tied into it. A rush of life magic filled the area around him stunning the dead too close to avoids it.
"Whiteness now my final stand!" He stated to the air above his head. As if the gods themselves watched his actions he seemed to take on a new life and fought with renewed vigour.
Perhaps distracted by the spell cast by his ally, Anders didn't see the smaller ghoul with a vicious knife crawling along the floor towards him. When it stood up next to him there was nothing he could do to stop it plunging it's foul blade between the plates of his armour. He winced, but as soon as the blade was pulled from his pale flesh an icy silver scar formed. The beast died shortly after, a flail crashing down on it's collar bone shattering it's chest.
The warriors looked at each other again, both knew they had very little life left. They resumed their killing but this time no time was wasted parrying. Anders took a sword through his thigh and pulled it out of its owners grip, the blade still stuck in his leg. The undead horde started throwing dark magics at the pair, but they brushed it off ignoring the minor hexes aimed at them. In the distance a ghostly figure in flowing black robes locked eyes with Anders chanting in some unknown tongue. The next moment he was gone and Anders was surrounded by dark black smoke. Two cold hands materialised and rested on the elf's shoulders and he heard someone far away whisper "touch of death".
He looked round to see who had touched him but no one was there. Near by the prone form of the bear covered in wounds, full of arrows, lay dead. Looking a further what he saw was a galley, sails billowing, leaving they bay.
"You failed. We lived"
The lands of the Frozen North were sundered but even now the waters refreeze and people eke out an existence
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