Bad Fade

[The Mood is Write]

"Kinny! You can't take that mission!" Faida gaped at the muscular hand that gripped a two-star mission. "Lady Jade says you're only allowed on one-stars," she whispered.

Beside her, the baby-faced and muscular man grimaced. "It's cool, really." He grinned towards the Huntress, then paused and tilted his head. "I... don't think we've met?" One eyebrow lifted as he tilted his head, a smile on his face as he decided to turn on the charm.

"Oh!" The girl's ears grew pink. "Sorry, I just... I'm kind of in intel, unofficially. Trying to get into it. My name's Fade—well, it's Faida." She gave a firm nod and offered her hand.

"Kinny," he answered and shook her hand. "You're pretty cute, you know."

"You are, too." She trailed off, and her ears reddened suddenly. "I mean, uh... No! I ship you with someone else!" She shook her head rapidly. "But if you wanna do a three-star, I'll go with you!" The words came out in a rush that shocked her, and the blush spread to her cheeks.

The young man tilted his head, then chuckled. "Sure, I'm game, Faida." He winked, then tapped the paper. "It'll be cold, so go bundle up and meet up with me—"

"No!" She snagged the paper away and winked, forcing confidence despite how much she wanted to throw herself against the... very pretty man. "Let senpai handle the portal, you're just a babby. We'll meet up in Willow's courtyard, so I'm sure you won't run off."

Babby? Senpai? Kinny snorted and shook his head. "Oh my god, you're a weeaboo. Fine, though." He stuck his tongue out. "Meet you in a half hour."

True to his word, Kinny arrived in the courtyard a half hour later, bundled with a knit sweater, heavy boots, and several sets of gloves, hats, and scarves stuffed into his jacket's pockets. The jacket itself was zipped up tight, and he wore flannel underwear beneath his jeans.

Faida arrived seven minutes later, wearing her own layers, and zipping her jacket over top of her pastel blue hoodie. On her head, she wore a fuzzy pink cat hat with ears, and fingerless gloves adorned her hands. The girl shoved a couple pairs more of gloves and mittens into her pockets, then grinned at Kinny. "Sorry I'm late, Brock and Rare were being adorable, and I had to watch at least a few minutes." Her grin spoke of a complete lack of apology, and her content sigh warmed her ears with redness. "They really need to go official."

"Yeah, though it'd kinda fuck that dynamic they've got going, wouldn't it?"

Faida shook her head. "No! It could be a dom/sub relationship!" Her eyes narrowed and her lips puckered as she glared at the now-smirking male.

Slightly impatient, Kinny glanced toward the door and then back towards Faida. "We gonna get goin? I have a feeling Kina or Kyo are already on their way to tell Auntie."

"Oh!" With a rapid nod, Faida pulled the portable portal from a pocket. The all-important tool looked like nothing more than a carabiner key-chain with loops of yarn wound loosely about it, with a beaded tail attached to one side, though it had no knots. She unhooked the tailed loop, then used the notepad to adjust the beads to the proper coordinates. Finally, she tossed it against a nearby wall, and it spread, taking shape into an ellipse. It immediately snapped to display the other side, and Faida hopped through, followed by Kinny at a casual walk.

On the other side, any who witnessed their arrival saw an elliptical window appear, offering a clear view of a garden in summer, with a beautiful willow at its center, and two bundled blonds in long leather coats. The pair stepped through, she with pep and he with a mere step, and then the young man reached back and hooked a finger back through near the top without turning to look, then pulled it down. The moment the flat surface was disrupted, it collapsed, and a small flick pulled his finger from the tiny remaining portal. He offered the rough loop of yarn to the young lady, and she took it with an uncertain smile.

A few moments later, she finished looping it up, and then clipped it shit with her carabiner. She slipped it into her pocket, then pulled out a pair of gloves.

"It is a bit cold here." She pulled them on, then flipped up the collar of her jacket.

"I told you." Kinny grinned, though his face already hurt. "I brought vaseline and lip balm in case we get chapped up."

"Thanks." Faida rubbed her hands together and looked around. "Um. Business. The note said there's an old Hunter relic not far off, and we're to keep a local explorer from it."

Kinny nodded. "Yeah, I remember." He looked around as well, trying to spot, scent, or hear their target. "Didn't say kill?"

She breathed inward quietly but abruptly, then shook her head. "Nope. Didn't say kill."

"Oh, good. That'll be a last resort. I don't... like making ghosts." Kinny's eyes narrowed and he looked down, remembering several things at once.

 

[Malicious Maximus]

Though the snow covered lands were not of Northern soil, it did not lessen the familiar sensation of the biting cold, and it was one the Northerner relished. The Southern continent's winters were all but satisfying. They were warmer, the snow was thinner, and yet still the peasants of the nearest fiefdom complained of the severity of the season. Being this far north of the continent, however, did yield some appealing results. The Northernmost region, merely called 'the highlands', were a series of jagged cliffs leading to towering peaks of stunning mountainside. With a cap of snow delightfully topping such graceful titans, the Northerner felt akin to home. It made this venture all the more enjoyable.

Mal of the House Gorarth, adventurer from the Northern lands, friend to the spirits of the ancient forests, had come to this region of a foreign land seeking a relic of value to his people. He had heard word from one of the local farmers that one of the ancient southern lords of the fiefdom, long before the peace of the Northern Kings, had sacked a vessel sailing through the great sea. Upon that vessel was the Eye of Wodan; a small trinket said to hold the wisdom of Wodan himself within its vessel. It had been sealed away by its captor within his keep, locked away and protected by both the terrain and a mighty fortress, until a great plight spread throughout the fortress' defenders, leaving the place desolate and feared. Mal shared no local superstition and bravely scaled the mountainside, braving the deadly cold, and the fatal fall alike.

It had taken him three day's journey from the base of the mountain from a small village, but after the sun had peaked at the midday, did the great keep of a forgotten lord come into view. The tired eyes of the Northern wandered came upon a heap of stone ever so carefully built into the side of a mountain. Its days of splendor were long past. The era of decay and death settled upon the aged keep; the cobblestone stained with frost, poor maintenance, and the stench of death. Unbeknownst to the man as he made approach of the keep, he was not alone, for two others had made their entrance in a fantastical way. Surely they would meet within the confined corridors of the old fortress.

As he made approach of the ruined gate of the keep, the Northerner dismounted the heavy pack upon his back, stuffed full of the remaining supplies he had brought with him to endure the cold. Along with it the man laid down his shield, for the confined corridors ahead would not be permissible with the large rounded shield that had saved his life so many times prior. He would instead opt for the hand-and-a-half broadsword, an elegantly crafted weapon of the age old Elven arts, which well serve purpose to protect him from whatever malignant creatures resided within. Taking a deep breath, the man raised his free hand to wipe the accumulated frost from his beard and face, the heels of his heavy boots making audible sound as the frost crunched beneath against the soulless cobblestone. The Keep of the Forgotten Lord had been breached.

 

[The Mood is Write]

The pair looked around for some moments more, and then Kinny spoke up. "I'm gonna explore a bit. This place is kinda cool."

"You mean freaking cold!," Faida whined.

"Pun intended." The young man snickered as he jogged from her, and from behind he heard her give chase. The large stones held strong, but the material that once sealed out wind and cold between the cracks rested in crumbled pieces and dust along the floor. Old tapestries hung, preserved for the most part by the lack of life in such a cold place. He passed mummified remains and slowed to a stop as they entered a large room with a throne at one end.

"Whoa." Dark blue eyes stared as his mouth hung open. A corpse, looking fresh but pale, rested on the throne, as though asleep. Likely, it was preserved by the cold it had once resisted. He began to turn to address his partner, but spotted something from the corner of his eye, and turned further. Movement? He heard it now too, over the sound of his breath and Faida's slowed steps. The rusted hinges on the great doors had given way to age, and down the hall, Kinny spotted a person approaching.

"Faida, think that's him?"

Faida, doubled over after chasing the quicker Hunter, followed his finger with her gaze. "First... alive I've seen," she managed between pants. "Let's go... meet him?"

Kinny nodded, then started to jog toward the stranger in the distance, while Faida groaned behind him, "More running?"

The young man turned back and paused. "Why not? We've got him in sight. We're just gonna tell him he can't go to a specific room, right?"

"And then make sure he doesn't come back when we leave. We're probably gonna have to go with him." She rubbed her arms, and Kinny shrugged.

"Well, can't be that bad, right?"

"It will be if I have to spend the night here! It's old and gross, and I can't smell anything!" Her voice came out louder than she intended, and Kinny's excited gaze softened.

"Hey, hey, no worries." He nodded and walked back to her, then pulled a scarf from his jacket and wound it around her face until only her eyes showed. "I can't smell jack or shit either. I know, this place is kinda shit, but think of it: it's probably got a whole cool story about why the only people here are dead and why more didn't come to live here, ya know? Just think of that. Maybe make something up, and it won't be so bad." He winked at her and took her hands into his, then rubbed gently at her fingers before he slipped mittens onto her. "Here, layering does wonders."

Faida nodded slowly. "Can we just walk to him, though?"

"Sure thing." He nodded, then pulled a hat onto himself, covering his reddened ears.

 

[Malicious Maximus]

Navigating the narrow corridors, Mal migrated over the corpses of warriors long passed, by tapestries and glory of old days. The cold have preserved so much of the keep's history, to which the Northerner found himself captivated, but nonetheless cautious. He was on the alert for any particular beasts that may have sought refuge in the keep, or even his fellow man, that would lay in wait for an unsuspecting traveler to make for easy prey. He kept his regal blade aloft in his hand, whereas his offhand was kept upwards and in front of him, empty and without any means of lighting. He had brought only so much fat to light fires with him on this journey, and thus far, he was running it dark.

Thankfully the lighting in the keep grew better the farther inwards he went. The keep's decadence began to become more prominent, with holes in the walls and ceiling seeping through light from above, leaving the man with a comfortable confidence. Rounding a right after some time of blind venturing, he would come to the great hall of the keep at last. Upon the throne sat the body of the Lost Lord of the keep, his flesh running azure from the cold, the emblem of his house portrayed ever so proudly upon the talberd worn. A lost, forgotten house. A voice, sudden, followed by footsteps. It was at this point Mal's view came upon the two others in the throne room making their own approach, menfolk, and his guard went up immediately.

The Northerner's sword arm rose into a defensive position, his left rising with his fingers prepared to sign any words of power. Who were these people? The silver emblem around his neck, an icon fashioned in the image of Vör for foresight, remained silent in place for but the most soft of tingling. There was magic here, that much was certain, but it was not being actively utilized or summoned forth. Suspicious and on guard, the Northerner first made approach of the pair, blade held in the defensive posture, but his foot was all but that; aggressive, prepared to strike.

"Hail strangers." The man's low voice shouted the greeting across the main hall, his eyes locked unto the pair idly standing side by side. "Do you name this keep your home? Or are you as I am, but a guest?"

 

[The Mood is Write]

And then the stranger was there, on guard, and ready to rush at a moment's notice. Kinny threw his hand up where the man could see. "Guests, sent to make sure an artifact stored here is still under its proper protections, for the safety of our people." Despite his gesture of surrender, he stood tall, his posture relaxed. He kept his fingers still and spread, faced slightly upward and away from the man.

The stranger's left hand was hard to miss. Kinny didn't want to look like he was preparing a spell.

Faida simply stared, eyes locked on the long-haired hunk.

Kinny jabbed her with his elbow, one brow quirked. "Hey. Say something. You look like a psychopath."

The female Hunter jumped, and underneath the scarf and hat, she felt her ears redden. She raised her own hands as well, both covered by thick mittens. "We come in peace!" Her voice jumped an awkward octave, and she winced. Beside her, Kinny bit both his lips to keep from snickering.

He shook his head, then looked toward the armed stranger. "I'm disarming myself. She will too. We're not here for a fight." With that, he carefully opened his jacket, then pulled a dagger from its sheath and dropped it to the ground, followed by his gun: an L-shaped chunk of high-polished steel. The dagger itself seemed a mix between silver and mythril, and moonstone shone in the pommel.

Faida stared at Kinny, then unzipped her jacket as well, to reveal her pink hoodie with a big heart and the words "Free Hugs". Regardless, she dropped both her weapons onto the ground, identical to Kinny's save that hers had a deep red agate the color of fresh blood.

"My name's Kinny. My friend is Faida. Can we step closer so we're not shouting?" Kindall remained in place, waiting to see what the other man might do. In truth, he didn't really care how well-armed the human was. He doubted he could be hurt by a non-silver weapon.

 

[Malicious Maximus]

Safety of their people? Were they opposed to the powers of the Northern gods? Or was there more here than he knew? Would they oppose him if he pursued his venture to retrieve an artifact of his people? He'd observe them disarm themselves, but the man's blade persisted to be held in the defensive position, his other hand maintaining its posture. 'We come in peace!' He heard it yelled rather loudly by the other person, rather in a strange manner he might add, which certainly brought his more inquisitive side out. Who were these people?

"Aye." Sounded the man, who agreed to these terms of approach. Seeing their weapons touch the floor of cobblestone, Mal slowly made his way forwards, the elven blade lowering itself to a less threatening posture. Though his other hand was slower to lower, the Northerner felt confident that he could sufficiently handle the two of them should they prove threatening. Though the man felt... different than Mal had expected, the woman's spirit was human, making them both as mortal as he. Meaning they could die just as easy.

Coming now within the distance of earshot, the Northerner stood straight, his height and presence creating a commanding figure. Furs lay draped over a single plate piece and chainmail. The Northerner was well bundled, as he had been taught by his father, to escape the bite of the cold. It made him appear all the more ferocious to the untrained, of course. As the two of them made their way to a similar standing pose, the man's cold-touched face was the first to open up, the Northerner pulling back the hood of his cloak to free his face. One shaped by the bite of the Northern frost and war, his eyes were stern and gaunt, the gaze of those steel blue eyes piercing. His hair was braided in choice location, trinkets of Northern mysticism dangling from them, and despite the freezing temperature the man had still taken the time to ensure that he was well groomed and appropriate. An old habit from the homeland.

"I am Mal of House Gorarth. First Son to Jarl Kunig of House Gorarth." His powerful voice spoke with pride. His namesake was one he bore with great honor, and one he fought fiercely to protect. "I apologize if I have intruded. I come seeking the Eye of Wodan. The forgotten lord of this keep supposedly stole it from the Northern people ages ago. I have come to reclaim it." His eyes jumped from the man, Kinny, to the woman, Faida, constantly. Searching for any signs of danger and dishonesty.

 

[The Mood is Write]

Kinny had no need to follow suit: he'd not bundled his face, though all that showed so far was pinkness about his ears, nose, and cheeks. His breath fogged the air in front of him as he beamed brightly, pleased to have made a good enough impression on the stranger that he agreed to meet them in the middle with weapons lowered. His sweater, thick and cable-knit, was a soft dusty pink, and the collar of his light grey button-up peeked from the top.

Even to Kinny's six feet and bulk, he had to admit the local man had a hell of a presence up close: not only that, but Faida was right to stare. He was pretty! Well, pretty in the way a man was, not pretty as in dainty. He needed to start getting used to using words like handsome.

Oh god, was the cold already affecting him!?

At Mal's introduction, Kinny inclined his head. Mal even stated his intentions, and dark blue eyes didn't miss the glancing between them, seeking any reason for caution. "My full name is Kindall Lit Shears, a Hunter and the eighth child of the Generals Kyra and Obsidian Shears. This is my partner and a senior Hunter, Faida...?" He looked toward her, his baby-like face devoid of any signs of facial hair and at odds with his broad shoulders, thick neck, bulking body, and his muscular, scarred hands.

At long last, the girl who stared with wide, orange eyes spoke. "Just Faida. I have no house or clan." She paused as she noticed how muffled her voice was, and hurriedly pulled down the borrowed scarf, then removed her hat. "Sorry. Kinny is more accustomed to cold than I am." She looked up to the sweater-clad man, to pick up on the rest of their introduction.

Pick up he did. "We're not here for an artifact known as the Eye of Wodan. We have been told the object we protect was placed here after it turned into a ghost keep, so in that we've no conflict." Thank goodness! Kinny's already beaming smile became brighter.

"No conflict?" Faida pulled her eyes from Mal long enough to send a look towards Kinny, seeking confirmation.

The tall, young man nodded, then frowned as he let his eyes travel across her face. "Start listening, Fay. Cold already getting to you? We just arrived."

Faida bit her lower lip, and her ears and parts of her cheeks reddened further, adding suddenly to the already cold-reddened areas. "I'm not feeling the cold so much as what it... uh... brings."

Kinny's eyebrows shot upward, and he patted her shoulder, then looked toward Mal with a slight shrug and a helpless half-smile. "Sorry about that. Our people aren't fully human, and cold weather affects us in unusual ways. It's nothing dangerous, just a distraction for us." In the interest of not being run through or spat magic at, he opted for honesty and hoped Mal trusted his ability to read a face.

 

[Malicious Maximus]

Though his outwards appearance did not relax, the man found comfort in the mere notion that these two before him could really be here for a reason outside his own, leaving there to be no room for quarrel. It had been some time since he had spilt the blood of another in combat, and though he relished the glory quite often, the idea of wetting his blade in such an old and ancient place seemed... inappropriate. It was a place of sanctuary, perhaps once designed to weather the heat of battle, but now the world had seized it and its inhabitants. Eerie.

"Then, Kindall of Lit Shears, and Faida of... Just, no house." The man's serious demeanor broke ever so slowly, his beard creasing to show a tired smile, finally the hand-and-a-half blade being lowered from a striking position. "It is good to have your company. I have not seen a friendly face, or even one so close to that of man, in days." The hand once prepared for magic went for the scabbard discarded upon the ground. Sheathing his weapon, signalling his compliance of peace, the Northerner straightened his posture, adopting something substantially more relaxed.

"You are not of manflesh, yet you do not appear as fair as the Elven folk, or as squat as the Dwarves. You are certainly not a of the fell-folk, the orc-kin, and neither are you a Jotun." A hand rose to softly rub at his frost covered beard, rubbing against the rather wild collection of groomed hairs ever so gently as he pondered the predicament. "Are you of Midguard, then? And what of which you have come to protect? If not the Eye of Wodan, what is this... artifact?" Speaking of which. The Northerner made an idle gesture, as if to excuse himself, and made for approach of that rather elegant and large throne. Its construction was of marble, unlike the rest of the cobblestone filling the keep. The once-lord must have been vain to sit so different than his kinsmen.

First the body sitting atop the throne was examined. Clearly the lord had once been a very tall man. Perhaps even gaunt, considering the manner of how strangely thin his bones were. The cold had perfectly preserved the skeletal structure beneath a thin veil of worn flesh. An icy sarcophagus keeping an old memory alive. Mal reached to his neck, retrieving the pendant of sight, and held it close to the body. Nothing substantial, but a soft, warm hum against the Northerner's large hand. Something was close. Mal began to circle the marble throne, looking about for anything out of place, brushing idly hanging snow and frost away. Perhaps there was more than what the eye would permit to perceive here....

 

[The Mood is Write]

Faida thought for sure this strange man had no idea how names worked, but when he broke into a grin, she saw his joke for what it was. A giggle emerged, and the cold she felt that stemmed from worry began to fade. He lowered his blade and sheathed it, then straightened to show a relaxed posture.

Thank Jade!

And then the man went on. Faida's eyes widened in confusion, and she shot a glance towards Kinny, who seemed relaxed as ever.

~*~​

Kinny just grinned and thumped Faida's shoulder. "We don't really use names like those to refer to ourselves. We're Hunters. It's our people and our profession," the young man explained. "We hunt for problems and fix them, to help people survive against threats they can't otherwise handle—"

Mal made a gesture, and Kinny tilted his head, ready to continue, but instead paused as he watched the wild-seeming northerner with curiosity. Kinny moved closer to observe the man's inspection of the corpse, and how he lifted an amulet and held it near the body.

Something about it hinted at danger, and the young man took a step back, but 'back' did not mean 'out of sight'. Still within Mal's line of sight, the inexplicably concerned Kindall displayed as both live and dead, with a ghost that clung to a body and kept its heart beating. The ghost was the only soul within, and its grip seemed to flicker and strain. Parts of the body grew dead and others came back to life.

It might have seemed like the futile efforts of a man trying to keep a leaking bucket filled, or perhaps the efforts of a starving beast eating its own fur to survive.

~*~​

Seemingly forgotten by both men, Faida watched closely. Kinny seemed and smelled nervous. The young woman stepped closer to her partner. "Kinny? Is something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

 

[Malicious Maximus]

Seeing the man through the sight of the amulet all but strengthened Mal's earlier assumption. Seeing this 'Kindall' as how he carried himself, a swathe of energy barely kept together, was concerning to say in the least. Not very many creatures consisted of the essence of death and life. It brought more questions than answers, but the Northerner was not here for either, he was here for something substantially more important.

"So you solve problems." The man repeated, releasing the amulet from his grasp, and instead looking to place his hands about the base structure of the throne. "And you help those in need of assistance. A noble endeavor for any one individual to undertake. From the sounds of things, there might be more than just two of you, which does beg the question...." As Mal was to voice his curiosities, he felt a waft of air coming from beneath the marble throne. It was but just a crack in the face of the ancient stone, and the air felt cold, colder than even the mountain air could manage. Just what for which he was looking.

"If you would not mind standing off away from the throne, I do believe I have may have found something." The Northerner stood, looking for when both Kinny and Faida were out of the way, before gazing upon the throne itself. The magic was beneath the throne, rather than emanating from the marble itself, which gave Mal the idea that it was but a door to where the real challenge was waiting. The man braced himself against the back of the marble throne and inhaled sharply. With a loud snarl, the man began to press against its surface, and for but a moment nothing but the soft crackle of frost could be heard over the Northerner's growling. Then there was a loud, metallic groan, and the marble began to slowly shift forwards. The throne sat upon an aged mechanism, which had neatly rusted beneath century of frost, though there was sufficient leverage for a strong man to test his mettle.

Mal persisted to push with his might, the throne beginning to shift under some urging, but the overall weight was much to great. A counterweight, the Northerner could feel, remained in place beneath the throne to ensure that it would not budge. The man drew pause in his efforts, inhaled sharply, and simply began to speak. The words he spoke were not of the common tongue, native rather to the realm of his homeland; an older language, one spoken by the ancestors of the Northermen, communicative with the spirits of Midguard. Mal sought the aid of strength, asking the spirits that were bound with his soul to come forth, so that they might all prove their might to the old gods. As a Godi, it was but the most basic of mannerisms to call upon the spirits for aid, and it began to show its temperance as Mal began to shift the throne with a sudden and renewed might.

The marble throne surged forwards, the groaning of metal now at its loudest, and the throne came to a standstill with a loud 'clunk' echoing in the throne room. The corpse of the nameless lord jutted forwards, his distorted face slacking at the jaw, his appearance all the more frightful in its startled state. As for what lay beneath the throne? A descending spiral of a staircase, a sudden breeze of old, frozen air coming right up into the Northerner's face. The darkness below was long, with no discernible end. Looking over to both Kinny and Faida, the Northerner smiled upon both of them.

"Well. Then perhaps you might aid me in *not* stumbling across the artifact that you so dearly wish to protect?"

 

[The Mood is Write]

Mal released his amulet, and Kinny's tension faded. He adopted his typical easygoing grin, but it didn't hide how his heart felt ready to explode from his chest from...

Honestly, the man had no idea if the amulet had even been dangerous, but some part of him blared of danger: a part he didn't hear as clearly as he once did, so when he did hear it, he listened.

Regardless, Mal was going on, about to ask a question, but his mind moved elsewhere and asked the pair to move. Both acquiesced, and Kinny's dark blue eyes watched Mal as the older man struggled with the throne. He tilted his head, then started closer, ready to help push, even though he didn't know why, exactly. Either way, the older man seemed to be straining, and wasn't it just polite to help? Especially as he appeared to be... maybe cursing in a strange language Kinny didn't know.

Kinny leaned toward the throne as he found a spot where he could without getting into Mal's way. His hands came to rest against the throne, but before he could do a damn thing, the throne came close to flying forward. The force Kinny intended to use on the stone instead pushed his own body forward, onto the back of the ancient seat.

Too little, too late. The young man's face reddened. "Sorry, I uh... Looks like you got it after all," he turned his face to look back towards Mal, then looked down to where the throne had been.

"Well. Then perhaps you might aid me in *not* stumbling across the artifact that you so dearly wish to protect?," Mal asked, and Kinny's startled expression became a broad grin.

Aid Mal? Oh, hell yes. Mal was a badass.

He opened his mouth to answer, but embarrassingly enough, Faida beat him to it.

"Absolutely!," the pastel-clad woman chirped as she hopped a couple times in place, then skipped toward Mal.

She reeked of lust. Damn it.

Still, she gave the same answer Kinny wanted to, and he nodded as he pulled himself up to his feet. "That sounds good to me! Maybe I'll be more useful down there than helping with the throne." The half-dead man approached the pair, then stuffed his hands into a pair of his pockets and looked down into the darkness.

Taking the chance, Kinny pulled a flashlight from his pocket. "Shall we?" He clicked it on, determined to impress the very strong and handsome local.

Images popped to Kinny's mind unbidden, and his face once more grew red. "I'll take point!" His voice broke like an adolescent's as he trotted the first few steps down, then began to move more slowly, flashlight aimed downward.

Behind him, he could hear Faida as she spoke, presumably to Mal.

"You're really strong," she praised, a hint of crooning in her voice.

"Down, girl, I saw him first," Kinny whispered to himself, the blush on his face extending to his ears. Granted, he didn't even know if Mal was into men.

 

[Malicious Maximus]

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about. The help is appreciated, regardless." Ever the jovial one, the Northerner put on a smile for Kinny in the wake of his abashed state. Before he responded to the man's retort, there was the woman, speaking with such enthusiasm on going with him that it was surprising. It brought him to laugh, a hearty laugh, the man's throat becoming strained from such exposure to the cold. "Of course! Your company is welcome on this journey into the depths of Midguard. We shall certainly find of which we both seek, surely, if we manage our efforts together."

Kinny offered to go first, with some odd device that sent light forwards with some strength, and it was a good thing it seemed to not become afflicted by the tightness of the air. The dungeon the three were stumbling into had not a pocket of fresh air in near centuries. It was old, wafted, and smelled of an old death. Mal was familiar with the scent, have traversed many a tomb, many a battlefield. He was curious if his new acquaintances were familiar as well. He followed Kinny with a few steps distance, no need to crowd in the instance something happened, but it certainly appeared that Faida was close enough. Close enough to deliver a whisper. In a tone that suggested more than just idle admiration. It brought an idle curve to his lips.

"You bring me flattery, Faida. It is true, I have trained as a warrior, lived as a Northerner, and sailed as a sailor. My professions have well prepared me with strength to face the dangers of the world as they would any man. But I did not push the throne alone. If you wish to give proper homage," the man paused to turn his head but for a slight, gaze into her eyes with the intensity of one of his, that smile remaining on his face, "give homage to the spirits. By their graciousness we are down here."

Unbeknownst to a distracted Mal, the amulet at his neck remained silent, for an ancient ward protecting the traps set within the dungeon was preforming its duty despite the years of wear. Ancient machinations began to awake, deep within the dungeon, as the guardian's of the Lord's trove began to stir. Servants unwillingly sacrificed in bondage were locked away deep within the dungeon, sealed by magic to remain as horrifying defenders, their mortified corpses stirring with the infernal energies of spirits entrapped by the powers of a warlock. Animated by hate of containment, these defenders awoke the moment the throne shifted without the proper sigil, after centuries of waiting their time had come. They came from the stonework, from where the servants had perished from starvation within their tomb, their bodies serving as anchors for rage and death. Towards the intruders they stumbled, slowly navigating the labyrinth of a tomb, migrating towards the intruders a great distance away.

The three adventurers would continue down the dark, perilous staircase for no small amount of time. Wherever they were going, it was deep beneath the keep. But when they'd finally arrive to the base of the staircase, there would be the great door to the treasury inside, an old wooden door frozen shut, but weakened by rotting of frost. The obstacle itself was of no consequence, there was no magic keeping the door in place, nor were there repercussions as a bold Mal made approach of the door, gazing upon the markings that lined the door's frame. The corridor leading from the staircase to the door itself was a narrow one, deliberately sized to slow invaders who would breach the final defense of the keep, a rather ingenious design for an effective last stand.

"These are old runes of an old people." The Northerner announced silently, looking up to the door frame as Kinny offered lighting, with Mal looking upon those markings with a keen gaze. "These people once had a relation to the people of the North, if you could believe it. They were the resistors to the greatest tribe before the first King of the North assumed the throne. They were cast out by Adrigan the Mad, Lord of the Tribe of the Red, settling upon these hostile mountains and shores with but their own ways of my people's culture. If anything," the man reached up to touch the markings of the frame, "this is what remains of a whole culture. One my ancestors had expunged." As his fingers touched the frame, he drew back immediately with a soft gasp, as if he had been bitten by some wild animal ever so suddenly.

"....there is an old hatred here." The Northerner would say after a moment of silence, despite any urgent request from his companions, the taller man simply flexing and shifting his fingers as he stood before the door, pondering the sensation he felt running through his spine from but a single, tactile touch. "Something... frightening. Pain and suffering was wrought here, but by what, I do not know." Slowly the Northerner turned to face the other two, his gaze upon them stern, straight, and unflinching. The jovial attitude was gone. "Do you... feel it?"

Mal would prove to be not the only one who had felt the disturbance.

Beyond the spirits of the dead, of the innocent, others had taken to reside within the ancient halls of the mountain keep. An ancient race of their own right, one laden with misfortune and war, these people had lived within the mountain itself for ages before the menfolk had come. Carving into their home some large tomb of sorts, driving their people away, slaughtering them upon contact. Then something happened, and the menfolk perished, leaving a void of existence within the keep. Something else made its home there, a frightful... force. An entity. Something that the ancient people of the mountain had sought to avoid, despite their growing need for room, their progressive shift into the abandoned halls of the menfolk's treasury was a slow one. But a single hole connected the pocket domain of a tribe of mountain goblins, the creatures living an existence in such perilous conditions and surviving.

Today was a different day. Today was the day that the great spirit-seer K'yurg would awake from his slumber with a jolt, in such a fashion that he frightened his wives like never before. The goblin shaman felt the arrival of a manfolk, and others not of the mountain, and the stirring of the ancient fright that now lived ever so dangerously to his tribe. Now they all stirred. Now they all moved in a motion of change. The ancient goblin had to awake his chief; now was the time.

 

[The Mood is Write]

The first scent of the stale air below sent a shudder through Kinny. So much death below and above, he almost felt thankful for his gift lost. He'd not be hearing their cries, nor forced to witness their stories. If he couldn't witness them, he could help them pass elsewhere, either. Two-edged sword, that one, though by now, based on the age of the place, they were likely feral, with no care for things like passing on and re-entering the cycle of death and rebirth.

A glance back toward Faida caught her eyes darting about in the dimness, barely perceptible. The scent of her nerves came through clear to the ghost, and he shot a grin towards the both of his companions as his nosebleed began. The dark liquid appeared only briefly before he turned and, mistaking the trickle for snot from the cold, he wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve. The scent of his own blood didn't register right away, not until they reached the door with its runes and hatred, and the flow in his nostril was stronger.

Kinny had no need to touch the door. Even without his connection to his powers, he could feel the malice.

"Feel it? Yeah..." He swallowed. "I feel it alright—feels like it's trying to pull me in." The Hunter took a step away and wiped again at his nose, then paused as he noticed at last. "Faida, we got incoming somewhere," he warned as he stuffed a tissue from his jacket into his nose.

"Mhm," she acknowledged, glowing faintly in the dark. "I'm not bleeding yet, so it's sure to be ghosts or something." The woman hugged herself and shuddered, eyes on the door and its runes.

Her scent of fear cut through clear for Kinny, and his gaze toward her softened. Jealousy cast aside in favor of a sense of instinctual protectiveness, the young man grinned. "We got weapons against 'em," he reassured, more for Faida than Mal, but still, he did turn his attention to the explorer. "And I'm sure our new friend's not helpless against spirits."

His mind went back to the amulet, how it sent his nerves reeling and how it made him want to flee. Unable to know what it did, he assumed Mal could use it as a weapon, or at least that the Northman had something to use—it struck him as too stupid for a guy like Mal to not have protection, if he made enough habit of this to smell as at ease as he did, though the startlement and reaction on the touch...

Did he not know not to touch strange runes? Or... no, he said they were familiar to him. Did he not realize they could hold power, or was the hatred from another source than the runes?

"Mal?" He paused to adjust his hat. "What do you know about this place? Places like this? I don't think our intel mentioned... a lot of this." He regretted a little bit not having the usual meeting with his aunt about the full details of the mission, but it was too late for that now. Faida, he was sure, had more experience than he did. The closest he had was a few D&D sessions with his brothers.