“I’ll cast Grease near the entrance,” Theodas declared, his tone brooking no argument.
Chief Thrian hesitated for a moment. “Won’t that burn slower and be less hot with all the snow? The cold will dampen the flames.”
“True,” Theodas replied, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But it’ll also be more slippery. They’ll spread out, trying to get to us, and that’ll give us the advantage.”
Chief Thrian nodded with approval, and Theodas moved swiftly to the entrance. His fingers traced arcane patterns in the air, and with a murmured incantation, the ground before the ancient ruins began to glisten with a slick, oily sheen. The snow hissed as the grease spread, creating a treacherous slick of ice and oil.
He retreated behind the stone fortifications, pulling out a chime stone from his pouch with practiced efficiency. With a sharp twist, he increased the volume, the stone humming with dangerous energy. With a flick of his wrist, Theodas hurled it toward one of the fallen metal doors. The stone struck with a resonant clang, and a high-pitched chime echoed through the frozen air, sharp enough to make everyone wince and cover their ears. The stone flew back to Theodas’s hand, and he grinned, glancing at his companions. “That should be loud enough to grab their attention.”
The sound of heavy feet pounding against the stone floor of the ruins began to echo, growing louder with each passing second. Ochrea, Bjorn, and the Chief stood ready, their weapons igniting with fire enchantments that crackled and hissed in the frigid air.
“They’re coming,” Theodas muttered, his voice tense with anticipation. “I won’t cast the Silence spell until the largest group of them gets out. It won’t cancel your fire enchantments,” he added, glancing at the dwarves, “but it might snuff out the flames on Ochrea’s hammer. The spell’s mana-driven. We’ll weaken them first, then I’ll use the spell to slow down their regeneration.”
The first of the Frost Trolls burst from the entrance, their massive forms lumbering forward with terrifying speed. Three trolls emerged, their feet slipping on the grease as they tried to charge. One stumbled, crashing into the jagged spikes lining the path, while another slipped and fell, scrambling to regain its footing.
Bjorn was the first to engage, his axe whistling through the air as it bit deep into the troll’s arm. The impact sent a shock up his arms, but the sensation was drowned out by the troll’s roar of pain—an ear-splitting, animalistic sound that made his blood run cold. He didn’t have time to process the fear that gnawed at the edges of his resolve. This was survival, raw and brutal. Before the troll could retaliate, Ochrea was there, her hammer wreathed in flames, smashing into its knee with a sickening crunch that made Bjorn’s stomach churn. There was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt—only the endless rhythm of violence and survival.
The trolls were funneled into the narrow passageways, their large bodies struggling to maneuver. Six more trolls eventually followed their scout, slipping and sliding on the greasy ground, their momentum slowed by the walls and traps that had been set. The battle became a chaotic dance of steel and fire, the warriors moving with practiced precision as they fought off the onslaught.
Theodas stood back, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the battlefield. He began to weave precise patterns in the air, each movement deliberate and calculated. A flick of his wrist sent a small fireball hurtling towards the nearest troll, striking its shoulder and causing it to stagger. The fire didn’t just burn; it disoriented, forcing the troll to retreat a step, buying precious seconds for Bjorn to drive his axe into its side. Theodas adjusted his position, his mind racing through the spells he could use, weighing the cost of each one. He needed to conserve his mana, but every cast had to count. Another quick motion, and a searing line of flame shot out, catching another troll in the face and sending it reeling. Theodas’s magic wasn’t just a tool; it was the edge they needed to survive.
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As the battle raged on, more trolls emerged, now eight in total, all slipping and struggling to reach the fortifications. The dwarves fought back-to-back, their movements synchronized as they diverted the trolls’ attention, giving Ochrea the openings she needed to land crippling blows. Theodas, meanwhile, waited for the perfect moment, his eyes focused on the largest group of trolls.
The battle was a frenzied blur of violence, each second stretching into an eternity. Blood sprayed across the snow, staining the white canvas of the frozen ground with dark, steaming pools. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of burning flesh and the metallic tang of blood, a nauseating miasma that clung to their senses and threatened to overwhelm them. Every strike, every block, was driven by desperation—a primal need to survive. Ochrea’s hammer swung with relentless force, but with every blow, her arms grew heavier, the exhaustion seeping into her bones. Bjorn’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he battled the rising tide of panic. They were outnumbered, overmatched, but there was no room for fear—only the raw, unyielding will to keep fighting.
When all the trolls were beaten and bloodied, their regeneration already starting to mend their wounds, Theodas raised his hands and cast the Silence spell. The air around them seemed to deaden, the sudden silence as disorienting as the battle’s roar had been. It was as if the very world had paused, holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next. Theodas felt the ripple of arcane energy spread out in a wave, blanketing the battlefield with an unnatural stillness. The flames on Ochrea’s hammer flickered and died, snuffed out by the spell’s touch. For a moment, doubt flickered in her mind—a whisper of uncertainty in the midst of chaos. But she pushed it aside, gripping the haft of her hammer with renewed resolve. Silence or no, the trolls would fall. Her strikes landed with the same power and precision as before, each blow fueled by the knowledge that they were fighting not just for survival, but for something far greater.
Ochrea moved with a fierce determination, her hammer a blur of motion as she channeled every ounce of her strength into each swing. She felt the weight of every blow—not just the physical impact, but the emotional burden of knowing that each strike was one step closer to protecting not just her child but an entire village of people. The trolls were relentless, their massive forms towering over her, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Beside her, the dwarves moved with a practiced precision, their blades cutting through the air with the confidence of warriors who had faced death a thousand times. They fought not just for survival, but for the honor of their people, for the memories of battles long past, and for the hope that they would see another dawn.
As the last of the trolls fell, their bodies twitching as they tried to heal, Ochrea delivered the final blow, her hammer crushing the skull of the largest troll with a thunderous crack. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound the labored breathing of the exhausted warriors.
Theodas lowered his hands, the spell dissipating as he looked around at the carnage. The battle was won, but the cost was high. The frozen landscape was littered with the bodies of the fallen, a grim reminder of the price they had paid to survive.
“We did it,” Bjorn panted, his axe resting on his shoulder as he surveyed the scene.
“Aye,” Chief Thrian agreed, his voice thick with exhaustion. “But let’s not linger. There may be more yet to come. So, count your fingers and toes…” he said, pausing as he realized he’d said this in front of Ochrea. “No offense, Ochrea,” he amended with a gruff chuckle, but the edge of concern in his eyes was unmistakable. “Just take what potions you may need now. More could be hiding deep within.”
The warriors nodded, their bodies aching but their spirits unbroken. They had faced the Frost Trolls and emerged victorious, but the journey was far from over. With one last, lingering look at the blood-soaked battlefield, they turned and began their descent into the heart of the mountain, ready to face whatever ancient darkness awaited them within the ruins.