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Snippet #2824258

located in Weargtooth Mountains, a part of The Multiverse, one of the many universes on RPG.

Weargtooth Mountains

White capped and stretching across the entirety of the north of Ellaria, the climate is arctic. There are many coves and valleys.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Livia Caesarius Character Portrait: Argosian Soldier Character Portrait: The Ulfhednar Character Portrait: Sinfrost Character Portrait: Sigurd Hring Character Portrait: Iskjerne Vikings Character Portrait: Dvalinn Character Portrait: Terakon Luvinair Character Portrait: Khale Fewtale Character Portrait: Ragnar Lothbrok Character Portrait: Iskjerne Ulfhednar
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Reginarus sheathed his gladius before grabbing his spatha, accepting Livia's help up, grabbing her hand while also using his sword to pry himself to his feet. As he stood up, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his fingertips, but there was no blood. He gazed down at Livia and with a kind but serious expression, he nodded gratefully, before grabbing his left hamstring and slowly limping back into position behind portions of the unbroken phalanx, dangling his blade low as he walked beside her, and as the legionnaires started to form a testudo around them.

By now the towel or shawl around his face had fallen off and was dangling around his neck, over the top of his metal neck protector. But the wind was still in their favor, having stopped completely, and the gaseous air had not turned back against the archers. As a rooftop of scutum shields with 1/8th inch thick nanosteel facings started to shadow them and bunch everyone together within the center of the confined small barrier, Reginarus hunched over into a thrusting position behind the front line of shields, readying his spatha before glancing over at Livia again inquisitively.

Reginarus had never seen a shuriken before, and the look on his face betrayed his admiration and curiosity, as he gazed at her silently before looking forward again at the enemies. Again his expression turned to that of a Viking-borne Centurion, his raging blue eyes reflecting from what little rays of light seeped through the shields around him as a single bead of sweat ran down his face, moreso from his increased adrenaline rush than from the heat of his Argosian armor. Spears and shields clashed, and as the first opening in the shield line presented itself, Reginarus thrusted his blade, striking out at whatever unfortunate Ulfhednar raked at the other side just before the shields locked again to close the gap.

From out of the fog of gas, in the direction of the squeeling hog, 10 wolf-like figures walked out on all fours, their ears perked, eyes gazing lifelessly at the Argosian testudo.

Image

They looked like a pack of ravenous hungry dire wolves, their ghostly green eyes glowing from the gemstone inlays in their hoods, grey silhouettes emerging from the dusty fog as they crawled forward slowly, reaching out to them as the melee with the right flank started to dwindle. But something was amiss about this small pack that was now blocking their pathway. After a moment or so, during the miniature clash of cultures, it became noticeable to some of the Argosians that the pack of angry wolves was actually just another group of ulfhednar. They had been effected by the gas, and were crawling around on the ground, choking and gasping for air. They were human, and mortal, after all. Though some of the legionnaires during the brief chaos still perceived these Viking savages on all fours to have the appearance of actual werewolves. Perception at that point was in the eye of the beholder.