At the other side of the ice the orcs issued a cheer as Tradden went down and they started to move and shuffle forwards. They were brought to a standstill by guttural order from further up the slope by the large hobgoblin, however. The two orcs furthest away crouched behind the rocks as if waiting for something, the two closest to the break ducked out for a moment and hurled short but wicked-edged handaxes at the hapless fighter.

Both axes flew wide, even the strength of the orcs not enough to keep them on target at such a distance. One skidded across the ice on its side, eventually lodging itself into the snow at the southern side. The other tumbled end over end and thumped into the ice with a splinter, quivering as it struck and wedged itself into the blue sheen.

The hobgoblin with the gnarled staff turned to the orcs at the wooden construct, barking some sharp guttural orders. With a flourish it turned back towards the clearing and began a slow but assured walk down the snowy slope.

It stopped short of the ice, waiting on the far bank with a gleeful smile.

It pushed its staff out in front and began a low, droning chant.

The ball hit the bank hard and exploded into a huge ball of flame that shot up the bank and engulfed the nearby trees. Snow melted away quickly throwing up a cloud of steam in an instant and rivers of warm water rushed down the slope towards the frozen creek.

Screams came from within the cloud and as it parted the group could see the crew trying desperately to put out the fires on the wooden construct and the large hobgoblin rolling around in the remnants of the snow to put out the flames that had swamped him. No one within the blast had seemed to escape without harm except the hobgoblin with the gnarled staff. He stared with unblinking eyes at the mage and growled.

The two figures near the wooden machine made short work of the fire, quickly patting it out and throwing snow onto the wood. They moved quickly, grabbing one of the rocks and placing it within what appeared to be a net of some sort. With practiced efficiency they lowered it briefly into the brazier, dipping it up and down before pulling it and mounting it within the contraption.

An adjustment or two on a lever and they appeared ready, pulling one final lever down.

There was a great noise, perhaps only matched by the explosion of the fireball, as the beams of the trebuchet swept at great speeds to propel the stone down the slope. It sailed through the air in a long arc, high in the sky, before coming down towards the middle of the creek and the two hapless warriors.

The stone did not hit the pair directly, but crashed into the ice near their feet, sending up slivers of ice that sliced into them and splashing them with a caustic and sticky flame that stank of old tobacco, residue from the brazier.

The pair looked at each other, grateful they were not hurt so badly.

Then the stone began to melt through the ice, the sticky fire making short work of the blue skin atop the water.

The rogue wasn’t even looking when the bolt struck the hobgoblin in the throat. It went down quickly, without the chance to call or cry out and landed in the melting snow with a splash of water and blood.

Zero skidded to a halt behind the rock, ducking down and gasping a lungful of air. He turned back to look at Kireth and winked.

Beltak looked undecided on what to do. Unlike Kireth or Zero he had nothing he could use at range such as this. He did not particularly fancy being stuck in the middle of the ice like Tradden or Khalin, either.

However, the pair on the ice looked precarious, particularly with the ice breaking around them, and he ventured tentatively onto the slippy surface.

Beltak prepared himself for the obvious onslaught of the enemies, raising his shield and readying his mace.

He uttered a final prayer to Pelor, hoping the ice would hold.

While the other enemies seemed to be holding back, perhaps in anticipation of something, the drake appeared to be enraged by the mage’s fiery attack. With a snarl it leapt from the trees, charging towards the ice.

It’s claws shredded the surface of the ice but it still slipped more than once, coming in a wide arc towards Tradden at the front. It charged in, heedless of the broken surface and the hole within the ice.

The claws bit deep into Tradden’s hip, but the follow-up strike missed by a country margin as the drake slipped sideways on the ice towards the hole.

Tradden had regained some of his compusure from his slip, but with the ice now cracked he found footing unsteady. The lash of the drake’s claws had pushed him towards the hole and he looked down into the black depths of the chill water to his side.

Then, startling the young fighter, a hand came up out of the depths, a filthy, rotting hand that grabbed the top of the ice with clumsy strength. Something was pulling itself out.

With the trebuchet in action and the group split, the orcs moved forwards for the kill.

The first came out of the treeline, heading to the rocks, throwing its handaxe as it did so.

The axe skittered across the surface, sending up shards of frost and ice, but disappeared into a bank of snow harmlessly.

The second orc came in from the east, again getting itself behind some rocks before hurling one of the short axes.

This orc also missed, the axe tumbling past the fighter and skidding on past Beltak down the icy creek.

The two orcs already behind the rocks threw their last axes before jumping out onto the ice.

The first axe was yet another wide of the mark, but the final one flicked off the young fighter’s shoulder with a nasty bang. Neither orc looked comfortable on the ice, continually looking down and checking their feet.

…but the ice kept giving way underneath his feet, and it was difficult for Khalin to get in a clear strike.

Whatever the thing was — it was humanoid at best — it continued to rise out of the icy depths.

The hobgoblin with the gnarled staff seemed to sneer at the antics of the group in the middle of the ice. It had been only mildly effected by Kireth’s magics and did not seem to fear the mage. Instead it focused its attentions on the thrashing fighter with the two blades who barely seemed to be able to stand for even a moment on the ice.

It pointed its staff at Tradden and echoed a guttural laugh across the icy creek.

For once the young fighter’s luck seemed to hold as the warcaster snarled and grimaced at its staff. Nothing untoward happened, and the hobgoblin remained where it was.

The hobgoblin seemed to lift off the ground for a moment and then was thrown backwards with force into the trees with a snap of breaking wood.

Buoyed with the success of their last stone the pair working on the wooden trebuchet started lifting another stone from the brazier, fire dripping from it in large blobs onto the snow below.

They seemed to struggle to load the stone without burning themselves, but managed to drop it into the cradle just in time. They both quickly pulled on levers before a loud whoosh and the stone was on its way.

The stone smashed into the ice at Kireth’s feet, just missing the teetering dwarf by inches. It went straight through, scattering shards of razor-sharp ice to cut through Khalin’s beleagured defences and drawing rivulets of blood.

Kireth, however, remained motionless, his eyes fixed upon the hobgoblin mage at the far side of the creek, almost unaware of the peril he had so nearly been in.

The bolt thudded into the creature’s flank, but it barely seemed to notice, all of its attention focused on the young fighter that was dancing around it.

Beltak looked on in horror at the humanoid that had clambered from the depths. Another had started to pull itself out of the freezing water near Kireth, its lidless eyes staring out at nothing as it grasped for purchase on the ice.

The first of the horrors had been in the process of rotting, but the ice had started to preserve it. There was no smell, just the same vacant look and awkward balance as the other, but Beltak knew this to be an abomination of undead. As he grasped his holy symbol he could see the remnants of the shattered ice — scattered across the top of the iced creek — from the stone missile begin to frost over and the ice sheet dull with a new layer of rime. The cold spread out around the zombie as it turned towards Khalin, sensing blood.

The scribe hesitated for a moment, holding his holy symbol of Pelor within his hand, unsure of what to do. Khalin was perched precariously at the edge of the gap in the ice — in fact two holes now — but there did not seem anything that Beltak could materially do. All he could offer was a short prayer for the warlord.

A warm glow spread across Khalin’s shoulders and the pain from the tears and abrasions of the ice began to melt away. Beltak began to back away from the zombie and the chill of the icy touch whilst uttering another prayer, stopping beyond the frosted edge, but near enough to try to stop the orc breaking through their ranks.

He finished his prayer and a web of gleaming strands shot from the symbol and lacerated across the area with the zombie as its focus.

The web sliced through the zombie, bringing clouds of steam as the ice melted, and cast its net over the drake which howled in pain.

The drake seemed to be caught between a rock and a hard place. It had been stung by a sharp pain in its side from nowhere, followed by strands of an intense radiant light and blindly staggered into Tradden’s swinging blades.

As it tried to clear its vision a gnawing cold from behind sent a freezing chill through its bones.

The blow from the fighter’s sword and the shot of pain from the ice did not help it find its footing, and the drake scrambled its claws across the ice to avoid falling through the ragged hole into the freezing waters below.

The extra rime from the zombie’s strange aura was its downfall. Claws could not find purchase on the ice and the creature lost one leg, then two, and then slid into the black waters with a splash.

With an ungainly slowness the zombie ignored the scrambling drake disappearing into the waters and turned its attention on Khalin. There had been blood before and the thing could sense it — perhaps there could be blood again.

It swung one of its arms in a great arc, intending on bludgeoning the warlord into submission.

The strike was like being hit by a block of ice. It paralysed the dwarf for a moment, freezing his limbs, and he found that his legs would not react.

The icy frost continued to spread out from the zombie’s feet, crawling up Tradden’s legs like frozen ants and biting at his calves. No prizes for guessing where that was coming from but it was disturbing nonetheless. The cold embrace of death had rarely seemed closer.

The orc furthest to the west broke from its cover behind the rock, drawing a huge greataxe from behind its bac and tentatively stepped onto the ice.

Approaching Beltak clumsily, it swept out with its axe.

The axe bit deep into Beltak’s shoulder and the scribe let out a yell.

The orc furthest to the west also broke cover from behind its rock, moving swiftly to attack the surrounded fighter.

As it moved within the range of the creeping frost, however, it balked a little, as a cold numbness spread through its limbs.

It grimaced against the pain and swung at Tradden.

The young fighter seemed resolved to getting flanked but it didn’t stop him dodging the clumsy blow from the orc.

Joined by its comrade the third orc also reached behind its back to draw its axe and swung at Beltak’s head, ignoring Tradden’s calls as best it could.

But the fighter’s antics seemed to have gotten to the creature, its swing wild and high.

The last of the orcs was trying its best to defend itself against Traden’s wild swings, but it appeared to be in vain.

The creature also seemed to be suffering from the same effects as Tradden from the ring of cold surrounding the zombie.

Despite these hindrances it still managed to swing its axe.

It pushed past the fighter’s defences, cutting Tradden just above the knee. The red blood dripped freely onto the icy whist frost and ice at the young fighter’s feet.

The chill that had seeped up through Khalin’s legs after he had been struck by the zombie almost seemed to be like fire now. It burned his legs, leaving them numb and useless.

Despite the cold rooting him to the spot, the dwarf was precariously close to two gaping holes in the ice. With his balance gone it was difficult not to fall into the black icy waters below his feet.

With arms pinwheeling, hammer and shield flailing in the air, the warlord managed to steady himself and gritted his teeth against the cold.

Dusting itself off the hobgoblin retrieved its staff from the floor and gingerly rose to its feet.

It looked across the ice, looking for the mage, spotting Kireth looking down at the latest zombie to crawl out of the icy waters. The hobgoblin smiled to itself, it would not be needed to finish the mage off personally just yet.

It did not seem to have any help from its staff, though, the gnarled stick drawing a frustrated growl from the hobgoblin.

Instead of hurling any magics out onto the group it strode forwards towards the edge of the ice.

There it stood, surverying the scene, and shouting at the orcs in a guttaral tongue.

The missile struck the creature in the centre of its chest, but the force had very little impact on its frozen body and it continued to stand, turning its head towards the mage revealing a long arrow sticking from its eye.

The orcs worked hard on the wooden contraption, using wheels, cogs and levers to bring the catapult back down and lock into position. With care they began to pull another doused stone from the brazier and drag it across towards the machine.

There was a creak of one of the levers as they loaded the rock and a curse escaped one of the orcs’ lips. A gear slipped and the taut arm leapt forwards, dislodging the stone and giving those on the ice some needed respite.

The bolt was slightly off the mark and hit the zombie in the back of the shoulder. There was a shudder from the thing and the sound like the crack of ice. Its left arm swung sideways for a second before dropping off and falling to the ice below, shattering like glass upon the slippery surface with a crash.

The thing barely seemed to notice.

Beltak found himself in a tight spot. Two of the orcish brutes were upon him, their axes swinnging wildly around him. Blood ran freely from his shoulder where one of the axes had found purchase. Behind him he could still sense the abomination of undead creatures and knew that his calling and destiny was with them.

Raising his shield he prepared to move, the risk worth the reward.

The orcs both seized the moment, swinging down their axes almost in unison at the retreating human.

The priest nimbly stepped backwards and breathed a sigh of relief as the axes sliced into the ice. He continued to move.

As he came within range of the zombies, though, the chill that had affected the others took hold.

Standing in the centre of the melee he turned to face the zombies, ignoring the orcs behind him. ‘You will flee back from whence you came!’ Beltak roared as a light flared out from his symbol.

Beltak raised his symbol above his head as he uttered words to Pelor and twin beams of light shot from its centre to burn at the zombie’s torsos.

The creatures howled an unearthly scream as the light hit them, falling to the ground and sliding on the ice, burning all the way. They staggered to their feet where they stopped, turning and ready to return to the battle, but their limbs were frozen. Pelor’s grace held them firm.

The zombies strained against the divine power that held them firm, but they could make no move.

Despite Tradden’s whirling blades the orcs kept on coming. The first quickly chasing after Beltak as the scribe retreated, swinging its great axe over its head.

Its swipe was wild in its haste, though, and Beltak easily blocked it with his shield.

One of the orcs near Tradden was the next to act, trying to duck under the young fighter’s sword, but without any luck.

The orc took the slice on its shoulder, before returning with a great swipe of its own.

The third orc joined its comrade in chasing after the scribe, bringing its axe down in a huge swipe.

The last, its frozen neck and face a grotesque sight, blindly staggered into Tradden’s blades.

But it did not fall. Instead it swung its axe with enormous speed, hoping to lop of the young fighter’s legs in one fell swoop.

Although surprised, Tradden managed to leap over the axe head, landing lightly on the ice. A bead of sweat gradually cooled and froze upon his forehead.

Khalin’s legs seemed to be working again, but the ice was a slippery foe. With two great holes right next to him, the warlord struggled to maintain his balance without slipping into their icy waters.

At the edge of the ice the hobgoblin with the staff had plenty of time to plan its next move, watching the group slip and slide.

It seemed perturbed, though, as though something was not quite right with its powers. It still had plenty of magics to expend, though, and cast out its staff before it, spraying a trace of blue light that expanded and then exploded across the creek.

The energy though seemed to fizzle as it crossed the ice, and although Khalin, Beltak and Tradden felt its force, it was weak and subdued compared to what they expected. The hobgoblin looked on in anger.

Atop the slope the orcs moved quickly, trying to load another stone into the sling.

Whatever damage the team had done to the trebuchet before, though, they had not managed to repair, the levers stuck and no matter how hard they stomped and bashed against the wood they could not free them.

Beltak had managed to push away the zombies, for now, but the pressing need were now the orcs in front of him. Khalin had managed to cover the scribe with his shield for a while, but Beltak knew it couldn’t last — they had to strike at them hard.

At the same time he could see Tradden panting, covered in blood and isolated. Well, the scribe would see what he could do about that.

Rather than rely on his symbol, Beltak swung his heavy mace at the orc in front of him, calling for Pelor to strike the creature down.

With it was Pelor’s grace or Avandra’s luck the mace caught the orc on the temple and it crumpled in an instant, a searing radiance cascading across its face as the blow struck.

Even as the orc fell Beltak was already whispering another prayer.

In a matter of moments Tradden had been sliced by an axe, pushed by a blast of force from the warcaster, surrounded by the crackling pain of lightning, and now bathed in the warm glow and soothing powers of Pelor. It was a little disorienting!

The powers that held the zombies firm began to wane and the creatures began their shambling march back towards the throng.

The first zombie stepped out onto the ice, coming around the side of the rock. It was slow on the ice, its jerking steps not finding much purchase. It kept coming towards Tradden.

The second zombie had easier progress on the snowy bank and headed straight for the group near the southern bank of the creek.

It came right up behind Kireth, who whirled to face the creature as he had once before. The arrow that stuck from its eye was now broken and bent, perhaps by Beltak’s force, its ancient chainmail rusted and rimed with ice.

It drew an arm back and threw a wild swing at the mage.

The chill of the zombie’s strike rooted Kireth to the spot and frost began to creep across the mage’s cloak.

Renewed and buoyed by Beltak’s prayer Tradden readied himself for another surge. As the zombie drew near, though, a familiar chill began to creep up his legs.

Although reduced in number the orcs did not relent in their ferocity. The first could see Beltak faltering, the human’s strength failing despite its fancy magics. With a huge swing of its greataxe, the orc went in for the kill.

It looked as though the axe would cleave Beltak in two, but at the last moment Khalin reached in with his shield and deflected the blow to one side, leaving the orc to falter.

The orc over by Tradden was having a worse time of it. The zombie was closing in behind it, bring the frost and chills back and it could feel the sapping pull of the cold.

The cold slowed the orc’s movements and there was no way it could avoid Tradden’s swinging blades.

Through gritted teeth the orc managed to stay on its feet, blood flowing freely from its wounds onto the ice below. It swung its axe and a wide arc, hoping to use its brute strength rather than any innate skill to fell the fighter.

But Tradden was too quick for it, dodging the blow with a slide.

A crackling frost had appeared around Khalin’s feet as the zombie closed in from the south and now it crept up his legs and gnawed at his bones.

The dwarf also had to contend with the gaping holes in the ice at his feet.

The dwarf goaded his opponent as he struck, knowing that Zero would be waiting in the shadows for an opening to strike.

The orc wheeled from its assault on Beltak and snarled at the dwarf, swinging its axe down hard on the warlord.

The orc overextended itself as it switched to confronting Khalin, exposing its flank. Zero almost couldn’t help himself, and pulled the trigger on his crossbow.

The warlord’s ploy worked as the bolt buried itself deep in the orc’s flank.

For the first time the staff-wielding hobgoblin came toe-to-toe with the enemy. It squirmed a little as the twin blades of Tradden whirled around, tentatively pushing out its staff to ward them away.

The slices from the blades did not hurt as much as the warcaster had feared and a renewed hope flickered past its eyes.

It snarled before thrusting out the staff further, trying to club Tradden with the butt.

But the fighter parried the gnarled staff away with his shortsword.

Feet frozen to the ice below him, Kireth could feel the chill from the zombie’s strike slowly work its way up his legs.

The zombie had also brought its own strange aura with it, frost burgeoning atop the ice and clawing at the mage’s already frozen limbs.

Kireth was not in a good position. Next to the hole in the ice and with hindrances to his balance, he began to feel his arms swaying just to keep him upright.

The orb exploded harmlessly against the zombie, though, the arrow in its eye wavering slightly the only effect upon the creature.

Angry at his power being wasted as least the mage satisfied himself that feeling was beginning to return to his legs.

Atop the hill the two orcs still worked furiously to get the contraption working.

One of the orcs started slamming the wooden device furiously as it refused to work as expected.

But his bravado and showmanship let him down, as the shot aimed under the zombie’s swinging arm missed by a mile and clattered against the rock at the far side of the bank. Zero cursed and dodged back behind the rock, just before the hobgoblin caught sight of him.

Beltak wanted to turn and confront the undead but the orc in front of him, although injured, was still too close for the scribe to turn his attention away from. Nor had Beltak many prayers of healing left, all that was left was his trusted mace.

Trying his best to ignore the chill emanating from the zombie, with a heave he swung the mace upwards, aiming for the creature’s chin.

The swing made good contact, knocking the orc off its feet and landing with a crunch on its back on the ice. It did not move. Khalin cheered with the sight, already wheeling to confront the zombie with renewed vigour. Beltak, too, turned thinking quickly on the next best course of action.

The scribe turned in a large arc and readied himself for an assault on the zombie with the full strength of Pelor, despite the chill that ran through him as he neared the abomination.

The first zombie continued its slow move towards Tradden.

However, its focus was not the young fighter, but the first warm-bloodied thing it could find, the orc. The orc did not see it coming, concentrating on felling the human. The zombie struck.

Frost covered the orc in an instant when the zombie made contact and the orc collapsed to the floor.

The other zombie already had Kireth immobilised, there was nothing the mage could do to get out of the way of its powerful swings.

There was no room to dodge or to weave any magic to avoid the blow. It came hard and bloody for the mage, with a chill that began to freeze Kireth’s boots onto the ice below.

As the warlord closed in on the zombie its frosty aura clutched at his limbs.

Khalin’s shout as he struck the zombie buoyed the troops, but the warlord’s joy was short-lived.

The zombie shattered into slivers of ice, exploding outwards and riddling Khalin with cuts.

The cuts and cold slowed Khalin down, his limbs heavy and weary.

Kireth teetered on the edge of the ice, trapped between the oncoming zombie and the chill black waters at his feet. The shadowy depths, black and endless against the stark pale frost of the ice gave him a sense of vertigo.

The mage slipped, falling backwards, but somehow managed to prevent himself falling nto the waters. The touch of the ice, the last strike from the zombie, and its deathly aura were starting to mount up, and the mage could feel himself shivering and slipping away.

The pleasure of striking the zombie, however, had no impact on the chill he felt in his legs.

The orcs at the trebuchet cowered around the far side of the contraption as Tradden arrived with whirling blades.

They kept working on the pulleys and levers even as Tradden spun, chipping away at the wood and severing several important looking ropes.

Despite Tradden’s harrassment the orcs seemed to manage to finally prime the trebuchet, the flame dripping stone sat perfectly in the catapult. With a triumphant yell one of the orcs pulled the lever and released the stone.

As the lever swung back Tradden managed to swing one of his own swords, hoping to sever a vital rope or spring and disturb the stone.

The young fighter took a huge chunk of wood out of the frame of the trebuchet, but the stone was catapulted high in the air and sailed down towards the ice of the creek.

The stone plunged straight through the ice at Kireth’s feet, shattering the ice and throwing up debris that cut the mage in so many places. The effect was similar on the zombie, shredding its rotting clothes and flesh.

Beltak had put himself in a good position to attack the zombie with all of Pelor’s grace, but when he had seen Khalin destory the other he worried about Kireth’s safety even if he destroyed the thing.

The chills from the zombie reached out over the ice to tug at Beltak’s calves, though, a piercing cold that could not be ignored.

Still, the abomination had to be destroyed, or Kireth’s life would be in jeopardy in any case. The scribe held out his symbol and chanted the words that he knew would bring forth a searing light.

The zombie exploded when the radiant light from Beltak’s symbol struck its back. Shards of icy flesh tore past Kireth.

The mage stood resolute against the barrage of ice, his feet finally released from their frozen prison.

Beltak moved across to the mage, to offer assistance should it be needed.

Kireth, however, did not seem to want any help.