Frostworld: Ice & Blood: A LitRPG/GameLit Viking Adventure

by Blake Arthur Peel

  He pursed his lips together and held his breath, thrashing his head from side to side to keep the tentacles from slithering down his throat. His lungs burned. Everything started to fade to black.

  Gods... please! Not like this!

  A spear abruptly exploded through the side of the draugr’s head. Black fluid spurted all over Jarl’s face, and the creature slumped forward.

  With all of his strength, Jarl heaved, shoving the twice-dead corpse off him and sucking in a ragged breath. His ears were ringing, but for a moment he was forgotten. The battle continued to rage around him.

  Shakily, he got to his feet and ran a gloved hand over his face, wiping the unnatural blood from his eyes. He spotted his axe sticking out of a slain draugr’s chest, and moved to retrieve it with his pulse pounding loudly in his ears.

  A group of battleborn drew near, but they paid little attention to him. Their focus was on the wave of undead breaking upon their exposed flank.

  Jarl went to join them, but hesitated when he heard a voice above the din. It was a deep roar that he recognized instantly.

  “Drive them back!” Halvard screamed. “Battleborn, on me! Kill these frost-cursed bastards! Kill them all!”

  Without thinking, Jarl made his way toward the voice, hacking and shoving his way through the enemy ranks.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far before he reached Halvard Bloodhammer and his warriors, who were defending themselves against a press of dead men.

  The war leader swung his hammer mightily, crushing swathes of draugr and driving the rest back on their heels. His men rallied around him, cutting through the ranks and forming makeshift shield walls in a wide semi-circle. Brynjar Odim was there, as was Asger Ironfists and Bjorn Stonebreaker. Their combined fury was unmatched as they struggled to protect their leader.

  Other battleborn joined Jarl, drawn by the Shieldbreaker’s voice. Together they fought their way to the shield wall, their axes and spears carving a path before them.

  Halvard crushed the chest of a draugr with his hammer, then turned to regard Jarl. “Beckstöm? Frosts, what are you doing here, boy?” He gave his grizzled head a bewildered shake. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—you’re more stubborn than a glacier. Fall in with the others. Let’s send these demons back to Hel.”

  Jarl nodded and moved to stand by the others. He didn’t carry a shield, but he could still fight. At this point, they just needed men to hold the line.

  Brynjar looked at him incredulously as he took up a position beside them. His face was still bruised from when Jarl had fought him. Asger gave him a grim nod and Bjorn chuckled in amusement. “You’re a hard one to get rid of, you know that?” Bjorn said. “Come on then, mudborn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  They fought viciously, hewing down every enemy that came close to their shield wall. They were a beacon for the living to rally around. Pockets of resistance from a dozen different warbands were scattered all over the battlefield, clusters of battleborn and fireborn fighting for their very survival, but they slowly made their way to their position.

  Despite their desperate circumstances, Jarl couldn’t help but swell with excitement. He stood side by side with some of the greatest warriors in the Nine Clanholds. This was something he’d dreamt about since he was a boy. He’d never imagined this sort of thing would be so exhilarating—or so terrifying.

  Their ranks swelled as the Shieldbreaker continued to shout, his voice growing hoarse from screaming over the commotion. Even so, the draugr were unrelenting. It seemed that for every creature they killed, three more appeared to take their place.

  Frosts, this isn’t working, Jarl thought, slamming the butt of his axe into the face of an approaching foe. They have us surrounded. We need to find a better place to make our stand.

  A small rise on the far side of the valley caught his eye, opposite a frozen waterfall cascading down the side of a small mountain. A horde of the monsters stood between them and the rocky mound, but if they could make it there, it would provide them with an advantage that they sorely needed.

  Killing yet another enemy, Jarl turned to voice his thoughts, but Halvard was nowhere in sight. He looked everywhere, eyes scanning the battlefield until he saw a war hammer swinging wildly in the midst of dozens of draugr.

  “Halvard!” Jarl screamed, breaking away from the other battleborn. He ran in the man’s direction but couldn’t get more than a few feet before he, too, was surrounded by enemies.

  The war leader was too far away from the others. His brazen attacks, which served to embolden the men around him, now threatened to destroy him by cutting him off from his allies. The big man roared like a cornered bear, his hammer crushing bones wherever it fell. The draugr seemed to swarm around him, but for the moment, he managed to hold his own.

  Jarl blocked a spear thrust by diverting it to the side with the haft of his axe, then pivoted and brought the backside of the axe head into the attacking creature’s face.

  7 Damage.

  Its head snapped back with a satisfying crack, giving Jarl the leeway to continue moving forward.

  Need to get to Halvard, he thought tenaciously, shoving past the surprised draugr. Need to help him... get to safety.

  “Lowborn, what’re you doing?” Asger shouted behind him. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

  “The war leader needs our help!” Jarl called back, dodging to the side to avoid a clumsy attack.

  Within moments, he was surrounded again, black tentacles and glowing eyes closing in around him. His mad rush into the attacking draugr had caught most of them off-guard, and he managed to cleave into every creature that attempted to block his path. Shoving and slashing his way through, Jarl finally managed to get to where Halvard stood over a mound of corpses.

  The Shieldbreaker’s own body was covered in wounds, and he was slowing down, his movements growing sluggish. His voice was hoarse from screaming, and there were parts of his armor that were torn clean through, the leathers soaked with blood.

  Still, he continued fighting, knocking down any draugr that managed to get close.

  Jarl hacked at the exposed flank of one of the attackers, then scrambled up the pile of bodies.

  “Beckstöm!” Halvard rasped, turning to regard him. His breathing was labored. “Get back to the shield wall! That’s an order!”

  “No!” Jarl protested, planting his feet on a corpse and engaging a draugr harrying him from the side. He blocked the attack, then brought his axe down on the creature’s shoulder, splitting it from neck to navel.

  14 Damage.

  He allowed the corpse to join the others on the mound. “Respectfully, War Leader, I’m not a battleborn. You can’t order me to do anything.”

  Halvard grunted and shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Frost-crazed fool,” he muttered before kicking an approaching draugr in the chest.

  Jarl smiled grimly and engaged another enemy, slapping its blade aside and shoving it away. “We have to get back to the others, Halvard! This is a bad position. There’s a rise just on the other side of the valley where we can better defend ourselves.”

  Before Halvard could respond, a draugr snuck up and attacked him from behind, wrapping its tentacles around his neck. The big man thrashed and twisted, trying to throw the creature and keep the tendrils from choking him. Just then, another draugr crept up the pile of bodies and rammed a spear through his thigh. Halvard’s eyes bulged in pain as the spear tip passed straight through the muscle, bursting out the other side.

  “Frosts!” Jarl cursed, stumbling over to where the war leader struggled. He threw himself at the spear-wielding draugr and shoved him away, then turned to attack another one that was trying to strike from the side.

  Somehow, Halvard was able to remain standing. He dropped his war hammer and brought both hands up to deal with the monster on his back. His face was growing purple, but he managed to grab the draugr’s head and hurl it away, ripping the tentacles in half as he did so. H
e stood for a moment, then buckled, dropping to one knee with drooping eyelids. All around them, draugr pushed their advantage, rushing up the mound with weapons raised.

  “Stay with me, Shieldbreaker!” Jarl yelled, moving to stand over the wounded man. “I’ll protect you!” He spat and gripped his bloodstained axe, determined to fight the unstoppable horde all by himself.

  Freya became one with the Life-giving Flame, using everything she’d learned at the Temple to stay alive.

  Fiery Arc

  1d12 fire damage (AOE). Area affected: 20-foot arc.

  -15 Magic Points.

  There’s too many of them, she thought, blasting a group of draugr with a torrent of fire. Freeze me, but this is impossible! I should have left when I had the chance!

  She quashed those doubts and embraced the heat boiling in her stomach, drawing upon the flame spirits as she prepared to cast another spell.

  Magic Points: 40 out of 60

  Vigor Points: 1 out of 2

  I can’t abandon them, she resolved, moving slowly through the madness of battle. The gods would punish me for such cowardice. I just need to keep moving.

  It was difficult to discern what was going on in the valley. Groups of living people roamed among the undead, fighting desperately through the carnage. Solitary fighters fought for themselves as well, many being torn apart by the silent, purple-eyed creatures. Screams echoed off the icebound walls, and blood slicked the stones just about everywhere Freya stepped. There were fireborn, but they were disorganized, burning everything in sight and sending columns of smoke into the sky that blotted out the stars.

  I need to find Runa, she thought, casting her eyes about nervously. She’s the one who’s supposed to be in charge.

  Ahead, she could see an orange glow, a brilliance that cut through the darkness like a knife through flesh. It illuminated a large portion of the battle, and the undead gathered around it, their attention drawn by the extraordinary brightness.

  Freya began making her way toward the scene with both hands bearing globes of fire. That looks promising, she thought, willing her feet to propel her forward.

  It was difficult, traversing the battlefield. Every few feet a draugr would jostle her or try to cut her down with a clumsy attack. Fortunately, the fire seemed to be the only thing that frightened them—as much as the dead could be frightened. All she needed to do was keep the flames between her and the monsters, occasionally burning one of them to show that she was dangerous, and she was able to make it through without incident.

  When Freya drew near to the light, she was able to make out what was happening. A group of fireborn had conjured a fiery circle, a thick wall of flame that kept the attackers at bay. Firewall was a difficult spell, but they managed to draft enough to create an adequate defense.

  It won’t last long, Freya thought, warding away the draugr with her burning hands. They’ll run out of Magic Points eventually, and then they’ll have no way to defend themselves.

  Already feeling drained from her earlier pyrotechnics, Freya fought her way to the burning circle and stumbled inside. The flames parted as she approached and quickly closed behind her, sealing her off from the monsters beyond.

  A strong pair of hands hauled her to her feet. “Freya! What in the frozen Hel are you doing here?” It was Brimir, and his face was a mix of confusion and worry.

  “I’m here to help,” she said, shaking her head to clear away the dizziness. “We need to get out of this place.”

  “You think we don’t already know that?” Nearby, Solveig was ringing her hands anxiously, blood smeared on the left side of her face. “We’re trapped here. We’re all going to die!”

  “We’re not going to die,” Runa said, stepping over to them. Her scar was a black spiderweb in the darkness, but her expression was one of determination. “We’re getting out of here. Freya, are you hurt?”

  Freya shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

  Runa nodded. “That’s good. We’re going to need your help to get out of this.”

  Freya glanced around. She could tell that the wall of flames was already waning in strength. Several fireborn were struggling to maintain it, their outstretched hands channeling fire into the spell. On the other side of the flames, the draugr waited patiently with those eerie glowing eyes.

  “And just how are you planning on getting us out of here, scar face?” Brimir’s voice dripped with venom. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re completely surrounded.”

  Runa winced at the insult, but otherwise held her composure. Gesturing at the frozen waterfall, she explained, “We break the ice. With enough force, we can send the whole mountainside crashing down on their heads. That will destroy enough of them to give us a chance to escape.”

  “Are you insane?” Solveig asked. Her voice was on the verge of hysteria. She gripped her bejeweled braid so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “An avalanche would kill the rest of us too!”

  “Not if we get into the right position,” Runa countered. “We could send word. There are enough of us to carry the message to Sten and the war leaders—they can direct the battleborn to the far side of the valley. Once everyone’s in place, we can break the ice with magic.”

  Freya looked dubiously at the enormous ice sheet looming above their heads. It dominated an entire side of the battlefield, a frozen slab of grayish blue. Such a scheme could work; there was more than enough ice to thoroughly bury both sides. However, it would be risky, and there was no guarantee their drafting would be enough to shatter the ice and cause a landslide.

  “That’s a terrible plan,” Brimir spat. He motioned vaguely around them. “There’s a thousand of those things between us and that waterfall. Not to mention the fact that Sten Haig’s probably already dead.”

  To her credit, Runa stood her ground and gave the man a hard look. “Do you have a better idea?”

  He nodded. “I say we burn our way out of here and flee. To Hel with the rest of these people. The Immortal Halls will welcome them back as heroes, anyway.” He said the words with thinly veiled derision, as if he himself didn’t believe them. “Besides, someone needs to carry word back to the High Aesir. We’re too important to die here.”

  Freya looked at her former lover, dumbfounded. She’d had similar thoughts, but had quickly dismissed them. To openly admit to such cowardice was... disappointing.

  Runa eyed him for a long moment before continuing. Around them, the wall of fire was growing dim. “Word will be carried back to the High Aesir when we’re through,” she said. “They’ll know of this draugr threat, and they’ll also know who was bold enough to defeat them.” With that, she strode away, relaying her orders to the others in the circle. Freya heard her inquiring after their reserves of flame spirits, but she only listened with half an ear. Her attention was on Brimir and Solveig.

  Solveig appeared shaken, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with fear. Brimir, on the other hand, was fuming, his expression dark in the waning light. He locked gazes with Freya, and what she saw gave her pause—complete, unadulterated hatred.

  “She’ll get us all killed,” he snarled, fists clenching at his side. “I won’t die because I was unlucky enough to follow that skrill into battle.”

  Freya looked over at Solveig. “Where’s Oster?” she asked.

  “He’s dead,” she wailed, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. “He took a spear to the chest the minute those creatures fell upon us. Poor Oster... his last word was my name.” She gave her braid a furious tug, and in an instant, her eyes were alight with anger. “It was Runa’s fault! She led us right into those foul draugr! By the gods, I’ll kill her—”

  “In good time, Sol,” Brimir said, shooting Freya a furtive glance. “We just need to wait for the right moment.”

  In a flash, Freya remembered the things her friends had told her and their plot to kill Runa. Frosts... I can’t let that happen. Runa was chosen by the Aesir to lead us. Not to mention she’s a powerful drafter. We’l
l need her if we’re going to get out of this mess.

  She was about to say something, but Runa cut her off. “Fireborn, on me! We’re about to return to the fight! Those of you who’ve been chosen to make contact with the war leaders, may the gods be with you. The rest of us will fight our way to the waterfall. Prepare yourselves.”

  Those within the circle, a little less than a score of magic users, downed their flame spirits and readied themselves to engage the draugr. Those maintaining the wall looked to be on the verge of collapse.

  The wall vanished a second later and darkness enveloped them all. The glowing eyes of the draugr seemed to surround them on all sides. Fireborn drafted, conjuring burning globes to drive the enemy back, but more than a few were cut down where they stood, dead before they ever knew what hit them.

  Screams filled Freya’s ears, then all at once she was back in the chaos, using her powers to survive. She scorched a charging creature as it rushed at her, tentacles reaching to strangle her.

  Fireball

  11 Damage.

  -5 Magic Points.

  The draugr flew backward, ignited like a dry hvet pod and spreading the hungry flames to its neighbors.

  “Move!” Runa shouted, burning through the carnage toward the frozen waterfall. Many of the fireborn moved after her, but some fled in the opposite direction.

  Despite being sorely outnumbered, they managed to hold their own against the surge of enemies, pushing them back as they slowly made their way toward the ice. Even with their magic, the undead took casualties. Fireborn were picked off one by one, stabbed by enterprising spears or pulled down by grasping hands. Their shrieks haunted Freya, and she tried to blot out the images of them being torn to shreds.

  From what she could see, a large group of battleborn had clustered in the center of the valley, not far from their position. Shield walls had formed amidst the devastation, and though they were beset on all sides by draugr, they fought with impressive strength.