Summary:Chasing the Casket of the Winter, our adventurers find trouble. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Hod's divinations of the Cask of Ancient Winters had led Fenris, Astryd, Ambrose and of course Hod himself to a compound in Upstate New York. This is near the canadian border. It is night. It is cold out here. The compound is in the hills and the woods have been cleared for about a quarter mile around. It's walled and there appear to be five or six buildings behind the eight foot high security wall. There is likely to be some kind of armed guards and there's no telling if what is above ground is the whole story.
Fenris glances behind him as the way closes and sniffs the air. "I smell old ice. Like a glacier." That means they're probably on the right track. "There's a river running on the other side of the compound that's navigable. I suspect people come and go by boat." The lights brighten in the compound. "Mmmmm. Someone's just lit up one of the buildings that was dark. That's curious. Lots of activity here tonight."
When Fenris and Astryd had mentioned a little jaunt out of the city, Ambrose had been pleased for it. With all of the madness about well-meaning revenants and the worst offspring possible, he's glad to get away from the City at least for a little bit. The house is secure behind the wardings and in the hands of his own offspring in turn.
But this place? Near the Canadian border? In winter? Ambrose is very, very grumpy. Dressed darkly from head to toe, he's swapped out his scarf-wrapping about his head for something nearer to a ski-mask and surely he's got his thermal underwear on — but every white puff of breath reminds him that this is not the desert and it's not warm!
"…why not take the ruddy giant ice cube of doom to the Sahara? Or Bermuda? Someplace warmer? This is cliche villainous nonsense," the Jackal mutters. Still, the building's lights coming on has him craning his head to peer at it. "…I do not like it. They might see my bootprints in the snow despite the ring," he shares with the group, glancing to them all. "The ring will be more useful on concrete than outside of the fencing."
Hod snorts at Ambrose, "Because if they take is somewhere like that, it'll become somewhere like this in short order. People will ask questions. Tends to happen when glaciers begin to appear in large tracts of equitorial dessert." Unlike Ambrose, he's not dressed up at all. a pair of black boots and heavy black canvas cargo pants that look like they're meant to appear military inspired but are just cut a little to nicely to match that idea. A gray turtle neck, and a single shoulder strap backpack that seems a bit lean to be carrying anything to intense inside it. Oh yeah. And Lightdrinker.
He shifts the spear slightly to one side as if it were blocking his view and turns his head to the side, listening intently, "Six buildings inside the perimeter wall, most warehousing people or equipment and a machine shop." he says as if he were reading off of an inventory list, creepily enough his breath doesn't fog in the air at all, "Bit of a maze of tunnels below." he adds matter of factly, "Couple of rooms with intense doors, armory, vault, prison, unclear. Huh. Occupied enriched rooms as well, someone's fancy." Hodr's not completely useless.
Astryds breath frosts in the air when she breaths and she draws her fur lined coat close about her. "Reminds me of the mountains we spent a few years in, Fenris." That was centuries ago. "Though then, we weren't chasing the Cask."
Listening to Hod, her grey eyes scan the area. "How do you want to do this? I can … organise a distraction, if you like." A horde of dead warriors marching up to the front door should be enough to let the others slip inside.
"Do it, Astryd. Do it and then rejoin us." Fenris waits for the distraction to take place shifts to the wolf form. When the dead begin to move, and when the gunfire inevitably begins, he invites the others onto his back and takes off at a run. He leaps the wall in a single bound and lands in the courtyard.
And is not immediately shot. All the action is near Astryd and the dead.
"Go. Find the tunnels." Hod can take them there. Fenris will wait for Astryd and then catch up.
The way to the tunnels is not COMPLETLELY free of trouble. People are running. Arming themselves and responding to the dead at their door. And of course some of them will run into Ambrose and Hod as they move. As for Astryd? She has two choices. Go through the opposition or around it. Either way she's likely to take some fire.
"Yes, well, it would be of great use to those who wished ice for their drinks," the brunet replies drily as of sudden glacial advancement in the dunes of the desert. Still, he peers over at Hod as the litany of buildings comes and then nods to himself in approval.
"A distraction would be wise. Once within the fencing, I will be able to slip on the ring and offer better aid." His agreement is followed by an owlish silence as he watches aforementioned distraction appear. If it ever became more painfully obvious that he is the mortal present, it is in this moment, and in the moments to follow when he stifles his yelps as Fenris clears the fence. Ambrose clings like a burr. He nods to the Dread Wolf's plan and glances over at Hod.
"Lead on then, intrepid barkeep," says the Jackal to Hod with a grand sweeping gesture of a hand that falls in lackadaisical contrast to the gunfire going on elsewhere.
Hod leaps upon the wolf's back without hessitation, his fingers twining in the fur, and suddenly he's not on Midgard anymore.
The smell of thick fur in the air and the soft clink of mail against hardened Bjorsk leather. The feeling of snow beneath his feet as he danced lightly over it's surface while not to far away his brothers thundered their charge down the hill into the giants, leaving him to flank the possiti-
Hodr's head whips back and forth in a single violent shake, jarring loose the long set aside memory with an effort of will. His fingers grip tighter around the spear that he holds away from his body, parallel to the ground as Fenris carries them forward. Where the fuck did /that/ come from!? "Don't wander off, don't lose sight of me. If it goes dark, grab hold and don't let go until we are through." he instructs Ambrose in a gruff tone. He leaps free of the wolf and begins a sprint for one of the buildings. For a blind man he can /move/.
"I will rejoin you then, my heart." The blonde answers and casts a sharp smile to the others as she unpins her hair.
The clip that she wears transforms into her sword and shield as the chill in the air gets colder still. "To me, Warriors of Old. Rise from rest and give aid to the one who is calling."
A slash appears not far behind the blonde, a glimpse is given to a … mead hall. Through the gap, warriors pour forth. There's two dozen at least, maybe more. "Attack the gates." The Valkyr points with her sword and starts to move with them.
As the battle is joined, the blonde doesn't hesistate. Fenris said join him…. her sword flashes as she cuts her way through the defenders - she'll go through of course.
What had he thought.
Astryd creates quite a stir in the press of ghosts assaulting the gate and does manage to break through though the dead behind her do not. Which is fine, they don't really need to. Once she reaches Fenris - now in the form of man with a sword and several people laying bleeding around him - the Old Wolf motions and takes off at a run with her right behind. Sif, who was to emerge from another direction, should join them at this point.
The entrance to the underground is actually fairly well hidden but with Hod it is easy enough to find. The way down is well let, though the corridors are all blank concrete. It all looks the same. Kind of a maze, but Hod knows the direction to go. Fenris and Astryd catch up after a few moments.
And that's when things kind of start to go wrong. The group is coming up to a T intersection - at which Hod knows to go left - when a voice sounds ahead.
"Is that you, blind old man? You look different. Most recovered. It's good of you to bring yourself back here. I was just wondering where you were."
The voice is not familiar. But the inflection and cadence are. Slightly more disturbing for everyone else is the way a large heavy door opens behind them and several mastiff sized mechanical spiders skitter out on the walls and ceiling making right for the group.
"I will…do as such." Ambrose agrees with equal parts dubiousness and curiosity even as he then breaks in a sprint that keeps him if not beside or on Hod's bootheels, close enough. No revolvers or knives are at hand just yet, but the master-thief will be able to procure them with a long-practiced flick of wrist. The ring remains within easy reach of a pocket; the Jackal wore gloves thin enough that the piece of jewelry wouldn't catch or stick if its need became necessary.
Like a shadow, the Jackal follows Hod around corners and past those unsuspecting as well as drawn to the chaos of Astryd's own bout. As soon as his boots cross from snowy ground to the hard concrete of the underground's surface, Ambrose whispers to all, "I am engaging the ring."
Out it comes and slip: into invisibility he goes. Fenris, at least, will be able to smell where the Jackal is. Otherwise, he doesn't even cast a shadow as they travel. Ambrose stops dead at the sudden voice and immediately steps to flatten his back to the nearest wall, pulling a revolver. Those spiders? They make the Jackal swallow hard. He still holds his immediate shot as to better save his hidden state.
Leaving the undead warriors to sow mayhem, Astryd cuts her way through the throng. A couple of defenders find themselves bodily flung out of her way - her shield taking the hits from weapon fire. Mostly. A stray bullet strafes her.
Finally she makes her way to Fenris, hair askew and not uninjured. Her eyes shine though as if this is great fun - it probably is for her.
"Engaging the ring? I thought rings were meant to do that."
"Is that him?" She asks of Hod. Him, Kraken, she means.
Sif does indeed join the fray at this point, having waited to be summoned /after/ the infiltration began. She is more than aware of her inability to be quiet and subtle, so this was the simplest option. Dressed in full armor and fur-lined wool cloak, she follows Fenris after Hod and the suddenly invisible Ambrose.
"Best if you stay to my left, Lieutenant Atherton. I can't see you, I can't tell where not to swing my sword." It's a valid concern! When the mechanical spiders appear, she simply steps forward as arachnids — metal-armored ones or not — don't really intimidate her all that much.
Hod always knows where to go… once he knows what to look for. Not even Odin could take that away from him. A flick of his wrist sends the leaf bladed head of the spear through the doors lock as if it were made of butter and not steel, slicing it away neatly. Slipping inside is a simple matter after that. He doesn't even bother to pause at the T, as confident about the direction he is headed as he would be in his own home.
There's the sound of cracking ice as Lightdrinker's blade slips between the sheets or armor the giant wears, it's blue blood sprays outward, pouring over Hod's hand and instantly spreading frost and ice in the fur at his cuff. He doesn't even feel the cold. He wrenches the spear free and turns, his head cocks, a smile playing at his lips as he hears familiar sounds. The roll of thunder followed by the thump of hammer on flesh. The mocking laughter of a trickster hurling fire in a land of ice. The quiet solemnity of a twin as he summons a blazing beam of summers light into a land that knows only winter. The whistleing of a ring of a shield and the quiet feminine grunt of the effort it takes to block a blow from a club the size of a bus. Hodr's head turns, and he his lips spread further apart as the Jotun spots him and roars, the pair chargi-
He shakes his head again, ripping himself out of the past with an audible grunt this time. Dammit! Now isn't the time for fucking visions. The Voice, helps. "You." Hodr says, the word dripping a quiet rage, his knuckles whiten on the ebon haft in his hand, "Always different. Always the same. If it's not, someone's a /very/ good mimic." pause. "He's mine." Hodr does not seem to give a shit about robots at the moment.
The spiders close in from behind and when they are about twenty feet away two of them spray fire at mostly Sif and Astryd. Ambrose they cannot detect and they scuttle right past him as they charge in with buzz saw mandibles and tazer legs. Of course this will not prevent the man from being trampled if he's not careful. But if he is, he should be able to get some nice shots at their exposed parts. There are about half a dozen of them so thinning the herd would probably be nice.
Especially in light of the fact that about twenty men just piled into the front of the corridor. Most of them are armed with some kind of energy baton though nearly all of them seem to have energy pistols as well.
"Well Hod…" He can't see the helmet of the man behind all those men but… yeah. That's him.
"I believe so Astryd. Be on your guard!"
The platoon of HYDRA goons charges Fenris and Hod even as the spiders try to break through the women in the back.
Still wishing to keep his position hidden, Ambrose nods to Sif's warning. He'll take it to heart well and truly given his own gear is Kevlar at best for defense and it certainly won't stop a sword of that make. It all devolves into chaos shortly thereafter.
If someone could see how the Jackal dances about with teeth bared against the wish to yelp at the multi-legged metal horrors, it would be worth a laugh. He still has to side-step and crane-step and at one point do something of a grand jete to avoid one of the robot-spiders from bowling dead into him. Out comes the other revolver and they start firing with sharp flaring barks in the gloom of the corridor at the spiders.
Bullets cling and clang and spark as they hit the spiders' bodies. His aim is for the delicate parts he can see: inserts of limbs, glass eyes, and he dares to kick at one of the spider's sides to see if he can send a buzz-saw careening into the robot next to it!
"I am my guard, my heart." Astryd says dryly. "I will allow no harm to you." The womans blade flashes and hits one of of those spiders - connecting with a clang and barely denting it. Her sword is not made from Asgardian metal after all, Astryd will have to be cunning.
Her shield raises up to jam one of those buzzsaws - the screeching of metal against metal is almost deafening. Her shield is going to be scratched up after this. It's her strength that she's relying on at the moment.
Sif is somewhat vaguely able to track Ambrose's movements by the gunshots and the random reactions of the spiders to something that to all appearances isn't there, and tries to be careful about his presence. Her buckler is put to good use blocking those buzz saw mandibles while she hacks at leg joints mercilessly with her sword. Even with an Aesir-made blade, she's not taking the legs off cleanly though mostly out of concern that she might inadvertently hit Ambrose. It's worth the annoyance hopefully. These horrors can't exactly continue to pursue them if they can't walk, after all.
It's those shocks the spiders keep hitting her with that are the most annoying. She's used to getting zapped repeatedly when fighting alongside Thor, but that doesn't mean it doesn't at least sting every time. And enough of them will eventually give her trouble.
Hod's head turns to one side so that the bones in it crack softly, then back the other way for another snap and pop. Then he grins a predatory thing, and leaps forward in a dead run for the men, "My name-" he says as he crosses the ground at a stateling speed and launches himself into the air, his bent knees leading the way and making a sickening impact with the forward most soldier's chest, "is Hodr Odinson." he snarls as his momentum takes him over the downed man.
He lets gravity drive him into the ground, his weight compressing his knees into the man's chest anew with a wet crunch. Then he's among them, the spear swoops and flits, long flickering arcs, it's length shrinking and growing at seemingly random intervals. The screams follow shortly as legs drop away from hips, hands from wrists, arms from shoulders. Lightdrinker doesn't bother recognizing the make of mundane metals, passing through them with little more then a hum and a spray of blood. "Hod is taking the day off." he says as wrenches the spear upward in a violent motion, splitting one of the few remaining soldiers in half from balls to brains, and then stepping the space the man once occupied as his halves fall in opposite directions.
Matted with blood and gore, the Aesir in Exile continues forward, his steps intentional, inexorable. His hair clings to his feathers, sticky and dripping, his clothings original color hard to spot amid the debris of his passing. "Hod was a good man, as good as he could be. Hodr is something else. Hodr we keep locked away, in the dark and the cold, in the hidden places where civilization dares not walk." his glasses are gone, and the twin pits of his eyesockets suck at the light in the hall, "You would have done better to remain dead."
Ambrose is a good shot and those are not easy shots to make with the spiders moving around. He gets a limb here. An eye there. Makes one tip over. Shoves one spider into another. It makes it easier for Astryd and Sif to get their shots in. And it draws the one with the buzz saws off Astryd's shield as well. The computers in the spiders know there's something there and they turn to look. But they can't FIND it.
So they start spraying fire EVERYWHERE.
Some of them are doing it without legs though. Thanks to Sif. As for Astryd? Their backs are to her now. It's her turn to get in some free shots.
Hod MOWS through everyone in his way. Which is not everyone in the room. Fenris has to deal with several, which he does. Being a swordsman with a couple thousand years of experience is useful. But he's very much just trying to keep people off Hod's back, not that Hodr Odinson seems to need to much.
It takes all of fifteen seconds for the man to have hacked through his opposition but that is more than enough time for someone to have passed the man in the funny helmet a large box.
Which he points down the hallway. And it starts to get cold.
"Oh Hel! Sif! Astryd! Ambrose! DUCK!!!"
The Kraken blasts the could of a thousand thousand winters down that tight little corridor. Right at Hod.
Fire is NOT Ambrose's best friend.
Ever.
Never ever ever.
He breaks cover not visibly, but audibly by letting out a truly terrified yell and doing his absolute best to get himself away from the fire, whatever it takes!!! With his pulse in his ears, he hears Fenris yell about something, but not what. Smelling singed clothing, he blunders right into poor Sif with his guns still out.
Luckily enough, he doesn't get hit with her sword! The buckler might be another matter.
Hearing Fenris yell to duck, Sif had already been turning to try and locate Ambrose when she felt but couldn't see someone run right into her. In a movement that is more reflex than conscious action, she hooks her shield arm and her wool cloak around the invisible and singed-smelling form, then pulls him to the floor with her to avoid whatever had the Sun-Eater cursing aloud.
"We need to stay down," she says quietly but urgently to who she is hoping is Ambrose. If it's not…. this could be extra awkward.
Astryd gets hit from the side a couple of times. She's bleeding from wounds inflicted by the spiders. One she manages to tip onto its back, using her sword to open it like a can opener. As their backs turn, legs are hacked off - the blonde aiming for the more delicate and accessible areas - like servo's and hydraulics if she can find them.
As the call from Fenris, Astryd turns towards him - diving at the God Wolf in a tackle. If she's to get down, so must he - and it's her job to protect him. Sifs covering Ambrose. Fenris is hers.
Poor …. Hod.
Hod can't see the Casket of Ancient Winters, he doesn't have to see it. He can /feel/ it. He stops advancing, and for the first time sine his arrival the rage dies away and is replaced by fear. He's pretty sure he can't survive the Casket. When he was himself? /MAYBE/ he'd have had a shot. But now? There's no way. Everyone else in the corridor? He flips the spear around across the back of his palm and slams it all the way to the crossguard into the floor, sinking the blade's full measure through steel and concrete like it were snow. "EVERYONE RUN!" he bellows as he wraps an arm around the spear's shaft and leans into what he knows it comeing. What power he still possesses, he pulls at, he begs and cajoles, threatens and manhandles. He pulls at the shadows, drawing in the tissue paper thinness of them about him like a cloak, the lights in the hall flickering faintly.
By the wind that hits him tears them away like ribbons, ripping teh shadows from his shoulders and sending them tumbling down the hall like dusky tumbleweeds. The blood of his enemies is pulled from him, the droplets and bits of flesh sent spinning down the hall behind him, freezing and becomeing tiny razored frozen flecks of dead Hydra. "RUN!" he screams again, but the wind rips the words from his mouth like the shadows from his back and scatters them carelessly. And the wind only grows stronger. Frost appears on the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the temperature that fogged breath before now turns breath into snow. Lungs burn. Flesh grows numb. Frost becomes ice, layering up before the eyes of anyone foolish enough to try to look. It's like being trapped in a wind tunnel in a Siberian winter on a planet further from the sun.
Hodr stops screaming for his extended family to run, and now he just screams. And screams. And then goes silent. He's always been pale, but this is different. His skin goes pale enough one can see the blue veins beneath, or one could, if one could see beneath the thick layers of ice encasing him in place, glueing his boots to the ground, his hands to the spear shaft, his body in it's awkward desperate lean against the shear hurricane violence of the winds.
And the Casket isn't even getting started.
The blast of cold is bitter and felt even behind Hod trying to absorb it but it is fortunately not deadly. It is cold enough to play merry hell with the robots though and they largely stop moving. There isn't much of a place to run other than back down the way they came but even before there is time to try that, the blast ceases. It was only on for eight, maybe ten seconds. When it ends… well. It's hard to see. The intense blast of cold has actually created an OXYGEN FOG in the air.
Though that is rapidly clearing up.
That is not the only problem though. There's a noise from the same place the spiders came from. A large robotic looking thing walks through, takes one look at Sif and… blasts firey energy at her.
Sif should recognize it. It looks a LOT like an Asgardian Destroyer.
Astryd might know it too. Hod? Well… Hod might not be in a state to recognize it.
Say, where'd Kraken go?
Sif makes sure to put as much of herself between the chill blast and who she inwardly hopes is Ambrose, and is dreading if the casket is used for too long. Thankfully it stops much more quickly than she'd feared, and she unclasps her cloak to leave it overtop of the invisible person she'd been shielding as she straightens into the frigid fog… right up up until a Destroyer blasts energy at her.
Throwing herself to one side away from where she's left her cloak, she's privately glad for the heat from the blast while simultaneously cursing in Vanir at the bad luck of the thing being here at all.
"Yes, milady!" That's all the breathy response that Ambrose can give before it feels like the full effects of an Antarctic blizzard bears down upon them all. The air in the hallway chills so rapidly that it feels to pull the life from his lungs; the master-thief quickly shoves his face into his own elbow and tucks himself shamelessly closer to Sif beneath the woolen cloak. Whatever burns exist on his lower back cease to throb and numb to nothing as the Casket releases its wintry rage.
His invisible trembling is as much cold as it is fright in the eerie stillness that falls like the minute crystals formed in the hallway's air. He dares to look up at a certain point wide-eyed at the foggy wall before them and his shuddering sigh adds more to it.
"What the ruddy f — "
The Destroyer appearing has him going slack-jawed as well as owlish in fear now. Sif throws herself one way and Ambrose launches himself the other way to slam off the hallway's wall. Ouch. Bruises be damned, he's NOT being turned into a briquet! He's still covered by the woolen cloak — ooh, look, a floating cloak!
Astryd just stares as the Destroyer appears. "What on Asgard is *that* doing here. That should be locked away … " she shakes her head not really prepared to go into this just yet. How Kraken got it … well, he got the Casket from them, didn't he?
"Cousin." She calls to Hod, not even trying to stop the hulking figure. "You are the only one here with enough oomph to stop this thing. Use every ounce of your stubborn will to control it. Just imagine it's me, asking for a favour."
So. Cold. Hodr's never been cold, not once. He didn't have a frame of reference for the sensation. Even after his exile, Winter remained with him, enough at least that he never worried about freezing to death. Not even to be uncomfortable. But this? This is something else. And unless he's mistaken he rather likes it.
The ice encasing Hodr makes a noise, something soft, a crinkle like sound, and then it begins to shrink. Slowly. It doesn't melt, it doesn't break and fall away, it recedes, pulls away. Because it's being called home.
It takes long seconds, but the longer it goes, the faster it moves, until Hodr stumbles free of the floor, Lightbringer wrenched from the ground in a jerking motion. "wha…" the sound of his own voice is odd in his ears. Because it's fighting with the ring of a thing he's not heard in so… so… long.
He'd cry if he could. He'd weep an ocean. But he cannot. He'd scream in triumph is he wasn't afraid it was a dream and the soudn may wake him. there are a million things he would do. But only one that matters. "You." the voice whips through the hall, sharp and cold at the edges like the sound of ice over a frozen lake creaking under a mighty strain. "I know the Destroyer," he says, and he reaches out, slowly, hessitantly, a shiver running through him, "and you are no Destroyer." the last is a barely a whisper as he calls on a Power he's not touched, not known, in over two thousand years.
Winter responds. The temperature drops anew, fog appears, and wind comes howling all over again, but this time there is no casket. There is only Hodr the Hidden.
Hod is in fact correct. That is not the Destroyer. It's based on the same technology which is itself disturbing but it is not the same thing. The temperature drops, the fog appears and the faux Destroyer goes RIGHT for Ambrose. Maybe it's because he's closer or maybe it's for some other reason but the thing drops into a football rush despite Hod's warnings and tries to shoulder tackle Ambrose into paste on the wall.
The bad news is that even if it misses it's going to put a dent in the wall which might be bad for the structure. The good news is Sif and Astryd have back shoots at it. And Ambrose, if he lives.
Fenris dashes the OTHER way, chasing where the Kraken had been and has vanished. There's another dip of cold, this one not connected to Hod. What… is that? And where is Fenris?
Astryd doesn't worry about the Destroyer. Well Faux-Destroyer. "Sif, I'm going after Fenris. You have this." The blonde isn't letting her Lord out of her sight.
Making a mad dash about the God Wolf, the blonde holds sword and shield at the ready. "Damnit, Fenris." If she had a tennis ball, she'd throw it.
That is absolutely another yelp from the Jackal upon realizing that he's not as invisible as he originally expected. Still, he's quick to scramble out of the way of the faux-Destroyer with the cloak pulled against himself as tightly as he can manage against this new influx of extreme cold.
It means the faux-Destroyer misses, but the structural integrity of the wall is probably questionable at best now.
And there goes the floating woolen cloak after the gleam of Astryd's shield and her blonde hair because Ambrose hazards that his guns are going to do little to nothing to such a behemoth of magical metal.
Sif flinches away as Hodr goes after the Destroyer-wannabe with just as much coldness as the Casket is capable of, then as she sees Ambrose (well, her cloak so presumably Ambrose) get clear, she leaps for the humanoid robotic thing's back, stabbing her sword straight down through the back of its neck. She's done this before, it feels like.
But she doesn't trust that that's enough, twisting her sword where it's lodged in the quasi-Destroyer's neck and then trying to lever her blade and rip the thing's head away from its body rather than just pull her blade clear.
Hod's face splits into a wider sort of grin when the armored creature hits the wall, "sif," he says in a voice barely above a whisper, "I can feel Winter." and he moves towards the wrestling pair. When Sif goes high, he goes low, as if they'd planned it from the start, as if they'd done this a thousand times before. She pries at it's head and Hodr takes out it's support, a pair of quick strikes to it's ankles, one then the next, driving the legs apart and into odd angles joints can't withstand. "If this doesn't work, I'm gonna drop an ice age on this motherfucker." he says through his teeth, which are bared in something of a madman's grin.
Sif hits something beneath the armor plating. It's hard to say what but the machine goes all stiff when she does. Hod's following strike pierces it unexpectedly and then drives one of it's legs clean off. It falls over, unable to move. Unable to act. It's still powered but it is no longer a threat.
Which cannot be said for what Astryd just faced. She takes an icy blast on her shield. Not the full power of the casket. Something else. The Casket is laying on a table and Ambrose and Fenris and Astryd can see it hooked up to some kind of manufacturing plant that is rolling off what looks like some kind of weaponry, which are being automatically loaded onto aircraft. Two have already taken off and the Kraken gets onto a third, which then catapults toward an opening at the end of what must be a two mile long tunnel.
Um.
"Get the Casket!" That's to the cloak that just got here. "Astryd, clear a path." Fenris says. There are three men blasting at them with some kind of ice based weaponry. Clear a path indeed.
The cloak that just showed up is showcasing a little damage: some hoarfrost here, some singed wool there, but the floating object is quick to dart towards the Casket come hell or high water. Ambrose still might be making a sustained sound with the air left in his lungs — Fenris might hear it with his sharp ears. It sounds a bit like a whispery battle scream full of adrenaline and mad amusement both.
It's the steal of a century! The cloak continues to be shot at, but it's a blurred ribbon of fabric given Ambrose draws on the Bane to not only up his speed, but his strength. The ambient gleam of the Casket being used is suddenly curtained by the cloak thrown overtop it. Ambrose bundles it up even as he hisses to himself, "Get it faster, faster, fasterfasterfasterfaster — !!!"
Then the floating cloak, with the Casket bundled up inside of it against risk of magical frostbite, is yanked rudely free of its wired moorings. Whoops. Ambrose then attempts to blur his way back towards the group as a whole, panting as he does so and trying not to cackle in pure reaction.
"Be ware, Ambrose." Astryd has caught a glimpse of that cloak following behind her. As the blast of ice comes at her, the blonde raises her shield and shelters behind it. One day, she'll speak to Fenris about improving this gear to something closer to what she had once.
Hair and coat covered in ice, the blonde turns cold grey eyes on the three firing at them.
"You have made a terrible mistake, gentlemen." the woman says, a mist forming about her. A mist that she sends in their directions. Soon, they can't see more than inches in front of their faces - and the blonde runs straight at them.
The instant the Destroyer-thing is down Sif leaps off of it and races after the others, fully expecting Hod to keep up. She gets there just in time to see Amb— her cloak making off the Casket. She continues on past and joins Astryd in charging toward the whomever they are.
At this point, she's only counting four people in this building as not enemies. Everyone else to her is currently fair game.
The moment Ambrose has the casket free, the production line shuts down. That draws attention but it looks like people are already evacuating. A fourth aircraft is being loaded up and the engines have already started. It'll be in the air VERY quickly. But it will leave behind a lot of incomplete… weapons or whatever these are.
Astryd makes contact. Shield first. Sif does join Astryd shortly thereafter and between the two of them they not only clear a path, but they clear the whole very large room. Impressively.
When they're finished there doesn't seem to be anyone left to oppose them. Just a cavernous room full of now dead machinery and four aircraft that just left with crateloads of weapons somehow powered by the Casket.
Which Ambrose now has. It's so cold.
It is possibly the coldest thing Ambrose has ever held in his life. Even the layerings of specialized wool don't prevent the chill from seeping into his arms. He's not juggling the relic yet, but the possibility is imminent.
"FENRIS! ASTRYD! WHERE DO I TAKE THIS BLOODY THING?!" The cloak continues jouncing along seemingly in midair as the master-thief makes his way behind the safety that is Astryd and Sif both. He's making no point to hide his bootsteps or panting at this point. "It is — OUCH — too cold — OW — FUCK — SOMEONE — "
Now comes the juggling back and forth as his arms tingle where the Casket has leaked through the woolen cloak's bundling.
The mist about them is thick. This is a little known power of Astryds and whilst it impairs her, she's used to it. By the time the fighting is over and the mist starts to dissipate, there are bodies everywhere, the Valkyrs blade coated in blood.
The look on her face is stern and unyielding as kicks the last of her attackers away. "Well fought, Lady Sif. Fenris, you are unharmed?" She starts to walk about the room, inspecting the weaponry - and turning her eyes to where the aircraft have gone. "He got away."
Ambroses yelling has the woman looking back. "Give it to Hod. It's his, anyway."
Um. Maybe?
Fighting in a mist-shroud is not the easiest, true, but Sif has had time to practice it as Astryd has. She doesn't take down as many enemies as the Valkyr did, but the ones she did manage to get were taken down quite handily.
Once they're all down, she looks over at the blonde, her own blade due for a very thorough cleaning. Ambrose's words turn her attention to him, and she strides over toward the clearly struggling Midgardian. "Set it down, Lieutenant."
She'll offer her sword to where she thinks the thief is standing, then tie the corners of her cloak together to make a sort of carry-bag for the Casket. It's still exuding the chill of the deepest Jotun winter, but at least it doesn't have to be held directly.
"I can give to …" she looks around. "Where is Hodr?"
"I am unharmed, Astryd. Hod's probably back in the hall, collapsed." Fenris murmurs. He looks at Ambrose and shakes his head. "Give it to Sif, actually. That should go back to Odin. Due respect to the God of Winter but he is not in a position to keep that damn thing safe. Sif and possibly Thor can crack the appropriate skulls to have it taken back to Asgard where it will be safe."
He looks around. This is… all of it is disturbing. "Let's have a look around and take some souvenirs. HYDRA didn't plan to keep the Cask for long and they've made something using it's power. The sooner we understand what it is the sooner we'll know what they're going to do next. When we're done I'll open a way and get us out of here. We can take Hod back to…"
Where DOES Hod sleep?
"The bridge he keeps chasing those billy goats off." Something like that, he's sure.