Plotlogs
The House Of Frozen Flames Sr Selina 240919
In the rugged terrain at the base of Mount Galdhopiggen in Norway, the adventure begins with Sean, an individual with a complex relationship to both friendship and loyalty, arriving at a rustic, magical-looking cabin. Immediately, Sean finds himself embroiled in a situation that demands his unique blend of skills as a CIA spook turned unofficial investigator for the Guildmistress of the Knights of the Silver Dragon. Despite a history of contention, Sean's presence here is a step toward redemption, a way to mend bridges by participating in a perilous quest that could either solidify alliances or end fatally.
Inside the cabin, Sean meets Ingrid and her team, who are researching ways to defeat Gonthorian, a malevolent fire-wyrm. Their discovery of a text mentioning "flames that never moved and never died" leads them to the cold regions of the Finnmark Plateau, where they suspect something magical, capable of combating Gonthorian, is hidden. Despite a rocky start and Sean's evident disdain for pleasantries, the combination of his pragmatism and Ingrid's guidance propels the party towards the heart of their mystery: an underground ziggurat lit by ethereal cyan fire.
The climax of their journey is fraught with the sudden reality of Sean's solo expedition deep into the icy bowels of the plateau. His descent into a magically concealed chamber reveals the sought-after phenomenon: a large, jagged crystal entrapping eternal flames. Despite the triumph, this discovery triggers a catastrophic collapse, endangering the mission's success and Sean's life. Quick thinking and an urgent call for an "Exit Protocol Omicron" enable a daring escape through the Nightmare—a parallel, darker dimension fraught with peril. Meanwhile, outside, the threat of Gonthorian's agents materializes, leading to a confrontation that Sean narrowly evades using his cunning and dimensional manipulation.
Securing the frozen flame, however, comes at a cost. Its removal not only causes geological and magical instability but also sets off a sequence of events that further enmesh Sean within the complex web of magical politics, alliances, and enemies that define his existence between worlds. His journey back, laden with the frozen flame, marks a victory not only against the physical adversaries but also against the very limitations of his past associations and actions.
In the grand scheme, Sean's adventure is a testament to the complexity of redemption, the nuances of power, and the relentless pursuit of a greater good—a narrative that weaves together the threads of personal growth, magical intrigue, and the unyielding forces of nature itself.
(The House of Frozen Flames(SRSelina):SRSelina)
[Wed Sep 18 2024]
In a rustic cabin at the base of Mount Galdhopiggen
At the base of Mount Galdhopiggen in Norway, a small, charming cottage nestles amid a rugged, untamed landscape. The cottage, built from rough-hewn timber, exudes a rustic warmth, its wooden walls darkened from years of exposure to the elements. Its roof is steeply pitched, designed to shed snow during the long winters, with moss and lichens growing in patches, adding a touch of green to the weathered shingles.
The windows, small but sturdy, have thick, double-glazed panes to keep out the chill of the mountain air. Soft, warm light filters through, hinting at the comfort inside. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney, a sign that the wood-burning stove is keeping the interior cozy.
Around the cottage, the terrain is rugged, a mix of rocky outcrops, patches of hardy grass, and wildflowers that manage to bloom in the brief summer. To one side, a narrow stream, swollen from recent snowmelt, rushes by, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the pale blue of the sky above. In the distance, Mount Galdhopiggen looms, its snow-capped peak stark against the sky, the highest point in Northern Europe, still holding onto its summer glaciers. Thin wisps of cloud cling to the summit, adding to the dramatic view.
The air here is crisp, with a faint scent of pine from the nearby forests. The sound of the wind whistling through the mountains mingles with the occasional call of a bird or the distant crack of ice shifting on the mountain. Today, the late summer sun casts long shadows, but there's a coolness in the air, a reminder that autumn is just around the corner.
It is dusk, about 80F(26C) degrees,
Only one adventurer seems to have shown up for the trip to Mount Galdhopiggen, and regardless of how he manages to get here, Sean finds himself in front of a ludicrously simple cabin at the base of Norway's tallest mountain. The cabin is built from rough-hewn timber and exudes a rustic warmth. Smoke comes from the chimney to help combat the chill in the air. Lights can be seen through the windows, and strangely, the front door is open, as if someone just stepped out for a brisk walk or they are expecting company. The surroundings are natural, wild, and clutching to summer as much as they can manage, even as fall tries to wrest control of the region by time and entropy. The air here is far more crisp than in Haven, and birds sing from nearby wooded areas.
[OOC: Welcome to The House of Froze Flames! If you have any questions, feel free to use STalk or replies via Tells. Please make use of the Think, Internal, Feel, Recall, and Attempt commands on this adventure. These will greatly enhance your experience and immersion, while also speeding things up for others. I try to do one post per person rotations, but if you want to do short bursts of rapid banter in appropriate situations, feel free. Text that is all colored in this color will be private, for you to act upon ICly. Buckle up, and we will begin shortly. Thank you for letting me be your SR for this evening's festivities.]
Well. He'd been an asshole. He knew that. Making friends was hard for Sean and, of course, making friends with someone he has a complex and layered relationship with, primarily one focused on captivation, retrieval, and flip-flopping loyalties is a hell of a lot harder. But, the road to making amends is a long one and a hard one, and although Sean is on his way out of one sector, and taking a break before moving into another, he's still, at his core, a CIA spook. A shade. A shadow. And so when the call went out that the Guildmistress of the Knights of the Silver Dragon needed investigators?
He sort of knew he had to join. It'd be a good olive branch. So long as they succeeded. So long as they lived. Something to make up for the break-in, the property damage, and the kidnapping and being held prisoner in a cave. He'd left Wren a message and had gotten on the chartered flight to Oslo, hucking along with him his standard kit. If he played it right, Sean wouldn't be front-line on anything. If he played it right. That's a phrase. So rarely does Sean play it right, and there's about a million ways this could go wrong. Somewhere between landing on the runway and transferring to the chopper that'd take them up to base camp on the mountain, Sean finds himself talking to a Swedish conscript, some sort of arcanist. "...Last time I was even remotely out this way, it was to get into the House. Embed myself in it. Was an odd experience..." The woman's looking at him behind something of a half-mask, but he's chatting to chat. Boredom overcomes him, a layer of a mask overtop the thrill of simply Doing the Job, without having to give a shit about the politics of it. "I think I MIGHT have gotten deeper, if it weren't for this one asshole. Like...big mountain of a man. Thought I was interested in him. Trying to fake -that- made the whole op a LOT harder. Had to call in backup and extricate myself." He's barely audible over the whip of helicopter blades. But again. He's talking to talk.
Base camp comes over the horizon and Sean looks, well, unimpressed. As he should. He's done a lot of work on the ground, back in somewhat 'normal' spaces, and he's a bit irritated at the fact that he's somewhat out of his element. But then again, he's always out of his element. It's where he operates best. Cold doesn't bother him anyway, but then again, nothing does. Not when he's this far back inside his own mind. Doesn't feel a thing. As they come to a whip-whirring landing, Sean hucks up a simple rucksack and just gets out on his own. He awaits a simple signal to advance, and just trudges up to the door.
Whirling blades pick up speed, as the chopper does not linger after dropping Sean. Soon the helicopter takes off once more and disappears shortly into the darkness of night. Most would not be showing up at a place like this after midnight, so the open door is likely to be doubly strange to someone like Sean. But nothing at all prevents him from entering the front room of the cabin, which is decorate in a livable, simplistic fashion. The main feature of the room is a long, wooden table between the door and the kitchen. Benches line the long sides, while a pair of chairs sit at either end, both pushed under their side respectively. The fireplace coincides with the kitchen, though there is also a stove and other culinary features in that corner. A large pot of soup is on in a cauldron in the fireplace.
Within the house, three older men and a younger woman move about discussing things in a language that is not English. The woman has a pair of patches on her shoulder, one a silver scale with 3 claw marks across it, the other a silver dragon head. While each of the men are graying with dark colored eyes, the woman is probably about thirty, blonde, blue-eyed, and dressed in Norwegian Army fatigues, complete with combat boots. The men are dressed more like hikers with layered shirts, jeans, and boots of their own.
None of them notice Sean immediately, engrossed in their conversation as they seem to be.
Yeah? Well fuck them too. He's fairly practiced in a few tongues, of course, but most of his work was either in Central and western Europe, or in Oceania. Or Russia. The last of which he'd, of course, dived into a million times. Scandinavia and it's surrounding environs are not, of course, supernaturally or politically important SAVE for their role as a barrier between Russia and the rest of the world. And so the intermediary lands were simply not a part of his purview. He is bored. He is excited. He's both and neither, and all of his feelings, all at the same time. And he hates it. He hates the feelings. He can't Retreat as easily, now that he's finally come out to play. And so, instead of politely introducing himself, which is probably good protocol, Sean adopts the role of the Spook, instead of the Diplomat. Fuck them and their hyperfocus.
He finds a corner. And he -sinks- back into it. And he waits. And waits. And waits. And then he pulls something from the belt beneath his jacket and -flicks- it at the woman with the silver-scale patch. Perfect aim. It hits her right in the hip.
Random projectiles tossed across the room certainly garners some attention, and all eyes turn toward Sean. Sure, he is stealthy, but the cabin really does not afford much in the way of cover to block him after the impact on the woman's hip. "Velkommen," she says, with a hint of confusion on her features. "Why are you in the corner?" she follows up with, a little incredulously. She waves a hand toward the door, and her shadow stretches across the floor to shut it.
"Velkommen," is repeated from the men. But then the one closest to the fireplace and kitchen says, "About faen time. I'm starving!" He gets down bowls, then starts filling them with a ladle from the cauldron in the fireplace, then setting them on the table, five around the place, two on either side, with one at the head of the table.
"You're always starving," the man seated at the table says with a slow shake of his head, rolling his eyes, even as a bowl is set in front of him. Spoons are already on the table, so he lifts a spoonful to blow on it then slurps it down.
"At least he can stay awake for three hours without a nap," the third man says, standing near the table opposite the seated man.
"Forgive the House researchers. They don't get out much. And their manners are ... lacking," the woman says to try to steer the conversation back toward Sean and why he is here and hiding in the corner. "I am Ingrid. These are Kristoff, Jorgen, and Ragnar," she adds, pointing to the men in the order they spoke. Kristoff is Hungry, Jorgen is Sleepy, and Ragnar might be Grumpy, if they were getting named like the Seven Dwarves.
'Hide' is a relative term. He could be a ghost if he wanted to. Mostly he just wanted to pout. Not SULK. Just pout. He's so fucking practiced, and barring ANY of these people being so far above him that they'd eat his brains by breathing, he's been trained enough to stay out of eyesight if he wanted to. He had decided to be semi-visible. And hucking spiky metal at people is a fantastic way to make introductions. He's not here to make friends, time has proven that to be a significant weak spot of his. And Selina's call-out hadn't asked for diplomats, so that 'mask' had been left at home. Here's the Spook, all business and darkness and none of the niceties.
He sniffs, faintly, as the Nordic version of Disney's Three-out-of-Seven are introduced, and doesn't even flinch. It's only when the woman introduces herself that Sean deigns to give any of them an answer. "Aspen," it's what they get. "And before you get your panties in a bunch, I'm currently T.I. Here for a friend. Not to nab any of you." He splays his fingers out, wide, and even lifts the hem of his coat, to show his overladen belt. No collars. No neutralizers. "Heard you needed a better set of eyes and a sharper brain. Being too deep in the hole on something make you lose perspective on something. Brief said y'all are-" And he flicks a finger back and forth between Thing 1, Thing 2 and Frankenstein's Finnish monster. "Trying to get under the fire-wyrm's maw. THAT I can respect. Bastard's ruined a fair few hunts from me, and made it a LOT harder to flirt with your Guildmistress," the last directed at Ingrid. "So. You need a fresh perspective. I'm here to provide it."
A boot thuds off the wall and nudges him over to the people at the table, not the least bit interested in eating. He never is. Not when he's Out. On the Job. "So. What've we got?"
"More about travel than about perspective," Ingrid says before any of the men can chime in, gesturing at some of the papers on the table where bowls are not landing to be eaten. The head of the table and that bowl are left for Sean, though no one draws attention to it. Kristoff finally sits down next to Jorgen. Ragnar takes a seat next to Ingrid. And she sits toward the middle of the table so she can manipulate the papers some. The men stay quiet and let Ingrid talk, focusing on their soup.
"So, we were looking for weaknesses to use on Gonthorian. And we came across a text that spoke of a place with flames that never moved and never died," Ingrid continues, sorting through the pages until she finds the one that mentions it. It is a photocopy of a much older document that she holds out to Sean. The text is in Old Norwegian, so there is a hand written translation in red pen across the margin, which was pretty much what she said, plus or minus an odd little detail or word change here or there.
"I thought that if someone could find what froze these flames, it could be used against him," Ingrid finishes then with a small smile. "And then we can get rid of him and focus on letting good dragons prosper," she adds, clearly on board with the continued tradition of Shemra, the Ascended Eidolon, and bringing about natural dragons on earth once more. Even if her primary concern at the moment is getting rid of the evil draconic eidolon.
He doesn't sit. Obviously. He's on the prowl, now, and while mythological riddles aren't his -favorite-, he's had to grapple with them a time or two. He sucks at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, ignores the fact that he's been given pride of place, and instead takes a good sense of pride in not acknowledging it. And instead finding his own pride of place. He leans over Ingrid's back, mostly to be in the way, and mostly to get a better look at things. He's not polite and he's not bothering to be. They needed help. He came. He's basically the ONLY one who came, and so, well, they get what they get and they don't get upset.
Selina'll find it odder if he behaves as anything other than himself, should this succeed and he survives long enough for the report to get back to her, that is.
Up comes the scan, plucked from Ingrid's fingers, held out at arm's length and then rotated, as if trying to get a read from the shift from runic writing to antiquated proto-alphabetic writing. "Fucking...god I wish I had some Geeks with me. But this is all you get. I can't ask Cara for commissioned staff when I'm...well...when I'm me." Ah. Vagueries. Where he operates best.
"You done a perimeter search?" Sean asks. "Send out scouting parties? Orbital scans? Satellite imaging? Radiological scans? Look for leylines and sub-surface intersections of energy flows?" YES. His ELEMENT. Ordering dumber people around and harping on them for not thinking of every possibility sooner. This is where he thrives. "Solidified fire could indicate something arcane. Ritualism and that bullshit's admittedly a blind spot for me. BUT, it could err more towards something environmental. Geothermal hot springs, maybe? Magma veins coming up near the surface, that sort of 'frozen flames'? Maybe hidden in nearby glacier formations?"
He doesn't sit. Obviously. He's on the prowl, now, and while mythological riddles aren't his -favorite-, he's had to grapple with them a time or two. He sucks at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, ignores the fact that he's been given pride of place, and instead takes a good sense of pride in not acknowledging it. And instead finding his own pride of place. He leans over Ingrid's back, mostly to be in the way, and mostly to get a better look at things. He's not polite and he's not bothering to be. They needed help. He came. He's basically the ONLY one who came, and so, well, they get what they get and they don't get upset.
Selina'll find it odder if he behaves as anything other than himself, should this succeed and he survives long enough for the report to get back to her, that is.
Up comes the scan, plucked from Ingrid's fingers, held out at arm's length and then rotated, as if trying to get a read from the shift from runic writing to antiquated proto-alphabetic writing. "Fucking...god I wish I had some Geeks with me. But this is all you get. I can't ask Cara for commissioned staff when I'm...well...when I'm me." Ah. Vagueries. Where he operates best.
"You done a perimeter search?" Sean asks. "Send out scouting parties? Orbital scans? Satellite imaging? Radiological scans? Look for leylines and sub-surface intersections of energy flows?" YES. His ELEMENT. Ordering dumber people around and harping on them for not thinking of every possibility sooner. This is where he thrives. "Solidified fire could indicate something arcane. Ritualism and that bullshit's admittedly a blind spot for me. BUT, it could err more towards something environmental. Geothermal hot springs, maybe? Magma veins coming up near the surface, that sort of 'frozen flames'? Maybe hidden in nearby glacier formations?"
Men and woman alike stare at Sean like he suddenly has three heads for a good long moment, then they all just start laughing. It is good-natured laughing and after a few beats of it, Ingrid shakes her head at Sean. "She sent a Templar? She must be desperate for decent Adventurers these days. Science does not work on most of these things," she explains casually before gesturing at the rest of the papers. "If it were that easy to locate something like this, it would have been found centuries ago. Or re-discovered since," she explains before lifting up some maps that do look like geothermal readouts though. She hands those to Sean next and says, "But we're also not idiots."
Some grumbling from the men suggests some of them might think otherwise on the topic, but Ingrid shoots them a frigid glare. Light in the small cottage diminishes dramatically with the gesture. That shuts them up quick. At least now the room knows who is in charge of the cottage denizens.
"Finnmark Plateau," Ingrid explains after a moment to collect herself from keeping the men in line. That is the coldest region of Norway. "Somewhere out there, I suspect there is a place where the cold resides. So all you have to do is go find it," she offers a little more cheerfully, letting Sean have a chance to catch up over the maps and such.
"SHE sent nothing," Sean says, "And she probably doesn't know I'm here yet. Best to keep it that way. She'll get all pissy, and then whiny, and then confused because she's an elf from another dimension who doesn't understand the fundamentals of human interreaction," Sean says, at once flagrantly vulgar about the Guildmistress' nature and also completely dismissive about the importance and power she might hold amongst this cove of 'adventurers'. Not his idiots, not his circus. He's here on a favor, and one he's keeping quiet on for a moment, and though he resents the implication that he's not 'decent', he does, at least, feel it necessary to clarify - "I'm not an Adventurer. I'm not a Knight. I'm a Spook. I'm a violent and remorseless killer, a monster that kills monsters, and most importantly," He clicks his tongue at someone, grabs the geothermal readouts, and wheels away to inspect them down the table, "I'm already married."
He's -feeling- himself in the Field, today, and when there's a dimming of the lights, he mockingly says "Oooohhhh. Spooky. Big men don't like darkness. Turn the lights back up, most of us don't have innate nightvision and I'm trying to read here." He sniffs, sharply, then, and scans the maps, gnawing at his cheek at the mention of Finnmark Plateau. "...Great. Fantastic. So. Ice picks, thermal layers, and probably little to nothing in the way of aerial support, given the turbulent weather patterns that happen that far out." He cricks his shoulders and stands up a bit straighter. "Nothing like a death wish to kick off an evening. 'Ere," and he reaches down to finally take SOMEONE ELSE'S FOOD, downs the soup, and then flicks the bowl gracefully back at the table. "When's rollout?"
"SHE sent nothing," Sean says, "And she probably doesn't know I'm here yet. Best to keep it that way. She'll get all pissy, and then whiny, and then confused because she's an elf from another dimension who doesn't understand the fundamentals of human interreaction," Sean says, at once flagrantly vulgar about the Guildmistress' nature and also completely dismissive about the importance and power she might hold amongst this cove of 'adventurers'. Not his idiots, not his circus. He's here on a favor, and one he's keeping quiet on for a moment, and though he resents the implication that he's not 'decent', he does, at least, feel it necessary to clarify - "I'm not an Adventurer. I'm not a Knight. I'm a Spook. I'm a violent and remorseless killer, a monster that kills monsters, and most importantly," He clicks his tongue at Ingrid, grabs the geothermal readouts, and wheels away to inspect them down the table, "I'm already married."
He's -feeling- himself in the Field, today, and when there's a dimming of the lights, he mockingly says "Oooohhhh. Spooky. Big men don't like darkness. Turn the lights back up, most of us don't have innate nightvision and I'm trying to read here." He sniffs, sharply, then, and scans the maps, gnawing at his cheek at the mention of Finnmark Plateau. "...Great. Fantastic. So. Ice picks, thermal layers, and probably little to nothing in the way of aerial support, given the turbulent weather patterns that happen that far out." He cricks his shoulders and stands up a bit straighter. "Nothing like a death wish to kick off an evening. 'Ere," and he reaches down to finally take SOMEONE ELSE'S FOOD, downs the soup, and then flicks the bowl gracefully back at the table. "When's rollout?"
Soup has already been eaten by the men. The only bowls left at that point are Ingrid's and Sean's. She gives him a look when he takes her bowl, but says nothing of it right then. The lights slowly return to their former brightness, but Ingrid's gaze narrows in something resembling annoyance. "Hard to imagine," she finally replies nebulously before gesturing at the maps in Sean's hands. "Those are her copy. Use them if you want. Or take them to her and have her go look. But delivery boy seems a couple notches above your pay grade, so you might want to actually look for it first. At the very least, a report of frozen fire not found would be better than here's a map to a place where it mgiht be," she explains to Sean before standing up from her place. "Most people like you are married to their work," she points out before moving to the fireplace and getting a poker to help make a bed of embers. She adds another couple of logs, then gets another tool to get the cauldron out of the fireplace and moved to the kitchen. No use burning good soup just to keep the place warm.
"And hopefully, this will clear up any ... animosity between the House and the remnants of the Covenant," Ragnar pipes up with some annoyance of his own before grunting at his companions. The men just nod together over that, but really leave the conversation to Ingird at this point.
"I'm married to my wife," Sean says, "My work is just my mistress. They get along fantastically, and the threesomes are mind-blowing." He's pushing it. On purpose. He's preemptively decided he doesn't like these people and he's riding in with that in full force. "I'm not going back to her house without a tank and a dragon-killing missile. Or cookies. I hate cookies. Lasagne? Do dragon-elves eat Lasagne?" The comment about being a delivery boy isn't -really- addressed. Because Sean asked a fucking question and he's yet to get a fucking answer. And so he waits. Slowly growing more and more irritated until, finally, he says "If one of you isn't giving me the keys to a tread-truck, or isn't flying us out there, I might as well start walking, and you can catch up with me when you finally decide to get off of your asses." And he turns to start heading towards the door.
Eight eyes turn toward Sean once more like he is a strange one, but then Ingrid puts the tool down from moving the cauldron. "Our part was locating a potential spot. Roll out whenever you like. I would suggest dream travel over walking though," she says before looking Sean over for a few moments. "A few more layers too," she decides, moving over to a closet to pull out a much heavier coat and some gloves. "Have you never dream traveled?" she asks him innocently, a small smirk crossing her lips at the idea of showing Sean something new. But she would probably be all business about it and just show him the door to where ever they are sending him rather than actually accompany him to the plateau. "You have a nightmare charm?" she asks as a follow up, as obviously, she does, somewhere on her person, even if it is not readily apparent or visible.
"If we're done here," Kristoff mentions rubbing his belly a little before letting out a satisfied burp.
"I think we are," Jorgen says with a slow nod, eyes already closing like he wants to get some sleep.
"Faen take ya both," Ragnar responds, reaching out to grasp each of the other men by the wrist. He starts building a pathing bridge, the area around the three men starting to warp and twist.
Ingrid backs away from the trio departing and gently urges Sean to do the same with one hand. "Their way is easier," she says with a sigh, like she could do it if she wanted to but just chooses not to.
How to answer that question? Oh! Perfect. Sean has a whole bevy of skills to answer that question. And so he fucks about for a moment, his nose bleeds slightly, and then...
There's a sudden upswell not just of emotion, but neurological sensation inside of Ingrid's brain. A download of euphoric stimuli, dopamine and adrenaline and urgent, powerful hormonal dumps. And then a voice in her head simply says 'Be more polite. No one joined you on your dying crusade. I'm here, and I could just as easily turn around and go home.'
He rolls his eyes, and says "...-Fine-. I hate it. Makes me feel nauseous." And then -
Warping reality and space and time all at once is somewhat trippy, but the men continue doing that quietly by themselves. Ingrid does not seem inclined to join them, but when Sean goes to grab her wrist, she raises an eyebrow at him. "Dream travel. Or Nightmare travel. Not necessarily safer, but easier for mundanes," she explains to Sean after a moment before tugging him into the Nightmare instead. The cozy, lovely, rustic cottage seems far more menacing in the Nightmare, darker, foreboding, and predatory. Like eyes are all suddenly drawn to Sean in a malevolent and aggressive fashion.
Moments later, the three men vanish from the room and reality snaps back to where it was before.
That leaves Ingrid and Sean alone in the Nightmare. "Come, we need to do a little walking," she says, tugging on his arm to try to get him to follow her outside, where, eventually, an elevator door in the fabric of the Nightmare will open for her to lead him into. "We should not have to spend long in here," she explains to Sean, but the door hints of vampires in a modern New York setting, along with werewolves and mages and worse. Seems a little bit like real life, except the groups in this case are WAY better at keeping supernatural bull shit under wraps it seems.
God. Patronizing. Sean fucking hates it. So he releases someone and leaps into the Nightmare with a yawn. "Huh. Ivy?!" He calls out, utterly ignoring Ingrid, for a moment, to yell for someone who isn't here, and yet whom he seems intimately to know. No answer. He slumps. "Ariel? Maverick?" Meh. Nothing. Of course night. It'd take a bit deeper of a dive to get to any of them. He resists the tug, moves around Ingrid and -almost- bolts through it. Almost. ALMOST. And then he sees vampires and he -stops-. "...Fun." And then he swaps out the bullets in his gun. Silver. And wood. "Better. I've been wanting to shoot things."
God. Patronizing. Sean fucking hates it. So he releases Ingrid and leaps into the Nightmare with a yawn. "Huh. Ivy?!" He calls out, utterly ignoring Ingrid, for a moment, to yell for someone who isn't here, and yet whom he seems intimately to know. No answer. He slumps. "Ariel? Maverick?" Meh. Nothing. Of course night. It'd take a bit deeper of a dive to get to any of them. He resists the tug, moves around Ingrid and -almost- bolts through it. Almost. ALMOST. And then he sees vampires and he -stops-. "...Fun." And then he swaps out the bullets in his gun. Silver. And wood. "Better. I've been wanting to shoot things."
"Hopefully, we won't be there long enough to attract attention," Ingrid tells Sean before crossing her arms over her chest. "If you don't want my help, I am sure you can manage this fine without me then," she says, turning to head back toward the cottage then. Likely there is a mirror in there she can get back out of the Nightmare through. In the Nightmare, her manifestation shows as wild shadows surrounding her like snakes with emerald eyes. If he does not want guidance or assistance, she does not have to give it, though her assistance would likely end when he arrived at the Plateau anyway.
[This is a good spot for a break if you need one. 10 minutes to do things, then meet back here.]
"Point," Sean says, "You're a guide. Not a spy. You'll be fundamentally useless to me when I get there," Great diplomacy, but he's not fucking bothering anymore. "Walk. I'll follow. You're at least half-pretty, so I get a sense of Selina's leaning tastes. -Go-. I'll do the rest. She really should higher better spies. Your organization is....to put it nicely, dogshit and scattered. You're lucky I dropped in." And the worst thing is, he's right.
Sean then goes AFK a bit to eat dinner, during the pause-break
Ingrid gives a backward wave as she heads through a wall of the cottage. A few moments later, the door to the front of the cottage shuts and locks. Then the lights start to go out, leaving Sean in the diplomatic situation he has dug for himself. Even returning to the cottage at this point would be moot. The place has been cleaned up inside, and moments later, the place explodes. The cauldron of soup is launched up into the air somewhere.
That leaves Sean with a short jaunt through the dreams, which will not be detailed here. And eventually, he ends up near an abandoned camp site near Finnmark Plateau. The cold is biting this much further north, but thankfully, Ingrid did supply Sean with a heavier coat and gloves. Going from the far southern area of Norway to the far, far northern section over both Sweden and Finland could be jarring if not for those supplies. In the mean time, it certainly seems like a place where fire could freeze entirely, though perhaps more so in a couple of months. Now Sean just needs to figure out where to go from here to find the place.
Welp. Time to get a'wandering. He's a field Agent, after all, though he tends to do a lot of his work from a command center, before heading on site. He's not an idiot, though. He's just a pissant. And so he came prepared. Clothed better, because, well, who the fuck knew he'd be dropped off solo on the Finnmark Plateau, he pulls out his sat-phone and pulls up the scans of the geothermal imaging. "Fantastic." He spits onto the permafrost beneath him, watching it sizzle and then freeze nigh-instantly. He burps. Great. And then trudges forward. "Alright. Dead cold. Dead empty. And dead. Where the hell could fire be frozen, here? And...why? How would a weapon or a tool survive in a place that'd exist beneath an Eidolon's ability to notice? Wouldn't he be scattered to-" Fucking WHY is he talking to himself? He's still got the hook-up, for now, at least. He lifts a hand to his ear, it goes chirp-chirp, and a weary, smoker's voice comes up on the other end - "What? It's dinner ti-"
Sean cuts the man off, and says "Jansen, shut up. I'm in Norway. Pull up sat-imaging of the Finnmark Plateau. Get a bead on my signal, broadcasting now. I'm not about to go wandering in blind. Here." And there's a moment where he fucks about on his phone and sends off the scans to the Temple Geek he's got on the line. "Knights took those. I'm looking for a 'frozen flame' or a 'flame frozen in ice'. I'm thinking it's a magmetic jet, or something like it. They've got it in their heads that it's some magical hoo-doo-voo-doo as shit. Have the Geeks run those scans for me and give me a heading?" He's a Spook. They're the Geeks. Hand-in-Hand, runs the Temple Intelligence Branch, most of their work shadowed even from the rest of the Temple. Jansen and Sean may not be friends, but they're both old spies, and that's what counts. And so off Sean trudges, comms line kept open.
"Roger," comes the response as the data gets transmitted. A bit of silence follows as the Geek does their work. Eventually, the Temple agent comes back with some coordinates and a heading to take Sean around an bend or two in the base of the plateau. And that is when, miraculously, Sean finds an opening. Only visible up close, like he is doing. Satellites would never find this thing. The cliff face all but conceals it. But the air within is even more bitterly cold. All that is left is to verify that it is indeed a place where fire can freeze, and Sean can get headed home to his lovely wife.
The threshold for this concealed entrance into the earth beneath the plateau marks another drop in temperature, dropping far further than nature would suggest, even based on the exterior weather. Magic things do be transpiring about here. The entrance gives way to a sharp decline a few feet in, which is covered in ice, practically making it a slide down to whatever might be below.
Gotta love that. Magic and cracks. Sean is great at worming into one, and he's all but alien to the other. Rimshot.
His comms blip and bleep with other voices that Sean isn't really paying attention to. "Ew. Ops." He bends and weaves and endures cold and ice and snow and wind and more wind and even more wind and cold. He draws in a breath, then, at the edge of the threshhold, positive he could just turn back now. Near-confirmation is, well, near-confirmation. And otherwise he might die. But, he's -almost- there. And so Sean says "Get a Demolisher squad to my last known location. Have them bring breach charges. And rope. LOTS of rope. I'm going in, likely'll lose comms once I'm deep down." And then he wriggles into the entrance, and tucks his chin in, and -slides- down into the icy channel, knees tucked, body loose, ready to take the impact on the other side.
Sliding down an ice slide in a dark cave is actually bumpier than one might expect, especially when the tunnel starts to twist and turn, left and right before finally spiraling down several times. At the bottom, instead of a hard impact stop, it is actually more of a continue sliding across the top of a frozen lake.
After spinning a couple of times and finally coming to a stop on the ice, Sean can get a good look around. He has apparently managed to get down a couple hundred feet deep below the surface surrounding the plateau, and within is a ziggurat-style building just on the other side of the lake. The entire cavern is lit by cyan fire, and many torches of such exist on either side of the stairs leading up the outside of said construction.
Partial-confirmation complete, but is there more Sean may want to do before the Demo-Team comes to rescue him? None of the cyan flames out here look entirely 'real' like they are translucent enough to be ghostly. Perhaps just an illusion unto themselves.
And down Sean goes, absolutely mad-lad style, yelling the entire way down till he's cackling near the end. Bumps and bruises, but there's an angel out there to kiss them all better. He's on a one-way trip down a magical log-flume meant only for him, and all he can do is cackle like a psychopath until he's spinning out onto the ice. He laughs, deeply, and doesn't stand for a good, GOOD long while. And when he finally does push himself to his feet, he slows, identifies the ziggurat, and sucks at his teeth, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. "Welp," he says, "She'll -have- to give me a kiss now." Crunching on ice, he steps, carefully, across the frozen lake, testing his weight, to move to the entryway of the ziggurat, searching for something akin to an entrance, a staircase, or some means of entering the structure. If need be, he'll make use of the climbing gear Ingrid equipped him with, but he'd rather a less laborious route.
Stairs at the front lead right up to the top chamber of the ziggurat, no real exploration necessary. Of course, any spy worth their salt would realize things are going too easy for this to be all there is to it. As Sean draws closer, he can make out that the ziggurat and all of the torches are made of ice. The cyan fires above the torches are separate and floating spectrally above the sconce-like attachments.
Static on Sean's comm line is broken up by sudden shouting. Apparently, the Demo-Team has landed, and they are under attack! By a red dragon and several agents, he would be able to piece together through the chatter. And, as usual, nothing ever goes quite as smooth as one might hope. He may need to find his own way out of here. But the ziggurat is right there, waiting. The unknown, the secrets, the potential power, all right there possibly at the top, just within his reach...
Eh. Wolves'll handle themselves, and the ABs'll be on standby to get anyone out of trouble before it gets too hairy. That's why there are Demolishers. To clean up messes like this one. They've probably already radioed for backup, and whomever that dragon is is about to have a fucking rocket dropped on their head. That makes him laugh. The sound crackles throughout the frozen torches and the empty halls. And so, he does as he does best, and he slinks into nothingness, and becomes something else, and becomes a shadow. And then, and only then, does he start to slip inside. Sean is watchful. Quiet. Utterly silent.
And, sightless, faceless, mask pulled down and distorting his features, muffling the sounds of his breathing, his heart-rate, the reflective panelling and smoke jets doing wonders, Sean moves up towards the entrance, hugging edges, avoiding torchlight, and moves into the main hall.
Getting up a set of stairs made of ice is a dicey proposition, but Sean manages with guile, agility, and the brains to use his gloved hands on the sconces as able. The crackling static continues in his ear, giving him reports of casualties and such, but there is definitely a fight outside, and this may be the only chance the Knights have to get anything useful against the dragon. And one of them is not even here to do the honors of getting it.
Within the chamber at the top, an altar holds a great bowl. Inside that bowl is a large, jagged crystal of ice. Inside of that ice, red-yellow-white flames exist, frozen like a picture within, tinted by the refraction of the light-blue hue of the ice surrounding it. The flame is about the size of a large backpack, but it lacks any straps to make it easy to carry. The jaggedness allows for handholds and such, but the object is clearly not meant to be handled or moved often.
This is his favorite bit, really. That he's the only one here. Undiscovered Country. Star Trek nerd and all. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of it. For himself. For Wren. For later. And then he starts pulling out climbing supplies, edging towards the center of the altar. He's conscious for traps, moving with a great patience that is simply not present in his everyday life. Recklessness abandoned in the face not of a prize, but of a tool. Of Information. And should he get to the altar without too much trouble, he begins trying to strap and cable the central flame-crystal. He'll drag it out if he has to, but if he can, he's aiming to create a rudimentary series of straps with which to bind it to his rucksack, and carry it out of here.
Should it prove TOO slippery to handle, Sean examines the surface, stroking over it to see if piercing the icy shell is, inherently, a bad idea. Magic is his blind spot, so this is all on gut instinct.
Everything goes fine until the frozen flame leaves the bowl. The entire cavern starts to tremble and shake, and all the little cyan flames start winking out, one by one, like the frozen flame was the power supply running the whole thing. The altar cracks and splits into two, dropping the bowl onto the floor where it shatters like glass. Chunks of the ceiling inside the ziggurat start to fall, and fissures start forming in the floor. Strangely, steam starts shooting up through those fissures, like a long awaited magma stream has just hit the ice from below, or more, like the frozen flame itself had been holding the magma at bay.
Static on the line tells Sean the fight is still likely waging, and Sean can hear shouts from the direction of the lake. Agents of Gonthorian have made it to the bottom, and they are there for Sean. He needs an exit strategy, and he needs one as quickly as possible...
"FUCKING CALLED IT!" Sean says, shouting in victory as the entire thing 'Temple of Dooms' itself down around him. "Suck it, Ingrid!" And then he's hauling the thing out from the main altar. He sights the fire wyrm's little bastards breaching into the temple, and his eyes light up, beautiful. Static is a bitch, for sure, but Sean punches through it hard enough with a repeat code-command. "JANSEN - EXIT PROTOCOL OMICRON. EXIT PROTOCOL OMICRON. GET ME THE -HELL- OUT OF THIS BITCH!" And then there's a -distant- whir as something, somewhere, really, really fucking big, starts coming towards this chamber. Somewhere. Sean steps out into the entrance as the altar and the temple start crumbling down around him. "Hey, ember-fuck-wits!" He flips them the bird, before he goes slack, and steps into the Nightmare, just as a drilling bit cracks the ceiling, and drops several payloads down onto Gonthorian's agents. Away Sean goes, slipping back into the Nightmare and up into the darkness, the beacon he's carrying sending trickling pulses out into the Nightmare to help guide his recovery once he's on the other side and at the surface.
Evading the pursuit in the Nightmare and finding a way out through a door that materializes is about the best way to get out of that situation. Thankfully, the crumbling temple did not have any sort of nightmare shielding on it, which means Sean is able to execute on that. The bombardment afterward likely levels a small piece of the Finnmark Plateau off into a small crater, but it is a small price to pay for the priceless piece of precious that Sean has secured to combat the red dragon reeking havoc outside. And shortly thereafter, Sean will find a way to get back to Haven, safely in the nightmare, and able to find his way back home. Where ever the frozen flame goes, however, it gets supremely cold around it very, very soon. So there may be problems he needs to rectify with it later. But for now... Victory!
Inside the cabin, Sean meets Ingrid and her team, who are researching ways to defeat Gonthorian, a malevolent fire-wyrm. Their discovery of a text mentioning "flames that never moved and never died" leads them to the cold regions of the Finnmark Plateau, where they suspect something magical, capable of combating Gonthorian, is hidden. Despite a rocky start and Sean's evident disdain for pleasantries, the combination of his pragmatism and Ingrid's guidance propels the party towards the heart of their mystery: an underground ziggurat lit by ethereal cyan fire.
The climax of their journey is fraught with the sudden reality of Sean's solo expedition deep into the icy bowels of the plateau. His descent into a magically concealed chamber reveals the sought-after phenomenon: a large, jagged crystal entrapping eternal flames. Despite the triumph, this discovery triggers a catastrophic collapse, endangering the mission's success and Sean's life. Quick thinking and an urgent call for an "Exit Protocol Omicron" enable a daring escape through the Nightmare—a parallel, darker dimension fraught with peril. Meanwhile, outside, the threat of Gonthorian's agents materializes, leading to a confrontation that Sean narrowly evades using his cunning and dimensional manipulation.
Securing the frozen flame, however, comes at a cost. Its removal not only causes geological and magical instability but also sets off a sequence of events that further enmesh Sean within the complex web of magical politics, alliances, and enemies that define his existence between worlds. His journey back, laden with the frozen flame, marks a victory not only against the physical adversaries but also against the very limitations of his past associations and actions.
In the grand scheme, Sean's adventure is a testament to the complexity of redemption, the nuances of power, and the relentless pursuit of a greater good—a narrative that weaves together the threads of personal growth, magical intrigue, and the unyielding forces of nature itself.
(The House of Frozen Flames(SRSelina):SRSelina)
[Wed Sep 18 2024]
In a rustic cabin at the base of Mount Galdhopiggen
At the base of Mount Galdhopiggen in Norway, a small, charming cottage nestles amid a rugged, untamed landscape. The cottage, built from rough-hewn timber, exudes a rustic warmth, its wooden walls darkened from years of exposure to the elements. Its roof is steeply pitched, designed to shed snow during the long winters, with moss and lichens growing in patches, adding a touch of green to the weathered shingles.
The windows, small but sturdy, have thick, double-glazed panes to keep out the chill of the mountain air. Soft, warm light filters through, hinting at the comfort inside. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney, a sign that the wood-burning stove is keeping the interior cozy.
Around the cottage, the terrain is rugged, a mix of rocky outcrops, patches of hardy grass, and wildflowers that manage to bloom in the brief summer. To one side, a narrow stream, swollen from recent snowmelt, rushes by, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the pale blue of the sky above. In the distance, Mount Galdhopiggen looms, its snow-capped peak stark against the sky, the highest point in Northern Europe, still holding onto its summer glaciers. Thin wisps of cloud cling to the summit, adding to the dramatic view.
The air here is crisp, with a faint scent of pine from the nearby forests. The sound of the wind whistling through the mountains mingles with the occasional call of a bird or the distant crack of ice shifting on the mountain. Today, the late summer sun casts long shadows, but there's a coolness in the air, a reminder that autumn is just around the corner.
It is dusk, about 80F(26C) degrees,
Only one adventurer seems to have shown up for the trip to Mount Galdhopiggen, and regardless of how he manages to get here, Sean finds himself in front of a ludicrously simple cabin at the base of Norway's tallest mountain. The cabin is built from rough-hewn timber and exudes a rustic warmth. Smoke comes from the chimney to help combat the chill in the air. Lights can be seen through the windows, and strangely, the front door is open, as if someone just stepped out for a brisk walk or they are expecting company. The surroundings are natural, wild, and clutching to summer as much as they can manage, even as fall tries to wrest control of the region by time and entropy. The air here is far more crisp than in Haven, and birds sing from nearby wooded areas.
[OOC: Welcome to The House of Froze Flames! If you have any questions, feel free to use STalk or replies via Tells. Please make use of the Think, Internal, Feel, Recall, and Attempt commands on this adventure. These will greatly enhance your experience and immersion, while also speeding things up for others. I try to do one post per person rotations, but if you want to do short bursts of rapid banter in appropriate situations, feel free. Text that is all colored in this color will be private, for you to act upon ICly. Buckle up, and we will begin shortly. Thank you for letting me be your SR for this evening's festivities.]
Well. He'd been an asshole. He knew that. Making friends was hard for Sean and, of course, making friends with someone he has a complex and layered relationship with, primarily one focused on captivation, retrieval, and flip-flopping loyalties is a hell of a lot harder. But, the road to making amends is a long one and a hard one, and although Sean is on his way out of one sector, and taking a break before moving into another, he's still, at his core, a CIA spook. A shade. A shadow. And so when the call went out that the Guildmistress of the Knights of the Silver Dragon needed investigators?
He sort of knew he had to join. It'd be a good olive branch. So long as they succeeded. So long as they lived. Something to make up for the break-in, the property damage, and the kidnapping and being held prisoner in a cave. He'd left Wren a message and had gotten on the chartered flight to Oslo, hucking along with him his standard kit. If he played it right, Sean wouldn't be front-line on anything. If he played it right. That's a phrase. So rarely does Sean play it right, and there's about a million ways this could go wrong. Somewhere between landing on the runway and transferring to the chopper that'd take them up to base camp on the mountain, Sean finds himself talking to a Swedish conscript, some sort of arcanist. "...Last time I was even remotely out this way, it was to get into the House. Embed myself in it. Was an odd experience..." The woman's looking at him behind something of a half-mask, but he's chatting to chat. Boredom overcomes him, a layer of a mask overtop the thrill of simply Doing the Job, without having to give a shit about the politics of it. "I think I MIGHT have gotten deeper, if it weren't for this one asshole. Like...big mountain of a man. Thought I was interested in him. Trying to fake -that- made the whole op a LOT harder. Had to call in backup and extricate myself." He's barely audible over the whip of helicopter blades. But again. He's talking to talk.
Base camp comes over the horizon and Sean looks, well, unimpressed. As he should. He's done a lot of work on the ground, back in somewhat 'normal' spaces, and he's a bit irritated at the fact that he's somewhat out of his element. But then again, he's always out of his element. It's where he operates best. Cold doesn't bother him anyway, but then again, nothing does. Not when he's this far back inside his own mind. Doesn't feel a thing. As they come to a whip-whirring landing, Sean hucks up a simple rucksack and just gets out on his own. He awaits a simple signal to advance, and just trudges up to the door.
Whirling blades pick up speed, as the chopper does not linger after dropping Sean. Soon the helicopter takes off once more and disappears shortly into the darkness of night. Most would not be showing up at a place like this after midnight, so the open door is likely to be doubly strange to someone like Sean. But nothing at all prevents him from entering the front room of the cabin, which is decorate in a livable, simplistic fashion. The main feature of the room is a long, wooden table between the door and the kitchen. Benches line the long sides, while a pair of chairs sit at either end, both pushed under their side respectively. The fireplace coincides with the kitchen, though there is also a stove and other culinary features in that corner. A large pot of soup is on in a cauldron in the fireplace.
Within the house, three older men and a younger woman move about discussing things in a language that is not English. The woman has a pair of patches on her shoulder, one a silver scale with 3 claw marks across it, the other a silver dragon head. While each of the men are graying with dark colored eyes, the woman is probably about thirty, blonde, blue-eyed, and dressed in Norwegian Army fatigues, complete with combat boots. The men are dressed more like hikers with layered shirts, jeans, and boots of their own.
None of them notice Sean immediately, engrossed in their conversation as they seem to be.
Yeah? Well fuck them too. He's fairly practiced in a few tongues, of course, but most of his work was either in Central and western Europe, or in Oceania. Or Russia. The last of which he'd, of course, dived into a million times. Scandinavia and it's surrounding environs are not, of course, supernaturally or politically important SAVE for their role as a barrier between Russia and the rest of the world. And so the intermediary lands were simply not a part of his purview. He is bored. He is excited. He's both and neither, and all of his feelings, all at the same time. And he hates it. He hates the feelings. He can't Retreat as easily, now that he's finally come out to play. And so, instead of politely introducing himself, which is probably good protocol, Sean adopts the role of the Spook, instead of the Diplomat. Fuck them and their hyperfocus.
He finds a corner. And he -sinks- back into it. And he waits. And waits. And waits. And then he pulls something from the belt beneath his jacket and -flicks- it at the woman with the silver-scale patch. Perfect aim. It hits her right in the hip.
Random projectiles tossed across the room certainly garners some attention, and all eyes turn toward Sean. Sure, he is stealthy, but the cabin really does not afford much in the way of cover to block him after the impact on the woman's hip. "Velkommen," she says, with a hint of confusion on her features. "Why are you in the corner?" she follows up with, a little incredulously. She waves a hand toward the door, and her shadow stretches across the floor to shut it.
"Velkommen," is repeated from the men. But then the one closest to the fireplace and kitchen says, "About faen time. I'm starving!" He gets down bowls, then starts filling them with a ladle from the cauldron in the fireplace, then setting them on the table, five around the place, two on either side, with one at the head of the table.
"You're always starving," the man seated at the table says with a slow shake of his head, rolling his eyes, even as a bowl is set in front of him. Spoons are already on the table, so he lifts a spoonful to blow on it then slurps it down.
"At least he can stay awake for three hours without a nap," the third man says, standing near the table opposite the seated man.
"Forgive the House researchers. They don't get out much. And their manners are ... lacking," the woman says to try to steer the conversation back toward Sean and why he is here and hiding in the corner. "I am Ingrid. These are Kristoff, Jorgen, and Ragnar," she adds, pointing to the men in the order they spoke. Kristoff is Hungry, Jorgen is Sleepy, and Ragnar might be Grumpy, if they were getting named like the Seven Dwarves.
'Hide' is a relative term. He could be a ghost if he wanted to. Mostly he just wanted to pout. Not SULK. Just pout. He's so fucking practiced, and barring ANY of these people being so far above him that they'd eat his brains by breathing, he's been trained enough to stay out of eyesight if he wanted to. He had decided to be semi-visible. And hucking spiky metal at people is a fantastic way to make introductions. He's not here to make friends, time has proven that to be a significant weak spot of his. And Selina's call-out hadn't asked for diplomats, so that 'mask' had been left at home. Here's the Spook, all business and darkness and none of the niceties.
He sniffs, faintly, as the Nordic version of Disney's Three-out-of-Seven are introduced, and doesn't even flinch. It's only when the woman introduces herself that Sean deigns to give any of them an answer. "Aspen," it's what they get. "And before you get your panties in a bunch, I'm currently T.I. Here for a friend. Not to nab any of you." He splays his fingers out, wide, and even lifts the hem of his coat, to show his overladen belt. No collars. No neutralizers. "Heard you needed a better set of eyes and a sharper brain. Being too deep in the hole on something make you lose perspective on something. Brief said y'all are-" And he flicks a finger back and forth between Thing 1, Thing 2 and Frankenstein's Finnish monster. "Trying to get under the fire-wyrm's maw. THAT I can respect. Bastard's ruined a fair few hunts from me, and made it a LOT harder to flirt with your Guildmistress," the last directed at Ingrid. "So. You need a fresh perspective. I'm here to provide it."
A boot thuds off the wall and nudges him over to the people at the table, not the least bit interested in eating. He never is. Not when he's Out. On the Job. "So. What've we got?"
"More about travel than about perspective," Ingrid says before any of the men can chime in, gesturing at some of the papers on the table where bowls are not landing to be eaten. The head of the table and that bowl are left for Sean, though no one draws attention to it. Kristoff finally sits down next to Jorgen. Ragnar takes a seat next to Ingrid. And she sits toward the middle of the table so she can manipulate the papers some. The men stay quiet and let Ingrid talk, focusing on their soup.
"So, we were looking for weaknesses to use on Gonthorian. And we came across a text that spoke of a place with flames that never moved and never died," Ingrid continues, sorting through the pages until she finds the one that mentions it. It is a photocopy of a much older document that she holds out to Sean. The text is in Old Norwegian, so there is a hand written translation in red pen across the margin, which was pretty much what she said, plus or minus an odd little detail or word change here or there.
"I thought that if someone could find what froze these flames, it could be used against him," Ingrid finishes then with a small smile. "And then we can get rid of him and focus on letting good dragons prosper," she adds, clearly on board with the continued tradition of Shemra, the Ascended Eidolon, and bringing about natural dragons on earth once more. Even if her primary concern at the moment is getting rid of the evil draconic eidolon.
He doesn't sit. Obviously. He's on the prowl, now, and while mythological riddles aren't his -favorite-, he's had to grapple with them a time or two. He sucks at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, ignores the fact that he's been given pride of place, and instead takes a good sense of pride in not acknowledging it. And instead finding his own pride of place. He leans over Ingrid's back, mostly to be in the way, and mostly to get a better look at things. He's not polite and he's not bothering to be. They needed help. He came. He's basically the ONLY one who came, and so, well, they get what they get and they don't get upset.
Selina'll find it odder if he behaves as anything other than himself, should this succeed and he survives long enough for the report to get back to her, that is.
Up comes the scan, plucked from Ingrid's fingers, held out at arm's length and then rotated, as if trying to get a read from the shift from runic writing to antiquated proto-alphabetic writing. "Fucking...god I wish I had some Geeks with me. But this is all you get. I can't ask Cara for commissioned staff when I'm...well...when I'm me." Ah. Vagueries. Where he operates best.
"You done a perimeter search?" Sean asks. "Send out scouting parties? Orbital scans? Satellite imaging? Radiological scans? Look for leylines and sub-surface intersections of energy flows?" YES. His ELEMENT. Ordering dumber people around and harping on them for not thinking of every possibility sooner. This is where he thrives. "Solidified fire could indicate something arcane. Ritualism and that bullshit's admittedly a blind spot for me. BUT, it could err more towards something environmental. Geothermal hot springs, maybe? Magma veins coming up near the surface, that sort of 'frozen flames'? Maybe hidden in nearby glacier formations?"
He doesn't sit. Obviously. He's on the prowl, now, and while mythological riddles aren't his -favorite-, he's had to grapple with them a time or two. He sucks at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, ignores the fact that he's been given pride of place, and instead takes a good sense of pride in not acknowledging it. And instead finding his own pride of place. He leans over Ingrid's back, mostly to be in the way, and mostly to get a better look at things. He's not polite and he's not bothering to be. They needed help. He came. He's basically the ONLY one who came, and so, well, they get what they get and they don't get upset.
Selina'll find it odder if he behaves as anything other than himself, should this succeed and he survives long enough for the report to get back to her, that is.
Up comes the scan, plucked from Ingrid's fingers, held out at arm's length and then rotated, as if trying to get a read from the shift from runic writing to antiquated proto-alphabetic writing. "Fucking...god I wish I had some Geeks with me. But this is all you get. I can't ask Cara for commissioned staff when I'm...well...when I'm me." Ah. Vagueries. Where he operates best.
"You done a perimeter search?" Sean asks. "Send out scouting parties? Orbital scans? Satellite imaging? Radiological scans? Look for leylines and sub-surface intersections of energy flows?" YES. His ELEMENT. Ordering dumber people around and harping on them for not thinking of every possibility sooner. This is where he thrives. "Solidified fire could indicate something arcane. Ritualism and that bullshit's admittedly a blind spot for me. BUT, it could err more towards something environmental. Geothermal hot springs, maybe? Magma veins coming up near the surface, that sort of 'frozen flames'? Maybe hidden in nearby glacier formations?"
Men and woman alike stare at Sean like he suddenly has three heads for a good long moment, then they all just start laughing. It is good-natured laughing and after a few beats of it, Ingrid shakes her head at Sean. "She sent a Templar? She must be desperate for decent Adventurers these days. Science does not work on most of these things," she explains casually before gesturing at the rest of the papers. "If it were that easy to locate something like this, it would have been found centuries ago. Or re-discovered since," she explains before lifting up some maps that do look like geothermal readouts though. She hands those to Sean next and says, "But we're also not idiots."
Some grumbling from the men suggests some of them might think otherwise on the topic, but Ingrid shoots them a frigid glare. Light in the small cottage diminishes dramatically with the gesture. That shuts them up quick. At least now the room knows who is in charge of the cottage denizens.
"Finnmark Plateau," Ingrid explains after a moment to collect herself from keeping the men in line. That is the coldest region of Norway. "Somewhere out there, I suspect there is a place where the cold resides. So all you have to do is go find it," she offers a little more cheerfully, letting Sean have a chance to catch up over the maps and such.
"SHE sent nothing," Sean says, "And she probably doesn't know I'm here yet. Best to keep it that way. She'll get all pissy, and then whiny, and then confused because she's an elf from another dimension who doesn't understand the fundamentals of human interreaction," Sean says, at once flagrantly vulgar about the Guildmistress' nature and also completely dismissive about the importance and power she might hold amongst this cove of 'adventurers'. Not his idiots, not his circus. He's here on a favor, and one he's keeping quiet on for a moment, and though he resents the implication that he's not 'decent', he does, at least, feel it necessary to clarify - "I'm not an Adventurer. I'm not a Knight. I'm a Spook. I'm a violent and remorseless killer, a monster that kills monsters, and most importantly," He clicks his tongue at someone, grabs the geothermal readouts, and wheels away to inspect them down the table, "I'm already married."
He's -feeling- himself in the Field, today, and when there's a dimming of the lights, he mockingly says "Oooohhhh. Spooky. Big men don't like darkness. Turn the lights back up, most of us don't have innate nightvision and I'm trying to read here." He sniffs, sharply, then, and scans the maps, gnawing at his cheek at the mention of Finnmark Plateau. "...Great. Fantastic. So. Ice picks, thermal layers, and probably little to nothing in the way of aerial support, given the turbulent weather patterns that happen that far out." He cricks his shoulders and stands up a bit straighter. "Nothing like a death wish to kick off an evening. 'Ere," and he reaches down to finally take SOMEONE ELSE'S FOOD, downs the soup, and then flicks the bowl gracefully back at the table. "When's rollout?"
"SHE sent nothing," Sean says, "And she probably doesn't know I'm here yet. Best to keep it that way. She'll get all pissy, and then whiny, and then confused because she's an elf from another dimension who doesn't understand the fundamentals of human interreaction," Sean says, at once flagrantly vulgar about the Guildmistress' nature and also completely dismissive about the importance and power she might hold amongst this cove of 'adventurers'. Not his idiots, not his circus. He's here on a favor, and one he's keeping quiet on for a moment, and though he resents the implication that he's not 'decent', he does, at least, feel it necessary to clarify - "I'm not an Adventurer. I'm not a Knight. I'm a Spook. I'm a violent and remorseless killer, a monster that kills monsters, and most importantly," He clicks his tongue at Ingrid, grabs the geothermal readouts, and wheels away to inspect them down the table, "I'm already married."
He's -feeling- himself in the Field, today, and when there's a dimming of the lights, he mockingly says "Oooohhhh. Spooky. Big men don't like darkness. Turn the lights back up, most of us don't have innate nightvision and I'm trying to read here." He sniffs, sharply, then, and scans the maps, gnawing at his cheek at the mention of Finnmark Plateau. "...Great. Fantastic. So. Ice picks, thermal layers, and probably little to nothing in the way of aerial support, given the turbulent weather patterns that happen that far out." He cricks his shoulders and stands up a bit straighter. "Nothing like a death wish to kick off an evening. 'Ere," and he reaches down to finally take SOMEONE ELSE'S FOOD, downs the soup, and then flicks the bowl gracefully back at the table. "When's rollout?"
Soup has already been eaten by the men. The only bowls left at that point are Ingrid's and Sean's. She gives him a look when he takes her bowl, but says nothing of it right then. The lights slowly return to their former brightness, but Ingrid's gaze narrows in something resembling annoyance. "Hard to imagine," she finally replies nebulously before gesturing at the maps in Sean's hands. "Those are her copy. Use them if you want. Or take them to her and have her go look. But delivery boy seems a couple notches above your pay grade, so you might want to actually look for it first. At the very least, a report of frozen fire not found would be better than here's a map to a place where it mgiht be," she explains to Sean before standing up from her place. "Most people like you are married to their work," she points out before moving to the fireplace and getting a poker to help make a bed of embers. She adds another couple of logs, then gets another tool to get the cauldron out of the fireplace and moved to the kitchen. No use burning good soup just to keep the place warm.
"And hopefully, this will clear up any ... animosity between the House and the remnants of the Covenant," Ragnar pipes up with some annoyance of his own before grunting at his companions. The men just nod together over that, but really leave the conversation to Ingird at this point.
"I'm married to my wife," Sean says, "My work is just my mistress. They get along fantastically, and the threesomes are mind-blowing." He's pushing it. On purpose. He's preemptively decided he doesn't like these people and he's riding in with that in full force. "I'm not going back to her house without a tank and a dragon-killing missile. Or cookies. I hate cookies. Lasagne? Do dragon-elves eat Lasagne?" The comment about being a delivery boy isn't -really- addressed. Because Sean asked a fucking question and he's yet to get a fucking answer. And so he waits. Slowly growing more and more irritated until, finally, he says "If one of you isn't giving me the keys to a tread-truck, or isn't flying us out there, I might as well start walking, and you can catch up with me when you finally decide to get off of your asses." And he turns to start heading towards the door.
Eight eyes turn toward Sean once more like he is a strange one, but then Ingrid puts the tool down from moving the cauldron. "Our part was locating a potential spot. Roll out whenever you like. I would suggest dream travel over walking though," she says before looking Sean over for a few moments. "A few more layers too," she decides, moving over to a closet to pull out a much heavier coat and some gloves. "Have you never dream traveled?" she asks him innocently, a small smirk crossing her lips at the idea of showing Sean something new. But she would probably be all business about it and just show him the door to where ever they are sending him rather than actually accompany him to the plateau. "You have a nightmare charm?" she asks as a follow up, as obviously, she does, somewhere on her person, even if it is not readily apparent or visible.
"If we're done here," Kristoff mentions rubbing his belly a little before letting out a satisfied burp.
"I think we are," Jorgen says with a slow nod, eyes already closing like he wants to get some sleep.
"Faen take ya both," Ragnar responds, reaching out to grasp each of the other men by the wrist. He starts building a pathing bridge, the area around the three men starting to warp and twist.
Ingrid backs away from the trio departing and gently urges Sean to do the same with one hand. "Their way is easier," she says with a sigh, like she could do it if she wanted to but just chooses not to.
How to answer that question? Oh! Perfect. Sean has a whole bevy of skills to answer that question. And so he fucks about for a moment, his nose bleeds slightly, and then...
There's a sudden upswell not just of emotion, but neurological sensation inside of Ingrid's brain. A download of euphoric stimuli, dopamine and adrenaline and urgent, powerful hormonal dumps. And then a voice in her head simply says 'Be more polite. No one joined you on your dying crusade. I'm here, and I could just as easily turn around and go home.'
He rolls his eyes, and says "...-Fine-. I hate it. Makes me feel nauseous." And then -
Warping reality and space and time all at once is somewhat trippy, but the men continue doing that quietly by themselves. Ingrid does not seem inclined to join them, but when Sean goes to grab her wrist, she raises an eyebrow at him. "Dream travel. Or Nightmare travel. Not necessarily safer, but easier for mundanes," she explains to Sean after a moment before tugging him into the Nightmare instead. The cozy, lovely, rustic cottage seems far more menacing in the Nightmare, darker, foreboding, and predatory. Like eyes are all suddenly drawn to Sean in a malevolent and aggressive fashion.
Moments later, the three men vanish from the room and reality snaps back to where it was before.
That leaves Ingrid and Sean alone in the Nightmare. "Come, we need to do a little walking," she says, tugging on his arm to try to get him to follow her outside, where, eventually, an elevator door in the fabric of the Nightmare will open for her to lead him into. "We should not have to spend long in here," she explains to Sean, but the door hints of vampires in a modern New York setting, along with werewolves and mages and worse. Seems a little bit like real life, except the groups in this case are WAY better at keeping supernatural bull shit under wraps it seems.
God. Patronizing. Sean fucking hates it. So he releases someone and leaps into the Nightmare with a yawn. "Huh. Ivy?!" He calls out, utterly ignoring Ingrid, for a moment, to yell for someone who isn't here, and yet whom he seems intimately to know. No answer. He slumps. "Ariel? Maverick?" Meh. Nothing. Of course night. It'd take a bit deeper of a dive to get to any of them. He resists the tug, moves around Ingrid and -almost- bolts through it. Almost. ALMOST. And then he sees vampires and he -stops-. "...Fun." And then he swaps out the bullets in his gun. Silver. And wood. "Better. I've been wanting to shoot things."
God. Patronizing. Sean fucking hates it. So he releases Ingrid and leaps into the Nightmare with a yawn. "Huh. Ivy?!" He calls out, utterly ignoring Ingrid, for a moment, to yell for someone who isn't here, and yet whom he seems intimately to know. No answer. He slumps. "Ariel? Maverick?" Meh. Nothing. Of course night. It'd take a bit deeper of a dive to get to any of them. He resists the tug, moves around Ingrid and -almost- bolts through it. Almost. ALMOST. And then he sees vampires and he -stops-. "...Fun." And then he swaps out the bullets in his gun. Silver. And wood. "Better. I've been wanting to shoot things."
"Hopefully, we won't be there long enough to attract attention," Ingrid tells Sean before crossing her arms over her chest. "If you don't want my help, I am sure you can manage this fine without me then," she says, turning to head back toward the cottage then. Likely there is a mirror in there she can get back out of the Nightmare through. In the Nightmare, her manifestation shows as wild shadows surrounding her like snakes with emerald eyes. If he does not want guidance or assistance, she does not have to give it, though her assistance would likely end when he arrived at the Plateau anyway.
[This is a good spot for a break if you need one. 10 minutes to do things, then meet back here.]
"Point," Sean says, "You're a guide. Not a spy. You'll be fundamentally useless to me when I get there," Great diplomacy, but he's not fucking bothering anymore. "Walk. I'll follow. You're at least half-pretty, so I get a sense of Selina's leaning tastes. -Go-. I'll do the rest. She really should higher better spies. Your organization is....to put it nicely, dogshit and scattered. You're lucky I dropped in." And the worst thing is, he's right.
Sean then goes AFK a bit to eat dinner, during the pause-break
Ingrid gives a backward wave as she heads through a wall of the cottage. A few moments later, the door to the front of the cottage shuts and locks. Then the lights start to go out, leaving Sean in the diplomatic situation he has dug for himself. Even returning to the cottage at this point would be moot. The place has been cleaned up inside, and moments later, the place explodes. The cauldron of soup is launched up into the air somewhere.
That leaves Sean with a short jaunt through the dreams, which will not be detailed here. And eventually, he ends up near an abandoned camp site near Finnmark Plateau. The cold is biting this much further north, but thankfully, Ingrid did supply Sean with a heavier coat and gloves. Going from the far southern area of Norway to the far, far northern section over both Sweden and Finland could be jarring if not for those supplies. In the mean time, it certainly seems like a place where fire could freeze entirely, though perhaps more so in a couple of months. Now Sean just needs to figure out where to go from here to find the place.
Welp. Time to get a'wandering. He's a field Agent, after all, though he tends to do a lot of his work from a command center, before heading on site. He's not an idiot, though. He's just a pissant. And so he came prepared. Clothed better, because, well, who the fuck knew he'd be dropped off solo on the Finnmark Plateau, he pulls out his sat-phone and pulls up the scans of the geothermal imaging. "Fantastic." He spits onto the permafrost beneath him, watching it sizzle and then freeze nigh-instantly. He burps. Great. And then trudges forward. "Alright. Dead cold. Dead empty. And dead. Where the hell could fire be frozen, here? And...why? How would a weapon or a tool survive in a place that'd exist beneath an Eidolon's ability to notice? Wouldn't he be scattered to-" Fucking WHY is he talking to himself? He's still got the hook-up, for now, at least. He lifts a hand to his ear, it goes chirp-chirp, and a weary, smoker's voice comes up on the other end - "What? It's dinner ti-"
Sean cuts the man off, and says "Jansen, shut up. I'm in Norway. Pull up sat-imaging of the Finnmark Plateau. Get a bead on my signal, broadcasting now. I'm not about to go wandering in blind. Here." And there's a moment where he fucks about on his phone and sends off the scans to the Temple Geek he's got on the line. "Knights took those. I'm looking for a 'frozen flame' or a 'flame frozen in ice'. I'm thinking it's a magmetic jet, or something like it. They've got it in their heads that it's some magical hoo-doo-voo-doo as shit. Have the Geeks run those scans for me and give me a heading?" He's a Spook. They're the Geeks. Hand-in-Hand, runs the Temple Intelligence Branch, most of their work shadowed even from the rest of the Temple. Jansen and Sean may not be friends, but they're both old spies, and that's what counts. And so off Sean trudges, comms line kept open.
"Roger," comes the response as the data gets transmitted. A bit of silence follows as the Geek does their work. Eventually, the Temple agent comes back with some coordinates and a heading to take Sean around an bend or two in the base of the plateau. And that is when, miraculously, Sean finds an opening. Only visible up close, like he is doing. Satellites would never find this thing. The cliff face all but conceals it. But the air within is even more bitterly cold. All that is left is to verify that it is indeed a place where fire can freeze, and Sean can get headed home to his lovely wife.
The threshold for this concealed entrance into the earth beneath the plateau marks another drop in temperature, dropping far further than nature would suggest, even based on the exterior weather. Magic things do be transpiring about here. The entrance gives way to a sharp decline a few feet in, which is covered in ice, practically making it a slide down to whatever might be below.
Gotta love that. Magic and cracks. Sean is great at worming into one, and he's all but alien to the other. Rimshot.
His comms blip and bleep with other voices that Sean isn't really paying attention to. "Ew. Ops." He bends and weaves and endures cold and ice and snow and wind and more wind and even more wind and cold. He draws in a breath, then, at the edge of the threshhold, positive he could just turn back now. Near-confirmation is, well, near-confirmation. And otherwise he might die. But, he's -almost- there. And so Sean says "Get a Demolisher squad to my last known location. Have them bring breach charges. And rope. LOTS of rope. I'm going in, likely'll lose comms once I'm deep down." And then he wriggles into the entrance, and tucks his chin in, and -slides- down into the icy channel, knees tucked, body loose, ready to take the impact on the other side.
Sliding down an ice slide in a dark cave is actually bumpier than one might expect, especially when the tunnel starts to twist and turn, left and right before finally spiraling down several times. At the bottom, instead of a hard impact stop, it is actually more of a continue sliding across the top of a frozen lake.
After spinning a couple of times and finally coming to a stop on the ice, Sean can get a good look around. He has apparently managed to get down a couple hundred feet deep below the surface surrounding the plateau, and within is a ziggurat-style building just on the other side of the lake. The entire cavern is lit by cyan fire, and many torches of such exist on either side of the stairs leading up the outside of said construction.
Partial-confirmation complete, but is there more Sean may want to do before the Demo-Team comes to rescue him? None of the cyan flames out here look entirely 'real' like they are translucent enough to be ghostly. Perhaps just an illusion unto themselves.
And down Sean goes, absolutely mad-lad style, yelling the entire way down till he's cackling near the end. Bumps and bruises, but there's an angel out there to kiss them all better. He's on a one-way trip down a magical log-flume meant only for him, and all he can do is cackle like a psychopath until he's spinning out onto the ice. He laughs, deeply, and doesn't stand for a good, GOOD long while. And when he finally does push himself to his feet, he slows, identifies the ziggurat, and sucks at his teeth, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. "Welp," he says, "She'll -have- to give me a kiss now." Crunching on ice, he steps, carefully, across the frozen lake, testing his weight, to move to the entryway of the ziggurat, searching for something akin to an entrance, a staircase, or some means of entering the structure. If need be, he'll make use of the climbing gear Ingrid equipped him with, but he'd rather a less laborious route.
Stairs at the front lead right up to the top chamber of the ziggurat, no real exploration necessary. Of course, any spy worth their salt would realize things are going too easy for this to be all there is to it. As Sean draws closer, he can make out that the ziggurat and all of the torches are made of ice. The cyan fires above the torches are separate and floating spectrally above the sconce-like attachments.
Static on Sean's comm line is broken up by sudden shouting. Apparently, the Demo-Team has landed, and they are under attack! By a red dragon and several agents, he would be able to piece together through the chatter. And, as usual, nothing ever goes quite as smooth as one might hope. He may need to find his own way out of here. But the ziggurat is right there, waiting. The unknown, the secrets, the potential power, all right there possibly at the top, just within his reach...
Eh. Wolves'll handle themselves, and the ABs'll be on standby to get anyone out of trouble before it gets too hairy. That's why there are Demolishers. To clean up messes like this one. They've probably already radioed for backup, and whomever that dragon is is about to have a fucking rocket dropped on their head. That makes him laugh. The sound crackles throughout the frozen torches and the empty halls. And so, he does as he does best, and he slinks into nothingness, and becomes something else, and becomes a shadow. And then, and only then, does he start to slip inside. Sean is watchful. Quiet. Utterly silent.
And, sightless, faceless, mask pulled down and distorting his features, muffling the sounds of his breathing, his heart-rate, the reflective panelling and smoke jets doing wonders, Sean moves up towards the entrance, hugging edges, avoiding torchlight, and moves into the main hall.
Getting up a set of stairs made of ice is a dicey proposition, but Sean manages with guile, agility, and the brains to use his gloved hands on the sconces as able. The crackling static continues in his ear, giving him reports of casualties and such, but there is definitely a fight outside, and this may be the only chance the Knights have to get anything useful against the dragon. And one of them is not even here to do the honors of getting it.
Within the chamber at the top, an altar holds a great bowl. Inside that bowl is a large, jagged crystal of ice. Inside of that ice, red-yellow-white flames exist, frozen like a picture within, tinted by the refraction of the light-blue hue of the ice surrounding it. The flame is about the size of a large backpack, but it lacks any straps to make it easy to carry. The jaggedness allows for handholds and such, but the object is clearly not meant to be handled or moved often.
This is his favorite bit, really. That he's the only one here. Undiscovered Country. Star Trek nerd and all. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of it. For himself. For Wren. For later. And then he starts pulling out climbing supplies, edging towards the center of the altar. He's conscious for traps, moving with a great patience that is simply not present in his everyday life. Recklessness abandoned in the face not of a prize, but of a tool. Of Information. And should he get to the altar without too much trouble, he begins trying to strap and cable the central flame-crystal. He'll drag it out if he has to, but if he can, he's aiming to create a rudimentary series of straps with which to bind it to his rucksack, and carry it out of here.
Should it prove TOO slippery to handle, Sean examines the surface, stroking over it to see if piercing the icy shell is, inherently, a bad idea. Magic is his blind spot, so this is all on gut instinct.
Everything goes fine until the frozen flame leaves the bowl. The entire cavern starts to tremble and shake, and all the little cyan flames start winking out, one by one, like the frozen flame was the power supply running the whole thing. The altar cracks and splits into two, dropping the bowl onto the floor where it shatters like glass. Chunks of the ceiling inside the ziggurat start to fall, and fissures start forming in the floor. Strangely, steam starts shooting up through those fissures, like a long awaited magma stream has just hit the ice from below, or more, like the frozen flame itself had been holding the magma at bay.
Static on the line tells Sean the fight is still likely waging, and Sean can hear shouts from the direction of the lake. Agents of Gonthorian have made it to the bottom, and they are there for Sean. He needs an exit strategy, and he needs one as quickly as possible...
"FUCKING CALLED IT!" Sean says, shouting in victory as the entire thing 'Temple of Dooms' itself down around him. "Suck it, Ingrid!" And then he's hauling the thing out from the main altar. He sights the fire wyrm's little bastards breaching into the temple, and his eyes light up, beautiful. Static is a bitch, for sure, but Sean punches through it hard enough with a repeat code-command. "JANSEN - EXIT PROTOCOL OMICRON. EXIT PROTOCOL OMICRON. GET ME THE -HELL- OUT OF THIS BITCH!" And then there's a -distant- whir as something, somewhere, really, really fucking big, starts coming towards this chamber. Somewhere. Sean steps out into the entrance as the altar and the temple start crumbling down around him. "Hey, ember-fuck-wits!" He flips them the bird, before he goes slack, and steps into the Nightmare, just as a drilling bit cracks the ceiling, and drops several payloads down onto Gonthorian's agents. Away Sean goes, slipping back into the Nightmare and up into the darkness, the beacon he's carrying sending trickling pulses out into the Nightmare to help guide his recovery once he's on the other side and at the surface.
Evading the pursuit in the Nightmare and finding a way out through a door that materializes is about the best way to get out of that situation. Thankfully, the crumbling temple did not have any sort of nightmare shielding on it, which means Sean is able to execute on that. The bombardment afterward likely levels a small piece of the Finnmark Plateau off into a small crater, but it is a small price to pay for the priceless piece of precious that Sean has secured to combat the red dragon reeking havoc outside. And shortly thereafter, Sean will find a way to get back to Haven, safely in the nightmare, and able to find his way back home. Where ever the frozen flame goes, however, it gets supremely cold around it very, very soon. So there may be problems he needs to rectify with it later. But for now... Victory!