
The aftermath of the battle is still fresh. Things are still twitching. Bodies of warriors and hounds alike are either still, or frothing pink at the mouth or wounds. Such is their supernatural endurance before, they could take an enormous amount of punishment. Some of them has diminished, along with the biting wind that seemed to be on their side.
The great half-uncovered whale is capable of moving more of itself, with more of the ice cracking from it. The scent of living things and the whale in particular, fill the nostrils with a buffet of things. The thrashing that it does, makes the shelf of ice underfoot quake every so often. Closer to it, there is more evidence of how tangled its fate was with the Norse ship. Harpoons protrude from it, grappling lines and parts of the ship itself, now looking much the worse for wear.
Chase looks over the carnage, a flick of his wrist sends crimson droplets across the ice from the razor keen edge of his sword. He sheaths the weapon. The whip of ice and snow coils about him as he walks toward the others, his eye on the thrashing whale, "is he the good guy?" Chase asks over the wind.
Ruby laughs, a bit of blood bubbling on her bottom lip. She raises a foot and rests it on the chest of a fallen Kitezhian. It's chest expels trapped air in its lungs, tongue lolling. She starts wiping the head of her hammer along the fallen warrior's thigh. "It be done. It be stopped. Drown yer shades...Yer ink walks. Way more dangerous than mine, aye? We both gots tools. Mine will always protect, nevah project." She rumbles wetly.
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