The thing Monch noticed most was the cold. As they approached the end of the expansive chamber, the exposed skin on his face and neck literally stung with it and his eyes began to water. He blew out a plume of vapor as if he needed to confirm the extreme change.
"Has it always been this cold?" he offhandedly asked aloud.
"THERE!" shouted someone from the front ranks. Ahead of them was Yakhmar, quietly undulating at the back of the cave, her five segmented stomachs already growling with anticipation.
"Of course she's there!" Monch said sharply. "Did you think she was going to go on vacation while we were out?"
"I just wanted to make sure nobody missed her lurking in the shadows," came the reply.
"Lurking? She doesn't know what lurking is! She's at least an eight ton giant ice worm covered in blubber and fur with razor sharp teeth, a barbed tongue and surrounded by hulking piles of the frozen remains of those who have come before us. Stealth isn't even one of her skills. She has as much need for subtlety as Drome has for proper table manners." Monch stepped away from the group and put his back to Yakhmar.
"Does anyone else not see the worm? It's literally the only other thing in the cave except for us. But I want to make sure it doesn't 'sneak up' on anyone as we charge down the slope to what most people would consider certain death." Monch scanned the ranks of the raiders. There was a bit of grumbling, but no one spoke up.
"Excellent," Monch said, pulling out his new war-pick and giving it a few test swings. In the next few moments, he resumed speaking, but in a calmer, more rehearsed fashion.
He broke the group in twain, one far larger than the other. The smaller group would engage Yakhmar directly. The larger group would keep an eye out for her spawn, as they would attempt to ambush those in the first group.
"Perhaps we could stand on that large pile of bones over there behind that ice column. Then someone could goad the worm toward us and we would have the advantage of the high ground. Why, I wager the smaller worms couldn't even reach us up there," someone offered as Monch finished his briefing.
Monch sighed.
"Yes. It probably would be safer. Perhaps even easier. But if we did things safely and easily, we'd be in another line of business. Baking perhaps or cobbling. I would have made a fantastic cobbler," Monch said.
"Maybe you all have forgotten what it means to be in the Seeker Corps! I think now would be the perfect time for us to go over the Seeker Corps Oath," the Lion of Ahriman declared, to the rising groans and moans of those assembled.
"Come, come! You all know the words. Everyone repeat it aloud with me. Don't forget the contracts you signed that stated those that don't repeat the Oath when requested by a commanding officer forfeit a weeks wages and looting rights." As Monch continued, other voices spoke aloud, some loud, some soft and some stuttering as if they barely remembered, but all speaking in one voice (more or less).
"We're the Seeker Corp and we're here to say,
We've come to beat your monsters away.
Tried and true we'll make our stand,
And drive the monsters from your land.
Always alert and able and ready,
Oi Monsters! We've come to make you deady!
Order Seeker Corps, there's no denying!
We'll kill the monsters or we'll die trying!"
Monch stopped and looked around at those assembled. He was not happy.
"Well, that was decidedly less enthusiastic than I wanted. You're lucky I'm not going to ask you to do it again."
"Permission to make a new Oath should we not die a gruesome death?" someone from the back ranks asked.
"Permission denied!" Monch retorted with a frown. "Let's get focused on what's important: making that worm killed and delicious sandwiches!"
That, it seemed, was something the Seeker Corps could get behind. With a savage cry, they charged down the slope towards Yakhmar, close on each other's heels and ready for the fight of their lives.