In the darkness of the barrow, the group was scattered along the many trap-riddled paths, the light of their enemies shining forth along with their unsettling laughter. Fear and uncertainty gripped the group, determination also. Then Pine stood tall for a moment, eyes narrowed in concentration as he gripped the amulet that had been his focus throughout their time together.
He then let out what should have been a roar, a great bellowing sound of intimidation perhaps, and yet no sound was heard, but something happened. The sound that was not a sound might send a chill up one's spine in its passing, but did little else, unless one were undead that was.
To them, it was a sound that reminded them of the grave they should have rested in, the passage that had been lost somewhere along the way. The gates of the afterlife and those that stood sentinel over it would be heard in that silent yowling roar that would cause them to flee.
When it was done, a small snarl still resided on his feline lips, disdain for those who had thought to mock those powers and receive no comeuppance.