Duel:Kelovath and Laezila v Odrøre and Vör

From HollowWiki
Locations: Prisoner Cages, Execution Drop Off
Duelists: Kelovath and Laezila (for Team Hildegarde) v Odrøre and Vör (Team Balgruuf, NPCed by Josleen and Shishi, respectively)
Judges: Gilwen and Pilar
Stakes: If Kelovath and Laezila win, the prisoners are freed. If Odrøre and Vör win,the good guys get plowed. By mammoths.

Prisoner Cages

Upon stepping into the area you see a fairly good number of cages in the area. Some cages are large in size, able to hold giants, while the others vary to human sizes and even smaller to that of a gnome. The only thing you don’t see however, are prisoners, but below your feet as you glance down, you may see tracks where someone has been dragging other people in the snow, and probably against their own free will. You can see a path to your south, and a path to your west.

Execution Drop Off

Having followed the northern tracks from the prisoner cages to this location, you see blood sprayed upon the snow and over a large smooth stone. It is the Frostmaw Execution Stone, and it's clear it has been used sometime recently, as the crimson life stained upon it is still unfrozen by the frigid mountain air. Beyond the stone is a straight drop to a certain death far below, and if you're brave enough to look over the side, you will see many frozen, decapitated bodies. Some old, some new. It is abundantly clear what the queen and her Frost Giants do to criminals they find in Frostmaw. Unless you're a prisoner, in which the only exit is a headless one far, far below, you can return north, back the way you came.

Kelovath followed Laezila the entire way to the prisoner cages. They had stopped once, briefly, by the demand of the paladin. He wanted to know where they were going and what was happening. And why they had left so many people behind that needed help. Where they stopped, however, even the armored paladin could hear something nearby. Whatever reply might have come from the drow was hardly heard. His attention was on the strange noise. It wasn’t pleasant in any way. He started toward it, careful with his armored steps. Cages being rattled. Smacked by those locked away. Begging to be released. Without thinking, the man rushed forward and toward the nearest cage. “I’m going to get you out.” He stated confidently. An older giant, Eleenin, stepped forward and spoke softly. “Quiet. They are near.” The paladin didn’t understand what he meant, so to continue his non-stealthy ways, Kelovath tried opening the lock. It was a huge lock with no way for him to get it open. It just wasn’t going to happen. He looked for Laezila and motioned at the cage. “Come on! Help me with this!" His desperate voice called out. He wanted to free them so badly it seemed strange. He wasn't from Frostmaw. Nor did he have much of a stake in the outcome of the war, other than a potential ally in Hildegarde. He's risking everything right now, for no obvious reason.

The young drow vampire didn't get to reply when the stopped; Kelovath was both without attention toward her and already in the investigation of the sound. To be honest, she didn't know why she was doing this, either. Frostmaw was pretty quick to turn on her, and the protection she had from Hildegarde only extended so far. She hadn't very many friends within its walls, and settled there initially because of the difficulty that would face the drow that would hunt her. Because they -these surfacers!- forced her from her home! They marched her to the surface, away from her people, her home, her position, locked her up. Threatened her -that elf tormented her, threatened to have a rat chew through her belly! She was a matron -a matron! Then what? She was forced from Frostmaw, turned into a bloodsucker, and chased across Hollow by bounty hunters that extended beyond even drow now. And during that time, who protected her? Who even thought about her? But, there was so much suffering. So much pain. The young drow was the cause of it all. There was a need -an instinctive desire, a want, insofar as an obsession went, to prove that she could be the opposite. The cause of life, of happiness, of joy. It was this that drove her forward. It was this, not the giants and the people, that had her twist her eyes, which brimmed with reminiscent tears enough so that the faux dark color of them yielded to their nature bright blue states, toward Kelovath and vaguely comprehend his call for her aid. Her eyebrows furrowed briefly, and the petite woman's head shook in order to clear it of poorly-timed memories and thoughts. "Be quiet!" She hissed -that stupid, stupid male. Calling out and making a ruckus. Her hand opened and from her sleeve fell a thin black blade -a dagger of drow make. She must've had it smuggled to the surface; she must still have at least one contact left the Underdark. But she was moving toward the cages, and swept her gaze over their surrounding proximity; the sounds of the prisoners wasn't the reason she was drawn here, or rather, wasn't the entire reason. There was a distinct bestial sound she was hearing as well. "We're not getting that open without a key."

Frosty fog drapes over the ghostly city. Though not yet defeated, the City of War, in its final throes, takes on a somber mien. The weather doesn't help the mood. The jail keeper and executioner are dead, and a new giant has nominated himself as executioner--he isn't interested in keeping prisoners. That's what has Eleenin and the others spooked. The distant thumping that Laezila and Kelovath heard grows quicker and louder after Kelovath shouts. The rhythm matches that of a quadrupedal animal moving fast, charging, and right at them. As it the threat grows near, they'll also be able to discern from the thumping the unmistakable rattling of chainmail. Suddenly, there's a gray silhouette in the fog of a tusked beast and a giant astride it. The giant swings a massive morning star flail in a figure eight that swoops down on either side of the mammoth that he rides. As the charging mammoth pierces the fog, it clears to reveal Odrøre, a behemoth of a giant in a criss-crossed, studded, hard leather jerkin and matching bracers, who also dons a short chainmail kilt over a loincloth. The armor seems excessive, given the cartoonishly enormous muscles that surely act as armor themselves. Indeed, they seem to shield him from the cold, as does the alcohol, that liquid fire, that rips through his bulging veins. The hilt of a sword pokes out from behind his massive shoulder suggesting the second weapon is still strapped in place on his back. The sight of Kelovath and Laezila makes the giant bare his teeth, then let loose a primal roar. He shouts, "Git out of meh bloody home, yeh scum-blood worms!!" A tower-shield is strapped across the mammoth's tusks to act as a plow--for people, not snow. Under Odrøre's instruction, the mammoth-plow charges right at Kelovath, Laezila, and the cages, with every intention to shove these undesirables right off the colossal cliff. "Death to foreigners! Death to traitors!!" Odrøre bangs his chest with his free fist. His lids are peeled back, eyes bulging with wild hate. When the mammoth is a yard away from the cages, he jumps off its back and opens himself wide to block the path of any fleeing cowards. His giant-scale flail continues to swing in circular patterns. Steam ejects like geysers from his nostrils. Spit clings to his full, red beard. The drunken barbarian is enraged. He lowers himself into a squat, like he's about to charge.

Vör is a great Big Mammoth! And he is heavily armored. A large round shield is attached to each side of the wooly beast, several straps holding them in place. Dull, tarnished metal plates, segmented to allow range of motion protect most of his face and trunk, cascading down to cover the chest somewhat hidden behind the makeshift plow blade. Tufts of brown fur, matted with ice and dirt show wherever armor does not. The tower shield itself is held in place across large, wide set tusks by thick barbed wire wrapped around the off-white ivory several times and grinds against the elongated teeth with every impact of the plow. The ends of the tusks curl back upward and protrude past the attached snow/people mover for about a meter. Vör is Strong. Even carrying all this extra weight, maintaining ramming speed is trivial and he hardly seems to notice when his rider hops off his back and crunches into the snow behind him. Both the Drow and the Paladin are in the crosshairs of the plow blade as the beast looks to shove them onto the bars of the cages they are trying to open. Whether the beast catches them or not, the mammoth continues forward and smashes into two adjacent prisons simultaneously. A smaller one housing a male elf is sent end over end towards the cliff edge, sliding to a stop on its side with about a quarter of it hanging over the drop, the man inside knocked out from impact with the bars during the ride. The other cage is housing Eleenin and she is not as fortunate as that unfortunate captive snoozing near the cliff’s edge. Her cage was not centered on the plow blade and Vör’s right tusk has bent metal bars and intruded into the confines of it, narrowly missing impaling the giant as she ducked and fled to the back of the cage. The mammoth grunts and huffs, hot breath billowing out as plumes of steam from his mouth and the end of his trunk into the cold air, as he shuffles massive feet. Snow is compressed under his weight leaving glossy footprints of ice with each rise and fall of rounded hooves. Once the beast has gathered himself he rises up onto his hind legs, a trumpeting roar accompanying the feat of strength that is lifting the entire cage and the giant inside off the ground. Vör’s armored head swings upward, tusks, plow, and cage with it before he brings it all down towards Laezila wherever she ended up after the initial ramming, even if she’s already dead, Vör doesn’t care. Poor Eleenin tumbling around inside the prison turned hammerhead.

Kelovath pauses as he too hears the increasingly loud noise. Laezila is forgotten for the time being as his eyes search the fog for the cause. It didn’t take long to spot the rider and mount and realizing what is about the happen, the paladin brought forth small amount of magic for himself. An aura engulfs the armored human in a matter of seconds and his sword is swiftly drawn for battle. Knowing the prisoners are defenseless, the paladin takes it upon himself to stop the massive mammoth. The paladin looks to Laezila and gives a quick motion toward the giant and whether the drow understand or not, he gives a nod. He steps into the path of the mammoth, deciding this would be the best way. It wasn’t. The large beast slams into the first cage as the paladin jumps off to the side, rolling several feet away. After the impact of the first cage, a piece of barbed wire from the trunk of Vör snaps off and catches Kelovath across his armored chest, sending him backwards several steps and knocking the air from his lungs. Because of the inconvenience, he was unable to stop the mammoth from slamming into the second cage. A new opportunity comes to mind and the paladin decides to make his move against the mammoth. The holy aura surrounding the paladin disappears in a flash, possibly bright enough to even catch Odrøre's attention, and gives him the speed and strength needed for this limited opening. He begins sprinting toward the mammoth, sword still tightly gripped in his armored right hand. In mid-run, Kelovath jumps once, which doesn’t appear to be much of a jump, but the second jump sends him up and into the air, high enough to be barely above the mammoth. Now in mid-air, the armored man grips his sword with both hands, aiming to bring down the weapon directly into the back, armored or not, of Vör. Even though he was ‘flying through the air, Kelovath took his moment activate yet another aura, but this time it was for his weapon. The blade began glowing brightly, flickering almost, with a holy flame. Should this attack connect in any way, a burning effect would occur on armor or flesh.

Laezila had no idea what the quick motion toward the giant was meant to convey, but rather than confusion she felt exasperation for Kelovath's decided course of action; why would he put himself right in the path of the mammoth?! Stupid, stupid, stupid male -the thought became a mantra in the head of the young drow vampire, who opted not to stand still or in the path of the rider or the mount. Clad in light-weight and tight-fitting, thin armor, it was easy to adapt and move with a sort of graceful finesse that combined both heritages of vampire and drow kind; she leapt from the path of the oncoming beast into a roll to the side that had her body tumble across the snowy and frozen earth and come to a halt by softly bumping into one of the iron-wrought cages. Her gaze, a distinct bright and vivid blue swiveled upward as her body simultaneously and acrobatically twisted and contorted to push herself up into a crouched stance, and the sight registered two important things. First, the large Frost Giant that once steered this mammoth had leapt from its back. Second, the mammoth was bringing tusks, cage, and everything tied to either down upon Laezila like the wrath of some mighty and warlike god. Where the hell was that paladin? As agile as she was, made evident as once more she leapt headlong out of the path of the plummeting attack and landed with a flourishing roll off to the side once more, she would not be able to keep this up; she had neither the faintest of Kelovath's intent nor could see the paladin due to the massive form of the beast that obscured his relatively smaller one. Fine -she didn't need him anyway! Stupid male! But the lingering thought was of a fear that she had someone else killed by her own folly, and that was what drove her to an enraged assault. The roll completed and the girl pushed off of her back legs with vampire-augmented strength that actually kicked up a cloud of snow and frost behind her as it send her careening through the air at the jailkeeper; the subtlety was lost in the movement. It was also lost in the noise; she screeched in a desperate anger, as she aimed to collide -literally crash- into him to rip at him with her knife in reckless abandonment at his ribs, even her other, bare hand like they were claws -though they weren't but feminine nails and slender fingers.

Odrøre's hears Laezila's feral screech and gets excited in a way most men reserve only for scantily clad ladies. He hardly notices Kelovath and the mammoth. Crack skulls, one at a time. He thirsts for this, and for blood to be spilled as promised by Aramoth. The little minx is fast, damned vampire devil. His focus, and the alcohol, slows time just a little, and his instincts and combat experience accelerate his reaction. He'll swat her down like a fly, but he won't aim the morning star at her body. No, the little flea will escape that. He sways back on his heels to position the length of the giant flail's chain just so, so that when Laezila's breaches the distance just past the spiked ball he yanks his elbow back, rolls his wrist, and guides the chain to constrict around her petite frame like an iron boa. If he ensnared his mark, that spiked ball will whip around and smack her senseless, hopefully in the face to make her cheeks burst hot, liquid red--make her pretty for the undertaker. His face tenses as it expects the spray of her blood, a holy anointment as hot as his rage. Whether or not he ensnares her, his massive arm swings around to smack the flail (and hopefully Laezila) into the icy ground. Even if he hasn't caught her, he will still swing at the ground, for the attack is one fluid sequence of muscle memory, reckless and unstoppable.

Vör huffs outward through his trunk in frustration at missing the slippery vampire with that crushing blow. Snow and ice fly in the air before the mammoth, the cold shrapnel from the impact of the heavy cage and plow blade with the ground. Inside, Eleenin is bounced around violently, bruises and lumps sure to come from multiple impacts with the bars, but is also still conscious, a tough giant that one. Again the wooly mount jerks his head upward, pulling the several attachments to his tusks with him in an attempt to retry the smashing attack, but this time the sudden movement is enough to flip the giant sized prison off of that right tooth and send it hurtling towards more caged captives, clanging and toppling another pair of cells before grinding to a halt. As the war beast rears up Kelovath is simultaneously coming down so that sword and armor clash and scrape together above Vör’s standing height. The burning blade slides down the armor, igniting it on the way, until it wedges between two pieces of the segmented plates and catches in fur and flesh beneath. Minimal blood is drawn as matted fur is singed away and the fresh wound is near instantly cauterized by the fire. The summoned flames cast a glow into the fog hanging over the skirmish that will let Odrøre know where his mount is should they lose sight of each other as they are about to. Vör lets out a furious groan as heated metal burns his thick hide and a panic sets in that has the beast stampeding again towards the cliff. More cages are plowed into on the way with the attached tower shield and the mammoth bucks intermittently as he moves to try and loose Kelovath from his burning back. If at any time he can knock the Paladin off of him humongous hooves will attempt to crush the golden man like a can of snowflake imp. That’s right, they can them up here. If not, and the shining knight remains attached then a 90 degree turn will be taken as close to the cliff’s edge as possible, sending Vör skidding to a halt and hopefully losing the unwanted rider clear off the drop.

Kelovath grips at his sword tightly as he now begins to drop down and onto the mammoth. He feels the blade connect with something, but the impact of landing, then being bucked around, causes the armored man to lose his balance. He is now holding onto the sword with one hand while the sword is still imbedded in the flesh and armor of Vör. The holy flame surrounding the blade has disappeared completely shortly after finding, now horrid smelling, skin. With the magic no longer in the weapon, the paladin uses more of his own magical reserves, allowing him the strength to withstand the bucking and attempts at being thrown, while still holding onto the sword. Even with all the muscle and magic in the world, the man is unable to keep completely still. His armored body is lifted and slammed several times against the armor of Vör, his senses becoming rattled and unsteady. When Vör begins making his way toward the cliff edge, Kelovath starts regaining himself, but has no idea of the dangerous move the massive mammoth is making. His armored hand lets go of the sword a single step before Vör makes his 90 degree turn. All in one motion, the paladin is thrown forward, he grabs his sword just in time, but when the turn is made, the momentum sends him around in a bit of a circle. Inside of flying off of the cliff, he is sent toward the large head of Vör, his armored body flailing around as this happens. If lucky enough, maybe a hand or foot will kick an eye of the mammoth, but the paladin does land directly in front of Vör. Not on the ground. Instead, he is slamming into the back of the snow-plow connected to the tusks of the mount. It takes Kelovath a moment or two to realize where he is, but when he does, his eyes grow big, a nervous smile appears on his face, and right away, he is praying to Arkhen. For another boost of magic or strength? Possibly. For guidance? Definitely.

Laezila, unlike the Frost Giant that she was attacking or Kelovath who fought hard against the mammoth, was not content to merely keep split apart like a pair of single combatants; her mind was not on honor or sought permission to intercede, because it was -as the Underdark forged it- on the raw and primal instinct of survival. In her mind it wasn't her against a Frost Giant while Kelovath battled a mammoth; the perception to the young drow was to survive against both a Frost Giant and a mammoth, regardless of Kelovath's aid or lack thereof (since he was, for the most part, hidden from the ex-matron's vantage point). This, however, only helped her slightly in defense against the jailer's counterattack, and not against the attack itself. As soon as she breached the proximity required, she found herself entrapped by the metal chain of the large flail. Around her torso and biceps the connector went, constricting her elbows relatively close to her sides. The binding was just loose enough for both of her elbows to pull forward a bit and bend so that her forearms crossed in front of her body. A sickening, grotesque 'crunch' was the result, as the weapon's heavy and spiked ball made brutal contact with her bodily defense and, quite disgustingly, pulverized the front forearm that was crossed over its brother -which held that ebony dagger- to a degree of shattered bone; it was a visible, revolting sight. What erupted from the girl, however, was not a scream of agony or cry of horror; her jaw clenched and the sound was suppressed, instinctively, to a sharp whimper as her hand limply craned forward at an unnatural angle. The other arm twisted, and her boot struck the frozen ground only to spring from it as hard as she can in an attempt to throw her own weight -and the Giant's- backward while simultaneously, she expertly loosed that dagger. It was flung, point first, with an uncanny precision that surely was aided by some sort of unseen magic, at the back of the mammoth's right-rear leg's knee. But the push from the ground also allowed a certain pressure to be exerted on her boot from the armor crafted by Kreekitaka -a squat and sharp blade 'snickt' forward upon metal coils that acted as springs, released by the push. Her leg, after launching herself and her captor back, came upward and the diminutive girl's tremendous flexibility was demonstrated as she sought to high-kick her boot's blade-tipped toe right into the Giant's forehead.

Bone crunching, blood spraying, limbs unnaturally twisted: Odrøre feels a thrill deep in his loins and lets out a low, guttural noise that sounds like 'UNF!' Yea, baby, get in there. The giant is hunched forward after following through on that downward swing, but that quick, nimble pest escaped the bulk of that earth-shattering whack. The giant lacks agility and speed, and when Laezila's toe-boot drives up towards his head, he can only just manage to tip his head back and spare his brain. The blade slices under his jaw, and stabs up into the soft muscle of his tongue. His hand reflexively uppercuts in a cupping motion beneath Laezila's heel to grab her ankle. Whether his grip lands or not, he'll take a second to lock stares with hers, drop his jaw to expose his bloody mouth, and pull his tongue back to slice the tongue in two against the blade, so that now it's forked like an ice wyvern's. He roars, enthralled and buoyed by the savage act. If his hand gripped Laezila's ankle, he pulls her downwards and frees himself from the blade. Seeing what has been done to the mammoth, noblest of the tundra's beasts, Odrøre grows reckless and charges. If Laezila dares stand in his way, he'll back hand her like a fly to send her sprawling. The juggernaut runs in a straight line at the mammoth and shiny human, holding his flail inertly as he unsheathes the short sword from his back. Slice, slice, stab: he aims to slice the sword through either of the leather straps that connect the shield-plow to the tusks, thereby unencumbering the mighty Vör, and stabs down at Kelovath's face. The sequence of his attacks are well rehearsed and unstoppable. He isn't dexterous enough to stop mid-attack, for his follow through is absolute and heavy. If Kelovath stays close, the barbarian spits a mouthful of blood at the human's face too.

Vör is in a large amount of pain what with a large portion of the top of his head on fire. Holy or not it still hurts. To add insult to injury the shining man he tries to toss off the execution cliff swings back around his skull and pokes him in the beady mammoth eye with his foot. The impact earns a long half-moan half-brother from the beast while a few things happen simultaneously. Vör loses sight of the Paladin between retroactively shutting his right eye and the man landing between the plow blade and the wooly body of the mount, and Laezila’s thrown dagger finds its mark though the small blade barely garners a flinch, having to travel through thick, snow packed fur and finding fat before anything else. Also his head is on fire so that distracts from the flesh wound administered from afar by the drow. Indeed Vör might be inclined to succumb to all this pain if not for one thing. That tremendous, drunken, forked tongue roar from his rider spurs the beast on. Kelovath is probably right to pray in his precarious position as the mammoth begins to move, putting the Golden man in danger of being shredded by barbed wire on the tusks of the animal or crushed, inadvertently by hoof or plow. The flaming mount turns quickly towards the sound of Odrøre and starts into a lumbering, mammoth style sprint, all four feet never leaving the ground in the same instant. Whether Kelovath is still stuck between shield, tusk, and trunk or not when the rider and mount meet in the snow they perform the closest action to a high-five possible for them when the plow blade is cut loose in passing, metal blade scraping against ivory in the process. The tower shield is dropped as they cross paths and is trampled over without a break in the stride of the beast, instead the weight loss has the mammoth picking up speed towards his drow target, freed up tusks, still sporting that thick barbed wire, aiming to gore and tear at the vampire wherever Odrøre has left her.

Kelovath is praying still, even as the large mount begins to move. His armor protects him from most of the minor cuts and scrapes the barbed wire would have caused. His head, which is unarmored, is caught by a piece of the wire, flesh being ripped away and blood now freely flowing down the side of his face. He shows little emotion toward the bleeding wound and the pain that follows, like it didn’t even bother him. It was when Odrøre cut the first strap of the snow-plow that the words to Arkhen finally halted and in between the mouth bleeding giant’s second massive swing, did the armored paladin make his move and avoid the devastating attack. Using the last bit of magic he had left, Kelovath unleashes a burst speed and starts to rapidly climb the matted fur of Vör. The holy flame allows the paladin to pass through and within a couple of seconds, the man gathers his balance, makes a dive at his still stuck weapon lodged in the flesh and armor of the mammoth. The weapon is caught within his grasp and ripped from seared flesh with the assistance of the holy magic. His magic is spent, strength and speed gone, so it was now or never. The snow plow is trampled and upon seeing this, Kelovath jumps from Vör. Like Arkhen himself is watching over the paladin, he lands just so that a piece of the tower shield catches under his feet and catapults the human through the air, directly toward the massive giant. The paladin’s weapon still tightly within his grip, it is brought back and when the gap between Kelo and Odrøre is almost non-existent, the sword is swung at the neck of the giant. Should it connect, it wouldn’t be strong enough to remove the head, but more than likely sever an artery. Also, if the sword makes contact, the trajectory of Kelovath would be slowed significantly, bringing him down to the ground. If no contact is made, the armored man would land dangerously close to the cliff edge.

Laezila felt the guttural noise and perverse sound of the Frost Giant's victory, and the lithe drow shuddered with the feeling of disgust that it inspired within her. That revulsion only furthered with the feeling of her ankle and calf gripped by the large hand of the Frost Giant, and the locked stare. However, the masochistic action of the jailer ultimately evoked neither fear nor repulsion in the young vampire; she had no mentor, and he had never taught her how to control the thirst that consumed her in the proximity of fresh blood. The tongue yanked back and split on the dagger, but the subsequent spill of blood and its oppressive stench blinded the ex-matron's senses. She saw red. She smelled blood. The fact that she was in Frostmaw was gone, the reasoning behind her actions filed down to a precise and single, ruthless word; feed. Her leg was yanked downward and freed from the Frost Giant's grasp as eyeteeth elongated dangerously and those intense, vivid blue eyes rolled back into her head -feral, she had only instinct. It didn't help her when that hand smacked into her face and literally sent her airborne to the side. It did help her with her pain -her overwhelming and consuming desire to drink easily belied the suffering of her shattered arm striking the earth first as she hit the ground. Using her working hand, the vampire pushed herself from the ground and brought her feet up beneath her to stand, as what felt like a virtual mountain of blood in the shape of a mammoth was running at her. Her broken arm hung at her side limply and bent at an unnatural angle but she didn't care. As the distance between herself and the mammoth closed, the ex-matron used her vampiric-augmented strength to launch herself into the air directly aimed between the eyes of the mammoth; there was little cunning in the bestial mind of the girl, but there was reflexive movement. Vor, sporting barbed wire on his tusks, was aiming to gore and tear at the girl. Her uninjured arm would be lacerated and torn up without even a second thought given to its pain as she used it to swing about the deadly shaft -a redirection of her destination to circumvent around Vor's face and send her right at his neck, between the head and mighty shoulder of the mammoth; if she landed, it would be with a brutal, merciless and savage frenzy that she'd tear through wool, blubber, muscle and sinew with her teeth while latching onto him with her sliced up arm and bladed boots. He was a mountain of blood, after all,

Odrøre was not expecting a blood sucker, but it's of little consequence to the barbarian. All bones smash, all blood spills. Human bodies are especially easy to pulverize, but Kelovath's armor presents an obstacle. The giant re-sheathes his sword as Kelo lunges for his on the mammoth's back. Blades slip against the curvature of armor, indeed armor is designed for just that. The morning star flail, however, is perfect for pounding chest plates, and tenderizing the sweet meat inside. Though the giant plans on stopping Kelovath's aerial attack in a similar fashion to how he stopped Laezila's, the paladin's shifting speed (fast, then suddenly slow) changes the rhythm of battles. He throws off the giant's sense of timing. Odrøre swings the flail too soon, arm curling before his massive jaw, so that Kelovath's sword tears through the giant's tricep. He snarls through clenched teeth and staggers backwards to put distance between himself and the golden paladin, just as the paladin staggers too close to the cliff edge. In his peripheral vision, the mammoth rider notices his mount is under onslaught of a vampire. "Vör!!!" he shouts, sort of. The word is garbled due to his mutilated tongue. It felt great in the moment, that barbarian taunt, but the impracticality of it is immediately made clear. "To me!" he shouts, or something approximating that. The 't' is weak, sounds more like a 'd'. The mammoth sure could use the help of opposable thumbs, and Odrøre's curls around his flail, ready to free the mammoth of the flea when he comes a'charging.

A Mountain of Blood shakes his head in long deliberate sways when Kelovath replaces himself on the mammoth’s back to retrieve the sword in the midst of Arkhen’s flames. Vör’s armored trunk swings like a pendulum back and forth reaching upward towards the golden man, but remains not nearly long enough to find the back of his wooly neck. The distraction of an unwanted rider does not slow the great, burning beast, not one bit on his way towards the vampire that his rider has been tossing around. The dislodging of the weapon from his hide and armor and the subsequent dismount of the shining knight is disregarded in the same manner that Odrøre leaping off of his back went seemingly unnoticed previously. Vör’s plow and bulk have long since cleared out any prisoner cages that might have been in the way of his and Laezila’s collision course and captives of several shapes and sizes now look on from inside toppled over iron at the clash of tusk, and metal, and fang, and blood. A long, trumpeting roar echoes through the snowy fog when the former matron’s arm is further torn apart and she finds her way to the mammoth’s neck, latching on like the leech that she is. The hot blood of battle is drawn and sends steam wafting up to join the low hanging clouds and again furious panic sets in. Vör’s trunk is long enough this time to reach the side of his neck with the correct turn of his head and the armor plated nose slams against any part of the vampire that it can once or twice before trying to coil along one of her legs and slipping off of armor multiple times. The beast snorts exhaustedly through that same trunk just as his rider calls out to him. Large ears flinch as the giant’s garbled voice once again gives the mount a sense of direction and has him hauling himself into one more powerful, snow crunching, cliff shaking dash towards the flail-carrying giant, a trail of black smoke rising from his smouldering head of melted armor and fat. Whatever noise a mammoth makes to say ‘Get this bitch off of me!’ is the noise Vör is making now.

Odrøre and Vör win!

Odrøre understands Vör's grunts intimately. The poor brute. The giant picks Laezila off of the mammoth's neck and rattles her like a frustrated new father shakes his colicky baby, then tosses the vermin over the cliff edge. He points at Kelovath and the others, eyes still wild with rage, and trusts Vör will know what he means. It's trash day in Frostmaw. Clear the filth, bud, clear the filth. Once the mammoth has done his part, Odrøre carefully lifts off the beast's helmet and packs fresh snow onto the burnt hair and flesh. He says something, but can hardly talk with his tongue swollen and bloody like it is. But the mammoth will understand, even if no one else could, that the giant said "Let's go home." He pats the mammoth's shoulder encouragingly. You did good, Vör.

Vör grunts in thanks as the bloodsucker is removed from his shoulder, blood dripping down onto the white ground and melting through snow. At the instruction of his rider the mammoth starts flipping cages towards the edge of the cliff. With no plow in place his tusks are free to pass through the iron bars, goring some prisoners before they even get to enjoy their plummeting deaths. One of the giant sized cages turned coffins is tossed Kelovath’s way, sliding across the icy edge into the paladin with some force and knocking him over the cliff just after the vampiric dark elf he came in with. For good measure Vör sends several other cages down the cliff after them, some occupied by executionees begging for mercy from a damn mammoth, others empty with nobody saying anything in them. With the trash cleared out, the colossal duo trudge off, the great beast responding with another huff and grunt that Odrøre might understand as, “No. You.”