RP:A Bloody Reminder not to Enrage Already Angry Dragons
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Icy Bridge
Hildegarde had returned to the Icy Bridge as soon as she had the strength to do so, expecting to see the bodies of her fallen comrades gone or pecked apart by the carrion crow that may have been lurking in wait for them. To her horror and her despair, she found the bodies as they had fallen: throat slit, mutilated, abused and humiliated with their weapons taken far away from them in order to dishonour them even in death. The dragon had been so full of rage that her human form was simply incapable of containing her wrath or form any longer: leaving the huge Silver dragon in her wake. But rather than seek out the giants who had harmed her and her comrades so brutally, the dragon had merely lifted the bodies and brought them back to the shamans for proper funeral rites. That had been a day or so ago, but the knight found herself back here. She stood there in blue iron armour, staring at the bridge with a cross between rarely seen contempt and some kind of placid, if not calculating, understanding. The bridge would be the perfect ambush point: should anyone try to cross it, all you had to was cut the person off as they advanced or as they attempted to retreat and if one knows the terrain well enough, it's easy enough to achieve. The woman shook her head with disdain, dropping to a knee - albeit quite slowly and in an obviously pained manner - to deposit two amulets carved in praise of Aramoth. The fallen would not be forgotten.
Svilfon had been spending a lot of his time of late in Xalious, though more than Mage Guild business had kept him there. The Master's Library, perhaps the greatest library in all of Hollow, is filled with more than tomes on spells and magic. It is rich with knowledge long forgotten by most, and amongst the many books were secrets Svilfon sought. Answers, perhaps, to questions the wizard doesn't yet know to ask. But as another day dawned, the wizard realized the truth: Perhaps what comes is new, perhaps it is ancient, but as brutal a weapon that knowledge can be, sometimes the only way to learn how to stop something is to face it head on. He could almost feel Aramoth's acknowledgment of this mentality. So leaving his monkey in the library to continue the research, despite the fact the monkey can't read, the wizard teleported back to Frostmaw. He needed to be caught up on what had happened, so after a brief pause at the tavern, he decided to seek out Hildegarde. The knight would know, he's sure. So focusing on her, their shared experience enough that he can find her almost anywhere, the wizard speaks the words of his teleportation spell. It doesn't take him long to appear on the bridge, and his pale gaze wastes no time in finding the dragon knight. Resting there, on her knees, placing something in the snow. Perceptive that he is, the wizard realizes this is something solemn and important to the woman, so he doesn't speak. Instead he merely waits, resting on a dark-wood-staff, waiting for her to notice him.
Hildegarde's senses had sharpened since she had lost her eye, so she most definitely caught the scent of the wizard as he stood on the bridge. Not only that, but she could feel the magic that buzzed about him as he teleported; like any beast might sense an unusual or supernatural sensation. Ever dutiful, the knight raised to her feet with the assistance of her halberd, staring at Svilfon for a long moment before calling to him: "Wizard," it was meant as a greeting, a statement of respect and one that contained some depth of emotion. Although she may not yet tell the man or tell anyone, she had actually missed his presence; his wise words and mystical prowess. It would have been a boon to her men if he had been there to swathe their enemies in fire. Perhaps her men might still be alive. She had lost them all now and such a loss could drive anyone mad, but it simply drove the dragon to wroth, even if her face was just as icy as the bridge.
Svilfon offers the dragon a tip of his hat and a brief smile which never quite touches his eyes. "Lady Knight." He takes a step closer to the woman, ignoring the rush of frozen wind which whips across the bridge, tearing at his robes and threatening to rob him of balance long enough to send the vampire falling to an icy, jagged death below. Svilfon looks down to see what the knight was doing, and in understanding of what she does, he once again tips his hat, this time to the bridge itself; a farewell to those who have fallen, and a silent plea to whatever Gods are listening that they find battle, ale and buxom women in whatever Halls their souls now rest in. That done, the wizard speaks again, despite the fact the ghost of a wince whispers across his features, "I hate to ask, Hildegarde knight, but... what happened here, and what has happened in my absence? The city seems... colder than usual." It's clear by his tones he's not speaking about temperature.
Hildegarde seemed to tense at the sudden rush of wind, perhaps likening it to the 'woosh' of crossbow bolts as they flew past or the rush of air before the 'crack' of a whip. Indeed, at this point anger began to seep into her features, not angry at Svilfon or his questions of course. "War," she said the word with disdain, anger and a certain brutal honesty. "War has come, funnily enough to the City of War. Yet our opponents would fight dirty, it seems, as our water is polluted and our people targeted. The lumberjacks, people who wander too far west and even people who dare to enter our city gates." Her fingers flexed around the shaft of her halberd as she shifted her weight, trying to put less pressure on her still healing leg. "Exiles have killed *all* of my men," the statement was practically choked out, so laden with fury and grief, "and I could do nothing for them. I have sworn revenge, as is the way of Aramoth and Frostmaw itself. I will fight for Queen Satoshi, I will fight for you, I will fight for the people," she said it firmly. It almost sounded as though the knight was pledging an oath or vow of allegiance as she spoke, "I will die before I let them win. If I so happen to avenge my comrades - my brothers - in the process, then I will bring honour to their memories. I have promised their families."
Svilfon listens in silence as the knight speaks. He can see the brutal, raw anger which flows through her, though he offers no words to quiet or calm it. Instead he simply watches and listens until at last she falls silent. An immediate reply does not come from the wizard, instead he turns and spends a long moment staring out over the snowy mountainous ranges which dip and rise with sharp, hard edges. Though he has no affinity with ice, and he learned after teaching Satoshi a spell not to try and communicate with the element, he can still sense upon the snow, ice and air the lingering menace of the enemies which quite literally seem to plague the frozen City of War. After a long, long moment he turns and locks his pale gaze on Hildegarde's own, ensuring with an intensity which is almost tangible she keeps her own eyes on his. “There is honour in death, though some do not see it so. There is pride in falling in the defense of a city you love. Grieve not for those who have fallen in battle, instead honour their memory by tearing the hearts out of those who slew them. There is no greater gift you can give the fallen here, in Frostmaw, than that.” He nods his head in an almost imperceptible gesture. “War is a savage beast; deceit, deception, destruction... these are what it breathes out upon those who walk its paths. There is no fighting dirty in war. It simply is what it is. You must learn that lesson if you are to fight those who come against us. Go against them thinking they will show you honour and you will die... that is one thing I will not allow.” Those last words are almost a growl as feral as any dragons may be. “We will not be defeated, Hildegarde. We will not fail.”
Hildegarde understood that there was honour in death, but she could never see why people would feel the need to dishonour an enemy so much by mutilating them extensively. "They fought hard and fought well," she said proudly, thinking fondly of them, "they did not deserve to have their bodies… their bodies mutilated. They did not deserve the humiliation," she said, quickly adding, "but I understand what you mean." Although this was nothing new to her, she understood that sometimes fighting honourably could only mean certain death; enemies would not always show honour in return, they would do whatever they must in order to win, even if it meant targeting the innocent. "They will not show me honour," she admitted, "they can try to show me death," she offered the wizard a short grin, one that said she would most definitely not be taken down easily! "We will crush them," she said with a slight incline of her head. "If only my blasted body would heal faster," she muttered with some mild attempt at humour. Humour was always good for morale, it was always the thing she fled to when faced with death and destruction.
Svilfon shrugs at the dragon as she speaks, "It does not matter that they mutilated their bodies; there is no humiliation you can offer the dead which they care about. I have no illusions that I will die, more than likely in battle. If my enemies tore my body apart, I would not care. Why would I? It shows they are petty; it shows more than anything that they seek to make us angry, for a mind blinded by rage rarely thinks clearly. It is just another weapon of war." He falls silent for a moment then, contemplating whether or not he believes his own words. But deciding it doesn't matter, he carries on. "Healing magic does not come easy to me, Hildegarde. Fire consumes, it does not build. But I can... try to heal you, if you require it. Chances are, though, it will not make things better for you. But the offer is there." Apparently the wizard missed whatever attempts at humour the words had, taking them rather literally. "Otherwise, if you require it, I can offer my services as a training partner... to relieve some of your anger..." He smiles briefly at that. "The choice is yours, Hildegarde." He falls silent, then. He had some things he wanted to do in the wilds of Frostmaw, but more important to him is the welfare of this knight. Quickly she was becoming a standard in and of herself in the city; the wizard knows they cannot afford to lose her.
Hildegarde could understand Svilfon's meanings but her own Oath; her own set of principles and morals could not allow her to so easily accept it. She knew it was true, why would the dead really care? But to her it simply felt wrong and dishonourable, disrespectful. Of course, she would not push or pursue the subject, feeling as though Svilfon was right to some extent. "No, thank you, I ought to learn to fight through such pain," she said. However, at the proposition of relieving some anger through combat, the knight smiled and shook her head gently, "You know, we only ever seem to fight!" she said, before lunging forward into a roll, halberd dropped as she threw herself upward at the wizard; form contorting into that of her most truest of forms. A hulking mass of silver scales, leathery wings, spiked tail, vicious talons and near unbreakable fangs, the dragon had lunged up at the wizard in an effort to snap him up in a clawed hand. Perhaps it would be unfair to see a dragon launch itself at a human sized person, but the knight had taken his words to heart: you sometimes simply had to fight unfair to win. Exiles couldn't survive losing a head to a dragon bite, could they?
Svilfon nods in understanding at her words; he too generally dislikes being healed for the same reason; pain was a reminder of failure, and a better teacher than any words written or spoken. As she says all they do is fight, he laughs, "It is Coterie law," not that she is exactly part of the Coterie, but she was still part of Frostmaw's family, "If we can't kill each other, no one can..." He is about to continue, before the knight is hurling herself at him, contorting as she does to shift into her true form. He flashes the first true smile he's worn all day, even as he shifts his grip on the staff he rests upon and jumps up. As her clawed hand seeks to grasp him, he twists the wood sideways, using it as a brace to stop her talons from forming a fist he couldn't hope to escape from. Imbued as it is by magic, and taken from one of Frostmaw's trees, the wood wouldn't splinter even in such a powerful grasp. Without wasting much time, Svilfon uses it as a springboard to push himself up further, onto the dragon's arm, before he leaps at her head. Jumping at the jaws of a dragon is perhaps not all that wise, but there is a method in his madness, for his hands seek to grasp hold of Hildegarde's head, before he'd try to claw his way up and onto her back...
Hildegarde roared as the wizard avoided her grasp, as if she were nothing more than an angry beast who had briefly lost its prey. Even as she had attempted to enclose him in her clawed fist, she had been drawing a deep breath, which she now used as he landed on her arm. The knight expelled the mixture of potent frost - far more potent in her true form than her human form had ever allowed - and paralytic breath, her breath so strong, what with those giant lungs, it might well send the wizard flying off his intended path!
Svilfon doesn't even have time to widen his eyes in shock as the dragon expels her powerful frost breath directly at him. He is caught up in the cone; his robes instantly stopping their flapping in the winds as they freeze over, making it almost impossible for him to move. Added to the wind she herself has made with the breath, he is soon cartwheeling head over heels until he lands on the bridge with the tell-tale thud of a boulder falling from a mountain. But through his hazardous flight he was not idle; drawing upon the reserves of his own fiery magic, he begins to emit heat as quickly as his body can, to free him from the prison... but not entirely. His head is the first to be set free, and as his magic continues to eat away at the ice, he shouts out to the dragon, "Think of your comrades, torn and broken in battle; humiliated by enemies too afraid to fight fairly... think of those fallen for whom you blame yourself for their deaths." Perhaps it is foolish for the wizard to attempt to further enrage the dragon, but he knew well that she needed to be at least partly freed from her own anger, and this was the only way he knew how to do it. He would trust himself enough to survive against her... he hopes... if it would help free the shackles of rage from the knight. "Death comes to Frostmaw, Hildegarde... you need more to stop its touch if the city wants to survive!"
Hildegarde snarled loudly and furiously as the wizard addressed her in such a manner. It was never wise to make a dragon angry, but the same could probably be said about wizards! But the dragon rose up slightly to extend her elongated neck, roaring directly at Svilfon before leathery wings dragged her skyward. It almost looked as if she was running away from the comments, running away from Svilfon's remarks and away from her own wrath. If Svilfon knew much about dragons, particularly about the different breeds, he'd know just how adept Silver dragons are at 'disappearing' into the sky. Their reflective scales, as silvery as they were, allowed them to camouflage themselves to an extent in the sky above which allowed them to be the perfect ambushing predators. Of course, the knight did not often use this tactic for fear of being dishonourable. So, scaling the air high enough, she turned and tucked her wings in tight against her back; free-falling directly towards the wizard. It would seem that way, at least, until the dragon's body smacked forcefully against the bridge in an effort to break - or weaken it enough to destabilise Svilfon - and her taloned hand swiped forward to either slice him in twain or grab him.
Svilfon does indeed know much about dragons, being married to one. But as he hears that roar he cannot help but think perhaps this idea was a foolish one. There is a savage, unrelenting elemental force in the sound; a primal expulsion of fury which cannot be matched by any one other than those powerful saurian beasts. But she doesn't immediately devour him, instead taking the sky and giving the wizard time to free himself from the prison of ice as well as shake off the lingering effects of her paralytic breath. Being both a vampire and a powerful mage means he is somewhat immune to that effect, but not entirely. It still makes him sluggish... too sluggish, in fact, to deal with the thunderous explosion of ice and stone which rips through the bridge as he large body crashes against it. The shudder is more than enough to rob the wizard of his balance, and as he stumbles over the edge, arms flailing wildly, he is caught by her taloned hand. Though the sharp claws tear through his robes and into his flesh, he isn't cut in half - thankfully! - but a grimace of pure anguish explodes across his bearded face. Trapped now in her grasp, he doesn't fight, instead he forces his formidable will into blocking out the pain so he can speak in a voice which is clear and loud, and ringing with authority, "Enough, Hildegarde Knight!" With such pain ravishing his body, it's hard for him to concentrate, and he highly doubts he could teleport out of this even if he wanted to. He would trust the knight retains enough of herself despite being enraged and in her dragon form, because otherwise, Hildegarde may soon be using his pointy hat as a toothpick to pick out pieces of wizard from her teeth.
Hildegarde held the wizard in her hand and snarled viciously, a little plume of frost snorting from her cavernous nostrils. But rather than devouring the wizard or crushing him in her hand, she spoke to him like an equal. "Death is my warcry, Wizard, do not antagonise me so," her voice was deep and powerful in those form, followed by a more feminine copy lagging only a moment or so behind. "It is madness to provoke a dragon, our enemies will see that in due time." The dragon drew her hand inward, loosening her grip some, "You saw I must stop the touch of death from reaching our city, I tell you that I shall bite its damnable hand off! I am Frostmaw's protector," she said it so certainly. "I am not her Champion, I am not her Queen, I am not a child of Frostmaw. But I will be damned if I do not protect this city. I may not be the champion, but I will consider myself such - personally - and I dare any exile," she said a little more loudly, "to try and come through me first." That said, the dragon gently lowered her hand to the ground. "Do you think me scary like this?"
Svilfon listens to the words in silence, taking them in and nodding every now and again. When at last she frees him, he takes somewhat of a staggering step back, before bending down and picking up his staff. Leaning on it, and ignoring the growing sanguine stain at his feet as his blood drips down his body, he speaks again. "I antagonised you because it is a weapon our enemies will and have used. I wanted to see what you were like when you were truly angry." He lowers a hand, pushes it against his body, before lifting it up, the limb covered now in dripping blood. "Formidable, I think, is the most apt description." He offers a slight smile at that, before carrying on. "You are a fine protector of Frostmaw, and more of a champion than its champion. I see that title as yours already, though it is not my place to say such things." He nods at that, before using his blood-covered hand to tip his hat - strangely, none of his blood stains the hat at all. "But more important than that, lady dragon, you did not lose yourself in the anger. You'd have bitten -my- head off if you did. I had to know... you had to know..." What exactly isn't clear, but the wizard, despite the pain, seems happier after the battle than before it. "Our enemies are mighty, Hildegarde Silver, Knight of Frostmaw, Protector of the City of War. But I do not fear as much for Frostmaw today as I did yesterday." He bows to the knight as those words are spoken, the gesture rich with respect, despite the obvious pain it must cause.
Hildegarde, like Svilfon, listened to the words in silence. She was never good at taking positive remarks, she tended to become humble and brush them away or refuse them with reddening cheeks. Instead, she only remained silent, bending her foreleg to dip her body in a sort of saurian bow; mirroring his gesture of respect. After a long moment, she spoke in a rather amused tone of voice, "I think your pointy hat might tear my throat to pieces if I had bitten your head off," she tried to grin but in this form that could look more like: 'you look tasty and I may eat you right now, have you seen how huge my fangs are?' But the knight could rarely stand to see her friends in pain, "Now, great wizard, shall we spirit you away for some medical assistance?"
Svilfon cannot help but laugh at the dragon's words, and that twisted parody of a smile, even though it causes more pain to wash through his body. "You're probably right on that... don't forget it! Otherwise, the headless wizard may well haunt your waking hours for the rest of your life!" There is a certain promise in those words, spoken even as they are in jest. "As for the healer, worry not. There is something else I wish to do this day, I will be fine." He looks out towards the west, further away from the relative safety of Frostmaw's distant gates. "But I will visit the shamans when I return, lady knight." He grins at that. "I had to visit them this day anyway, to see what they think of that which ails the city." He tips his hat one last time. "And do know, lady Hildegarde, that though you protect this city, you do not do it alone. You have to but call and I will come; our enemies have no idea what it is they have awoken with their actions... I have no problem in teaching them the truth of who we are."
Hildegarde gave a little nod of her huge, scaly head and seemed contented with his answer. "Then I wish you well in whatever it is that you intend to do with the rest of your day," she said it honestly and genuinely, given that she had no reason to say it in any other way. "I know, Wizard. We make a formidable pair, you and I," she said, envisioning what fury they could inflict upon their foes with her talons and his fiery magic. "I take my leave to Cenril. The library there might have some information we can use about what ails our city. We must all do our part to help."
Svilfon tips his hat one last time to the dragon, before turning and wandering across the bridge, further away from the city, to complete what it was he wished to do this day.