RP:Balder at the Gate

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary: When a lynch gang gets into the Frostmaw prison with intention to kill Orikahn before his trial, Leone and Aira show up to thwart the vigilantes. Leone tries to reason with them, but the prison guards side with the lynch gang and allow them past. To prevent a bloody conflict, Leone uses magical fear to drive the giants out of the prison. Amid the fuss and trouble, Orikahn escapes. Aira shoots the vigilante ringleader Balder (one of Balgruuf's sons) through the wrist and Leone locks him in Kahn's old cell. Aira then departs to pursue Kahn, intent on recapturing him.

Prison Cages

Orikahn has been the subject much animosity since the Yule Ball, and for very good reason. The feline is murderer, a traitor, and, to top it all off, an outsider to boot. In the days and weeks following the terrifying attack on the Yule Ball and the tragic death of the steward, the people of Frostmaw have had time for their shock to subside, for their mourning to wax, and now it begins to wane. Cries for action are rising in the wake of grief and loss. Now, held only by the stoic prison guards, a small lynch squad of hot-blooded frost giants has gathered, one name on their collective tongues. "Traitor." "Prime Hunter." "Orikahn!" The small vigilante band, only four in total, have only just arrived at the prison, but their boisterous, ale-fueled march through through town has been enough to get the word out, especially in a town where word spreads like wildfire. Not yet stirring in his cage, Orikahn lies concealed beneath his cloak, either unconcerned or unaware of the pending attack on his life. One giant seems to be the ringleader, a youger, warrior-type whose face bears some resemblance to that Balgruuf fellow who caused such a ruckus in court; a relative perhaps? He seems to hold the guards' foremost attention. "Damn the trial," the young warrior spits, "we don't have time to wait for confounded politics, not while our city crumbles from within! That creature," he points toward the feline's cage, "is a curse until his foul blood is emptied on the snows!" A cry comes up from the other vigilantes, and the two guards exchange a look. One steps aside while the other pulls out his keys, marching into the prison proper. Another cry sounds from the lynch squad.

Leone has, of course, already heard of the small band calling for the hunter's blood, and this simply will not do. The air in the jail crackles and pops before a sizzling sound rends the chants of the Frost Giants. They drunken vigilantes have not been attacked. Instead, a brilliant white line cleaves the air, hanging vertically before it begins to vibrate like the string on a plucked bass. The gap created by the strummed magic widens like the opening of too-taut tent flaps pulled asunder until, at last, the petite plover steps free of the gaping grey plane of spirits and into reality - directly into the path of the disgruntled masses. She sniffs and folds her hands, the twined digits and upturned palms coming to rest at the curve of her stomach while impossibly keen, lime-hued sights fall upon the bloody quartet. "Oh no, sirs," the plover's diametric notes of sand and silk ring out above the low hum of her slowly closing porta, "You will await a trial, just like the rest of us. Unless you prefer, once you have murdered this traitor, to forego your own trials, in return, as would be in accord with Aramoth's ways. No trial. No rites, no honor in your own deaths."

Aira was out hunting, as usual; her bow slung across her body, gorey arrows clinking against one another in the quiver at her back, a soiled a bloodied game bag filled with her kills grasped tightly in her hand. This was Aira’s typical day: going out to hunt, bringing game to Drargon, and heading back out into the woods. The high elf didn’t know what position she held in the city anymore and the annimostity she felt within the tavern meant her stays were short. She had taken to visiting Kahn’s hunting lodge, utilizing it in his absence but also making sure everything was functioning properly. It was on her trek back towards the tavern after a particularly successful day that she saw the mob head out towards the west. She didn’t pay them much attention until she caught what they were saying: “traitor”, “Primehunter”, “Orikahn”. Their body language didn’t sit well with the huntress and she halted, narrowing her copper gaze at the group until they disappeared from sight. Shaking her head, she turned back towards the tavern but only made it a few steps before cursing under her breath in elvish and dropping her gamebag in the snow. Quickly turning on her heel, Aira made to follow the group of vigilantes, keeping her distance at first until the reached the prison cells. Her stomach gave an unconscious flop at the sights and smells, she hadn’t forgotten this place and how she had been left to die. With everyone seemingly preoccupied inside with the arrival of the plover, Aira managed to draw her hood further down her face and slip inside, crouching within a corner and using the shadows for cover.

Leone's arrival breaks the lynch squad's momentum, and they backpedal for a second, unsure at first of the arcing energy. "Priestess." The guard who had taken out his keys has already selected the proper one corresponding to Orikahn's cage, about the same time that he's recognized the farrier. There is a sadness in his eyes, the look of one who has consigned himself to an unfavorable fate, and he gives his head a low shake. "I wish you hadn't come. You would have had a much easier time, reproachin' us in the aftermath." Keys jingling in hand, he begins walking toward the Prime Hunter's cage, and the vigilante ringleader picks up where the guard left off, pointing emphatically down at the human. "It's the likes of you that are going to let this city fall apart. Weigh the law Aramoth against us! I stand today in his favor, come to lay waste to the enemies of Frostmaw." Drawing his axe, he hoists it high over his head, prompting another boisterous shout from his gang, and they push forward, ready to surge around the priestess, her warning unheeded. About that time, the lock to Orikahn's cage musically "clinks" as the door swings open on its heavy, heavy hinges. Only now does the hunter stir, looking up from beneath the auroch hide, his head peeking out so his impassive, three-eyed gaze can greet the guard.

Leone is, once more, disrespected by this native lot and their warlike ways. Her position is overlooked, as well as her personal power...why does she stay here? Oh right, the resurrection. The farrier heaves a sigh, tawny lips pursing and then parting as air is forced from between them into the putrid-smelling jail. She stretches out one hand, fingers splayed and palm flattened against the open air. The gesture is minute, but comes with resounding results. A bolt of black lightning arcs through the cellblock, skittering and crackling against all the metal surfaces the area holds. It is not a bolt meant to shock or burn. Instead, it is a holy ward, a sacred spell that causes an aura of dread to seep from the bars of the jail, the key in the jailer's hand, and even the axe held high above the vigilante's head. It is fear incarnate, the jail awash in a clawing sense of fright that seems to grip at the throats and pry at the minds of those who wish Orikahn direct harm. The cleric backpedals, quickly retreating into the far corner of the cellblock and removing herself from possibly being trampled by the retreating Giants.

Aira scowled under the hood of her cloak. Her hatred for the man with the keys bubbling over at his comments to Leone and his refusal to comply with her. Sitting and waiting were hard for the huntress who was not known for her patience. Hearing their disrespectful comments, Aira was prone to offer a sharp tongue back, but again, she remained silent. These were the hunting skills she had the most trouble mastering, but they proved to be successful this moment. Leone’s sudden strike of magic in the form of a lighting bolt sent the high elf further into the corner, her back hitting the wall and causing her arrows to clank once again. Aira was thankful she was behind the vigilante giants, but in the moments of brighter light, the plover might have glimpsed the huntress who was doing everything she could to remain inconspicuous. Whatever the bolt was meant to do, it had no effects on the high elf except the fact that it gave away her position.

Amid the din of rattling bars, clattering axes, and unruly shouting, there is a crack, a ringing, and a beat of silence as the blood chills in the very veins of the lynch gang and their guard supporters. Low at first, there is a sort of collective whimper, a sound of shock, of the struggle to contain the mounting fright, to make sense of surging horror. In quick succession, the guard drops his keys, and three of the vigilantes drop their axes before turning for the door. A bellowing cry of terror accompanies them out as the storm from the prison, bolting as far and as fast as their giant legs will carry them. Orikahn yowls and scrambles up against the bars, only to find them filled with the same supernatural fright, and he spends a moment dashing from wall to wall before bolting out through the open door and toward the prison's darkest corner, straight toward Aira. The other guard flees as well, soon leaving the one remaining vigilante, their ringleader, holding his axe in one hand, and when he turns to face the farrier, she will see him holding something in his other hand, an amulet perhaps? He grips some item hanging from a chain around his neck, his knuckles white as he clenches it, his eyes wide, fearful, certainly, horrified in to his deepest, most instinctual roots, but he's not opted for flight. A manic battle cry flies from his lips, and he raises his axe high once more; by the angle of his arm and the turn of his grip, he looks as though he is readying to hurl the weapon as a projectile.

Leone presses herself against the cold stone of the prison, the corner's void of heat seeping through her cloak and the leathers beneath it. The clergywoman shivers while luminescent, peridot-hued sights follow the retreating band of marauders out...and then Kahn's scrambling flight. The farrier's brow furrows, tracks of nearly identical ebony knitting together just above the bridge of her nose: she had not meant to set the Prime Hunter free, and would now have to deal with herding him back into his cell. The blacksmith is ripped free of her thoughts, and the line of her phosphorescent gaze turns suddenly at the battle yowl from the one remaining Frost Giant. The priestess ducks and covers, wrapping her arms over her head and crouching low into the corner, making herself as small a target as possible. The metallurgist's sacred powers cannot be used on herself, unfortunately, though she does have the foresight to fling out one arm. A streak of blue flows from her hand, an undulating ripple that winds through the air at a rapid pace until it reaches the corner where Aira and Orikahn have unwittingly sheltered together. The magic coalesces, forming a dome over the duo that will deflect the attacker's axe, should they ultimately be his target.

Aira nearly toppled over as Kahn scurried into her corner, grabbing onto him out of instinct so she didn’t fall to the ground. “It’s me, it’s Aira!” She hissed to the feline, unsure whether that was a comfort or detriment to his anxiety; the two hadn’t exactly patched up their relationship after the truth of his betrayal came out. Pulling herself to a standing position she quickly pulled her bow from her body and reached behind her to grab an arrow. As she moved to step out in front of the primehunter Leone flung out her arm and an arc of blue light formed a dome over the pair of hunters. She lifted her head, whipping around to observe the magic, metallic eyes wide in surprise. Aira was unfamiliar with most magics and therefore didn’t know what made up this protection that the priestess offered. The huntress assumed there was only one way to find out; knocking her arrow into place she drew her bowstring back, sighting down the shaft of the arrow. The awkward lighting disoriented the huntress for a few moments but she finally found her target, the vigilante’s hand they held the axe, and quickly let it fly, hopping that if the force wasn’t enough to cause the giant to drop his weapon it would at least act as a distraction.

Orikahn nearly barrels into the elf,and when she grabs him, he rears fearsomely and may very well have given her a nasty slash with his claws if she hadn't reached out an identified herself. It startles the cat enough to make him pause, primal fear still evident in his expression. "Aira?" He echoes in a growl, just in time for the dome of blue force to envelop them. Kahn tenses, bristling, ears slick back against his scull, and his eyes swing to the door. Still deeply rattled, the terrified cat wastes no chances and scrambles, claws scraping noisily and marring the stone floors as he careens, dashing for the exit like a furry missile. Unimpeded, the traitor-hunter will vanish through the open door and into the wide open. On the topic of missiles! Aira's bowstring sings, and the arrow hisses in answer, popping through the cured hide of the giant's armor with an audible "POCK!" and sticking deep in his forearm. His hand contorts, dropping the axe just as he steps into his throw, sending the weapon to clatter uselessly against the bars of an adjacent cage, throwing a fine spray of sparks before spinning uselessly across the prison floor. Fear couples with pain, and the warrior bends double in submission, curling on the floor with his forehead on the filthy ground, hunched above his folded knees. "No more!"

Aira seems to appear from out of nowhere, spontaneously generating next to you. Leone 's hand wheels from delivering the protective force field around Aira and Orikahn to instead reach toward the injured Frost Giant in helpless worry. "No," the farrier shouts as the arrow enters the hulking male's arm. She scrambles out of the corner on all fours, hands and knees tapping out a rapid beat until she reaches the injured giant's side. "Be still," the petite plover whispers to the doubled over male. "I will remove it and heal you. Just stay still," the bantam blacksmith soothes to the injured vigilante, both hands already alight with the mingling white and blue energies indicative of her holy healing. "Elf," the cleric says in the next instant, unwilling to use the female's name and fully reveal her identity, "Get Orikahn back into a cell until I decide what to do with him; obviously it's not safe for him here any more - nor you."

Aira did not have time to stop Orikahn from leaving, too focused on shooting the vigilante who was wielding the axe and bearing down on Leone. Aira's full lips twitched into a satisfied smirk when her arrow made contact causing the weapon to skitter away admist sparks and the giant to fall to the ground. Leone's call faltered her smirk somewhat as she gave the plover a confused expression when she moved to heal the giant. Stepping forward towards the priestess, she halted upon her instruction. The huntress breathed out a heavy sigh, how was she supposed to get him back in? She wasn't sure but she nodded, quickly turning on her booted heel and sprinting from the cells to track down Kahn.

Orikahn doesn't waste an instant, and speeds away at full tilt, making fast tracks away and never once checking behind himself. Aira's going to have a difficult chase ahead of her. The defeated giant's eyes raise just enough to catch the last glimpse of the fleeing cat. "This is all your fault. Wait until my father Balgruuf hears about this. Wait until the city hears what you did." Despite his defiant words, the giant is still quite beaten and very compliant, laying still as the Priestess commands, making no gestures of threat or provocation against his healer. "I came here to end that monster, and you've turned him loose on the city. On the world." Some talk, and some gratitude, condemning Leone even as her magics mend him.

Leone clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Orikahn's escape made plain, and the giant's words flung at her, are both given admonishment in the same gesture. "The wilderness," the plover states quickly before the elf can give chase, "I will find you." Gripping the arrow with one hand, the other hand is held aloft while she pulls the offending shaft clean of the giant's arm (and without first easing the pain that will come along with it). Perhaps it will serve as a lesson to the native of the land. "And yet," the plover replies, her voice remaining steady, calm, even kind, "I am not the one who sought to remove him from his cell. You honestly think he wouldn't have run as soon as you were clear of the jail house? He is a cat, a very large and powerful cat, that is both faster and more agile than the four of you. Yes, even together. The only way to assure his being brought to justice was to keep him contained. You are the one who opened the cell, I prevented a miscarriage of justice. Either way, the hunter would have escaped. You're a fool to think otherwise." The plover grunts and smirks before dropping the newly freed arrow over her shoulder. She then wraps both palms around the through-and-through wound in the towering male's forearm and presses her magic to heal him. The healing is not static, and the giant is not allowed to stay in place - nor will he be leaving the cellblock. Using his injured arm to steer him, even while slowly applying healing energy, the farrier pulls and pushes the Frost Giant into the open cell, her thumbs pressing against the holes in his flesh to enforce compliance when resistance springs up. Leone then closes the cell's door and, in absence of a key, magically seals it. That should hold the blathering brat until he can be brought to trial.

"You," is the best the young upstart can manage in protest as Leone expertly maneuvers (read "forcibly detains") the once-rowdy giant, leaving him neatly confined and apparently not quite so above the law as he had imagined himself earlier. What a surprise, too, the guards will find upon their return--that is, if they're brave enough to show there faces here again after such negligence. Whatever the case, all can agree that what's begun here certainly isn't over yet.