RP:Battle For Frostmaw

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary: The time is at hand. The time to take Frostmaw back has come at last! Hildegarde and her allies march into the city, but something is wrong. There's no waiting army... not even any civilians. It's quiet, too quiet, as the cliche goes. A giant child, beaten, comes running to meet Hildegarde and directs her into an alleyway. Smelling a setup, Hildegarde takes and elite team to investigate. Here, she meets Balgruuf and challenges him to single combat. He accepts, but his bodyguards move to make quick work of the team. Meanwhile, in town, the remaining army finds themselves ambushed!

As Hildegarde and Balgruuf duel for their lives and for Frostmaw, Tristram arrives with his orcs to save the day! Hildegarde is victorious over Balgruuf, and takes him to where their armies are doing battle. There, his army is forced to accept defeat. Rather than execute Balgruuf for his crimes, Hildegarde shows the broken man mercy. It is done, and Hildegarde and her allies have won. All Hail Queen Hildegarde!

Eastern Frostmaw Gates

Hildegarde and her camp had been preparing to march over the last few days. The atmosphere was palpable, the wolves were at the door and the time for war was nigh. War. It was all that Hildegarde had known for the past six months, even death was not enough to keep her back from war! Yet there was no turning back, not now anyway. Hildegarde departed from her tent with Lisbeth in tow, thinking to herself how this will be the last time she leaves that tent for she will either win and have no need of it or she will die in battle and the dead have no need of tents. Bedecked in her mithril armour, her fiery hair tied back in that tattered blue ribbon and a smear of blue warpaint on her face: Hildegarde is an icon of war. Her mighty steed brought to her, she mounts the elk with practised ease and gently pats his side. “Courage, Havarr, courage,” she whispers to the elk who wore blue iron armour with practised placidity. “Lisbeth, signal the form up, I’ll head to the front,” she commands her second-in-command, clicking her tongue and gently jerking her knees against the elk to stir him into motion. Havarr moves forward without hurry, but his long legs carry Hildegarde away from the main body of the camp. By the time the army is formed up and all are ready for combat, the knight has settled upon the elk to stare city-ward. She is ready to ride off to her death if it means a chance at securing freedom for her people. Tugging ever so slightly on the reins, the elk wheels to face the army and allow his rider to survey the amassed warriors, defenders, healers and all with her wearied sole eye. “My friends! My brothers, my sisters in arms,” she calls to the amassed army. “We ride on not for the glory of war or to satiate a bloodlust, but for the glory of freedom! To rid the land of tyranny and to restore justice to a kingdom sorely in need of it.” The elk wheels again, causing Hildegarde to move along slightly as if she were trying to just get a better look at the crowd. “Are you with me?” she calls to those gathered, “Will you bleed alongside me? Fight alongside me?” The giants roar out their reply, that unmistakeable ‘hoo-rah!’ “Stand with me, brothers and sisters! Stand as my equal! Onward! To death! To victory!” the elk rears up as Hildegarde raises her halberd up, “Frostmaw!” she roars at last before wheeling the elk to face the city proper and begin the march into the city proper.

Sparky was on his peak where he had once been in the battle previous, aside from a little misadventure he had returned to the peak to wait for further instructions. Not to far away he could hear the battlecry of hildegarde's camp, he didn't know what she was saying because of this distance, but whatever the command, he was sure somone he had served under would direct him to another path, if not, he might just have to join the action. "At least I remembered a winter cloak this time, brrr!"

Pilar's armor had JUST been cleaned of blood. With any luck, it would stay that way. Pilar looked up at her mount. The young couatl was watching the march begin with serenity and calm. Pilar, meanwhile, was a bundle of nerves. Emielle's voice sounded in the vampire's mind. ~Fear not, Pilar. We will have victory this day.~ Pilar nodded. "I hope so. Xalious give me strength." She climbed onto Emielle's back. "Let'go." White wings spread and began to beat the air. Soon, they were soaring above the camp. Around them, Eyrie mounts took to the sky, some with riders, others with naught but instructions. Fly to the fort and draw their fire. It was a dangerous mission, but a vital one.

Linn had been absent from the war-camp for the past week, only arriving for brief snatches of time in the past few days to receive news of the developments. It was enough to figure out the final storm was coming though, and when the time and trouble came, so did he. He came looking quite melancholy, even reluctant to be out here, but he looked towards the gates of Frostmaw with a determined anticipation that made it clear he was ready to fight. He spent what time he had checking and adjusting his armor and its enchantments, making sure it would hold together and dampen the worst of blows while remaining properly mobile when the extra reinforcement wasn’t needed. When Hildegarde left her tent to rally the soldiers he trailed after, restlessly moving his through the ranks of the army until he found a spot he liked. As the others roared in approval of the steward, he silently smiled and nodded, breathing in a deep sigh of the cold air before taking his helmet and after taking a brief moment to look at the face his enemies would see, put it on. “Let’s do this.” He softly muttered as he began following towards the city, taking his signature forceful crystal in one hand and fire-enchanted longsword in the other. He still had to retrieve that other one from the mines come to think of it…

Rusilan trails in the armies wake not cheering just grim the sparks of healing magic glittering and flowing through her fur bringing no comfort.

Sykule closed his book as he heard the rising commotion outside. "It's time" - the boy thought to himself. He stored the tome in a chest, along with most of his belongings, and stepped outside his tent onto the camp, shielding his eyes while he took a good look around the camp. The boy had his white hair unwrapped, flowing about, and his trusty travel cloak over his shoulders protected his sly body from the cold wind. He joined a familiar group of soldiers, and headed along with them to the gathering. After listening to Hildegarde's speech they marched together towards Frostmaw, he could barely wait to take wing and join the battle from the skies, but he was waiting for an opportunity first.

Khitti had been in her tent for the time being, mulling over things. The lack of her bow that had been lost in the encounter in the mines. Whether or not she'd barely make it out alive again. A frown marred her features as she heard the call to form up outside, the vampiress moving from her on her cot to the tent's entrance. She'd slip outside, pulling the hood of her duster up over her head with a sigh. She could do this, right? Maybe. Who knows. Hesitation lingered in her mind as it always did, Hildegarde's words reaching her ears, as did the cries from the frost giants that had stuck by the Silver through thick and thin. Khitti wasn't like them, however. She didn't have their strength. Their faith. Their skills. The ties to this land that they were all sacrificing themselves to save. She did have a job to do, though. To protect Hildegarde. To help her fight her war. And now, she also knew Pilar and Dominic would need protecting. She wasn't about to let them die, you know. As Hildegarde wheels about and takes off towards the city, the now bow-less dark ranger would wait for Dominic before following after the dragoness.

Ashe had never been a soldier. He'd served as an adviser, spy, herald and agent. As such it was no surprise he was nowhere to be seen on the eve of a bloody battle. Instead, there were soldiers. One face next to another, cheering to the would-be queens speech or, for those too far away to hear it, cheering just because. Others with grim faces, full of determination. Others perhaps a bit nervous. This one wasn't any different or special. Same armor, if a bit worn and ill-fit. A stand in, perhaps. Same cheer, though a little late as the wave of voices spread down the ranks like wildfire and he took a moment to catch on. Another blade, out of countless, thrust into the air in pride and defiance. Another pair of feet beating the ground as they marched.

Josleen spent the past few days preparing the medic unit for the march. All healers have been equipped with satchels carrying the provisions that will be most in demand on the battlefield. Bandages, tourniquets, stitching kits, and lots and lots of painkillers. Some of the giant healers strap stretchers onto their backs too. Before joining the army, Josleen gathers the healers in the medical tent and goes over the battle medic game plan. Squad A stays in the back lines with Josleen treating the wounded as they come. Squad B darts in and out of the battlefield to recover the fallen and wounded, and bring them back to Squad A for treatment. If Squad B must treat a critical condition in the battlefield, so it must be done, but the main objective is to bring the wounded towards the back line with the healers. Magical healers are asked to dedicate themselves to Squad A as their talents may save more lives. Once the medics have agreed on the plan they join the army just in time to hear Hildegarde’s rousing speech. Josleen shouts ‘hoo-rah!’ just like the giants. She’s certainly served in enough wars alongside the frost giants to claim their culture as a part of her identity. Today she is Frostmawian.

Reginae stood in the ranks, surrounding by the many supporters that Hildegarde's cause had gathered. And there she stood, head of the line, halberd to the breeze...calming blood ribbon among the wild tresses that screamed for freedom. For liberty. Echoing the Dragon's cries with her own screams for Justice. For peace. Ideals truly worth living and dying for. One last thought crossed her mind, a mild mannered male neither here nor there...a broken city, full of shattered naga and dismal spirits...Reginae fought for Hildegarde's vision of Frostmaw as if it was her own vision for Alithrya, and screamed her battle cry with all those present. For Frostmaw! The thick weight of her tail thudded heavily on the ground, nary a wiggle in comparison to the stomping of Frost Giant Feet as she moved forward through the crowd of champions. She caught sight of Pilar, riding swiftly into the wind. Aramoth be with you. May Aramoth be with us all.

Xzavior hadn't been back here in some time. This returning was just to see if he could find anything interesting to do. A mission perhaps or possibly rile up some of the soldiers to get into a fight, Though as he came into view of the camp it seemed like he came back just in time for something much larger then that. The rally cry has been made. Time for the bloodbath to commence. He would be sure to cause some damage here. With a dark grin he conjured a rapier made of ice and quickly made his way through the mass of soldiers. Those who were able to see the weapon he carried seemed to make a comment or other about it. True, this kind of sword wasn't fit for large scale warfare. But he wasn't one to reveal all his secrets. On the good side or not he wasn't honor bound to be straight forward with his enemies. Life and death was just that. You do what you must to gain either of them. Once at the front lines he crossed his arms with the sword in hand and waited for Hilde to give the order to rush on into the fray.

Dominic scanned Hildegarde and the army with a hint of apprehension. There were some familiar faces in this crowd now, but not nearly enough. What if something happened again and, in front of everyone, Brand had to --? He cut himself off from finishing the thought, as if completing it might jinx it into becoming reality. Green eyes sought out Khitti above all else, his rock and his solace as of late. Once he found her, he wrapped one hand in hers. The other clutched that many-faced runestone of his, as per usual. A nervous half-smile was sent Khitti’s way, along with a reassuring squeeze. <We’re going to be fine,> he said to her through the link they’d established not too much earlier in the day, the words meant to soothe his own nerves as much as hers. <We have each other. And I can’t lose you this time.>

Irthos was skipping across the clouds over head practicing his Ice magic, when he heard the battle cries from below. He peeks over a cloud and peers downward to spot a very familiar set of armor . "Uh-oh what did I do this time?" He shakes his head knowing he hadn't done anything wrong this time, because Hildegarde had asked to to keep his experiments away from the camp to avoid haphazard destruction. The mini-mage arcs lightning across his fingers making his hair stand on end, "Oh boy this will be fun." He stops flitting his wings and drops like a stone straight down, clenching his fist with the lightning, he strikes the ground a bit away from the army so to avoid anything and destroying it. "Ah one of my better landings." He streaks forward and into the crowd, looking around it was obvious they were finally ready to take back Frostmaw. And the mini-mage decided he was going to help out his Leader however possible.

Kasyr's final preperations had been attended to in the past few days, having made a brief pilgrimage to Vailkrin long enough to retrieve the bulky black broadsword which was now affixed to his back. Beyond that singular detail, the Kensai's appearance was an unremarkable thing- having roved into the camp the day prior decked out in a long fur jacket and scarf, to antagonize his ward and warm up for the bloodshed that was to come. As the rest of the camp stirred into action, the swordsman fell into step with the rest, words of peace, justice or other details falling on deaf ears- the force which now drives him to begin marching is something far more primal: a sense of loyalty in tandem with far darker desires. A cigarette is plucked from his pocket and set to rest at his lips, a few dull sparks conjured into life as he sets his gaze ahead, “Mon dieu, here we go again.”

Middle of Town

Hildegarde, having urged the elk onwards, began the march into the city proper. With the army at her back, she felt empowered and oddly relieved: they wouldn’t be able to see the fear in her face if they were too busy staring at her back. Fear was natural. Fear was good, it would keep her on the toes. Yet that was not the only thing that kept the knight wary: the unnatural silence of the city was doing that already. Where was Balgruuf? Where was the waiting army? It was nowhere to be seen and it was eerily quiet. The further the knight ventured into the city, the more uncomfortable it became. Smoke billowed from the desolated marketplace, the great statue that once stood tall and strong here having crumbled to the ground; a stake with charred bones tied to it remained with embers glinting in the light. A horrendous display of cruelty, to be sure. The Silver has half a mind to yell out for Balgruuf, but she knows such would be madness. Instead, she lifts her halberd and forms a small rotating motion with it which Lisbeth mirrors. The sound of armour and a ‘humph’ of effort resounds from the men and women gathered to fight as they lift their shields and keep them at the ready. Something is not right here. Lisbeth has moved up near Hildegarde, whispering to her, “It seems off, your majesty.” The knight grunts in acknowledgement before whispering back, “What is off is you calling me ‘majesty’. Eyes open, ears listening. Ready for anything.”

The marketplace was silent and still, a bastion of calm and peacefulness surrounded by generals, soldiers, and war. Very few buildings remained standing, and those that were still upright were filled with little more than fading light and empty space. Even when the plaza began to fill with Hildegarde and her forces, the calmness remained. But that calmness was broken when Balgruuf’s forces mustered down the westward road with a single high pitched shriek. A lone giantess ran from the west, her only weapon rags wound and tied into a humanoid form she clutched to her stained and tattered dress. She wailed loudly and fearfully as her bare feet broke and bled upon stone, metal, and glass shards. The little girl child stopped when it was an army and not a clear road east, her teary eyes thrown wide by an even greater terror. So many creatures, and all of them armed to the teeth! One stood out and seemed to command the others with hard words and terse gestures: Hildegarde. Wide eyes looked from the Stewardess to all the others, her terror shot through with hysteria. But she exclaimed in teary relief when she Hildegarde’s frost giant guard Lisbeth. She turned to the giant who looked like her mother and who was likely the only one who could hold her the way every mother should hold a frightened child. She wailed and sobbed. She snotted and bled. She reached her man size hands up for the armored Lisbeth to pick her up. Babbling came between blubbering breaths, the fearful chatter of a child warned to get a message across or she would be killed. “Alley. Alley! ALLEY!”

Josleen is among the last to enter the city as the healers bring up the rear. Word that the city feels like a ghost town reaches Josleen before she witnesses this fact for herself. She shivers though not from the cold, though it is freezing and she can see her fear in plumes of exhaled steam. She half expects her breath to freeze into a frozen mist. That’s when she hears it, the girl’s wailing of a single, blubbered word. ‘Alley’? She’s too far back from the head of the army to see what’s going on. Anxiety agitates those at the back of the line. They whisper to each other uncertainly.

Pilar and the Eyrie mounts found something odd when they landed. The fort had been won already! There were no crossbowmen, no archers, nothing. Unsure what to do, Pilar suggested they return to the back of the pack until the fighting started, and then provide air support. Near the back were the healers. Emielle landed near Squad A and Pilar approached Josleen. "How can the Eyrie help?"

Linn worked his way to the edge of the army as they filtered through the silent city. It was relatively exposed compared to the center, but it was also mobile but not isolated. He was tense and alert as could be, masked face snapping this way and that in search for the first sudden movement or out-of-place sound. And so it focused on the giantess that approached from the west, immediately turning to the subject of her cries… the closest alley he could find. With a short step off he moved a little closer, peering around the corner of one of the buildings to see what the matter was. It was unfortunately pretty easy to distract him with some ambiguous mystery…

Rusilan Stalks forward with a snarl homing in on the wounded child as only someone who has raised six cubs can.

Second row. Not the first, but close enough to be uncomfortably forwards. Few things can make silence so heavy as the promise of likely impending death. No hero. No commander. Just a soldier. The kind you counted by numbers, not names, in the death tolls. A helmet rustled sideways as this particular soldier turned his head to see the oncoming child. Fingers knit around the hilt of a blade. It seemed right. For the righteous to save a child. But it felt wrong. Dangerous. This particular soldier eyed Lisbeth, a hero far above their own station, with expectation and apprehension.

Xzavior wasn't the nicest person anymore. But seeing the child be held as a hostage at knife point was twisted beyond belief. With a hiss of anger he clenched at the blade in his hand nearly cracking it. "An ambush I would have accepted! An ambush I would have enjoyed! This? They're making us walk straight into a choke point. I don't know whether to call them cowards or geniuses." He spat as he started making scores in the frozen ground. Not caring who the debris hit. He wanted to cut something down and the sooner it could happen the better. He wasn't about to join Linn in his search however. If he was right then the moment he found the giants he would be nothing but a flat line in the snow. He wasn't about to risk that. He would wait for the army to make it's move

Sparky was sick and tired of doing nothing, his pacing around the top of peak was enough to drive him crazy. Trying to recall a place in Frostmaw he knew of, "was it the middle of town or the mine road" he focused hard and his body became transparent electricty crackling like flashes of light brighter than the sun inside of him, he faded from view only to re-materialize at the entrance of the mine, his vision still in electro spectrum mode could sense the large concentrations of copper and iron veins that ran through the town. Perhaps he wondered as he took off silently towards the town avoiding soldiers when he could roasting them when he couldn't. He wondered aloud, "Could i magnetize the the veins and make it harder to lift weapons?"

Sykule held his ice staff on his right hand, and stood by the back lines near the healers. He had a bad feeling about what was about to happen, so he decided to remain close to them, as the army became more and more agitated. He was not able to see what happened at the front, but there was clearly some kind of commotion. His eyes turned around, searching the rooftops and the houses around, trying to see any sign of danger.

Kasyr cannot, at first, ascertain the exacts of what is amiss- The kensai's deafness having turned the world into a still and empty place comprised of the empty movements of others. Where once there was clamour, there's now only an empty pressure in his ears- and yet even he can discern that something is awry, the armys motions having failed to degenerate into the frantic chaos of battle. The peculiar emotions simmering in his allies only reinforce the current oddness of the situation- though Kasyr does not relent in his advance, carefully weaving through the formation of his peers as he sought to find a place on the frontlines, and to get a better look at whatever it was that had stopped the others.

Khitti still held fast to Dominic's hand as they approached this part of the city, keeping to the back of the crowd. Things definitely felt off, just as they did when they went through the mountain pass during the ambush. She heard the murmur that went about, the fact that things seemed amiss, and then the cries of the frost giant child. Finally, she released Dominic's hand, whispering to him, "Something's vrong. Vhere are zhey all at?" There was a flare of anger, it didn't take much lately to do so however. Some honorable people these giants were. She stands on her tiptoes, trying to see over the shoulders of some of the shorter people in front of her, though it was to no avail. "Damn it..."

Irthos circles over head of the soldiers out of reach of any weapons in case someone got the idea to pin-the-pixie. Once his ears heard the cry of the child giantess, his heart skipped a beat, his already pale skin paled even further, and he cried out in sorrow for her. Wiping tears from his eyes with one hand, the mini-mage turns his sadness into anger and that made him burst into flame. For those below him, they would start to feel a heat radiating off the pixie almost as if they were standing too close to hearth in the Tavern, on a positive note, they would at least feel warm out here.

Reginae was a row short of the front lines, passing several faces as their party lulled into a restless uncertainty. This was Alithrya...it's all she could think; the tattered shops. The statue shattered...all signs of life completely erased save one, sobbing point of attention. A child, streaking tears and blood on her breathless way to their army and her cryptic message. Small conversations broke out. A few faces drifted towards nearby alleys with tentative footsteps while everyone else shifted. Their indecision was electric, palpable and heavy as they waltz flawlessly into whatever trap Balgruuf had laid. Already, she poised herself on the edge of a transformation, her body full to bursting with tense anticipation.

Hildegarde tugs on the reins of the elk as the child comes running forth, screaming about the alley. She glances to Lisbeth before deciding to dismount from the beast, passing the reins into the hands of a waiting giant rather than Lisbeth. She needed her second-in-command ready. Yet Lisbeth has already got her hands full, scooping down to pick up the child. “Shhh, there, there, it’s all right,” Lisbeth soothes the girl gently, trying her best to calm her. The knight finally speaks up, “The alley? We will go there, child, you need not worry,” she promises sweetly. “Hush, now, you’re safe,” she promises again. Finally, the knight glances around the area and decides that trying to cram the entire army in there would be suicide. It would be the mountain pass all over again… it would be Mikael all over again. Shaking her head, the knight clears her throat before speaking up to address the crowd: “I know the alley the child speaks of. I’ll go there,” she speaks with the voice that will brook no argument, “and the bulk of the army will remain here. It will be suicide should that alley be a trap and I drag you all there,” she tells them, reasoning out why she cannot bring them all along. She pauses for a long moment before finally speaking up: “Khitti, Dominic, Xzavior, Linn and the Stormcrow. With me,” she told them, waiting for them to form up and join her.

Rusilan as soon as she reaches the front she holds out her hands to the child purring gentle the healing sparks swirling around her. " Come sweetheart let's go see the healers. "

FeeFighFauxFum Alley

Linn , hearing his name, turned to Hildegarde and began making his way to her, continuing to look this way and that as he went. Perhaps to the surprise of some, he sheathed the blade he held as he came up. A quick glance was tossed towards each member of the group as they assembled. Then a question. “Any paths in that we have to look out for in particular?” The weapon he’d ready hinged on the answer or situation, if only he could have all of them ready at once!  

Xzavior was more then happy to hear, not only that she wasn't going to be walking into it despite, but that he was going to be one of the few to make a spearhead effort to crush this trap of theirs. He was more then ready to have this started. With a smirk he was already set to go. Ne need to put away a blade when you're moments from using it. He looked over to Linn when he asked the question and mentally noted to himself to have an eye out for any attacks from behind them as they made their advance. He didn't know if the giants were smart enough to actually make that move but it helped to be on the cautious side. "I don't know about you all, but I'm ready whenever. Though a plan would be good."  

Dominic followed Hildegarde in silence, the hand on his rune stone gripping ever tighter and more white-knuckled, the only outward sign of anxiety that persisted. He stayed in Khitti’s orbit as much as possible but said nothing further to her. Just one more glance was sent her way, one glance that communicated everything he was thinking. That he prayed to whatever gods did or did not exist that they’d make it out of this alive and relatively unscathed. That he was fearful for her, apologetic that they hadn’t been able to retrieve her bow already, and still trying to stave off worry about Brand in the back of his mind. And an illusion of Brand glimmered into existence at this time, faintly, the golden-haired illusion standing at Dominic’s side and awaiting the trouble that was sure to come with his trademark smirk.  

Khitti blinks several times as Hildegarde names off not only her, but Dominic as well to go with her into the alley. "But..." Oh good. Time to show how much of a failure she is. With an anxious look shot towards Dominic and a frown, she pushes her way through the crowd and moves to join the Silver on her elk. Linn, her partner in destruction from the mines, would be given a nod, and Xzavior acknowledged briefly. Nothing but silence resonated from the vampiress she had that typical inner conflict of hers. Things were going to be fine. Or were they? Was it a trap? Should she just give up now? Of course, she doesn't run off, though the thought was clearly playing over and over in her mind and likely spilling through her link with Dominic. Trying to quell her anxiety, she does nothing more than await a possible plan of action, occasionally looking between those that had been deemed 'allies' by Hildegarde, her frown worsening as she looked towards Dominic and spied Brand, hoping that he would do his best to protect Dominic.  

A soldier tenses up, shifts his attention to Hildegarde and, after a short pause, breaks from the line. He was no bard with luxurious hair or clothes, but came at the call still. He fell in behind Linn, rather awkwardly padding behind the far more recognizable man, helmet swiveling this way and that. He falls in with the others. A figure that rather stands out in it's uniformity compared the the motley crew that surrounded it. The voice of a inexperienced youth rings out from inside the helmet, with a hint of nervous doubt at addressing his superiors. “You, uh, probably shouldn't walk headlong into the trap yours, milady, you die we, uh... lose.” though even the young boy that had never existed in the first place seemed to know his words would fall on deaf ears, as he fell in behind the others, awkwardly padding along with the dragons chosen few.     How had it come to this? The question plagued Balgruuf where he stood. He wore armor still broken and bent from battle, memorable to any who have fought against his forces thus far. His weapon was in equal bad of shape, the blade still knocked, notched, and bloody from some previous battle. He looked more the son, the warrior, than the father; he armed himself with the same weapon and covered himself with the same armor within which his son had perished. If the three giants as equally quartered in armor that had fallen into disrepair with weapons in desperate need of sharpening resting upon the near broken shields that formed the wall from wall to wall of the alley. “Remember my son,” Balgruuf said in equal measures of miserable moroseness and uplifting tenor. “Remember my son, the strongest and bravest warrior of Frostmaw. Remember my son when that Usurper breaks on your shields! You are warriors of Frostmaw, and you will not be defeated!” It was a eulogy more than it was a speech; it was the last thoughts of a father whose greatest loss was not the city, the crown, or his life. He spoke to men who faced an empty alley, though that was swiftly ended. Hildegarde, her compatriots, and the giant child appeared, and the sorrow on his face was broken with a smirk. “We may win this yet. Hold your ground. Wait for it.” A war horn’s call boomed from the east, soaring over buildings and causing the air within all of Frostmaw to rumble. The readied giants remained silent, but the child that clung to Lisbeth’s neck answered. Her sobs sharpened into a warrior’s scream, and it was nearly as sharp as the teeth that ripped chunks of flesh from Lisbeth’s neck and ear. The child’s eyes were wild as she threw herself from Lisbeth for the Steward. Bloody hands grabbed and pulled at whatever parts of Hildegarde they could grab hold of, and bloody teeth snapped at her neck and throat as she pulled herself higher upon the Steward.

Hildegarde had led her merry band of warriors towards the alley, cautioning them that they may face untold danger in this alley. “We go into the unknown,” she told them before entering the alley proper. “I promise you, I will not throw your lives needlessly away. There is no shame in retreating,” she reminds them, essentially telling them that if they felt all was lost and needed to run, she wouldn’t begrudge them that. “But have courage, my friends. Courage in me, courage in each other. Courage in yourselves,” she says, smiling at them all. “Onward,” she whispered the word, entering the alleyway and venturing forth until she spotted Balgruuf and his cronies. Balgruuf in his battle-damaged armour, that giant hole from where Balder’s chestplate had been brutally punched by a rocky spike and impaled him. The knight is ready to call out to Balgruuf and discuss terms of peace with him, to talk him through his surrender when that sudden war horn distracts her and causes her to visibly flinch in surprise. The others! They have been lured away! Now Lisbeth is roaring in pain, trying to peel the child off of her but to no avail. The child’s grip is tight until she willingly throws herself from Lisbeth onto Hildegarde. As those fists and legs thump against her downed body, the knight grunts and groans from effort – silently glad that her mithril gorget is there to protect her neck and throat from those vicious teeth! – before pulling the child up a little with the intent to shove her off. Those teeth latch onto her cheek, causing Hildegarde to cry out with pain before she flings the child off of her: knocking the girl against the alley wall and out cold. Lisbeth quickly reaches down to pull Hildegarde to her feet, the bleeding giant and dragon now staring at Balgruuf and his cronies. “Balgruuf!” she roared, “I hereby challenge you! Accept my challenge or be deemed a coward by Aramoth, forever denied entry into his hall!”

Linn , without a definite answer, reached to the pouch at his side to pull something from it. The weakly glittering orange-brown dust filtering out from his fist answered the question. It’s true nature and purpose was indiscernible unless held though, the unusual stone was nearly heavy as iron, a quality he found easily enhanced. Some time was taken to pour his magic into it over the latent enchantment until saturation and the triggers set in place; whoever he threw it at would find it much, much heavier than it was, enough to at least stagger and if caught unprepared, knock down even a giant. Hesitation kept him from throwing the substance at the child clawing at Lisbeth and Hildegarde as it posed an even greater danger of throwing them off balance as well. Next thing he knew that problem was taken care of, and the duel preparations made. A duel was written off in his mind though, so he moved forward with a glance thrown around towards any other potential alleys in that another giant could rush through. The first one to charge Hildegarde and the group would get slammed by the magically weighted dust in an attempt to stop them in their tracks and cause a potential pileup should any more be following. From there, he’d draw the fire-enchanted sword once again for a more sustainable fight.  

Xzavior would then take the time to look at his newfound companions. He recognized Linn and Khitti right away though the rest weren't familiar to him. The fact that Hilde had chosen a boy surprised him, though if she decided and with a title such as that he had much to expect from the kid. He was about to respond to Hilde's little speech before the horn rang out. Then the iron-y scent of blood filled the air along with the cries of pain. Snapping his attention over to see the child, which he had assumed had passed out do to shock by now, was clawing for the Silver. Her challenging cry lead him to hear the fighting going on in the distance and he laughed through gritting teeth, muttering "Oh you tricky bastard! And here I thought all you giants knew how to do was rush headlong into death. Well, I'm still not too far off now am I?" With a crack of his neck he tensely flicked his swordhand waiting for the first of the giants to try their luck with the naga. He has gone too long without spilling blood. He was starting to miss the feeling!  

While Dominic remained where he’d stood, the illusion that was Brand stepped forward, its demeanor one of equal parts seething anger and protectiveness. It stepped in line with Lisbeth and Hildegarde, ready and eager to fight on their behalf as long as its fleshy counterpart could stay out of immediate danger. The illusion did not speak -- quite probably, it wasn’t capable of such a thing at Dominic’s current level of skill -- but it did turn to the Silver with a raised eyebrow and a frown, as if communicating impatience. Why did they not immediately set upon Balgruuf, the expression asked? Why wait for a challenge to be accepted, and why insist on honorable tactics when Balgruuf clearly had none? But despite the illusion’s clear skepticism, it still waited for a command to do anything of importance. Dominic himself still hung back further, watching the illusion intently, his own expression now deliberately and carefully unreadable.  

Khitti could only watch in the mere moments it took for the child ripped the flesh from Lisbeth's throat and is soon dealt with by Hildegarde. With a growl, Khitti's anxiety is suddenly gone, replaced with that familiar anger. The dark tendrils she calls upon so often sprout from her fingertips as she looks around the alley, waiting and watching. She knew full well that Balgruuf was Hildegarde's fight, but anyone else that decided to join in would certainly have an attempt on their life made. She moves towards the entrance of the group, keeping close to the others, though trying to use her bit of vampiric senses to scope out where the trap might spring from.  

Ashe spoke with the same voice and attitude, even if his actual message was somewhat miss-matched to the identity he'd made for himself. “I, uh... really don't see how you could've expected this to turn out any other way...” speaking of both the child and the battle ensuing while they'd been lured away. Why, all that was missing now were the assassins descending upon them. The boy drew his short sword and held it in a reverse grip, glancing around towards possible hiding places to spring further surprises from. “So, uh, when their inevitable betrayal happens and we're rushed by giants after all... Do you mind if I, uh.... pull you out? I mean... I'm not really familiar with the rules of a duel....”  

Balgruuf stood behind his wall of steel and giant flesh when the war horn called, when the war cry from the child sounded, and when the bloodlusting child tore from person to person damaging all the while. But it seemed only he was proud of his little plan, of his child assassin who bounced from Hildegarde’s hand, to the wall, and finally to unconsciousness; the three giant guards tensed jaws and hands, their once stock still swords rattling against the top edge of their shields. “You challenge me!” He roared in retort, though there was far less fury than there was sorrow to his words. “With nigh twice our numbers? And you call that fair? It will be –you- who are denied entrance into His hall!” His trio of guards knew the value of honor and what such a duel would mean. They all turned and moved away, exposing perhaps the last path for Balgruuf to regain what honor he had. “We will hold the others off,” One of the giants spoke, the eldest and middle one who stood by his fellow on the left side, “but you will fight this battle, Balgruuf.” Incensed! Enraged! Turned on by the last three giants who he felt had loyalty to him! Anger and fury blackened his world and left only Hildegarde, only her challenge, and only the giant short sword that was nearer to a human’s two-handed sword in length and heft in his shaking hand. “For my son,” The older giant whispered. He roared “Balder” as he charged. The three giants turned and charged as well, seething around the sides of their slower and fatter king like water from around a stone. The three tore into the warriors on either side of the Steward, both throwing shields and thrashing swords in erratic attempts to hold back the others while Balgruuf engaged the Usurper! Balgruuf’s sword rose high as he ran, and it came down with the full force of an icy avalanche aimed at splitting her dead center from her head to her heels.  

Hildegarde raised her hand at the others, “This fight is between Balgruuf and I!” she warned them. “Defend yourselves if you must, but you will leave him to me. Honour demands it,” she instructed them. She knew Balgruuf would not deny this call to honour. “I only seek to fight *you*. My warriors will not touch you, Balgruuf,” she assured him, but of course, her words were meaningless to him. But like she had predicted he would not deny the challenge in the sight of his men. She knew full well that his men would not come for her, they seemed to have honour. As they charged, the knight yelled out: “Frostmaw!” and she charged too. They weren’t going to harm her. Lisbeth and the others, though, they would certainly try to harm that lot. With Balgruuf charging directly at her, Hildegarde charged too but she recalled what she had done when fighting Korike and flung herself down onto her knees to slide harmlessly beneath Balgruuf and clear of him. Hopping up onto her feet, the knight swung her halberd with a cry: intending for the shaft of the weapon to strike at the back of his knee without truly cutting or harming him, for she had promised Brynjar to be merciful. “Frostmaw!” she yells again, this time swinging the axe-head of the halberd down against the back of his ankle. Disabling him would be the ideal action.

It wouldn’t be easy to register the surprise on Linn’s face through his mask, but the split second of hesitation as the giants left Hildegarde and Balgruuf to their duel could give it away. A soft ‘here we go’ escaped the metal and sapphire mask as he turned to the warrior guards and threw the dust into the nearest charger. Two masses of momentum clashed and canceled each other, the giant’s charge brought to a surprised standstill by the weighted dust as Linn surged forward, aiming between his legs (Not this again…) Despite the sudden reversal, the giant still had the sense to put a halt to Linn’s own charge, raising a foot to plant it right on the enchanter as he came close. Linn dropped to slide under it with the sound of metal grinding on stone. A wash of an initiation, but he was now flanking, if grounded.  

Xzavior rolled his eyes when the false king made his blatant attempt to insult Hilde before muttering something along the lines of, "Pick up the pace here, pops. We haven't got all day." When they -finally- started making their assault, all he did to prove he had heard the Silver's wishes was a flick of his tail. He watched Balgruuf make the charge before turning to the other three that were following behind him. As Linn threw the dust, Xzavior was quick to follow after the enchanter as he slid. It was always a lot better to fight someone bigger then you with someone else. Preferably with a few. As the giant planted his foot Xzavior whipped out his arm in a diagonal arc and the blade extended to close the distance. This, however, wasn't simply a whip. Since it was made of ice the impact would be a lot more solid then other material besides metallics. Along with that the thing was serrated along the entire edge of the whip. Specifically designed to cut through armor and bone. This was life or death. No time at all for hoping a knockout blow would work.  

Shadow-Brand smirked as the giants approached, then stepped away from Hildegarde to flank the one nearer to Linn. While it was hopefully distracted, the illusion moved to scale the giant’s back, aiming to stick daggers into the creature’s neck if he could make it up far enough to get at that vulnerable part. Dominic himself plastered his body against the nearest wall, trying to stay beyond notice so he could focus on maintaining the illusion.  

Khitti was of course reminded by that conscious-like voice of the wise Silver to leave Balgruuf for her. She'd never understand the whole concept of honor, not when those that claim to have it did what Balgruuf and his cronies had done. She's mindful, though, of Hildegarde's words and switches her focus to the three that dared take on this odd, ragtag group of would-be heroes. Her left hand reaches out, fingers arching in a claw-like way as she slowly lifts her hand skywards. Much larger tendrils pop from the ground like shadowed vines, springing forth to attempt to stop the other two giants that had not been focused on by Xzavior, Linn, Dominic, and Brand. Oh this was a bad idea. Very, very bad, but necessary. The tendrils that dangled from her right hand like wispy threads shot out and headed in the direction of the nearest of the two, aiming to embed themselves deep in the giant's throat. If she managed to succeed, she'd give a flick of her wrist with the intent of trying to reel him in a bit like some sort of sick fishing game and help his face meet the ground.  

Ashe reacted quickly and moved independently from the others, no time to coordinate. The boy darted sideways, rolling across the ground. Placing himself in the giants blind spot, where the shield would bar the giants vision. Or at least one could hope. The difference in perspective was, after all, considerable. Crouched on his feet, the boy hefted the short sword and made a quick jabbing movement with his other hand. A dimly glowing blue line lashed out from his fingers like an uncoiling whip-crack, extending in a flash towards the giants thigh. It would cut through flesh and metal with ease. But the line was thin and may not do enough damage to be immediately relevant.     Balgruuf’s momentum was with his swing; the sword was coming down and he was going with it. He roared loudly when Hildegarde slid underneath him and his sword bounced in an inferno of sparks from the stone of the road. He staggered forward with his balance all but gone, and he roared again with more pain than fury when Hildegarde’s halberd struck numb his knee. Incisor teeth nearly sheared their tops off of one another so hard did he grit and grind his teeth as he fell to a knee. He turned quick enough to avoid being hamstrung, his one good leg pushing him to pivot on the knee to turn back to Hildegarde, her halberd axe-head hitting the ground between his knees. His two-handed sword came around in a horizontal stroke with the strength to shear through haft, muscle, and bone alike to sever the Steward in halves.

The giant attacking Linn did his best to catch his breath when the magical dust stopped him dead in his boots. But he had his chance to retaliate by bringing his boot down on where the enchanter was on the ground. When Linn slid into relative safety and another attack, he spun around with his shield arm out, his shield coming round to bash that pesky enchanter right in the face. The shield succeeded only in catching Xzavior’s icy whip, though the force of the connection was enough to throw the giant against the wall. The giant paused, the giant breathed, and the giant wondered to himself why his arm felt lighter and on fire. The serrated edges of the whip had torn through the shield and his forearm, pulling the former from the straps on the other and leaving the latter in a lacerated mess. The giant paused and breathed again before it pushed itself up to its feet. It bellowed in defiance of the pair and the pain as it lunged back towards them, its sword swinging to strike both of them at once.

One giant had swerved to keep Lisbeth and the illusion from interfering with the titanic struggle between the two self-proclaimed leaders of Frostmaw, and one of them was having a much, much worse time than the other. With the giant’s shield to Lisbeth, he did not notice the Shadow-Brand as it scaled his back armor. But when it did notice it was climbed, when it did notice what had climbed it was about to plunge daggers into its neck, it peeled itself away from Lisbeth and slammed its back against the wall. It had expected there to be a body his back from the blow, and illusions make for poor padding. It’s back struck the wall first, and then its unprotected head, and down the giant fell into a heap of unconscious meat.

A single giant was left, and it stood against Khitti and the magical tendrils she commanded from her hands. Its shield and quick reflexes stopped the tendrils from reaching his throat, though they did dig past the metal and embed themselves within the wood beneath. When the vampire pulled, it was the shield that came off, though it still sent the giant staggering forward. And the giant did fall right upon Ashe. Its weight and momentum had the boy’s sword and blue line pierce the very edge of his side, both sword and magic tearing straight along the edge of his abdomen. But they could not stop a fall with as much weight as the giant, and it would be the child who would suffer beneath the full weight of a giant if it did not roll out of the way!  

Hildegarde twisted the halberd with a cry, moving it to the side to try her best to deflect the blow for she would not be able to escape its reach in time. The sheer strength of Balgruuf’s sword forces the blade to punch through her own armour, reaching the flesh of her side and wounding her. She cried out with pain, but did not relent now. Instead, she jerked her arms forward: moving the halberd in a spear like motion to jerk at Balgruuf’s eye, briefly twisting the halberd with a vicious snarl before jerking back with the large eyeball attached to the spear-like tip of her halberd. With Balgruuf’s reeling backward from the agony of the wound and taking the sword with him, the knight stumbles for a moment; gasping in pain before finally moving to scale Balgruuf’s large body to stand upon his chest. Flicking her halberd to the side, Balgruuf’s eyeball bounces to the ground and rolls a small distance. Now Hildegarde stands atop her conquest with the spear-like point of her halberd aimed at his throat, “Enough!” she roars at him. “You have been defeated! Concede defeat!” she commands. The Silver moves the weapon closer, “Do you yield?!”

Balgruuf was defeated, mounted, and now blinded. He looked up at the Silver and the weapon that was poised to end his life completely. "I...yield," passed from bloody lips.  

Linn must have missed the boot by inches with his dive forward before skidding to a halt. The shield arm, while lacking its shield by the time it came around, managed to still clip him with the back of his fist send him rolling around to the other side. Blue light burst from around the impact on Linn to protect him from the worse of the blow, but it did nothing to stop him from getting thrown. Holy hell that is dizzying, getting hit by a giant. When he regained his senses and got to his knees and his feet, he found himself looking at the –other- giant that was still standing… and falling on the other young soldier. Promises to –try- and come home unharmed were forgotten in that moment as he rushed forward again… between the falling giant’s legs (WHY?) to try and push Ashe from the crushing weight. He’d likely take the fall instead but… he worked on his armor to handle stuff like this, right?  

Ashe stared up at the falling giant, and then down to spot Linn rushing at him. In a sudden reversal, the 'boy' threw himself at the enchanted and tackled him back where he'd come from, carrying both of them back under the giant and out where the fallen mad had stood. "You're going the wrong way! Who runs in the direction something is falling!?"

Middle of Town

Josleen waits with the army in the marketplace as per Hildegarde’s command. Some of the healers start scavenging the market for any supplies that may be useful. War has made them all resourceful and fearful of scarcity. Josleen doesn’t scavenge, however, for as head of the medic unit she must remain alert. Pilar approaches and Josleen nods. “The Eyrie can help us carry the wounded. And if you--” She stops short as suddenly the bard feels eyes on them from her left. Her gaze snaps towards a collapsed merchant kiosk and gasps unnecessarily. The ghost town has her spooked. She peers in the shadows for a long time, but finds nothing. From her right Eileen, a nurse, calls out, “Jos! Look at this.” Eileen holds up a small spool of snake gauze, a rare and expensive enchanted bandage. Quite a gem for healers. “That’s--” Unseen eyes open behind the Eileen. Josleen pales as she shouts, “Eileen! Duck!” But her voice is drowned out by a sudden roar. Balgruuf’s army, hidden in kiosks and stalls, in the clinic to the south, and the merchant’s guild store, all pour out from secret shadows and vestibules, from every corner and rack of coats. They lunge out from the urban landscape in concerted attack. War paint the color of wood, stone and shadow help the guerilla giant camouflage. They attack Hildegarde’s army from all sides. Their assault is strategic. One of the few remaining offensive shamans throws a string of enchanted wooden beads at Kasyr’s body. If it makes contact, it disrupts any arcane spell casting, if not, it whips back preternaturally to the shaman like a boomerang. A giant with a halberd seeks to sever Reginae’s naga tail. Eileen falls to the blade of the giant who hid in the kiosk behind her, skewered like a stuck pig. The giant swings at Pilar next with his second sword. Of course, not all in the army lose the opportunity to strike with initiative. Some, such as Rusilan, Irthos, Sykule, Sparky, and Emelyan, are given a rare opportunity in battle: precious seconds with which to think.

Hildegarde shouted, "Balgruuf! I hereby challenge you! Accept my challenge or be deemed a coward by Aramoth, forever denied entry into his hall!"

Kasyr might not be able to hear the frantic cries that ring out as the fray begins, but he can certainly feel the spikes of empathic energy which ripple all around him – rage, fear, surprise, indignation, and so many other emotions blossoming around him. And yet, it's the rage which is directed towards him which is heeded most of all, the Kensai's attention flickering towards the source of that odium- if only so he can spy a painted giant peeling out from the wall, and the wooden beads which hang in the air between them. Instinctively, the Kensais hands are drawn up to his broadsword's grip, that blackened blade pulled free from it's sheathe in a swift, downward arcing cleave. A motion which is made in tandem with a brief spark of electrical energy meant to further empower and hasten that cut- and yet, whilst the initial arc does in fact occur with a blinding speed, the moment it impacts into the beads, the prenatural force and speed which had been generated abruptly cuts out, like sail wind. A moment later, and the enchanted combination of wooden beads and twine has effectively wrapped itself around the blade, dampening it's role as a conduit, and leaving the Kensai with the more straightforward option. Which is to say, the manner in which Kasyr proceeds to recklessly charge ahead of his companions, weaving between abandoned kiosks and milling bodies with every ounce of agility he possesses, all in an attempt to close the distance between himself and the shaman. After all, he feels a rather compulsive need to return the beads back to their owner- albeit by means of an attempting to bury the blade they're wrapped around into the mans guts.

Reginae turns to move through the fighters and healers remaining in the square to locate Pilar. Hadn't she landed nearby? Her figure is still rigid with tension, painfully aware of each passing second by the conscious inhale and exhale. The market springs to life around them. The trap is sprung and Reginae is on her...heels? The tip of her tail retracts below her, forming a comical spring on which to balance while she does a quick sweep of the area. Or, tries to at least. The heavy thud of a giant's Halberd sends up a shower of sparks as it nearly glazes off the naga's scales and onto the stone streets, knocking the naga off the top of her balanced coil. "Bloody..." She snarls, fangs exposed behind a humorless grin before slithering her way level and launching at the giant's arm. Her fangs extended themselves, grew to resemble those of a saber tooth and dug for purchase in any exposed skin to pump a thorough amount of poison into this giant's swingin' arm. Her tail curls defensively around the handle of the misdirected Halberd to bother anchor herself and keep him from using the same weapon to strike again. The shaman Kasyr charges howls with laughter, invisible strings of magic tugged at the beads woven 'round his blade, attempted now to control the abandoned weapon at it's owner from behind with a hastening speed that might pierce both of them if not for the shaman's control of the blacked blade.

Pilar screamed as Eileen was cut down, and another sword headed towards her face. She ducked and the blade passed harmlessly over her. Pilar immediately vanished from sight and ran to Emielle. The couatl was striking at a giantess with her fangs as she attempted to slice her wings off. Pilar, invisible, summoned a wall of fire between them. The giantess, believing in the illusion, yowled in pain and Pilar reappeared, getting onto Emielle's back. "Fly, fly!" ~You don't intend to leave, do you?!~ "Of course not, but we need the high ground!" Emielle took off and Pilar looked down, trying to decide on a course of action. Below, she saw Reginae tangling with a giant. The giant was armored in thick hide and Reginae would have a hell of a time penetrating it. The giant shook his arm in an attempt to dislodge the naga, lifting his other hand and bringing it crashing down, aiming for Reginae's head. Pilar shouted and another illusory fire engulfed the giant's hand, in the hopes that it would burn him.

Rusilan Sighs and leaps at a charging giant using her claws to climb rake at the eyes and leap for the wall of a building to scramble for a rooftop. Her ears flattened to her skull the sparks of healing magic that perpetually glitter and flow around her winking out and a shadowy fog swirling into there place. Seein the abandoned sword move out of the corner of her eye she kicks off twisting to dive for it.

Irthos' anger builds as he kept looking at the poor child. His heat building and intensifying to the point light started distorting around him. He focused on channeling Lightning through his wings though to make moving around much faster and less likely of a target since he was a bit of a torch at this point. The mini-mage zipped around the area of battle, and spotted a clan mate, Kasyr, charging for a shaman. Behind him the black blade flew through the air aimed for Kas's back, in that instant the pixie though quickly and streaked across the street and held out a hand to burn away to wooden beads and twine, hopefully releasing the blade of its enchantment, before crashing into a wall due to traveling so fast. "Ooowww..." The pixie rises in the air quickly ready for anything, though his head throbbed terribly.

Sykule's fears were right. Out there in the marketplace, they were easy targets. As soon as the hidden army emerged with a deafening roar, he spotted movement in the high grounds. Giants carrying colossal bows stood from the rooftops, covered in war-paint, which must have concealed them from The Eyrie's flying scouts. "Crap...Archers! In the rooftops! Get to cover, now!" he screamed to anyone who was still standing about in the open. The archers were probably targeting Hildegarde's healers in the back and those without the sturdy protection of a shield. The boy ran towards the front lines, trying to keep himself behind cover and concentrating his magic energy in a simple, but powerful, spell. He held a small sphere made of pure light in his left hand, it was conceived to explode into a bright flash, possibly blinding those looking directly to it. Once he was close enough to the front lines, he climbed around the rubble into a higher ground and tossed the spell, which should detonate in front of the giants, but behind his allies. The flash was just meant as a distraction, as he jumped towards the giants to attack them directly in his full dragon form, hoping to tear the throat of a giant or two before they realized what had happened.

Tristram had engaged in periodic skirmishes along the western gate that he’d taken with the army he’d secreted in over the cliffs. But he was losing troops, losing good men because a wall isn’t meant to defensible from the inside, from the people it is meant to protect. Balgruuf’s men had been sniping his troops from within the city, using their houses and businesses as cover for his troops. The Governor made the tactical decision to cede the wall. He withdrew his troops outside the gates and he waited. His troops were restless. Restless and cold. To alleviate their boredom, he sent them on mammoth hunting trips into the west. His orcs brought back pelts, meat, and a taste for warfare, which just made them hungry for more. He’d been waiting on communication from the Silver, a missive passed in secret asking him to take the wall, to threaten the city she’d sworn to protect, but nothing had come.

Until something came. Tristram, as his true, saurian self, was feasting on a mammoth when he heard the shout from the city — a definitively different shout than those calling for supplies, tending to wounded. In all his years as a terror and a scourge, the warlord recognized that cry: it was one of victory from an army that’s managed to pull out a tactical victory. And it wasn’t Hildegarde’s. Tristram swooped back to the town, dipping to take on board his number two, who just lassoed him as he swept by and climbed up the rope to speak to him. Hildegarde’s people, a surprise attack, surrounded in the plaza. The dragon swept over the city to see for himself, taking on archers, their weapons plunging into his softer underbelly. He couldn’t attack the plaza. His acid would soak through everything, civilian and combatant alike, enemy and ally. He returned to the gates, and with silent apology to Hildegarde, he hit there, soaking a sufficient hole in the wall for his army to pour through and clearing a path so they couldn’t be picked off.

His orcish army poured through the damaged gates. Battalion leaders, briefed of the situation inside the gates came prepared. Orcs in each small raiding party were equipped with buckets of paint — red, from berries and blood, blue crushed by the flowers that grew in the cold climate, and yellow, from a source best not thought about too thoroughly. Each party of orcs would push into a residence or mercantile. Civilians were painted with a large blue swipe up their fronts and down their backs, and sent out into the plaza. Combatants received a yellow mark wherever possible, or nothing, if the combatant could not be immediately reached. Hildegarde’s allies were sought throughout the plaza, each receiving a blood red ‘X’ on whatever the orcs could reach. The red was partly to confuse the enemy, to mimic wounds, maiming, but mostly for the war parties that poured into the city to target the correct combatants — no one with blue or red. Yellow, kill a fellow.

Sparky dodged the guard as he brought his sword down, whipping his tail around to smack him off his feet. Summoning lightning from the sky he sent a squad of guards flying and turning to face the oncoming guards he saw a lone archer fire an arrow from a good distance away, and before he knew what had happened he was on the ground, he couldn't see out of his left eye. And he was in pain. choosing to remain still he played dead, until a the archer came to inspect her kill, a drow mercenary possbily hired, about to take aim at his friend rusilan he grabbed the drow by her legs sending a shock through her so intense her skin caught fire and her flesh distergrated from her body. dropping his head he waited for the battle to be over, he was down, he might as well look dead, so tilting his head he stopped breathing through his gills, and entered a coma like state.

Kasyr , from the very moment he was effectively robbed of Vesper as an asset by virtue of those arcane interfering beads, had both formed formed a plan and then committed himself to the action. The inspiration was recent enough, formed of his conflict with Kang, and observation of what that preklek had managed to do utilizing it's speed. The beads, after all, were not attached to the Kensai- but rather the weapon they had hijacked, and therefore unable to prevent Kasyr from using himself as the focal point of his particular affinity with electrical energy. Which is why, not a moment after the weapon had been 'shirked', the swordsman's form is engulfed in a web of intense blue-white energy, bits of his skin flaking away into fragments of electricity. For a brief moment, he may as well be tantamount to a streak of lightning, as he literally bolts across the battlefield towards that madly cackling shaman, a glimmering trail of sparks and the scent of ozone left in his wake. In the midst of this blur of action, the Kensai manages to draw out one of the myriad mundane katana's that rest at his hips, the simple sword put into action by means of a sidelong swipe meant to shear through the shaman's kidney- and yet that's hardly the worst thing to come with this particular blitzkrieg. It's only after the Kensai's momentum is abruptly slowed, albeit briefly, that outright chaos erupts around him. The rolling crash of air is likely the first indication that something is amiss, indicative of the sheer speed the Kensai had moved at- though that particular bit of din only intensifies as everything and everyone the Kensai had darted near finds themselves abruptly pulled into the tailwind of his absurd momentum. To be specific, Rusilan, Sparky, Kasyr's likely-no-longer-hijacked broadsword, a few errant giants, and a number of the Kiosks from the market all effectively find themselves abruptly caught in a burst of wind which essentially threatens to send them hurtling at the hopefully wounded shaman- to outright smear him into paste against the wall of a building. Kasyr, for his part, takes one good look at what's coming towards himself, and promptly dives to the side to avoid getting turned into paste, hitting the ground into a roll meant to take him into the ruins of a building as the battlefield became an outright confusion of arrows, giants, arriving orcs, Hildegarde's forces and everything in between.

Eileen into a now abandoned kiosk and keeps her own back to the wall. Quickly now: painkillers, gauze, and mud made from mermaid weed, the latter to stop the bleeding long enough to buy Eileen time. Josleen whispers rushed words of encouragement, squeezes her friend’s hand, then boldly exits the kiosk to flag down a member of the Eyrie. Using her scant bardic magic, she amplifies her voice to shout “Pilar!” That’s just when the enemy archers do aim for healers. Two arrows whiz past the bard to find other medic’s limbs. As Josleen runs back into the kiosk she takes an arrow to the back of the thigh. Knees buckles and crash hard onto the ground, the pain alleviated a little by the thick layers of tights that protect her from the cold. She hisses and cries out behind clenched teeth. Her fate could very lie with Pilar now, for it’s unlikely the bard will get out of here on foot. Josleen tries to break the arrow shaft, but it’s too thick. That’s when she sees Sykule’s magic flash in her periphery. Using voice amplification and ventriloquism she calls to the magic user, “Help! We must evacuate the wounded.” And perhaps he can break the arrow shaft too. That’s when a massive shadow sweeps over the battlefield. That shadow quickens as fear in the hearts of all combatants and healers, as they glance up to find the saurian, black body of the legendary warlord. This development confuses most foot soldiers, those not in the know, and all wonder if perhaps the binary choice between Balgruuf and Hildegarde was a red herring, and the next leader of Frostmaw flies above them now. The officers of Hildegarde’s army know the truth, but their words drown out in the din of battle. Josleen shouts with boosted strength, clear above the din, “For Hildegarde!” Short, but understood. This development serves the future queen, and the knowledge rallies her forces. The orcs are a rare and welcome site on the highest peak in the Xalious Mountains.

Reginae had hoped she'd either confuse the giant into trying to break her off it's bound arm OR puncture the armor he was wearing effortlessly. Neither appeared to be the case. The giant had tied all the knots correctly and everything on that pesky thick hide. What a pity. Just as she was attempting to change tactics' the other arm cast it's menacing shadow over the tightly wound serpent and...sponaneously caught on fire? Reginae was just as stunned as the giant before the illusionary flames flickered out of sight. The giant was still a panicked frenzy, thrashing it's empty hand down into the piles of debris from the destroyed shops. A few pieces of wood even looked like they caught on fire. Classy! Reginae took this beautiful opportunity to bend the arm she was woven around (and the weapon) into the giant's skull. The first hit was the heaviest; dazing him enough to get full control of the muscled arm to continue the process until the giant was assumed deeply unconscious if not dead, let's be honest. Then, without warning she's marked with a red X. Not subtle, a little confusing. The shaman for his part continues on oblivious of the consequences of his actions and finds himself in the knockback of some crazied fanatic's speed. Tristam's forces had no time to even paint the Giant; a pile of debris from the broken down shops atop him in a split second, puncturing various vital organs and painting him his own colorful shade of red in lieu of the yellow he truly deserved.

Pilar heard Josleen's cry and steered Emielle to her side. She climbed off the young couatl and stopped by Josleen's side. "Come." The vampire easily lifted the bard and carried her to the couatl. Pilar looks at Emielle. "How many can you take?" ~Three at most, provide they aren't giants.~ Emielle was still young, after all. Pilar doubled back and grabbed Josleen's things, then another wounded, bringing them over. She got onto Emielle, the wounded in her arms, and said to Josleen. "Hold on." Emielle took off, and Pilar cried to her fellows, "Evacuate the wounded!" As Eyrie mounts dove into the carnage to rescue those they could, Pilar and Emielle soared over buildings to a relatively safe place. Pilar lowered the two wounded people to the ground. "Are you okay, what do you need?" she asked as she gave Josleen her bag.

Irthos light frame is blasted down a alley way with the wind blowing hard from the wake Kasyr made. So far from the battle he reaches deep inside tapping into his twins energy and focusing on his lightning magic, the mini-mage streaks back up the alley way only to run right into a Giant belly. The sudden impact of both being colliding knocks the wind out of the giant as well as knocking the pixie away from him. Right before Irth ricocheted he changed forms of magic in one palm and let loose a concussive fireball, scorching the winded giant and blasting him backward through a wall, the sound of stone and ice falling stirred Irthos enough to smile, and giggle but then he started to loose his focus and droop on a broken beam from another totaled building.

Reginae slaughters the giant who dared sever her precious tail. He falls with a thud. Josleen ensures Eileen is the second wounded taken by Emielle, but the bard opts to stay behind. She has to see to it that the healers and wounded get out safe. Emielle lands in the coliseum, a temporary triage for the most critically wounded. Josleen takes shelter in a building’s vestibule, just as Hildegarde and the others return to find the market embroiled in battle, now with Gualon orcs!

Rusilan snarls and sleaks out seeing Sparky down as she was sucked out of her path so grabs one of the enemy giants with her claws and with and eerie shriek of rake the black fog swirling about her whips about her victim invading the the eyes, mouth, nose, even his very pores so suck and drag the life force from his convulsing screaming body.

Sykule felt the taste of blood as he ripped off one of the giant's neck and whipped his tail at another. A growl of pain erupted from the young dragon's throat as he felt the bite of cold steel on his leg. One of the giant's managed to cut him deeply with a halberd. He unfurled his wings and took off to the roof. Sykule was struggling to take down one of the archers up there when Kasyr's burst of wind hit them both, and was enough to unbalance the giant, who fell down to his death. Sykule took a moment to catch his breath, and turn his head back to the chaotic mess that had once been a marketplace. It was just in time to see the massive black dragon flying above. "So that's Tristram...Bigger than what I-" his thoughts were cut short by Josleen's plead of help. He did not know her personally, but he recognized the leader of Hildegarde's healers, being tended by Pilar, and that was an order! He flew off, eyes searching for any potential wounded he might be able to rescue. Sykule was able to spot a very unusual looking...eel? Whatever he was, he remembers seeing the creature among his allies, and it seemed wounded. He decided to dive down and take Sparky somewhere safe, if he could.

Hildegarde having defeated Balgruuf in the sight of his men had assured her dominion over Frostmaw. What men remained ceased their fighting against Hildegarde’s compatriots and turned to bend the knee at their new Queen, but Hildegarde had no time for it. Instead, she urged them to bring Balgruuf to his feet and follow her to the city centre once again where the battle was raging. She would make the battle cease by parading their fallen king before them. Entering the warzone, Hildegarde scans the area: orcs, men, elves, giants. It is chaos. “Enough!” the Silver roared, her voice a combination of human and not quite human. It was louder than any human could hope to be, at least. “Balgruuf has been defeated in combat!” she informs the crowd, seeing some giants already come to a halt to gaze upon their king who was meekly nodding his head and accepting his defeat as he fell to his knees. By now he was expecting execution. It was all he could hope for, having suffered such a defeat. The knight can only hope that the giants bend the knee and cease their fighting… otherwise this battle and this war will go on for far longer than the knight can bear.

Balgruuf was on his knees, his head bowed and his shoulder bent under the weight of his defeat. "Let it be done," The subdued giant mumbled as though the words too more strength than he had left within him. "We have all lost too much. Let it be done." He lifted his bloody face to the crowd, his only eye left scanning the crowd of enemies soon to become Frostmaw. "Let it be done!" Balgruuf roared with all his might his last command as King.

Tristram’s orcs, having marked allies and enemies, took the fight to the streets, streaming past Hildegarde’s allies, sometimes jerking one or two around to see what color they were painted before letting them go again. They were brutal and exacting in their treatment of the enemy — no mercy, never any mercy. How do you communicate mercy to an orc, who has been trained from youth for one thing — war, honor, victory, at any cost? The fighting did not immediately cease upon Hildegarde’s return, her prisoner in tow. His orcs were rowdy and bloodthirsty. Having had a taste of bloodshed, it was not something they could come down from easily. A figure in the streets cut his way through the fighting, that waned as he passed. Tristram approached the center of the bedlam in human form, unarmed, unaccompanied. He shouted to make himself heard above the waning din. “My army is at your gates! In your gates! There is no one who can stop me from taking this city.” A pause, for dramatic effect, something he picked up from the political sphere. “Save one.” A beat. “Hildegarde the Silver! My alliance is with only the true leader of Frostmaw, her ruler and Queen, as it has been from the founding of your city. This interloper I do not recognize.” He spit in Balgruuf’s general direction — perhaps not the most diplomatic of gestures; it also prompted a great deal of orcish spit in a great deal many directions. “I honor my treaty with the queen, and the queen only.”

Xzavior looked arohnd the mess of a city and tsked in annoyance. They weren't able to defeat them fast enough to avoid the damages to the city. He knew they were inevitable but he would have liked to see this place having minimal repairs. Whatever the case he was glad to hear that Balgruuf made the right choice in ordering his soldiers to end their assault. With a sigh he flicked the whip turned sword to clean it of any blood before wandering into the once town square turned battleground. He wanted to find out just who had taken a hit or perhaps something more.

Linn followed back with Hildegarde and company after their excursion into the mysterious ‘alley’ shouted out not so long ago. The young soldier who saved him from his own recklessness had become the focus of that mask much more than would be normal. Looking through the glassy visor he might find that odd, curious look that seemed to know something was amiss; faintly recognizable, but unable to be particularly pointed out. The statement given back at the alley eventually got a belated reply. “Someone who didn’t really care about getting hit at that moment I guess. That was pretty good though. Got us both out.” For the ending brevity of his statement there was a lot of respect and even thankfulness in it. And then they arrived and the Silver and Tristram alike roared out to halt the combat. Tensely, he looked around to survey the bloodshed and destruction that he missed during his excursion. No doubt there was rebuilding to do. There was a lot of rebuilding to do for this shattered region and its people in general given that things –always- seemed to be going to hell.

Pilar and Emielle made a great many trips between the coliseum and the battleground, carrying wounded, healers, supplies... On one return trip they found Hildegarde the Silver returned, with Balgruuf in tow. They stopped to listen, to watch.

Kasyr had been lacking paint, given the generally dartiness that comes with his fighting style. Had being the keyword, considering the brusque way he finds himself man-(orc?)handled the moment he steps clear of the cover he'd find himself after the burst of debris he had caused. He'd done all he could to extricate himself from the orc that had bumped into, when just a moment later he found his back thoroughly slathered in red paint. Thoroughly aggravated, the Kensai turned his attention towards the scene as a whole, observing the manner in which Hildegarde's presence seems to coax the violence into winding down. With a shrug and a shake of his head, Kasyr turns his focus now to the pile of guts and debris that was formerly a shaman- as he begins the tedious process of rifling through the ruins to retrieve his sword.

Reginae heard Josleen's cry but was not as quick as Pilar to come to her aid. Instead, the leader of Hildegarde's Healers is approached by the naga's tender battlefield tactics. The arrow on her thigh is snapped in twain, leaving Regi to offer a "sorry not sorry smile" as she lifted Jos from the building she's taken refuge in. "It's all over, but the crying I think." She smiled, fangs in tack as well as good humor. Hildegarde had done as she said she would, with Tristram and Josleen...and this whole army of beings at her side.

Hildegarde stepped forth as Tristram spoke of his ability to take the city. She knew it to be true, he could easily do it what with his army and his acidic breath. The pleas of Balgruuf are ignored momentarily as Hildegarde looks to Tristram and finally dips her head at him, “I thank you, Tristram, most deeply for your support. I thank you for trusting me with the rulership of Frostmaw and maintaining the longheld friendship between Frostmaw and Gualon,” she said all diplomatically. Finally, she turns to look at Balgruuf and speaks loudly enough to be heard by all: “When our enemies defy our calls to peace and rise against us, we serve them with steel and with fire and with force. Yet when our enemy kneels and begs for clemency…” she said, reaching out to Balgruuf now, “we help them back onto their feet. Balgruuf Gunvaldsson, you have defied me and yet you have been defeated. Your remaining son has begged for clemency and I will grant this. You will be stripped of three quarters of your land and holdings; the lion’s share of your treasury will be returned to the throne as recompense for your misdeeds. You will not rise again, or the line of Gunvaldsson will be no more. Stand tall, Balgruuf, and accept the grace and forgiveness of your sovereign.”

Khitti had somehow managed to help the team Hildegarde assembled, those odd avengers of Frostmaw. And she managed to leave the attack unscathed? It was almost unheard of. She had followed along behind the Silver and returned to where the main portion of the battle took place, watching the events unfold between Hildegarde, Tristram, and the giants. While she's happy for Hildegarde as her war had been won, she silently mulled over whether or not she could've done better, could have helped save more lives as the hand closest to Dominic outstretching towards him. The thought of wanting to go home floated along their link, but it soon came with the silent reminder that she no longer had that, despite the fact that Frostmaw was retaken. It was nothing new though, and it was something she'd certainly get used to again.

Sykule watched as the battle slowly came to an end from a distance, then joined his companions of The Eyrie in the task of helping carry and tend the wounded. He occasionally met familiar faces with a victorious visage, celebrating with his fellow soldiers, but sometimes the familiar face was of a fallen ally, cold and lifeless. The war itself might be over, but there was still much work to be done.

Josleen is enrapt as she watches Hildegarde, Tristram, and Balgruuf. Tears sting as at last they may find peace in Frostmaw. Reginae takes the bard by surprise, and carries her, which was unexpected but not unwelcome. Strange, sure, but the naga always are. It isn’t the first timethis particular naga has come to Josleen’s aid in trying times. “Regi…I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She attempts a smile but fails. Although soon they will have peace, so too willthey begin the tiring process of rebuilding.

Balgruuf, covered in what could only be gallons upon gallons of orcish spit, had little else he could do. Victors will always set the terms. He took Hildegarde's hand and her pronouncements in silence, and though he now stood, he most assuredly would not rise again.

Irthos starts awake from his spot on a braken beam, only to be dipped in red paint, covering him from head to toe, then placed back where he was found, "Ewwwww, it got in my mouth..." The pixie starts spitting out the bitter substance, and looks around. The fight was still going on even though some folks stopped others kept at it. The pixie wound up a fist then launched a fireball high into the air, and exploding with more sound than needed really, though it did rattle windows but didn't break them. He quickly zipped away from the spot so anone looking for the source wouldn't see him. Finally spotting Hildegarde he relaxes knowing she was fine, though he did give a cautious eye to the unarmed man moving to stand beside her.

Tristram dipped his head to acknowledge Hildegarde’s words. As she redirected her attention to her sworn enemy, he stepped back, giving her the space and platform to … well, he assumed execute Balgruuf. An eyebrow lifted in surprise when she spared him, when he was given back his son, his land. There was a rumble among his orcish brethren, something that reflected their uneasiness with such a merciful ending to such a bloody war. The Governor quelled the unrest with a look he swept across his army, spread out throughout the plaza, its surrounding buildings and homes. “Help our allies,” he called into the frostbitten night. “Gather their dead and ours. Honor the battle. Sheath your weapons. Bring forth your prisoners. And then we celebrate, my brethren, with our allies, and the Queen of Frostmaw!”

Shadow-Brand had vanished again in an explosion of mist that faded into the wind, back in that alley, back where the one giant had crashed into a wall. It was only Dominic now who followed Hildegarde, his proper place at Khitti’s side retaken, her hand taken and rubbed with fingers interlaced. In response to the vampiress’ thoughts along their link, he tugged at her, attempting to draw her away from the remains of the fray. Somehow they’d both made it out injury-free. Damn near a miracle, for certain. But battle could still take a mental toll, and in this moment Dominic wanted to slink away from aftermath just as much as Khitti did, now that the fighting was done. He had no skills for healing or for tending to destroyed buildings and infrastructure anyway. Best to not be taking up space that could go to someone actually useful, instead.

Pilar had mixed feelings about what was to be done with Balgruuf. On the one hand, her anger and desire for justice burned hot. On the other, it was cooled by her merciful temperament, and her inability to truly hate anyone. All in all, she approved of Hildegarde's decision.