RP:Bedroom Banter
Summary:
Riselet convinces Lyros to help her deliver flowers to the recently-injured Hildegarde. Having heard of the attack on the Silver's life, Governor Tristram arrives in Frostmaw to provide her aid and simultaneously shows Riselet and Lyros up by bestowing upon her a better, shinier gift (as expected of a dragon). Hildegarde offers the two outcasts the opportunity to help Frostmaw, and most importantly a stable job, by becoming members of the Knights of the Black Ice, an Order she is currently trying to revive back to its former glory. Towards the end of this chat, Ayras shows up with Linn, a man who is keen to look over the sites of recent explosions - under Black Ice supervision, he is granted his investigation. And all of this occurs in Hildegarde's bedroom. Unbelievable.
Riselet follows Lyros closely with a spring in her step, both anxious to see Hildegarde and excited to hand her such a beautiful array of flowers. All picked by her, of course! That Harrison fellow and his bear were wonderful companions as she scoured the Xalious mountainsides for flowers — they were scarce, but Riselet is far too prideful to arrive here empty-handed. All of the snow outside Frostmaw must have been brushed aside by her, where she poked around for the smallest hint of a petal, a stem. Hilde will be so proud of her, no doubt! The fort is grand and spacious, regal and tall even in the wake of the explosion. Of course, guards are patrolling the grounds much more often due to this, but she isn’t bothered by their presence in the slightest. Coming up beside Lyros, she brushes some stray petals from his hair and cheerily replies, “You look perfect! Hilde’s gonna love this, no doubt!” She takes the time to re-appraise the bouquet as they walk, arranging flowers here and there whilst Lyros attempts to navigate the maze that is the Frostmaw fort. She remembers hearing about a medical wing, or an east wing, or something, and she guesses they’re going in the right direction, but Riselet mostly goes by instinct as they brush past soldiers eyeing them warily. “We’ve gotta be close,” she comments, peering ahead. “There’s lotsa cool things hanging around, so she’s prolly nearby.” The half-elf takes her time to admire the tapestries and spoils that adorn the hall in between picking at the bouquet’s presentation, more or less oblivious to Lyros’ plight.
Hildegarde had been busy with Josleen, Laezila and Baraneth. Talk of war, talk of politics, talk of her personal life – or lack thereof – was all very exhausting! So it was absolutely no surprise to the guards outside her door that the Steward had fallen asleep as comfortably as her wounds would permit. The Silver slept soundly, a smooth black pebble in her hand that was seemingly veined with an array of colours. As Riselet and Lyros stumble along the halls of the fort in search of her, they would come across the giants outside her door: Mikael and Beorn. They gazed at the pair warily, Mikael even barring the way. “Her Ladyship is resting,” he said gruffly, implying they would not be given entry. But Beorn was the softer of the two, “Mikael… Let them drop off the flowers and go. We’ll watch them. It’s a nicety, just go with it,” he encouraged his superior who reluctantly caved in to his suggestion and carefully opened the door. The Silver seemed to sleep soundly as the door opened, very much in need of her rest.
Lyros turns that frown back to Riselet, his brows drawing further together when she pulls some loose petals from his hair and tells him, "You look perfect!" Against his will, he can feel his face heating up in response - confused and slightly concerned for his racing heart, he brushes past with a huff and tries to put the bouquet between himself and the half-elf, although her attentions are already more focused on the flowers than on him. "I still think this is a bad idea. We could have just sent them by courier, or something." But all his griping and grumping has clearly got the drow nowhere thus far, and the pair are already here now— the best thing to do is drop off the flowers and leave before they attract too much untoward attention. As they enter the fort proper, Lyros' footsteps slow while he tilts his head back to take in the view of the massive entrance hall, but his gaze quickly snaps back down to survey those nearby - a glare or two thrown does the job of scattering a couple of workers in the way before the mage heads off to the right, back straight and head held high. He has no idea where he is or where he's going, but by luck the east wing is where Hildegarde's quarters appear to be located, and Lyros is spared an embarrassing walk back through the foyer in search of their destination. The drow dons an inscrutable expression as they approach the guarded door, offering no words to either of the men standing watch over Hildegarde - he might have sniffed indignantly as he walks by and enters the room, only to inhale a petal in the process and be overcome by a coughing fit just inside the door.
Riselet snorts at Lyros’ grumbles, though whether it’s from amusement or the pollen is uncertain. “By courier?! No, it’s best to meet her in person, ‘specially ‘cause she’s important,” she insists, procuring one of her pulp novels from her cloak. Gods know what pockets and bags she tucks away discreetly under all that fabric in leather. She points at certain sections while flipping the page, but she’s pretty sure he isn’t listening too hard. “Y’see, the princess Lady Leinyafeinya is always seen directly by others no matter how distant, and…” her voice trails off, eyes wide as she notices the two guards standing watch. Riselet peers at the duo, squinting, perplexed and a little impatient until they start speaking. Beorn’s given a wide smile as he allows the two to pass, Mikael a simple nod — it’s disappointing that she won’t be awake to hear about all their exciting adventures, but good enough! Riselet strides into the room, gently patting Lyros’ back as he coughs. “C’mon, we need to decide where to put it!” She examines the room in great detail, but ultimately, she has no clue where to put it. Hilde won’t be able to see it if they put it in front of her bed. Laying it at the foot of her sheets could work, but what if she has major allergies? Riselet suddenly grows a bit nervous, coming to the realization that she’s never actually given gifts to anyone before. “I. Uh. Would it be weird to say hi to her?” she looks to her companion for guidance, feeling rather lost.
Tristram sent a diplomatic envoy ahead of his arrival, but he got tired of walking and being polite to his constituents, so he wound up taking to the skies instead. Since his arrival was not an immediately expected one, the sight of a lone black dragon in Frostmawian airspace found some of the Eyrie alarms ringing, calling riders to their mounts in preparation for a defense if needed. The defenses were stronger, more strategic, and even Tristram couldn't shake the fleet long enough to transform. He retreated and rejoined his envoy, transforming to his human shape along the way. This time, when they entered Frostmaw's gates, a runner was dispatched to Hildegarde as well as her second concerning the arrival of a political entourage from Gualon. They were seen to the fort and told to wait to ascertain Hildegarde's current state and whether she could receive visitors or not.
Hildegarde might have slept soundly, were it not for Lyros and his coughing fit. While it might have startled some, it did not startle the knight. She had grown accustomed to waking when she heard movements and sounds around her; such as nurses coughing gently or ripping fabric for fresh bandages. The Silver’s eye opened and settled upon the forms of Riselet and Lyros as best it could, though the plumpness of her pillow blurred her vision. With a grunt, the woman pushed herself into an upright position so she might see her visitors more clearly. “It’s not strange to say hello,” she reassured Riselet, offering her a friendly smile. “Is your friend all right?” she asked with a tiny nod of her head towards Lyros who was currently choking on a petal. Oh dear. The courtesies are interrupted, however, by a giantess known as Lisbeth. She peeks her head in the door and spots that the Steward is awake, “Hilde. Black dragon of Gualon is on his way. Fit to see him?” This was… not startling news but certainly unexpected. Tristram so rarely ventured north and she had not seen much of him since Frostmaw’s last war. Not that dragons actively sought to be in one another’s company, though. “I wish I was a tad better dressed for such an esteemed visit, but… yes, I’ll see him. Send work to Lagertha, too. She might want to make some food for him and whatever company he might bring.” With Lisbeth leaving to attend to Tristram and his entourage, the woman looked to Lyros and Riselet. “Please, set those flowers on the desk, my friend. They’ll brighten the room a bit,” her room was bare and had few personal adornments. She was a simple woman. “Take a seat. The Governor Gualon is about to make himself known and I assume neither of you have met him before. Charming man,” but deadly, “and quite a powerful one too.”
Lyros is suffering from a similar predicament along with the petal assault - having never given gifts to another, he is somewhat at a loss as to what to do with the flowers and, most importantly, where to put them. The drow was relying on Riselet to take charge here but she looks about as lost as he does, and he tries not to groan aloud, doing his best to stifle his last coughs against his shoulder. "Your book doesn't say anything about that?" he asks with obvious sarcasm and raised brows as he takes a moment to peer around the room himself, amber eyes lingering on Hildegarde's prone form. The weight of recent days is obvious in those shadows under her eyes, the stress of war and fighting taking its toll even on the mighty Silver who saved his life, and Lyros tilts his head a touch. She does not look quite right here, he thinks, so vulnerable and still, almost frail in her own way— oh gods she's awake. Lyros flinches ever so slightly when Hildegarde's eyes open and he chokes on another couple of coughs, eventually managing to clear his throat while shaking his head rapidly. Were his hands free, he might be holding them up as if to say, "I'm fine." Which he does say, though the mage finds his reply drowned out by a giantess' entrance, and Lyros endeavours to stand up straight again in the meantime, once more adjusting the weight of the bouquet in his arms. The conversation shared between the two has him shuffling almost nervously and shooting a sharp glance in Riselet's direction. "We should have sent a courier," is what that look appears to read. "Sorry to wake you..." he murmurs instead to Hildegarde as he complies with her suggestion, carrying the flowers to that desk and carefully depositing them there while doing his best not to ruin the lovely arrangement Riselet spent half the morning on. He hovers uncertainly by the desk, uncomfortably aware of his relatively shabby attire - Lyros is only wearing a simple shirt, breeches, and boots, a ragged-ended cloak about his shoulders. His usual gear is still lying in a half-ruined mess somewhere in their room, waiting for Riselet to finish patching it up. "Uh. Are you sure we shouldn't just— leave?" Meeting the Governor of Gualon was absolutely not on Lyros' agenda for the day but then again, neither was delivering flowers.
Riselet nearly jumps at the first signs of Hildegarde waking up, startled but incredibly pleased. The halfling holds nothing but respect for the saurian — she did save their lives, after all — and fidgets in place as her senses clear. Her face lights up when she begins to speak, returning the Silver’s smile with a grin of her own. “We’re worried about you, Hilde,” Riselet stresses, quickly stepping towards the bedside of the half-awake knight. She takes a cursory glance at Lyros, more or less brushing him off even as he recovers from that bout of allergies. He’ll be fine. Probably. Anything further is soon halted by Hildegarde’s exchange with Lisbeth, leaving her confused. The drow’s glower is brushed aside as she digs into the deepest recesses of her memory. Gualon? She’d heard of it once or twice, maybe. Wasn’t it that place in the desert? — Or was it the swamp? Finding nothing, she resolves to say not a single word related to the city if she can help it. Geography has never been her strong suite. The arrival of someone so prestigious and important, however, soon replaces those silly fears with a different breed of anxiety. Her gaze once again turns to the drow, who places the flowers with a delicacy that oddly satisfies Riselet (having her careful composition ruined would destroy her). Lyros, himself, looks to freeze in place with the news. The two of them, for all intents are purposes, aren’t dressed to greet someone of such status. She looks fresh from the gutter, some of her clothes still in dire need of replacing following their foray with the Heir. “I gotta agree,” she adds sheepishly, scratching her head. “We aren’t exactly dressed to meet a general, y’know, and we don’t even know the guy as it is.” Judging by Hildegarde’s statement, he’s someone to be respected. The pulp novels tucked away in her bag plainly say that clothes are one of the most important courtesies — if you aren’t dressed for authority, you’re insulting them.
Tristram left some of his entourage behind, most of them really because seeing an incapacitated leader was just bad form. He brought with him two orcs who'd taken an ivory-engraved chest from others and followed him up the staircase as he was led by a member of Hildegarde's queensguard. When he arrived at her room, he was stopped by the giant guard duo there, or rather, his orcs were. They did not take umbrage and a diplomatic incident was consequently avoided. They handed the chest to two members of Hilde's guard who were permitted inside the room, while Tristram stepped into her room ahead of them. Upon observing that she was awake, he greeted her with a boyish, "Hildegarde. If I had known it was your plan to get me in your room all this time, we could have skipped the assassin and gotten ahead with it." He glanced sidelong and found two drow in the room as well, which found an eyebrow lifting because drow were a curious sight in Frostmaw, of all places. "And more company. Well. It's been a while, but I'm sure I can manage." He reached for his tie to loosen it.
Hildegarde is either blushing or she’s just ill. It’s probably illness. But really, we all know it’s a blush. “Tristram, you rapscallion,” she said in reply, offering him a warm but ever so timid smile. He was learned in the ways of the world, he drank, he cavorted and she did neither of those things. She was learned in war and duty, not quite so learned in fun. “While none would… ah… doubt… your prowess, I’m sure we’re all wondering what brought you to Frostmaw. You wouldn’t trek all the way up here just to make sure all of Frostmaw knows you to be a Lothario,” she remarked with an amused tone. Evidently, the Governor and Steward had some kind of friendship or a close one at that for them to exchange banter so freely. “But before you try to bed either of my friends, perhaps you ought to know their names. That is Lord Lyros,” she gestured to the terribly uncomfortable drow, “and that is Lady Riselet,” she gestured to the sheepish one. “My friends, this here is Tristram. Governor of Gualon.”
Tristram started rolling up his sleeves.
"Really, Hildegarde, I'm sure it'd be better if we..." When his ears pick up the sound of approaching footsteps from the hall, Lyros trails off and he blanches, patchy features paling further and a hint of panic sparking to life in his eyes that is not seen all too often in drow. His features shift into a vaguely horrified expression, breaths coming a little too fast, making him look like some southern belle struggling with a too-tight corset - the mage is not one for socialising in general, least of all with those far above his station. That in itself conjures memories of similar gatherings in the Underdark that Lyros would rather forget about entirely, though Hildegarde and Tristram's banter does little to help him shake the thought off. Though he seems momentarily at a loss of what to do — and really, he looks far too tempted to fling himself out the window and escape — Lyros quickly delivers himself a hearty mental slap to the face and promptly straightens, back and head up and his posture noble and refined, arms shifting behind him to cross hands at his lower back. His focus drifts from Hildegarde to the governor and back, the drow apparently not sure what to make of...anything. He still looks a touch too stiff, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, or perhaps the current train of conversation, offering Tristram the barest hint of a nod and a moment of connected gaze before he averts his eyes. Odd, this drow, not just in looks. "Lyros Levasca. I'm not deserving of such a title," he amends after clearing his throat, throwing a brief frown in Hildegarde's direction. He adds in afterthought, "...Nor is my bed large enough to accommodate you." The tone of his voice gives away nothing, with no particular emotional inflection, making it difficult to judge whether he is playing along or not. At least he's good at building walls fast.
Riselet barely has time to react before the Governor himself enters, two orcs following closely behind — oh! Gualon was that orc place. That explained… nothing, but it’s comforting to know at least something about the area that this man is apparently in charge of. He doesn’t look particularly orcish, though; much more human, possessing a charm that most orcs lack. The latter is evident in his playful banter with Hildegarde, which renders her confused rather than embarrassed. The ‘assassin’ bit makes her hairs stand on end for the briefest of seconds until the Silver replies with her own quips. Riselet glances quizzically at her, hoping for some kind of explanation, but evidently receives none. She takes a few moments to make herself look more presentable — dusting off bits of pollen and petals, fixing her hair — but in the end she looks more or less the same: fresh out of the city streets. Regardless, the halfling takes it in stride, bowing politely as she’s introduced to Tristam. Just like her novels! “‘M not really much of a lady, to be honest,” she includes, rubbing the back of her neck, “but it’s a pleasure! Riselet Eirvelhys, at your service, Tristam… sir?” She stumbles on the last bit, frantically attempting to see calm and casual yet also wary of offending him, copying Lyros’ posture awkwardly. Her grin is bashful, almost embarrassed, not by the bed talk but the fact both her and Lyros look very out-of-place in comparison to the two. She shoots him a glance, hoping he’s not too on edge after Tristam’s unexpected arrival.
Tristram stared at Lyros for a moment after the drow's quip and then guffawed loudly. "Large enough.." He chuckled again and crossed the room to shake Lyros's hand. "Nice to meet you." He turned to Riselet and reached for her hand, which he'd kiss the back of given the opportunity. "Miss." But he was here for Hildegarde. He moved toward her, asking for her guard to assist in bringing the chest, which he plopped near her on the bed. Before allowing her to open it, he gestured to his two orcs outside her door. "These are Rok and Imun. They'd like to stay and help assist with either hunting your troublesome visitor, or securing your safety until you recover. They are, ah, very effective, let's say. And they love a hunt."
Hildegarde watched as Tristram so smoothly interacted with her visitors. A charmer, as always. Yet her attention shifted from the dragon to the chest which was plopped down onto her bed and although her curiosity is near enough killing her, she is forbidden from opening it just yet. “Rok and Imun,” she repeated the names as if to memorise them, “they are most welcome. I shall see to it that they have every comfort during their stay in Frostmaw… and that they are given all they need to have a successful and enjoyable hunt.” The Silver offered Tristram a little smile, gracious for the two men who stood outside her door. She’d have to get to know them and befriend them! “So not only do you bring me two fine hunters… you bring me a wondrous looking chest,” she said, her hand reaching out as if to open it. “Aren’t you full of surprises? I am sure any assassin will stay well away from me now that they have seen you, fearsome friend.”
Lyros looks as if he does not quite know how to react to Tristram and he eyes that hand almost warily for a beat, but returns the handshake all the same, adding a faint smile with his reply. "...You too, Tristram...sir." He's not sure what to make of this man and perhaps that is what has the mage so on edge - that and he is likely not used to such meetings in the first place. A glance is shot in Riselet's direction that seems to imply pleadingly, "Can we just leave?" but soon becomes distracted by more pressing matters— specifically, mentions of an assassin that his brain appears to have only just processed. This is the first he's heard of what occurred on the day the fort was attacked, and indeed, Lyros was not even made aware Hildegarde had been injured until much later. "Is that what happened?" he ventures cautiously to the Silver, not entirely willing to interrupt her current conversation. "The other day, I mean. I saw— felt the explosions, but..." The words trail off and he looks again to Riselet, a mildly guilty look crossing his features.
Riselet's apprehension fades when Tristam ever-so-charmingly introduces himself, thankful than he appears to be so amicable. She blushes faintly as he kisses her hand, surprised though not bashful — the gesture’s strange to her, like a secret handshake she was never taught. Her attention shifts from the dashing man to the chest, arousing fascination while Hildegarde looks upon it with such curiosity. Fingers nearly twitching as she brings her hands to her sides, Riselet opts to steal glances at Lyros in an effort to suppress the urge to open it. Their conversation is only half-listened upon by the halfling, her attention divided most everywhere, until the word ‘assassin’ is spoken once again. Perhaps they’re trying to mock her? — No, that’s a foolish thought. It’s just her paranoia, back to bite her as usual. Still, the whole hunt thing sounds vaguely interesting. Lyros’ question tempts her to add in her own comment, but refrains, mostly out of fear of saying something stupid. In general, her talking seems to make things worse for the two of them. Her gaze goes to Lyros as he finishes, lips curling into a stiff, if encouraging smile.
Tristram suddenly felt a bit apologetic for discussing the Steward's affairs so openly in front of strangers (to him). It seemed to him that if they were welcome in Hildegarde's current state, they must be friends of some sort, but perhaps it was not quite kosher for him to lay out her affairs so openly. At least what he'd heard of them from his network of orphans who constantly relayed information throughout the various cities. "You flatter, Silver." He gestured to the engraved chest, indicating she was free to open it. Inside, there was an array of jewels, all perfectly shaped and polished so thoroughly some were glowing (that weren't even meant to glow). They were all rather sizable, but it was likely certain they were second best in his collection; he is a dragon, after all. He reached into his suit and withdrew a bottle of brandy, which he set on her bedside table. "Well, I'm going to go see about some furs for Rok and Imun." And maybe himself. "Don't drink all of that in one night, madam." He offered her a smile and nodded to the two drow before making his way back out. Lisbeth helped sort out a room for the Governor since it was apparent he intended to spend at least a night, maybe help his orcs get on the trail of a hunt they'd been anticipating since Tristram told them of it.
Hildegarde opened the chest and was surprised to see the array of jewels within it. A collection she knew that did not rival Tristram’s own personal one, she too was a dragon after all. “Goodnight, Tristram,” she bade him kindly, watching as he left to fetch furs for Rok and Imun. With the Governor having left, the Silver gently eased the lid of the chest shut and looked over to Riselet and Lyros. “Forgive me. It is… difficult to maintain a proper conversation when one is being showered with gifts and salacious banter,” she said apologetically. “But, please, come closer and sit. You are both looking remarkably well since our last encounter together!”
Lyros returns the governor's nod as he leaves, and watches the man's back with a mostly unreadable but slightly curious expression until he has disappeared from sight. A faint frown crosses his patchy features before he turns back to Riselet and Hildegarde, the former getting a twitch of lips in a semblance of a smile in return for her own. His eyes finally fall to the chest and its glittering contents, catching sight of Tristram's gift to the Steward before she closes the lid, and the mage moves on. "Same can't be said for you.." he answers the Silver with a hint of guilt in his voice as he approaches the bed— sit where, he wonders? He opts to hover uncertainly by her bedside instead, hands now clasped in front of him and fingers restless as he fidgets. "Eleenin took care of me. But you—" Something possesses him to glance across at Riselet in this moment, the frown resurfacing, edged with concern and apprehension. He looks back to Hildegarde after a short pause, but avoids directly meeting her gaze. "—I shouldn't have used that magic on you. If I hadn't, you might have been able to fight off that person who attacked you with less...less injury."
Riselet quietly bids Tristram farewell as he exits, heaving a sigh as he finally exits and leave the three to themselves. His company wasn’t… unwelcome, per say, but unexpected; the things that him and Hildegarde had spoken of made her both curious and somewhat tense. She focused on the chest before them, full of glistering treasures, cut to perfection; almost like wyvern scales, she notes, as the chest is shut. In any other circumstance her mouth would be water right now — all those jewels! — but instead she takes a seat on the edge of Hildegarde’s bed, returning the saurian’s greeting with a smile. “You’re looking really great, for someone who punched a wyvern and almost got blown up!” She chuckles at her comment, but soon turns serious once Lyros begins to speak. She’d almost forgotten about the blood magic deal, giving the drow a look of sympathy as he glances in her direction. Yet when he starts to apologize, Riselet grows annoyed. “Hey, don’t blame yourself,” her tone is sharp, belying a soft, concerned gaze. “It was a sticky situation, and you acted on instinct, right? At the very least, we’re all alive, and who knows what could’ve happened if Hilde had fought that thing on her own.” ‘Thing’ doesn’t sound right, but she’s not sure what to call it.
Hildegarde shook her head as Lyros speaks with guilt and apprehension, “Oh, no, my dear, no,” she said, her hand reaching out to him as if to provide some kind of reassuring touch. “You are not to blame,” she said firmly and with an unshakeable certainty in this matter. “Lyros. I’m at war. I lead a host against the drow and… well, they fight dirty at times. An assassin attacked me whilst I was praying in the garden,” she explained softly to the pair who had been curious as to what had happened, “and while they landed the final blow and left me for dead in the grasp of the Kraken Bloom, their associates struck the fort. In and out in the blink of an eye.” The woman sighed softly. The attack had wounded her in more than one way. Her people… her fort… To attack it so brazenly was shocking, to succeed was even worse. Was she fit to lead? Would such an attack have happened if Satoshi were around? Likely not. Likely, the giants would not be in this war.
Lyros' brows are still furrowed, gaze cast down to the floor and his narrow shoulders tense. On instinct, Riselet says— she's right, it was, but the mage thinks that no excuse for his actions. "Surely there was something else I could have done instead." With a sigh he gingerly seats himself on the edge of the Silver's bed and resumes fidgeting, wringing his hands, folding them together, interlocking his fingers. He has always done this. While the swordsman dances around his enemy, blade slashing and whirling, Lyros would open those wounds further, enhance the bleeding, wearing the target down until finally, he could no longer escape death and succumbed to the sword. Here, the drow feels he has become an unwitting accomplice - his magic must have left Hildegarde weaker than normal, and aided the assassin in delivering his near-fatal blows. His hands clench into fists, a grip so tight his patchy knuckles turn white, before he moves to look at the Silver. "If— if there's anything I can do to help, anything at all—" He fumbles with the words, which feel unfamiliar and clunky on his tongue. "If you can find a use for me, then..." As funny as it sounds, Frostmaw holds the most opportunity for the drow.
Riselet casts her gaze upon Hildegarde, relaying the events of the explosion. The half-elf had figured that the drow were involved somehow — whispers of the war in the tavern, articles in the newspaper, and, mostly importantly, Laezila’s predicament. The former matron crosses her mind as Hildegarde mentions the drow, but quells any further thoughts. Entertaining theories in the midst of such an attack can only contribute to more prejudice. She’s seen it in the eyes of guards, soldiers, passersby, directed towards her and Lyros. If Hilde is telling them this, then it must mean she doesn’t consider them suspect; a relief, all things considered. “I’m with Lyros,” she asserts, taking a fleeting glance at her companion, apprehensive as he is. “Hilde, if we can do anything to help, I’m all for it.” She didn’t want to get dragged into this… situation, but it’s the least they can do in light of everything that’s happened.
Hildegarde fell silent as Lyros spoke of doing anything at all to help. About finding a use. Well, Frostmaw was a land of opportunity and the knight was not one to reject such an opportune offer. “I have a use for you,” she said after a little hesitation, "but… it would bind you to Frostmaw and to my service. Can you handle that?” she asked. “There is a group, here in Frostmaw, known as the Knights of the Black Ice. Comprised solely of non-giants, it is a group that… well, serve the Queen loyally or the throne in this instance. They serve in all manners: be it stealth, information gathering, war in all fronts but the frontline. Not your ordinary group, you might say. A mage of your skill would be a welcome addition. A woman of your charm and charisma,” she said with a nod to Riselet, “would be a welcome addition.” The Silver paused for a moment before giving that familiar champion smile to the pair, “You needn’t accept it the offer. But… consider it.”
Ayras came to the door to Hildegarde's chambers dressed in that Black Ice armor that he had taken to wearing lately. It was that armor that granted him entrance, most days, that armor that had originally persuaded Mikael to allow him to see the Steward after the explosions to the fort. This day, it was that armor that allowed Linn that same accordance, though he was certainly eyed by the giants with far more suspicion. Words are exchanged, many words, before the door is opened and the pair are allowed entrance. Ayras nodded greeting to the Silver when he went in before he looked out the door. "When did orcs start liking the cold?" was the first thing to come out of his mouth, followed shortly by, "And this is Linn. He seems to have an interest in the recent explosions. I told him I would at least make introduction. Whether he learns anything is at your discretion." Silver eyes turned away from the door, looked first to Linn and Hildegarde before shifting to Riselet and Lyros. The half-drow he remembered with some fondness. The blood mage...well, he remembered having to pay for the replacement of a family's supper.
Linn followed Ayras in tow, his outfit notably different. He wore a garment of leather that fitted a rather average form, though sections of shining mail covering the insides of his joints marked it as the base of a suit of armor that didn’t have its plates. A few small crystals decorated the leather in a sparse but orderly pattern. Short of what he wore as well as his nearly colorless grey eyes, he looked pretty ordinary. After his introduction by Ayras he bows towards Hildegarde, quickly eyeing Riselet, who he recognized from a few nights before. He took a quizzical glance at Lyros for his unusual appearance before beginning. “I was passing nearby Frostmaw when I received news of the explosions, and I was hoping to learn of what happened, as well as potentially any unusual characteristics about them. I am willing to offer aid in any further investigation as well.”
Lyros is not sure what he expected but it wasn't this. Menial jobs, such as helping rebuild the fortress, or running errands for the Steward and her men— that is closer to what he thought he might hear from Hildegarde, for it is what he has been used to despite his aristocratic upbringing. And here, more than ever, he finds himself straying further and further from that noble background, sleeping in taverns and living on the bare scraps he can afford, his clothing shabbier by the day. His blink is clear indication of his surprise, amber eyes going wide as she speaks, before he clears his throat a little awkwardly and settles his expression back into something more appropriate and less unguarded. "That's... Hilde, I—" Finding the exact words to describe how he feels is clearly difficult for the mage, who casts Riselet a sharp glance, studying her face, wondering what her opinion of the Silver's suggestion may be. Perhaps he might have tried to answer himself, rather than looking to his companion as if seeking her approval, but Lyros is quickly cut off before he can say anything by the muffled sounds of voices from beyond the door - his head snaps round instantly and his body goes rigid. His fierce gaze, wary but only subtly so, regards those who enter the room soon after in the same manner a wolf observes a potential meal, and the sheer speed at which his expression darkens when he spots the vampire is almost comical. Armour. That's new. All of a sudden he finds himself wishing for his own armour again, pieced together as it may be; at least the weight of it made him feel more solid, appear more intimidating. The slightest hint of static can be felt in the air, but perhaps that is less due to magic and more due to tension as Lyros stares down Ayras with a look of obvious annoyance, his company going all but ignored in the process.
Riselet turns to Hildegarde attentively as the steward begins to speak, surprised that she’d offer them such an important role. Such a reversal from her predicament only a few weeks past; she’s gone from the bottom of the gutter to the top of the world, literally or otherwise. In her mind, it’s an offer they can’t refuse — but whether or not Lyros consents it to is another matter. In spite of her awe, she can’t help but zero in on the praise Hildegarde gives her, flattered. “Charm?” Riselet squeaks, stupefied. “Uh, th-thank you.” She blinks, reddening in spite of the gravity of the situation. “I’m all for it! I mean, if Lyros is, y’know.” Turning to the drow, her gaze is hesitant but pleased. Ultimately, she’s bound to his decisions, being his protector. She’ll go anywhere he goes, even if it’s straight into the Underdark… though she trusts he has a bit more sense than to do that. Before she can get a proper response, her eyes move to the door as a pair approach, surprised to recognize the two of them. Ayras appears to be in better spirits than the last time they met, which elicits a broad grin from her. Linn is met with a nod and a smile — she remembers him from a few days back, if vaguely. Lyros, however, looks much less pleased with this turn of events, giving Ayras a glower she rarely thought possible from him. Her grin soon fades, replaced by a disquieted sort of half-smile. It’s obvious the two have some kind of history, that which she’d divulge from Lyros soon enough. “But, um, yeah,” she breaks the silence, shifting her attention back to Hildegarde. “If you think we’d be an asset, Hilde, I don’t see why not!”
Hildegarde looked to the door as Ayras and Linn entered her private bedchamber. Ayras is obviously a face she recognises, but not Linn: Linn is a stranger in his boiled leather and little bits of plate. The sight of it makes her miss her own armour, which adorns a mannequin near her writing desk. Solid mithril plate, chainmail and boiled leather. The armour of a professional knight. “The orcs are friends of Frostmaw, Ayras. They supported us through our last war and the Governor of Gualon himself is visiting with his entourage,” she said, offering a pointed look that seemed to say ‘best behaviour, lads, we’ve got guests’. Her gaze falls upon Linn now, a sort of appraising look as she tries to suss him out. He looked human and he smelled like one, too. But anyone could be in the pockets of the drow, how can she be sure he is not? “And why do you wish to do that?” she asked, “You are willing to aid, but why do you wish to? Very few like to help out of the kindness of their hearts,” she said it courteously, yet warily. After all, the fort has just been attacked. Wariness and suspicion is natural and unsurprising. In regards to her offer for Lyros and Riselet, she looks over at them once again – a lot of head turning when you have only one eye! – and makes a little gesture with her hand; an open handed gesture as if she is waiting for some token of acceptance. “If you wish to be in my service and in the service of Frostmaw, please, accept. You needn’t accept immediately, of course, but there are benefits to the position. The order has been dead for some time. It needs a revival.”
Ayras turned where he stood, moved to face all gathered as best as he could. To be honest, he was as suspicious of Linn as Hildegarde was. The only reason he had deigned to bring him to the fort was out of a sense of gratitude for what was claimed as assistance to Talyara, stated as such by both the man and the witch. He was curious when he heard talk of 'the Order'. He had missed the offer given by Hildegarde to the two drow, but something gave him a feeling about what she was referring. He looked down his armor for a moment, his personal armor of the Knights of the Black Ice. Silver eyes turned to Riselet and Lyros once again. The girl he had seen in action. He knew she could, indeed, be of use. The blood-mage, though...But Ayras would trust he wouldn't extend the invitation without knowing they could be useful, the very same reason he had not been extended the same official invitation. He shook his head, cleared his mind of the thoughts, and returned his gaze to the human. His mithril hand dangled by his jasper sword, ready on the off-chance that the man is, in fact, a spy.
Linn directs his gaze straight at Hildegarde, unfazed by the scars she wore. Either that or it was the certainty behind his words that masked any anxiousness he may have. “Few people do help for kindness alone, and I am no exception. I wish to see the sites out of little more than curiosity, with any help I could offer as payment for my intrusion. Generally as a craftsman, study of devices is of great interest to me. And explosives can prove to be surprisingly… nuanced, whether in construction or effect.” He looks around at the group with characters both familiar and new. “I have little that can certainly prove that I wish no harm. Only that I do not even know the exact enemies that you face, nor would they know me.” His gaze returned to Hildegarde, waiting expectantly for her response.
Lyros continues to glower at Ayras until Riselet speaks, prompting the drow to turn his head towards her. Still, he does not allow the vampire to slide entirely out of his vision, even as he gives his friend a sigh at the look she's giving him. He has an idea of the reason behind that look and he is not particularly looking forward to that conversation. "What exactly are the benefits?" he presses cautiously, perhaps looking for a reason to say no. "I'd rather know more first before we dive straight in." Although the words are directed mostly to Hildegarde, Lyros is too busy peering with some bemusement at Riselet's pink cheeks - he keeps his particular opinions of that sight to himself, but his expression softens a touch as he shares a small smile with her. Finally, the mage seems to take proper notice of Ayras' companion, turning to study the man intently while he speaks. He is an unfamiliar face. Lyros stares at him as if trying to memorise it, or maybe to pick apart any weaknesses in his words.
Riselet can’t help but feel sympathetic towards Linn, even on the off chance that he is a spy — she knows how it feels to be under such scrutiny all too well, though Hildegarde and Ayras’ wariness isn’t completely unfounded. Hilde’s offer continues to appeal to her, unexpected as it is. Reviving dead orders, acting on behalf of the leader of a city, assassinations, cool armor… this is all starting to remind Riselet, once again, of her very dear romance pulps, igniting a zeal inside of her that will be awfully difficult to quench. She looks to Lyros as he speaks, nodding, and asserts what she said last. “Oh, it sounds so exciting! I’d love to be apart of something so… historic, y’know? But like what Lyr said, I think it’s best if we know everything ahead of time.” In all honesty, that’s not terribly important to her — Riselet prefers to roll with the punches, crossing bridges when she finally gets to them.
Hildegarde listened as Linn explained his curiosity about explosions and what might have been the cause. “You are welcome to investigate the site of the explosions under the supervision of Ayras here, a capable knight of the Black Ice,” she said, “but I’d like to hear your thoughts after you’ve explored. What is your name?” The Silver glanced over at Ayras, as if to see how he might react to her seemingly unbothered declaration that he was a member of the prestigious order. “But the benefits in joining… you are afforded rank and station within Frostmaw, citizenship and all the rights attached to that. A wage, personalised armour, personalised weapon, resources to fulfil your duties. You become a symbol of my kingdom, a trusted friend and ally. Your voice will hold weight in my decisions and your actions may tip the balance one way or the other. It is not a light decision to make.”
Ayras had been busy watching everyone as they spoke the whole time. He listened as Riselet and Lyros both inquired as to the benefits of their stations, should they choice be made to accept. He listened as Linn spoke of his fascination with the prospect of seeing the craftsmanship of the explosives, or at least the amount of havoc they had wrought. He regarded Hildegarde as she allowed him to do so, under his supervision. He was looking back toward Linn again when he snapped his attention back to the Steward. Under Black Ice supervision. He was silent about it just then, simply nodding his appreciation, but the way his eyes had widened, the way the muscles of his face fought to keep the elation off his face, they would surely hint at the true value he gave of what he had just heard. He did return his attention to Linn then, giving him the slightest of nods. "Fair terms, I'd say, wouldn't you agree?" And just like that he was back to business.
Linn smiles as he hears that he will have a chance to see just what may have happened. They may have just been simple bombs with nothing too special to them, though there was always a chance it might be something new. Hildegarde’s offer of some order that the other two were joining was certainly making an impression on them, and may have on him as well, though he made no comment of it. He accepts the terms of the investigation with a nod of his head. “My name is Linn. I hope that I will be able to find something that may prove to be of use for you, perhaps I may be able to help with further ventures later on as well as time goes on.” He spoke the latter half as an offer of his own, though it was marked with some trace of hope, as if he could finally find some place to set down.
Lyros had shot Ayras a brief glower when Hildegarde named him as a member of the very same order she extended in invitation to them, but he's quick to shake off his irritation and return focus to the Silver and Riselet. His companion's enthusiasm is almost infectious and he nearly finds himself accepting on the spot, but manages, with some effort, to control himself and keep quiet as Hildegarde answers his query. With every word, though, those amber eyes are brightening with embers of an emotion that might be hope - a rare commodity for the drow. The allure of those benefits is certainly enough to draw Lyros in and, while he still has his reservations, naturally wary of getting involved in something so life-changing, he is well-aware that this is not an offer either of them can pass up. His voice, holding weight? That is not only surprising but something that might be entirely new to the mage, who seems as intrigued as he is vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of it. But to be granted citizenship, as a drow, as an outcast— it's such an opportunity that it washes much of his anxieties away. Maybe he hesitates, perched there on the end of the Steward's bed, a place he never thought he would be - to have a place by the side of someone so powerful and not as her pet, but a trusted companion, that's... "If you'll have me— us," the maleficar manages with a nod and a smile to Riselet, his expression still edged with traces of apprehension but, ultimately, hopeful, "then I guess we accept."
Riselet finds it nigh-impossible to hide her enthusiasm, twisting the ends of her hair, bouncing her knee or adjusting her gloves — small, idle actions that keep her from making a fool of herself by accepting so readily, yet it all clearly displays her boundless energy. She soon finds that she can’t hide a grin as Hildegarde further explains the terms of membership. It’s all so appealing, like her stories and fantasies come to life! Such an offer is impossible to refuse. Not to mention that she’d be around familiar faces — she gives Ayras the briefest of smiles before fixing her gaze on Lyros as he makes a decision, biting her lip in nervousness. Frostmaw, in spite of all her fears, has been a city of opportunity. When Lyros agrees to the terms, Riselet gives him a look of unbridled wonder. “Are you serious, Lyr?” she turns to him, eyes twinkling with vivacity, her jaw nearly to the floor. “Aww, yes! We accept, without a doubt!” She leans over to grab his shoulders, head perched beside his. “You’re the best, y’know that, Lyr? Man, this is sooo exciting!”
Hildegarde is evidently pleased to see that Linn has accepted the terms of the investigation. How awkward it would have been if he were to refuse the terms! “I wish we could have met under better circumstances, Linn, but it is nonetheless a pleasure to meet you,” she said courteously, flashing a little smile his way, “but yes, perhaps you can be of assistance later down the line.” After all, Frostmaw was a land of opportunity: you could make a name for yourself, grow rich, roll around in glory. Lyros and Riselet had just taken their first steps towards such, joining the ranks of the Knights of the Black Ice. “Wonderful!” she beamed at the pair, “I am glad you have both accepted. Master Gikal was, unfortunately, hurt during the attack on the fort so he cannot tend to armour for you immediately. Each member of the Order typically received a pendant made of black ice… so they might communicate with one another from far distances. I shall have to look into setting these things up for you, but as you might imagine, it is difficult to do so from one’s bed.”
Ayras walked over to Linn and thumped his hand on the man's back. "Well and good. You let me know when you're ready to investigate and we'll get on it." He turned to Riselet and Lyros, his new sister- and brother-in-arms. "Welcome to the ranks, you two." He went over to the half-drow, gave her a one-armed hug. "Now you'll be able to stab things in the eye with something better than that stick, yeah?" Silver eyes went to Lyros even as he was speaking to Riselet, and he offered the mage a smirk. "And I won't have to go chasing you through anymore alleys, it sounds like." In the end it was Hildegarde that Ayras turned to, and his gratitude was plain to see once again as his eyes settled on her single one. "And thank you, Hildegarde, for allowing me back among the ranks, myself."
Linn started forward with the thump on his back, head snapping in Ayras’s direction as he stopped himself with a step forward. Breathing a deep sigh he responded “I’ll be ready when you are.” before returning to the entrance in to the bedroom and watching the celebration keenly. The respect they paid to Hildegarde seemed contagious to him, in spite of her condition. He observed the missing eye among other scars with a kind of reverence for what they likely represented. He continued to analyze the rest of the room, waiting for the others to conclude their business.
As Riselet jubilantly clasps him on the shoulder, crowing with utter delight, Lyros finds himself suffering from an odd case of deja-vu. He is caught, once more, enchanted by her smiles and enthusiastic cheer, unable to look away even to thank Hildegarde - the mage lifts his arms as if to pull her into a hug, fuelled by that strange sensation in his chest, a flicker of some raw emotion crossing his features and filling his eyes— which is abruptly snuffed out like a candle in a snowstorm when Ayras approaches and Lyros' expression hardens into something closer to icy irritation. A hand grasps Riselet's shoulder in mimicry of her own gesture and he offers her a smile, the warmth of which is somewhat dampened by the tight corners of his mouth. "Maybe we can move into the tavern suite instead," he tells her half-jokingly, before turning his gaze to regard the vampire who unwittingly saved Lyros from doing something incredibly stupid in front of multiple people. "Ayras. Looks like you're no longer a wannabe dog." The mage's voice is perfectly cordial, perhaps too much. "I've come a ways since then," he replies to the man's remark with a snort. That should be obvious in of itself - he is no longer struggling alone, if Riselet's presence is any indication, and he is currently seated on the edge of the Steward of Frostmaw's bed. It's not where Lyros pictured himself ending up, admittedly...but it's not an unwelcome surprise. Leaning around the half-drow, he catches Hildegarde's eye and dips his head in a rare display of unspoken gratitude.
Riselet leans in close to Lyros, strangely elated as his features light up. There’s a temptation to tickle him, but he’d probably be mortified at putting his guard down. Before she can weigh the options, she’s unexpectedly pulled into a hug by Ayras — her heart dropping for the briefest of seconds as his stare sharpens once more, displeased with this turn of events. There’s some unspoken history between them, she thinks, or maybe Lyros is just normally icy and acts different around her. The halfling can’t quite ascertain. She’s brought back to reality by Ayras’ greeting, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her remembrance of her first meeting. “That’s the best part, I imagine,” she chuckles, returning the hug warmly, if a bit awkwardly. “It’s gonna be fun to work with you, Ayras!” Her voice is chipper, even while Lyros seems to stare down the vampire from his seat beside her. She cackles at his comment about the tavern, lightly jabbing him with her elbow (and, with any luck, not hitting a bruise). As the two share some rather cold remarks, Riselet shifts her weight to fully face Hildegarde. It’s hard to face the woman who saved your life without feeling a bit humbled, and her tone softens considerably when she speaks to the knight. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout any of that! We’re both really, really thankful, and I think your only job —” she points a commanding finger at her, “ — is to rest up! ‘Cause you need it.”
Hildegarde may have only one eye, but she was not blind to the strange tension between Ayras and Lyros. The Silver looked at them for a long moment before finally speaking up, “Ayras, you had best hop to it. I do not want it to grow so late that you and Linn disturb the people of the fort with this investigation,” people had to sleep after all. The Silver offered all in attendance a warm smile, however, and nodded at Riselet’s words. “I will rest, I promise. So on that note, I shall bid you all goodnight. We shall talk again soon, I’m sure,” she said, waiting for them to take their leave before she would settle down to sleep once again and recover.
Ayras stared at Lyros after his attempted joke. It took him back to their first meeting, to Lyros' theft and their conversation in the alley. The drow had called him that then, a wannabe dog. "You've come a long way, indeed," the vampire said after a moment, a smirk on his face. He half respected the man for the leaps and bounds he had made since their encounter. He ruffled Riselet's hair before he went back to Linn, motioning with his head toward the door. "You heard the Steward. Let's get this show on the road." And so Ayras made to escort the man out of the Silver's room, to one of the sites of the explosions.
Linn seemed to find everyone’s character and interactions humorous in one way or another, a peaceful smile coming to him as he takes in the bits of chatter. He turned around the room with Ayras to leave towards the sites of the explosions, taking a shot in the dark at whatever they might have been from.
Lyros stares back. The look in his eyes is unreadable and anything more telling is expertly concealed behind that cold wall - he is a drow, after all. He does give the barest hint of a nod when the vampire speaks before moving to leave, his companion in tow, and only once they are out of the door will the mage push to his feet as well, extending a hand for Riselet to take and pull herself up with, should she wish. "I'd say this calls for a celebration," he remarks more cheerfully to the half-drow, shaking off a few layers of his barriers now he is more comfortable. Perhaps those words are ones he will come to regret in a few hours, after far too much alcohol has been consumed— Rise sure knows how to drink. Turning his head, Lyros nods also to Hildegarde and flashes the Silver a faint smile. "Rest well, Hildegarde. Take your time with everything else - we can wait." That said, he'll begin to leave, boots clicking on the hard floor as he heads for the door.
Riselet grabs Lyros’ hand and jumps onto her feet from the bedside, taking her place alongside the mage as they head out the door. It’s fairly obvious that Riselet isn’t too happy about leaving Hildegarde’s side, but she perks at the mention of a ‘celebration’. “Are you sure, Lyr? Awww, yes! This’ll be great!” With that, she practically rushes out the door behind him, before pausing mid-step. She forgot something important. “Byeeeee, Hilde!” Riselet waves, ducking back into the room one last time. “Sleep well! I’ll come bring more flowers… uh… soon!” With the last bit, she trots off behind Lyros, eagerly anticipating whatever their new stations had in store for them — and what drinks back at the inn could soon be in her hands.