RP:Brother's Keeper
Part of the The Most Dangerous Game Arc
Frostmaw Forest
(Continued from Part Two & A Trap Divided)
Hilde stared at him as if she were in a dream, smiling once and hoping he would return her smile but he did not and that confirmed that she was not dreaming; she was not slumped over the earth where Kirien had disappeared and in some haze. He was real, standing here with her blood on that knife he held so skilfully, blood-flecked hair moving slightly with the breeze. “I…” she looked at him, unsure how to proceed. How does anyone deal with these situations? It wasn’t something she had ever thought she would have to deal with. Instead, she needed to make her intent clear: she was not out to hurt him, no matter how misguided he may be; yes, misguided was all he was, under some evil spell or tricked into doing this, she was certain. He could never choose this life, she knew that. She believed that with all her heart. Whim dug into the snow with a soft noise, Oathkeeper unsheathed and tossed softly to the ground, even though she noticed how his blue-grey eyes followed the golden lion-head pommel of her short sword. Maybe he wanted gold, perhaps this is what led him to be in this situation? “Brother,” she said, so softly, so sweetly as she tried to keep the desire to beg out of her voice, “is it gold that has led you to this?” she had to know. “If it is, you can have my winnings from the tournament. You can have my weapon of emerald, you can have my sword, you can have, here,” she said, unbuckling her emblazoned and beautifully decorated breastplate, before putting it in the snow gently, with great care. “If it’s gold, Cal, I will work all my days. I will give you every penny I can earn, I can, I…” she looked at him hopefully, wishing this would appeal to him, that this would make it all better.
It was much harder than he had thought it would be, that initial cut. The sight of broken chainmail and streaming rivers of blood was not all too unfamiliar a sight, but it was the knowledge that this blood was his sister's, that -he- was the one to draw it, that really brought it all home to Calhoun. A punch in the gut, a knife in the eye, and suddenly each breath was laboured and heavy, leaden with the over-exertion that came with the struggle of climbing this final mountain. Now he stood at the summit and took in the view, felt the satisfaction of having made it this far...and also altogether nauseous, knowing what he had to do in order to make it this far. Calhoun swallowed the lump in his throat. "Sister," he echoed just as softly, but the knife remained in his hand, his eyes glinting steely. He did not bend or break in the few seconds that followed, as they stared each other down. He met her questions, her offers, with silence, not trusting himself to speak at first. And maybe his eyes widened just a touch when she removed her armour - but it was just like her, Calhoun thought. She would do everything she could to avoid fighting him, and he would take advantage of that.
"No." He shook his head. "It's more than that. You wouldn't understand, sister." Why was she here? If only he had been wrong in his assumptions, if only all his planning for this encounter were able to remain that - just plans, ideas, a course of action to take were happenstance to bring them together on this battlefield. Calhoun's jaw was tight as he grit out, "I'm giving you this one chance, because we're family. Leave, now." 'And live,' went unsaid in the quiet that followed.
Hilde’s chainmail came off with the breastplate, leaving her in the relatively new leather tunic Kirien had gifted her to replace her soiled cotton items. She looked up to him to meet his eye: wondering why her brother had become so cruel, so dark and not himself. Where was the man who taught her how to fish, who taught her how to fight and taught her how to survive if she was ever stuck in the wild and couldn’t find any help? Unlike her brother, her voice was not as strong, it wavered, cracked and begun to break as her eyes misted with tears, “Please, Cal. Please, come home. We… we will go fishing and we can talk, we’ll just go home and it’ll be just us, like before. I…” she looked to him, her face pleading as she mouthed ‘please’, “Just come home,” she begged.
But when she understood that his will was as iron as hers, the back of her gloved hand wiped at her eyes to get rid of those tears. “I’m not leaving, brother. I have a duty to uphold.” In the short time she had been parted from Whim, she already felt much better for it, much like her usual self. No proud arrogance or desire to show off to anyone. “I love you, brother,” she said, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
"It won't be like before, not ever. It can't."
Once, they had been able to tell each other anything. The gift of youth and an innocent, childlike mind (the kind untouched by the outside world and all its horrors) had allowed Cal to share all his secrets and fears with her - they were family, siblings, and he had known Hildegarde would always be able to cheer him up. She was his ocean, his refreshing breeze, the lone flower that had taken root and bloomed in his heart. Calhoun had dedicated a long time to grieving for that close connection, so that when he came to sever it, he would be hardened and ready. And he was, and his voice did not waver as he studied Hildegarde, blinking past the echoes of a smaller, wide-eyed little girl whose flaming hair ran all down her back, who looked up at him with the same solemn, compassionate gaze that stared back at him here. Now she was a Knight. Now she was the enemy. "It can't because I grew up, sister," he finished calmly, "and now there are so many things you don't know about me." It was more correct to call him a stranger, but Calhoun could tell by her expression that she was determined to see him as a brother until the end.
A part of him wondered, vaguely, what she was thinking as he struck. The attack was abrupt and cast with brutal intent, the sort of murderous thrust that a brother should not be able to direct toward his little sister - a step forward and the knife was whistling for Hildegarde's exposed torso, its reddened edge seeking more blood as it swung down in an arc. From her right shoulder down to her left hip it cut, as Calhoun put all his weight behind the slash. "This is the man you call 'brother', Hildegarde."
Their childhood had been idyllic, even though Kenhelm – the eldest – often preferred to distance himself and focus on his own path, rather than join in with his siblings. Hilde found comfort in Calhoun, an elder brother, bigger than her and stronger than her, but with a heart so big, she could have sworn he could have enough love for the world and then some. When Hilde had declared at such a young age she would like to be a knight, her parents smiled and told her it was not a path often taken by women, that she ought to try something else first, something that might suit her better. Yet Calhoun had fought her case and gained her parents backing, fought for her and taught her how to fight - taught her that you should always see where your opponent is going to be, not where he is – and always told her to be just and true, true to herself most importantly. They were lessons she carried deeply, lessons and words that held the basis of her Oath itself.
As the blade swung down, she stepped in and raised her gauntleted arm, disturbing the arc enough that it did not strike her shoulder. She did guide it to her hip, before bringing her elbow up to his jaw, “I still love you,” she declared, hands opening as she stepped in again and tried to clap her hands over his ears to disorient him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She refused to use weapons, her hands were enough to protect her from whatever he could throw at her.
It was so difficult to fight the man who was her hero. Even knights need heroes.
It would appear as though his sister was battle-hardened; he had expected her to simply be too shellshocked by his attack, put too much faith in this expectation that he did not anticipate any form of a counter. As intended, his blade sank deep into her hip, fresh blood welling and catching his gaze. It was still hard to believe he was the one drawing that blood, but by the look of her, no one would have thought she felt a thing. Calhoun had noticed the way Hildegarde twisted just then, a foot skidding back a little further behind her, putting that much more distance between them - what would have been a devastating blow was lessened. He fought down a snarl at her defensive tactics, swallowed the frustration and the urge to yell at her, "Fight back, coward!"
He jerked his head back out of her reach, a hand grasping for her fiery hair and tangling deep into her locks. Part of him wanted to smile in that moment, thinking that this might have just been a tussle between siblings with how he grabbed her hair, as if he had not just sliced her open with a knife. But it was a far cry from the last time he'd caught her hair and threaded it between his fingers - last time, he'd been affectionate, and this was anything but. Instead, he yanked her head forward and brought his knee up to smash her gut; a move he had shown her time and time again, and one Hildegarde had used before without the hair grabbing.
'I will not bleed for you, Knight,' he thought to himself, reminding himself that she was the enemy. She'd had her chance to turn and go but she chose to deny him this last request, chose to stay, to fight, to try and bring him home. At the very least, he could not fault her tenacity. After spending so much time severing their age-old connection, he was finding it difficult to fight a woman -- no, a girl, she would always be a little girl to him, a little sister, no matter how he tried to distance himself from the memory -- who would not retaliate. Even when he alternated between throwing his fist at her and swinging his hunting knife, she either took the hit or do what she could to lessen the blow, and it drove Calhoun to breaking point. Somehow, he felt he was losing control of the situation, his grip slipping-- "Fight me or die!" he screamed, pulling the second hunting knife from his belt and thrusting it towards her chest.
The blade pierced deep but Calhoun's composure had already given way, his stoic expression cracked. "You can't do it! You can't take me back - there is no 'home' for me to return to! Home is a place you feel safe and loved and wanted and I can't find any of those things there-- your fight is futile!"
Hilde could not bring herself to properly fight her brother; she could never even think to harm him seriously or even just a little bit. The thought of hurting him was enough to bring her near tears, their bond was deep and while it could be bowed and bent, it would not be broken. Her hand reached for his as it tangled in her hair, feeling as though it could have been just a playful fight amongst siblings, until that knee crashed into her gut and took the breath out of her body. She wheezed and felt sick; felt like she could reel back and spend an hour just curled up with the pain of it.
But she stood her ground, even though her knees bent and failed to keep her entirely upright; making her look smaller than she was and even smaller than him. Her arms stayed up near her face and head – just like he had taught her – to protect herself, only occasionally moving to block a blow or move it away from a far more lethal point of her body. “Cal, I won’t fight,” she said as loudly as she could, trying to be heard as his attacks rained down upon her.
“Cal, I love—“ her words stopped before she could finish them, the knife having rammed into her chest and leaving her shocked. She looked to him with wide stormy eyes, confused almost as her knees buckled out from under her and she dropped down into the snow. She blinked slowly as her head rocked back and then forward, “I…” she tried to start, before looking so hurt and ready to cry, like a little girl who was lost.
“You… You’re my home.”
He hadn’t really noticed her sink to her knees until after he had finished screaming, but when he realised he didn’t know what to do. It was confusing and frightening. He was suddenly remembering all the times he had been with her to comfort her: when she had badly scraped her knee as a child and cried, when she had sprained her ankle and he carried her back home on his back, when she fell from the tree and broke her arm. All those times she had been hurt and he had picked up the pieces. Now he was the one inflicting the pain. Now his sister was crying and ready to die, by his hand.
“N-No, Hildey,” he tried to soothe her as he too knelt, “don’t say those things. Don’t, I don’t want to hear it,” he said with gritted teeth. His hands went to the knife, cringing as she made noises of pain. “I’ll give you peace,” he said after a long silence, “I can do that. I can stop the pain, I’ll do it right now.” His hand tightened upon the knife, beginning to twist it before her own hand pressed against his and she began to whisper ‘no’. He didn’t understand why she would want to be in pain for her final moments. He could end things now!
“Don’t make this any harder than it already is, sister, please,” he asked her quietly, before trying to twist the knife again. His sister groaned with effort and pain as she held her hand steady, using all her might to keep the knife still while it was in her chest. It seemed the sheer force of these two opposing forces was more than the knife could take, as it clanged and the hilt broke off, leaving just the blade in her chest.
The broken hilt served as distraction enough to leave Calhoun open to attack.
When the hilt of the knife broke and clanged to the ground, Hilde mustered her strength and finally attacked her brother. Her hands reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of the tunic under the leather jerkin, as if she were just supporting herself and keeping herself upright. She looked at him with bleary eyes before pulling him forward and smashing her head in his direction. The blow caught him off guard and sent him sprawling to the ground and sent Hilde sprawling forward too. She moaned with pain, inhaling a loud, wheezy and desperate breath before forcing herself to her feet. Hilde knew exactly what she needed to do, she knew what justice she must serve. She had never been one to pray to gods or ask for guidance, but now she did. Lore, the Archknight, she prayed that her justice was good and true. Arkhen, the god of honour, she prayed for her actions to be the right thing. Aramoth, the god of war, she prayed that her might not fail her. “I…” she breathed, down on one knee, “swore to…” pushing herself up to stand on both feet, “deliver Frostmaw’s justice,” she said with a solemn voice. Her hands reached for Calhoun, one for the scruff of his collar and one for the waist of his trousers, “But we are Xailous born,” she groaned out as she lifted him up above her head, “and I… I will take you home, brother,” she said so softly yet so sadly, as if her heart was truly broken. Her arms began to pull down with a mighty roar of effort and agony, forcing Calhoun to suddenly regain consciousness and scream out his protests and his agony. She kept pulling, feeling his strong dragon bones wane under the pressure of her might, but this would not be enough for what justice she had in mind. “I’m sorry,” she cried, “but what I do, I do out of love!” she told him as she yelled again and cast her brother down onto her knee, forcing a loud and resounding ‘crack’ from his back.
She had broken his back and left him lying in the snow, crying and screaming. Hilde dropped to her knees with exhaustion, ignoring how his fist flailed and smacked against her legs with rage and pain. She moved up closer to him, pressing her forehead down to his and began to speak quietly to him, “You are my mountain,” she smiled a little, “always my rock. I will take you home… you will rest. You will heal. Heart and body, brother, heart and body.”
"Hildegarde!!" For a voice physically incapable of shouting, Satoshi's still manages to carry across the open distance between them with a piercing quality. Not far behind the cry is the magus herself, dirtied and bloody yet otherwise impossibly intact--even her stride, a hybrid of haste with grace, speaks of health and vigor, as if the battle ensuing around them has not laid a single finger upon her. A skating slide across the snow brings Satoshi to a halt on a knee beside the knight, with hands already half-raised in an anxious, almost maternal, gesture. But something in the Silver's expression keeps those hands from closing the gap, to be left hovering in an uncertain fashion, a characteristic rare and unnatural to find in Satoshi.
The normally fiery amber flecks of the magus' eyes are muted, overpowered by a strangely icy warmth of the azure as she searches Hildegarde's face, wounds, discarded gear, and the broken man writhing on the ground before them. Tones made tentative, Satoshi whispers, "You're hurt, Mithril." It's hardly an intelligent statement. Yet Satoshi can't be sure Hildegarde is even aware she's been injured. The knight is notorious--and well loved--for her tenacity, altruism, and dedication. To ignore a knife blade buried in her chest would be a perfectly Hildegarde thing to do.
Svilfon follows behind Satoshi quietly, his pale gaze scanning the trees as they pass quickly through them, until at last they see Hildegarde. The wizard seems far less concerned for the dragon than Satoshi is – considering what he's done to her during their battles, he has a healthy respect for her durability - and while the ice queen runs forward, he simply stares at both the carnage around them, and her brother. He leaves Satoshi to kneel down and comfort the knight, while he turns and carefully looks around, ensuring no errant poachers have survived the battle. But seeing and sensing none, he moves forward and locks his burning gaze onto the crippled figure of her brother. “Do you wish me to end this, Silver dragon?” It is unmistakable what he asks, and the look on his face shows he's almost keen to finish what the powerful knight started, and kill her brother for the crimes he committed, even though it is perhaps not his place to do so.
Hildegarde's had raised her head from Calhoun's when the Queen rushed over to the pair, her thumb gently stroking a small portion of his hair as if to soothe him, even though it was relatively futile. Her breathing had dropped to an almost laboured wheeze, as she now looked to Satoshi with her customary friendly - yet so tired - smile, "Yes," she confirmed, neither confirming or denying how bad the wound was, let alone what type of wound she carried. She didn't know how much of the spectacle they had even seen.
As Svilfon made his way over and looked down at her brother, her will alone was what prevented the low saurian growl from rumbling in her throat. To harm her brother now was to surely ask for trouble in her eyes. "We... We are Xailous born," she said quietly, "He has been punished." Her eyes closed for a moment and when they opened again, her sorrow was so vast it may well have been unbearable to gaze upon. "By my oath, I live to serve. If you wish him to be sent on to his End, then charge me to do this duty."
Svilfon spends a moment gazing at Hildegarde, reading the sorrow evident on her face, before he tears his eyes from the dragon and rests them on Satoshi. "The punishment should be death for such crimes..." He lifts a hand towards Hildegarde, then, as if to calm any outburst which may be forthcoming. "But if he should not suffer such an End, for Hildegarde, not himself, then I will accept such a decision from you both."
It'd be easy. Oh so easy to give the order of death. She's a queen, such things are delivered and heeded on a daily basis. The command does not come, however, despite Satoshi's desire to see every and all of the poachers executed. Justice has already been served on this man, and while Satoshi does not know who he is, she can read it in Hildegarde's face that he is of importance to her. "His punishment is in Hildegarde's hands," Lady Frostmaw says in short, emotionless words, "As is he her responsibility, if she chooses not to end him. Mithril, take the amulet he wears. Entering the den without it will kill you." This said, not another glance is given to Calhoun, as if he no longer exists, before the magus turns sharply on a heel to begin walking away. Once she's gone a few paces' distance, Satoshi stops just as quickly and sits down cross-legged in the snow, away from the dragon siblings and wizard. "When you are ready to live, come here, Mithril."
It's here she'll wait with hands resting upturned on her folded knees, an azure glow filling the palms as the magus begins to hum softly to herself. The air around her takes on a crisp, refreshing quality, as if it's purer than the rest of the area, and a number of degrees colder. The scent of evergreen is sharp, a veritable wall of it gathered around the foxkin, so potent as to invigorate oneself just by taking a deep breath. This small spot is a place of comfort, security, and hope, offered by one of the few patches of snow untainted by bloodshed and unmarred by the passage of feet. It is pure, white, and fueling the eidolon as much as she is vice versa, the twin essences interwoven.
Satoshi, flushed with the stolen lifeforce of Victorio, has the energy and means to spare in an act of healing, and she's preparing herself to attempt such on Hildegarde. She has no doubts this will prove a trial, as she's never attempted to heal more than a few minor cuts on a living entity before, but she has to try, or she doubts the Silver will last much longer. However, Satoshi also knows this is going to hurt. A lot. ...She's just not sure whom it is going to hurt more, herself or the knight.
Svilfon listens to the words which come from the queen, before nodding. The wizard draws in a cold, unneeded breath, before he kneels down beside the fallen dragon and commands his attention with a look that burns with unconcealed contempt. “Understand this, foolish poacher... were it my want, I would send your soul screaming to the depths of whatever Hell your life has condemned it to... your passing would not be quick, your damnation would last an eternity. But it is not my choice. You can curse her now, but know that she saved you from a fate more horrific than you can ever imagine. I will never forgive you, and if I see you again after this day, I will kill you. But this day... your life... I will give to Hildegarde. For her service to Frostmaw, for her nobility, and also because Emiur would want it this way,” the wizard shifts his gaze briefly to rest it upon the silver dragon, before returning it to the poacher. “ We are friends now; comrades, allies... I will stand beside her, even when I agree not with the decisions she makes...” The wizard pauses for a moment then, before carrying on. “Think clearly upon this all... she is worth ten thousand of you. Do not forget that.” Finally done, Svilfon stands and moves away from the silver's brother, apparently putting him entirely from his mind. He resumes his careful watch of the forests which surround them, to ensure no surprises come while Satoshi prepares her magic. He recognizes it instantly and cannot help but wince in remembrance, but he doesn't speak to either of them. He merely waits for the magus and knight to complete that which must be done, before they can continue onwards and end this...
Hildegarde trusted these two with her life - but then she trusted anyone who was polite to her with that - yet felt she could not trust Calhoun's life with either. Not because she thought they would kill him after the words exchanged, more that Calhoun would goad them into it and allow them to kill him. "I thank you for sparing my brother, my Queen," she said, grateful and fearful that his chance of living would be ruined and she'd have to finish the deed. Her fingers were gentle as they removed the amulet from his neck, trying her best not to disrupt his neck or back and worsen his injury. She had made him suffer enough.
As Svilfon addressed her brother, she lingered and remained kneeling beside him. Her eyes fell, staring at the ground as to avoid his gaze. "Svilfon..." she started, without knowing how to finish it. She looked to him and dipped her head gratefully, padding the snow around him with the knowledge that the cold made their kind more comfortable. She had no words to offer her brother, everything between them had been said.
Hildegarde rose to her feet with a small groan, "I am alive, my Queen, it shall take more than a knife to End me, I'm sure," she said, but dutifully made her way over to Satoshi. "I would much rather we be done with this day," she said more quietly.
Without opening her eyes or breaking her focus, Satoshi acknowledges the knight's words and approach with the flick of an ear. And the faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Do not doubt the ability of the tiny and frail to fell the strong and mighty, Mithril. A single pebble can divert a raging river, if placed in the right spot." Slowly the magus opens her eyes to reveal them aglow with a blue light that can only be described as 'minty' in its chilly, crisp quality. She pats the snow beside her for Hildegarde to sit before lifting hands illuminated by the same blue. "I will not sugarcoat it. This will hurt. And it may well kill you. My healing is suited to the undead, and I am only willing to turn it on you due to your heritage." A dragon is more resilient than a human or elf, and a Silver has some resistance to the cold Satoshi will be infusing into the knight's body. Satoshi's hands are lifted a little higher in a silent gesture asking if Hildegarde is ready, even as she turns her ears back toward the wizard before asking in a low voice, "Can you remove the blade, Svilfon?" The request isn't to give the wizard a menial task to make himself feel included; in truth, Satoshi needs his help in this. Her hands are too heavily encased in a purified cold to touch the metal without shattering it, as well, she hopes asking him to do such a delicate and precise thing will help focus the anger spilling off him in near palpable waves.
Svilfon slowly nods his head at the request Satoshi makes of him. With a lingering look out into the frozen landscape which surrounds them, and pointedly not looking at the fallen brother of the knight, the wizard moves forward, into the crisp air which surrounds the queen of Frostmaw. He draws in a breath, tasting upon it the frozen essence of her power, and despite his own enjoyment of far more fiery magicks, he cannot help but feel refreshed by it. It's like a soothing balm on a burn... which means more to the wizard than to most, all things considered.
It doesn't take him long to get into position, and his hands – surprisingly delicate, and very strong; both aspects required by his craft – wrap around the protruding piece of the blade. Usually, such a task would be aided by his magic, but he has no wish to add any spices to weave of ice Satoshi makes. So instead he would do it in a far more mundane fashion... as soon as he was told to, he'd pull as carefully as he can, and hope it doesn't kill the dragon. His concentration is intense as he stares at it, waiting for word from Satoshi. He has faith in her power, and equal faith in the strength of the knight. Even still, he cannot help but mutter the words most spoken on this vicious hunt for vengeance; this time, though, they're aimed at the knight. “We will not fail.”
Unlike Svilfon and Satoshi, Hilde was not magically inclined but this did not prevent her from sensing it. Like any beast, she could inherently feel the lingering power in the air. She sat down slowly and carefully, muscles quivering and screaming at her to just stop moving for a whole week; to rest and recover, but her will was iron. She would continue on until their endeavour was finished, rest - and plenty of it - could come after. Scale tipped ears twitched at the mention of potentially dying at the hands of the Queen, causing the knight to smile some, "If you kill me, then I will have died at the hands of an honourable foe," she said, before looking to Svilfon, "even though I'm sure another mage will send me to my grave through one of our scraps." Hilde had read that humour was important for the morale of troops, so she was doing her very best to employ that at the moment. Perhaps if she tried to be somewhat light and humorous, they would not condemn her justice too much. "Indeed, I would much rather put my plate back on and march back to battle, but," she smiled warmly and her words carried a genuine love in them, "I have such good friends, I know they would not allow it." Even though her friends were few, they were the best she could ever hope for. As Svilfon took hold of the blade, a low and beastly rumble started in her throat, much to her obvious embarrassment with how her cheeks tinted rose, "Apologies, my friend," she said quietly, doing her best to remain still as she sat there, thinking how she would much rather not die just yet.
At Svilfon's words, Satoshi nods, a signal to himto remove the knife steadily but swiftly--a feat she trusts a wizard to manage better than a surgeon. An arcane master's hands are their tools, after all, with incalculable power able to be directed or misfired by the slightest twitch of a finger. To harbor that strength, one must have unfaltering control over their hands, and so it comes as no surprise to Satoshi when the knife blade is freed with precision. She cannot linger on that small victory however, not even long enough to flash the wizard a grateful smile; no, the kit must act now.
As quickly as Svilfon had removed the knife, Satoshi's hands come forward to press against the leathers adorning Hildegarde's chest, fingers splayed on either side of the wound. With the contact comes a bone-chilling cold--even by the standards of a Xalious Silver--that rapidly seeps through clothing and flesh, to sink into muscle and slip into the bloodstream. Like the frigid cousin of the knife that had just been removed, the ice plunges into Hildegarde's wound, forcing her to relive the pain anew along with the harsher bite of frost. Yet with the pain, comes the sensation that the wound has been enveloped by the thinnest walls of glass, a glass so fiercely cold and unrelenting that the severed blood vessels have been cauterized to prevent the dragon from bleeding out. Hildegarde will not die from the knife being removed...
But this is only the beginning of the magus' arctic healing.
Svilfon feels a quick surging of savage agony as some of the dragon's blood touches his hands, burning them with an acidic strength; a pain known only to vampires. But the wizard ignores it completely, finishing his task with fierce, unrelenting concentration. As the blade is freed and quickly dropped, Svilfon moves a shade to the side, before watching Satoshi conduct her healing. He focuses quietly within himself, readying from the depths of his soul the fiery magic which burns inside. It's not that he doesn't have faith in Satoshi... it's just he knows much about what she has become, and the extra strength she now possesses may well prove too much to control. If such an outcome happens, the wizard will hurl his fiery magic into the dragon as quickly as possible, hoping to counter it all and save her life. But he really hopes it does not come to that... for the consequences to them all could well be dire. Only one has survived having the wizard's magic fill them, that being Satoshi herself when the wizard helped to defeat Bozrah within her... but still he is ready, eyes never shifting from the pair as the magus casts her potently frigid healing, ready to offer aid if such an eventuality is required of him.
Hildegarde had almost forgotten that her blood was acidic to Svilfon, her eyes gaining an apologetic look to them as her blood made contact with his skin. Her body tensed as the knife was removed, doing her very best to remain still and to suppress the pain. But suppressing the pain was not a manageable task when it came to the Queen's icy method of healing. When the knife first plunged into her chest, it had been a surprise: her body had gone into a sort of mini-shock and allowed her to overlook the pain, to be more shocked that this blade was hanging out of her chest and that her own kin had done the deed. She had felt a knife in her chest before, so there was no surprise to it, only pain. Her fingers curled tightly and rested on her knees, the only action she could take to prevent herself from striking out at her would be healer and sovereign. Her chin lifted slightly as frost billowed from her always smiling lips, accompanied by a most saurian growl - loud and powerful.
As Svilfon stood at the ready, Calhoun lifted his head some and stared at the scene. He refused to live his life as a cripple, he knew that this was a punishment worse than death in his eyes and he knew that was exactly why his sister had done it. After all, who else would know him so well? "Svilfon is it?" he hissed angrily, knowing that if he were to goad anyone into killing him, his chances were with the wizard. "How does it feel? Knowing that a poacher lives on? Soon I will heal and walk again," he didn't know for sure, but he needed to say anything to goad the wizard, "and then I will resume my trade. My oh so profitable trade. You say she is worth more than I? Maybe for her bones and scales, aye, but little else," he said confidently. Perhaps he would goad him through his bonds of friendship.
As smoothly as a hot knife through butter, Satoshi's claws sink into the leathers of Hildegarde's tunic to prick the skin beneath. It's an involuntary flex, a reaction of suppressed anger at Calhoun's words. A sudden flare of rage blinds Satoshi as her mind is filled with images of Emiur's battered, torn, and broken body. For a moment, the magus seems to waver in her resolve as she grows deathly still, eyes closed and aura turning inward.
Inward is where she hears the soft, hissing laughter and a voice as velvety smooth as a serpent's tongue flicking against one's ear. "We should end him," Asorial whispers, "Listen to him, he wants us to. But we needn't be quick about it. Just think, we could cut him apart, piece by piece, pull skin from muscle, muscle from bone, little by little in the same way he did to Emiur. We'd take his tongue last, so that we--and he--could hear his every scream. Think how delicious that would be, how it'd fuel and invigorate us."
"No." Although the words are not spoken aloud for those present to hear, Satoshi's voice is still firm, "Hildegarde comes first. The scum is hers to punish as she sees fit, afterwards."
A tut-tut-tut comes as response. "Stop painting us as the goodly saint. We are not. We are monsters, same as the rabbits we track now. We hunt, torment, and kill as readily as they, only they do it for profit. We do it for -fun-~. We could do it now, the knight would not stop us, and so he'd die as he should, and we'd be happy. We'd be sated. We'd be -ready- for what awaits us."
"Imagine the screams. The blood. The agony. We could feast on it until we couldn't handle anymore, and still there would be more waiting." Satoshi's ears fold back at the second whisper that creeps into the internal conversation, the wolfish voice of Bozrah, all sneers and mockery. On and on he whispers, painting glorious scenes of blood, bedlam, murder, torture, and all things dark--dark and wonderful. Eagerly Asorial adds her voice to the mix, weaving alluring promises of delight, pleasure, thrill, and satisfaction should they follow through with the desire to kill. Satoshi is no saint, despite being garbed in pristine white, she's a predator and she's always been hedonistic to the core. Such promises are a succulent temptation to an indulgent creature like herself.
But she had made her choice. She had given Hildegarde the prey. She passed on her chance. It isn't fair! She's the queen of Frostmaw! She's a magister templi! She's the greatest cryomancer to have lived! She's the only one with the power to have obtained an eidolon's heritage! She should be allowed to do whatever she wants! It's not fair. It's not fair!
Outside of the walls of her mind, the magus' body begins trembling as the soft blue of her magic begins to darken. The icy sheathe within Hildegarde begins to harden and sharpen, threatening to rip open the bloodstreams they had sealed moments ago.
It's not fair! Why can't she do what she wants now then, huh?
'Because we gave, we cannot take it back. It is wrong.' Ko'tar, the only voice of reason in the chaotic miasma of Satoshi's soul, is quiet, soft, and encouraging. While it does not understand the bloodlust, it knows the difficulties of denying it, and how much Satoshi has strived to temper herself, to be more than an animal giving in to base instincts. Satoshi has no wish to be a pillar of purity, but nor does she wish to be a mindless monster. She wants balance. And that was why the Shesryn Triarch had given Ko'tar voice and sentience, to guide thoughts and impulses that stray too far from the gray into the black and white.
Like twin vipers, the presences of Asorial and Bozrah recoil and retreat back into the shadows with enraged hisses. The blasted bird is awake, and while it is one against their two, it is as stubborn as the most ancient of glaciers, and will not relent in shielding Satoshi from their insidious influences. From without, the katana at Satoshi's hip starts to hum, a pulsing light coming from it in tune with the melody, each gentle glow and soothing note banishing the darkness from the air around magus, dragon, and wizard.
Another tremble runs through Satoshi's body and her eyes flutter open, looking as if she's waking from a dream despite only having gone quiet for a handful of seconds. Although the darkened quality of her magic does not lighten again, it also doesn't gain any more shadows and its bite softens once more. "Pardon the interruption," she says softly to Hildegarde. As she speaks, her eyes grow hard and steely, flicked toward Calhoun to pierce him with a withering stare. "Shut. Up." The words are half-sung, a simple but effective spell that freezes the Silver's saliva so as to lock his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Just as quickly, Satoshi's gaze returns to Hildegarde and softens. "Breathe, Mithril, not much longer now." Whether Satoshi means the healing or the hunt, it's difficult to tell, but nonetheless the magus wholeheartedly throws herself into the task at hand. Ko'tar's melody is all she hears, tuning out the world--inside and out--and its tempting distractions. For the next few moments, she will be oblivious to her surroundings, Calhoun, Hildegarde, and Svilfon alike.
Satoshi's claws unlatch from where they've been hooked into Hildegarde's leathers, and rapidly they begin weaving patterns in the air above the wound in time with the foxkin's singing. Slowly but steadily the ice goes to work, the results so tiny as to not be immediately noticed: healing growth. It is not flesh, blood, and muscle that Satoshi grows, but ice itself, creeping across every torn surface and fitting itself into place to serve as a temporary replacement for what's been lost. Muscles are knitted back together with threads of frost, blood vessels are rebuilt with casings of ice, flesh is sealed with bandages of snow, so that when Satoshi sits back with a sigh, Hildegarde no longer has any open wound on her body. Patches of ice instead rest on those places. Satoshi has done what she can to dampen the bite of the cold, the rest will rely on Hildegarde's natural resistance and her own stubborn will to endure as her body repairs. Every pump of blood will bring a stab of chill to the Silver's chest, but Satoshi is willing to bet that's a small price to pay for evading death.
Svilfon tears his pale gaze from the magus and dragon as he hears Calhoun's words. His anger is already great, but the vile poacher's goading adds further fuel to the fires within. So he stands and moves towards the fallen dragon, stopping when he's just out of reach of the grasping hands. He draws in a breath, tasting upon it Ko'tar's ever-soothing touch, even as Satoshi tells the man to shut up. The wizard watches the ice form in the dragon's mouth, before he sits down cross-legged and begins to speak in a voice which lacks the former venom of his anger.
“Let me explain something to you, Crawl. I am a wizard, and I do not think you quite understand what that means.” As if imparting a secret of great importance, Svilfon leans a little closer. “There are many paths we can walk upon. This mantle of wizardry which wears me as tightly as I wear it, means it is not my place to change the paths others choose to take. I offer guidance, advice, the occasional push when it is needed...” he grins at that, “but never is it my fate to dictate where their feet will take them. Hildegarde made a decision. I do not agree with it, but it simply doesn't matter. Can you not see how simple that is? What I think doesn't matter, what I want doesn't matter. It is not my place to decide your fate, it is hers... and even if you come back tomorrow, in a month, in a year, and slay everyone I've ever loved, I will not regret this decision to let you live. Because it is not my decision to make... something which I am thankful you reminded me of.” He tips his hat to the fallen poacher while grinning again. “So thank you, Crawl. Though, I would not go so far as to say I am in your debt, you reminded me within this all who I am... blinded I was by anger, my eyes are now once again open.” That said, Svilfon leans even closer, well within the dragon's grasp, yet unafraid of any attack which might come. “And you kill Hildegarde? Even I would find that difficult... look at what she did to you this time. You and your allies are mighty, I do not deny that. Yet you are all individuals, fighting us as one, seeking to destroy us as one... Us... well, we're family now; by blood, by deed, by sacrfice. There is no power you or your foolish brethren wield which could destroy us.” Svilfon pushes up some of the snow, then, filling in some gaps around the man.
“Your life is your own to live, poacher. I do hope it does not cross paths with my own again, but no longer will I hate you. Emiur would not want that of me, and like those two there,” he gestures to Satoshi and Hildegarde, “his wants are worth more than my anger.” Nodding at the last, Svilfon tips his hat one more time, before standing and moving back close to Satoshi and Hildegarde, before waiting with a new-born patience for them to be done... uncertain whether the shift in his perspective was born within his own mind, or any influence the altruistic katana Satoshi wears has... though, in truth, he realizes, he simply doesn't care either way.
Hildegarde had been unprepared for the added bite of the frost; the way Satoshi's thoughts darkened at Calhoun's words. Her breathing grew ragged and more laboured than before, body shivering in a way she could never have been prepared for. Indeed, she was a creature of the cold, but she had always loved the comfort it offered and was inexperienced in its bite. She quivered and shivered, trying her best to stay still, but the pain in her chest and the bite of the cold was simply too much to bear. "Y-Y-Your G-G-Grace," she said through chattering teeth, "p-p-please." Although it did not seem like much, it was a sort of plea for her own life. It was not the concept of mortality that made her beg, it was the pain she felt now: the feeling that her chest explode or implode. But when Satoshi righted herself and told her to breathe, she offered a shaky smile and relaxed some, now that the worst of the bite was gone.
Calhoun, however, was defiant to the last. Making guttural noises against the ice in his mouth, staring at Svilfon with a burning anger in his eyes. He grunted at the words, fingers curling into tight and angry fists. He did not wish for this life, he did not wish to be crippled and kept around like a pet. But he made no move to strike the wizard: he only locked his eyes with his, as if he were attempting to stare him down. It would appear that his gamble had gone awry, much to his very obvious displeasure.
Hildegarde could no longer contain her curious nature, nor her need to ensure she was doing the right thing and her unwillingness to upset people, even at a personal cost: "M'lady..." she said with a deep breath, before thinking it might be unwise to distract her, "My friend," so she addressed both of them, thinking Svilfon is more likely to have the focus to answer, "have I done the right thing..?"
After sitting back with the severing of her healing magic, Satoshi had closed her eyes and gone quiet, a half-trance to recover. But at Hildegarde's words, eyes open and, while bleary with the exertion, are alert. She dwells on the knight's question a long moment, her answer eventually coming as words spoken softly yet with an unshakable certainty, "Only a fool questions her choices in the eyes of others. No one but you can determine what is right or wrong by your standards. What does here," with this word, Satoshi presses a finger to the patch of ice in Hildegarde's chest, "tell you about your choice? That's all the answer you need."
Svilfon simply smiles at Hildegarde as he listens to Satoshi's words, before offering a small nod of his head. "As she said, noble knight, seek the answer within. There are many in this world who will seek to sway your thoughts and ideals... it is up to you alone to hold to them, defiant to the end." The wizard grins, then. "You're stubborn as the rest of us in your own way. Use that... it's always worked well for us."
Hildegarde felt a tinge of pain in her chest, although she couldn't tell if that was more to do with her taking in a breath or Satoshi's fingertip against the patch of ice. "I consider you both dear to me. If I may even be so bold, I consider you both as family," she confessed as silvery scales shimmered across her cheeks, "so that tells me I may be honest with you and in my heart... In my heart, I feel broken. I feel that it is broken. I apologise if I offend you, m'lady, but the weapon your lord husband granted me, I can no longer wield. It is a dark presence in my mind and heart and I want no part of it," she said, lightly for she was afraid of causing offense. After a long moment, she offered the pair a smile though, "But now, I think it is high time we cease this rest and carry on with our endeavour. If one of you would be so kind as to help me into my armour, I can lend my strength to our cause once again."
"If that is your wish," is all Satoshi says to Hildegarde's return of Whim. Nothing in the magus' expression says she is offended, yet neither is she thrilled. And why, she explains a moment later after musing over it, "Will you at least hold onto it until we have seen this through? Afterwards, you may do with it as you wish. But I cannot rightly continue now, into the worst of this fight, knowing you've cast aside a weapon that could spell the difference between life or death in this."
Satoshi climbs to her feet then, the movement dispelling the aura of evergreen-scented calm like a soapbubble popped. As the last glistening remnants of the spell hang in the air, the magus scoops them up with a sweep of her hand and murmurs inaudible words to them, before dropping them to the ground. From the snowdust and the permafrost then sprouts the gorillian bulk of Satoshi's golem, his spell of existence rekindled and fueled by the snows of Frostmaw so that he constructs himself before the magus now. When the magical being's nine feet of solid ice have settled into place, Satoshi can't help but off Buster an affectionate pat on his tree-trunk arm. The golem voices the rumbling groan of ice and stone in answer, eyeless face turned in her direction. "Buster. Be a dear and help Hildegarde into her armor," Satoshi directs firmly, "And be -gentle-. I'll not have you break what I just put back together." It's a joke. Mostly. While Buster has no malice inheriantly--or any personality whatsoever--he is still a large and powerful construct that obeys without hesitation. Satoshi doesn't exactly want him rushing to heed her demands and thus try to forcibly squish Hildegarde into her armor.
While that is seen to, Satoshi will move to away from the group to stand at the edge of the trees. Her eyes are fixed on the horizon and what waits ahead. When the rest of the trio are ready, they'll find Lady Frostmaw waiting for them.
The wizard watches Buster be born from the snow and ice of Frostmaw, and like Satoshi, he gives him a small pat on his arm in a greeting. He knows the golem isn't truly sentient, but Svilfon likes him nevertheless. He's fought him before... painfully... and also been taken back to Frostmaw by the hulking creation after Satoshi and himself battled before the Xalious Tree. He has fond memories. So after the tap on the arm, and a tip of his hat, the wizard wanders over to stand beside Satoshi. He doesn't comment about the weapon, or the words shared between Hildegarde and the lady icicle over it. Nor does he speak about Hildegarde seeing them as family... as far as Svil's concerned, she's merely catching up to a concept already known to himself. Instead, he merely spends the time in quiet contemplation beside his friend, knowing that what is coming will be the greatest test of them all... it was time to finish this... he was ready.
Hildegarde stared at the golem with shock and absolute awe. She was so easily impressed by the magics of Svilfon and Satoshi, these wielders of two opposing elements. But she followed suit and gave the golem a light pat on the arm, smiling almost bashfully as she did. "As m'lady commands," she said with a smile, even though she had the intent to carry it with her into this final battle. As Buster helped her into her armour, she was all smiles and quiet groans, adjusting the straps as suited. She looked to Calhoun, then whistled, as if to call something to her side. The ice-forged hummingbird fluttered out of the blue and to her shoulder, "Please, go bother my family. Lead them here to find him and take him home, once it is safe." That said, the hummingbird was off in a blink of an eye. With her armour fitted, she picks up her weapons. Oathkeeper slid carefully into its sheathe and Whim held back in her hand with a wary glance to it. "Let us end this," she thought to herself.
When the knight and wizard join her, the golem bringing up the rear, Satoshi nods. Clenched in one fist is the necklace she tore from Victorio's throat. Somewhere behind them, the Eyrie would be hard at work dispatching the entrapped poachers, mourning the loss of their scoutmaster, and wondering how their three clansmen would fare in the final stretch of the hunt. "Into the teeth we go, and we won't return until we've torn its throat out."
(Continued in Into the Teeth.)