RP:Convincing the Silver

Frostmaw Tavern

Josiah strides through the door of the tavern, shaking off as much snow as he can from his haphazard fur gear before stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him. He quickly removes the fur coat, revealing a bright white and blue cloak beneath it, and a shiny mithril breastplate strapped to his chest on top of that. He lowers his hood and shakes the remaining snow from his hair, trying to get warm as fast as possible. Seeing Drargon, he gives him a friendly nod and looks for a place to sit, preferrably by the fire. "Just an ale this time, sir," he says, grinning at the barkeep.

Hildegarde ’s hand made a slapping noise as it came into contact with Mistral’s forearm, fingers clasping around the scout’s forearm in a warrior’s shake. The knight is grinning as she speaks, “Thank you, Mistral. We have ourselves an agreement,” she said it fondly, eventually releasing the scout’s arm and allowing the Master Scout of the Eyrie to depart upon her business. Mistral was a woman of few words, stubborn and reserved, almost like Quinton – her predecessor – had been. The Silver sighs and sinks back into her seat, grasping the whetstone to run it along Oathkeeper’s length. A glance is offered in the direction of Josiah, meaning she is aware of his presence but obviously happy to wait for him to approach for a chat.

Irthos zips in through the door like a flaming meteorite, an into a glass of water someone left unattended on a table. This mode of transport seemed appropriate because of the cold outside, so he had to think outside the box, or tap into what was inside him to get to the tavern without too much harm from the cold. The steaming pixie sits there just below the surface then surfaces for air. Gasping he looks around, and takes in who was around. His eyes brighten as they see Josiah, so the young mage flips out of the cup, and shakes off his wings, then sets himself for a flit over to his great friend.

The Avian glances around the tavern, and sees Hildegarde right away, sitting at a table a good distance from the fire. He smiles at her, and gestures that he will be over in a moment. Right now, the fire is calling his name. He carries his damp furs and his aching body over to a chair by the hearth, and settles into it slowly. It seemed as if he may be nursing a wound beneath his armor...he sat gingerly, and let the heat from the fire consume him. Had it not been for the meeting he was here to partake in, he could have shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep right there. Drargon appeared at his side, handing him a huge mug of ale. Josiah smiled up at him gratefully, and the old warrior patted him on the shoulder as he walked back to his post. Josiah took a sip from the mug, and sat still, allowing the warmth to seep back into his bones. He just needed a moment to collect himself before speaking to Hildegarde. He felt that this meeting was of the utmost importance, and he didn't want to be shivering throughout, or appear weak.

Hildegarde may have only one eye, but she’s observant. Whether that’s a skill she has learned from her role in Frostmaw or something she has always been is uncertain, but the knight knows all too well that sort of slow and achy movement: she’s been there herself many times before. Therefore, it’s hard to suppress a little smirk of recognition, the smile of ‘been there, done that’. For now, she can wait. She is, after all, in no rush as she sharpens the edge of her short-sword with loving attention and devotion. A weary blade is a dangerous thing after all. Better to keep it sharp and cared for.

Irthos reaches his friend taking note of his tiredness. "Heyo friend. You look worse for wear. Are you well?" The sound of a whetstone reaching his ears, he looks up for the source of the sound, eyes locking in on the source, and he gives the warrior a friendly smile.

Josiah smiles in weary recognition of his good friend. "I will survive," he said, grimacing just a bit. The scar tissue on his shoulder ached worse than anything...it was healing, but taking much longer than he was used to. Perhaps it was the depth of the wound, or perhaps it was because it hadn't been his wound to begin with...he could not say. "It is good to see you, Irthos," he continued, surveying his friend for any sign of that manic energy that had been consuming him recently. "How are your studies going?" He takes a long draw from his ale, and glances past Irthos at Hildegarde, sharpening her blade...a true warrior. His nerves were getting to him a bit, and he was glad that Irthos had arrived when he had.

Hildegarde offers a polite smile towards Irthos and Josiah, carefully setting the short-sword upon the table and whetstone beside it. A small gesture of her hand catches the attention of Drargon and the bartender nods, as if he knew what the Steward was requesting. The knight grasps at her halberd – which had been leaning against the arm of her chair – and pulls it across her lap, so she might take up the whetstone and begin sharpening the axe-head of the polearm. Truly, it might look as though the knight was armed to the teeth.

Irthos scratches at his scalp a bit, "Oh my studies are going well. I certainly am learning a lot. I still need some help on my discipline so I can control my new energy, but an upside if it burning so fiercely is that it certainly make passage up here in the north much easier. Especially of someone of my size and build." He laughs heartily. "And no I haven't lost control of it. I'm learning to use it more wisely up here. SInce everything is ice related I've been trying to research the nature of ice. So far I'm at odds with it. Everytime I try a spell, it turns into a fog or steam up here." The pixie's jaw drops once he sees the size of the next weapon the Warrior from a distance pulls out next. He grins and playfully jibes, "Is that big enough of a weapon for you?"

Josiah smiles as well, and decides it is time to greet Hildegarde. He finishes his ale, waving vaguely to Drargon for another, and hauls himself out of the comfortable chair, trying not to look like a wounded bird. He slid past Irthos and walked confidently up to Eyrie warrior, stopping just shy of her table and bowing deeply, formally. He fans his wings widely to accentuate the motion, and then returns to a standing position, draping them back across himself for warmth...and perhaps to hide any signs of pain. "Hildegarde," he says, smiling warmly. "I am glad to see you again. I'm sorry to keep you waiting...but I am not used to this cold. May I sit?" He gestures to the chair across from her, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Hildegarde offered Irthos a smile as she rose out of her chair, halberd held in her hand. The knight stood upright, bringing the polearm into line beside her as if to compare height: “I do not know, do you think it large enough, sir?” she asked, standing well over six foot she towered over most mortal men and her weapon was of a similar height to her, meaning it had excellent reach in combat. Hoping this reaction will suffice and sate the curiosity of the impish pixie, the knight slides her gaze to Josiah instead: sole eye resting upon him as he stiffly approaches and asks to sit at her table. “You may,” she gestures to a chair, “he is your friend?” she asks with a nod to the pixie. Without further ado, the Silver sinks back into her seat and waits for Josiah to do the same. Her short-sword remains upon the table, the blade sharp and the golden lion-head pommel glinting in the tavern’s candlelight. “So. You are committed to this, then? You really want to be trained here in Frostmaw?”

Irthos zips over to hover around the two warriors of valor. Though mainly around Josiah so not to perturb the intimidating wielder of big weapons. "Honestly it suits you, lady. By the way, I'm Irthos. I saw the sign about airspace so just so you know I try to stay close to the ground so not to violate any laws up here." That last bit was said a bit shiftily, only because he had no choice but to fly being a pixie and all. "Josiah, I didn't know you were trying to get better at your skills by training up here. Maybe you could help protect me from weirdos as I go about my own studies." Another hearty laugh comes from the pixie, but some would probably think it was lacking.

The Paladin sits down with as little effort as possible, smiling at Irthos to disguise his discomfort. "I would be happy to watch your back, Irthos," he said, warmly. "Just call my name and I will be there." He looked to the warrior in front of him; the one all of his hopes were currently pegged upon. "Yes, Irthos is a good friend to me," he answered. Drargorn appeared with two more mugs and set them down, looking curious as to what was going to be discussed. "How about some of Cryothain's Tears for my little friend here?" he teased, winking at the barkeep to let him know he did not mean it. Drargorn chuckled and shuffled off. Josiah turned his attention back to Hildegarde. He sat forward, his hands resting softly on the rough wooden surface of the aged table. He looked her in the eye, and nodded once, firmly. "I am committed," he said. "Whatever I need to do, I will do it."

Hildegarde nodded in the direction of Irthos, “I should imagine that it would be quite all right for you to fly around these parts, given that you have informed someone at least,” and because she understood his predicament. This pixie might be squished underfoot, so flying is truly his only safe way to navigate the City of War. “Then tell me who you are, Sir Josiah,” she said, “all I know is that you have wings and a yearning to learn, but you have not told me much else. Tell me who you are; what you fear; what you wish to do in life; your ambitions and your hates; what fighting style you think you have or wish to have. Go on.”

Irthos flits around happily and even goes as far as to give the unknown warrior a hug, but once he realizes what he did he quickly returns to Josiah's side of the table. "Eh, sorry. I am a being ruled by passion and emotion. That is also why I have difficulty controlling my magic, if you saw how I entered the establishment. " The pixie hovers around Josiah curious as to his reasons as well, while certainly keeping an eye on the shortsword that was still on the table.

Josiah grins at Irthos but then looks back to Hildegarde quite seriously. "I will tell you anything you'd like to know," he said. "And I will try not to waste your time." He takes a sip of ale, and continues. "I was an orphan. I grew up amongst humans who raised me well but kept me hidden for fear of their safety. Then, they too were murdered." His eyes have gone a bit dark, but his voice remains strong. "I fled, the only survivor of the attack that burned my village to the ground. I found myself in Kelay, scrounging for trash and hunting small game in the woods to survive. One day I came across an ancient text while scavenging, and it inspired me to follow Arkhen...who my adopted parents had taught me about as well." He pauses, takes a breath and another sip of ale. He fidgets in his seat a bit, trying to get more comfortable. "I fancy myself a healer, and not a fighter," he continued. "I would love to become strong enough to purge evil wherever it is found, but my true love will always be the healing of the innocent. Only recently did I have the opportunity to rescue someone in dire need...and as a Paladin, I could not heal her without taking on her wound as my own. This is part of the reason I have sought you out. I want to earn the strength to prevent damage from being done to my friends, and to smite my foes before they even have a chance to cause harm. There is more to it...but that will suffice for now, I hope." He looks weary, but he offers Hildegarde a sheepish smile. "We Paladins cannot heal ourselves," he adds. "I know that you know I am not in fighting shape. But I will be soon." He downs the rest of his ale and sits back, waiting for her reply. It felt good to get it off of his chest like that. Very few people had ever asked him those questions before.

Hildegarde , rather than admonish Irthos for his action, can only smile a little. She is a woman who is rarely hugged, given her gruesome appearance and often intimidating stance within the world: a killer of skill. But she does not comment on it, for she is focusing upon Josiah and what he has to say about himself. A paladin: not a group she is overly-fond of given that some paladins became carried away in what they defined as good or evil. What gave them the right to define such? It is not her place, however, to remark upon it. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says gently. “Most healers have some form of combat training and I think your intentions are… honourable,” she said carefully, “but I would warn you that what you wish to do is not an easy path.” The Silver pauses for a moment, moving her halberd so it might lean against the arm of her seat as she carefully readjusts her posture; merely becoming more comfortable in her seat. Or so it would appear. The Steward’s hand snaps out to grasp Josiah’s mug of ale, whereupon the woman quickly smacks the edge against the table and leans forward towards him: her free hand reaching beyond him to snag into his long braid of hair; fingers curling tight to jerk his head back as the jagged glass now comes close to his throat: “You must always be in fighting shape,” she warned him, “I have had a blade open my chest before and blood oozing everywhere. It was difficult to walk and yet, I continued onwards, for my Queen might have need of me; her people might have need of me. This path we walk means people rely on us, Josiah. You must always be ready for danger.”

Irthos somewhat blushes as Hilde smiles instead of scolding him. As soon as as he realized how fast the woman moved with a broken glass to Josiah's neck, the pixie points his finger guns at the warrior. His heart racing but coming back to his senses after hearing her words he relaxes a bit putting his fingers away. He calls for the barkeep to get him some of the special ever chilled water this region was known for. And quietly sips at it as he watches the on goings between the two larger folk.

Josiah feels almost paralyzed by her grip around his hair...she was so strong. He could submit to her now, and acknowledge the lesson learned...but something in his heart told him that would not impress her. He leaned forward, giving her some ground, and mumbled something about understanding. Meanwhile, he placed his boot on the edge of the table, and pulled his hunting knife free. He meant no harm, but he was going to try this. He kicked the table into her as hard as he could, and slid the hand holding the knife up under her arm, keeping the shard away from his throat as he tried desperately to stand up, still in her grasp.

Hildegarde was much stronger than her brutish appearance would let on. Yes, she was brawny, yes she had been mistaken for a man before – given her sheer size – but she was much stronger than any man. As Josiah attempts to kick the table into her, she tugs her arm back to yank his head backwards: her armoured knee raising to stifle the blow of the table. The knight drops the jagged mug in order to grasp Josiah’s incoming attack by the wrist, pulling the wrist forward towards her own throat and holding it there with increasing pressure: “Could you do it?” she snarled, “Could you cut my throat?” she demanded of him, hand having curled around the braid of hair to keep his head tightly reined. Her knee continued to press against the table, her grip upon Josiah awkwardly pulling his body forward while she pulled his head back: an uncomfortable and painful position to be in for sure. With sudden vehemence, the Silver yanks his head forward towards the edge of the upturned table; stopping only an inch away from his Adam’s apple. “I could crush your windpipe,” she told him earnestly, “and then where would you be?” The Silver slowly unwound her hand from his hair, gently releasing his wrist in the process. “It might be sprained. I apologise.”

Irthos 's cup of water went flying in the commotion. The water splashing some folks in the tavern, butthen they see Hilde teaching a lesson and they think better of it. The mage flits around in the air until the display was finished. He wanted so badly to help but something deep down told him this was a lesson in of itself. The pixie unzips his pocket dimension then quickly take out a phial of an exact measured amount of powdered white willow bark. He then orders a drink for Josiah and adds the powder to the drink, mixing it vigorously. Once the warrior let go of Josiah Irthos tips the table using leverage back in place then hands Josiah the drink. "That should help you feel better my friend." He turns to Hildegarde, "Was there no better way to teach that lesson? I know I'm small but if I hadn't recognized that, I would have blasted you."

The Avian props himself back up onto the table, chuckling through the pain. "I just wanted to you know..." he said, coughing a bit, "that I had more fight in me." He looks up at Hildegarde and smiles. "I knew better than to think that I could harm you." He tries to compose himself, downing the beverage Irthos gave him. "And don't apologize. This is what i came for." He gave her another smile.

Hildegarde looked to Irthos without any irritation, anger, annoyance or anything beyond compassion. She can see that the pixie cares for this avian, which is why he would go against a target bigger than himself. An admirable thing. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that,” she remarked towards the mage, “but you would have *attempted* to blast me,” she corrected. “Or you may have hurt me some, but do not think me defenceless against your magic,” if Hildegarde really wished to, she could simply catch the pixie in her left gauntleted hand and drain the magic from him until he died. But, of course, Hildegarde was nicer than that which is something that cannot be said about everyone in the realm. “Even in a struggle where victory seems unlikely, it is good to struggle on. Valour, conviction… things an enemy can learn to fear if they see it burn brightly in you.” The Silver sat down in her chair with a soft sigh, “Look upon my face, Josiah,” she commanded, her voice shifting from soft and conversational to the firm assertiveness of a leader. Her mottled and burnt flesh, her missing eye, the scars here and there, the broad nose that had been maybe hit too hard once upon a time. Most people flinched to look at it. Some couldn’t bring themselves to look at her face. Scars were a reality many warriors faced. Some went off to become knights thinking it was all maidens and adventure… it was brutality and harshness.

Josiah pulls his face up to look at hers with some physical effort...his neck was killing him, and looked her in the eye. He placed his knife upon the table, and his hands and talons face down, in clear view. He was submitting, completely.

Irthos huffs a little at Hilde's response to his remark about blasting her, but then quickly gets over it. "I'm not like most of my kind. I was banished, but not sure why yet. I have my suspicions, but I've yet to see if I'm right. And if I am I have a lot more to learn about control." He returns to his smiling self, and gives a bow before the more experienced warrior. "I never did catch your name. May I ask it?" His mind switches tracks to the powder he put in his friend's drink and wonders if he can feel the effects already at work with relieving was of his pains. "Josiah, are you feeling better yet?"

Hildegarde glanced to Irthos, “Then I hope you find the answers you seek,” she replied gently and genuinely, “it is a terrible thing to live your life without truth in it.” Mind you, it was not always a terrible thing. Sometimes the past is clouded for a reason. “Josiah,” she returns her attention to the avian, “you look upon my face and tell me if you can live with becoming like this. Do you wish to be grizzled and scarred?” Some did not. It was not something she could blame people for, if she was vain she might have thought more about walking this path. Fortunately, Hilde is not terribly vain. “I am Hildegarde the Silver,” she informed the pixie, “Steward of Frostmaw and Captain of the Queensguard,” titles she had not told Josiah.

Irthos jaw drops for the second time today while in the presence of Hildegarde. 'Those titles are not just given out. You are correct, I would have attempted to blast you. End of story. Good bye Irthos." He quickly recovers and laughs at his shock, "Now that would have been a heck of a short story for this pixie. Pleased to meet you."

Josiah is indeed feeling the effects of whatever chemical Irhtos has given him. His strength is returning and his vision clearing. He grabs the knife from the table and slides it back where it belongs, in its hidden place in his boot. He had another in his breastplate, but so far those were his only two contingency weapons...he planned on adding more if he could learn how to use them. He looked at Hildegarde humbly and nodded. He was solemn. "I do not mind scars," he said solemnly. "In my path I will heal many, and earn their scars as well as my own. My appearance means little to me." He unbuckled his breastplate, and set it on the table. "This is my first scar, the one I earned by saving my friend...it will not be the last." He unbuttoned his cloak, and pulled it aside, revealing a massive, half-healed wound that was scarring its wat across his right shoulder. "However, with your training, I hope to strike first and never give my foes a chance to hurt my friends." He looked at Irthos with a kind smile, and then back to Hildegarde. "I have much to learn. But my god has laid out a quest that I cannot achieve, and my prayers go unanswered...my only option is to become as strong as possible so that when I am needed, I am prepared." He bows his head, reverently.

Hildegarde shrugged her shoulder, “You never know,” she said to Irthos. “All leaders may fall. All great warriors fall eventually. I am confident in my abilities that I could survive an attack by you, but I may be overconfident. We won’t know until you try,” she remarked. To Josiah, she frowns ever so slightly, whether that’s from interest or disapproval is unclear. “What is your quest? What has your god set out for you? If I am to train you, I demand your honesty with me. The bond between student and teacher is a deep one and if you attempt to build it upon dishonesty, then it will crumble.”

Josiah nods silently, the secret weighing heavily on his heart for quite some time. "Let me start by saying that I am not CERTAIN this was ordained by Arkhen, and that lends to my procrastination," he begins, clearing his throat a bit. "I was visited by a vision of Arkhen, or something claiming to be him, demanding that I wipe vampires off of the face of the earth." He looked up at both of them, trying to see if he was being judged. "Now, the god I know would never order such a...genocide. I am only sworn to fight evil as I find it in this world, and not to seek it out in the dark corners until it is no more." He sighed, heavily. "And even if I could find some verification that this was my true task, how could I go about it? I will almost certainly never be strong enough to kill the entire race...and I have met good vampires. Some of them are just like you and I. How could Arkhen want me to murder the innocent, no matter their race?"

Irthos grins broadly, "Well then, on that note Hildegarde. When I feel confident enough, I'll challenge you to a duel sometime. No idea when that will be, but every loss is a lesson. And I expect to loose." Josiah humility intrigues the pixie, he'd never seen this side of his friend before. A sad smile crosses his features only to disappear as quickly as it came. The pixie stretches and yawns, but shakes his head to clear it. "I need to get back to the Frozen Library for some more of my 'manic' studying. I hope you guys will take care until then." With that the pixie reaches deep into himself and burns with his inner power, a distortion of light engulfs his body as the firecracker zooms out the door and back towards the Library.

Hildegarde watches as Irthos departs with a small smile on her face. Such potential there, waiting to be tapped. She only hopes that he finds a decent teacher to hone that talent. But Josiah’s predicament causes the knight’s frown to deepen, “Genocide is… is never right,” she said quietly, “no matter who demands it. A god should respect those in his service. A Queen, a King, anyone should respect who is in their service and not ask them to commit deeds that might dishonour them or their own code of honour,” she explained carefully. “Yes, your god grants you the gift to heal people, but healing is a gift you can learn without a god to assist you. Genocide is never right, Josiah. And if you are asking me to teach you how to kill and how to fight so you might go about this quest… you have asked the wrong woman. Or say you learn to fight from me and I hear that you are going off to commit this genocide, I will break your back so you may never take another step again in your life. I will have no part in genocide. A people cannot be evil because of who or what they are. People can commit terrible deeds and we may only judge them by the law and act within the bounds of that.”

Josiah looks appalled. "It is not my intention to see this mission through," he said, swiftly. "Arkhen does not own me. I am in control of my destiny, and I swear to you that I came here so that I may learn to protect the innocent, and slay the wicked...regardless of their race." He pauses. "I must admit I have been struggling with this for quite a while. But I ave had opportunities to kill vampires, in cold blood...vampires that had done no wrong in my eyes...and I felt no urge to see it through. If Arkhen wanted this he would have given me some push at that moment." He slams his fist down on the table in conviction, wincing as the sprain shoots arcs of pain up his arm.

Hildegarde paused for a long moment, as if in deep thought and consideration. “Then I hope you can define well what wickedness is, for to me it is only those who break the law and would seek to do the innocent and those around them harm that need to be stopped.” That said, she looks the paladin over for a moment, “I will train you. What weapons do you have an affinity for?” she asked, having already taken note of the hunting knife.

Josiah pulls out his three blades and lays them on the table for her to see. Two basic but sturdy hunting knives that he had owned since he was a child, and one dragon tooth sabre, that he had only wielded for about a year. "These are all I have ever needed," he said, humbly. "Oh, and my shield. I've smashed a few skulls in with this thing." He grins. "There may be something else, but I am not sure about it yet. I will fill you in as time reveals the mystery to me. What do you think? Should I be using an axe instead?"

Hildegarde gazes at the weapons in an assessing manner, but she cannot particularly approve of the dragon tooth sabre. Yes, it is a good weapon, but it is made from her kin and thus she can hardly approve of it. Instead, she says nothing about the make of the sabre. “A shield is as good a weapon as any sword,” she remarked gently, “but it depends on your style. An axe is a brutal weapon up close, a sword is considered a more noble weapon because of the fluidity. But used in combination, these two work in perfect tandem: the axe can be used to tear weapons aside or away, with the sword darting in to quickly end your opponent. Or your sword to dash a weapon aside; parry it away while the axe obliterates armour and wounds your foe.” The Silver shrugged, “Again, it all depends on how you like to fight. You shouldn’t weigh yourself down too terribly, either.”

Josiah nods again, wondering what she really thought. He had a feeling she would be putting him to the test again soon enough. He sheathed all three blades and waved to the barkeep for one more round for both of them. "So, you will take me on?" he asked, his eyes aglow with hope and ambition. "I vow that I will not disgrace you once I leave your side."

Hildegarde nodded her head, “I will,” she said carefully. “And you know what I will do if you dare to take what I teach you and use it for cruelty,” she reminded him with a soft voice. “I can teach you plenty of things, Josiah, but it is better used for good. The skills I teach you… they are better rarely used.”

Josiah puts a hand on her shoulder, suddenly, without thinking. "I will not disappoint you," he said, gravely. Drargon appeared with their final round. Josiah took the drinks and slipped him some coin, and a warm smile. "A toast?" he suggested.

Hildegarde offers no reply in regards to whether or not he will disappoint her, merely accepting the words and waiting to see what the future might bring. “To the future,” the knight suggested, toasts not being her forte, as she grasped a glass of water. The Silver wasn’t a great drinker.

Josiah grins and taps his mug to hers. "To the future it is." And he drank it down in a single contiuous swig.