RP:Fall Apart and Rise Again

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

Summary: After a brief reunion at the Titans of Winter Ball, Odhranos seeks out Hildegarde for counsel on topics of leadership and war. Specialties of the Silver Queen of Frostmaw.

Frostmaw Fort Main Room

The main hall of the fort was quiet, barring the crackle of the hearth which cast a warm glow about the room. Servants, warriors and civilians crossed the hall on their day-to-day business: some going from wing to wing in completion of their duties; some entering the fort to make a delivery and some leaving in order to take orders to various postings. Hildegarde herself came from the east wing with her trusty Queensguard Lisbeth trailing behind her. “Khitti has fallen quiet, meaning it is unclear if her research has uncovered anything or if she has found the answer we seek and the worst has happened,” the Queen advised the otherwise silent Captain of the Queensguard. “Shall we send an Eyrie scout?” the Captain offered, which received a pensive nod of the head. “Send Kenway. He’ll be quick, quiet and has no need of a partner,” he shared a special link with Hildegarde after all. Whatever he saw, she would see too. “For now, however, we continue as normal,” she tells the Captain, offering a nod of her head to dismiss the giantess who swiftly makes her way for the door to exit the fort and venture towards the Eyrie outpost. Her business seemingly concluded, Hildegarde stood before the hearth and turned her eye upward to face the great tapestry of the wall depicting the fall of what was once a great and beastly dragon.

From the bustling coming and going of the fort, one figure separates themself from the rest of the individuals going about their dutiful work. While the maelstrom of diligence and business seems to be flowing around the Queen like water about a rock, Odhranos strikes through the flow, weaving with a strange unnatural poise through the stream of castle-goers. To him, the stone floor of the Great Hall is awash with light, with the rhythmic character of a puddle in a downpour, every footprint a flash of life in an otherwise dim world. Odhranos navigates this lightshow, soon finding himself in the oasis of calm at the storm’s centre. Before him, Hildegarde is wreathed in an aura of dull silver, clad in the steel plate that is to a Frostmawian as cotton is to a Larketian. As Odhranos walks closer, from within the cask of dull silver, the sheen of her true-steel heart gleams like a star, the forged heart of the City of War denouncing death with every stoic beat. The terramancer clears his throat quietly, then bows deeply. “I hope this isn’t an inopportune time, My Queen.” His words are formal but his tone is light and friendly, as is the familiar smile on his face when he straightens. “I hope you’ve been well.”

Hildegarde turns on her heel when she hears someone approach her, causing her to catch sight of Odhranos and his deep bow. She hated formalities, but she has a feeling he knows that all too well. “Odhranos,” she greets with a fond smile, “I always have time for a good friend.” When Odhranos asks how she’s been keeping, she cannot help but recall their last in depth conversation and the events surrounding it. Satoshi’s library had been attacked by grub like creatures seeking the knowledge stored within and Hildegarde had given a rather powerful tome to the terramancer. “I’m well,” she tells him, “busy as always. I’ve never understood how books can describe monarchs as having so much time for activities such as horse-riding and hunting!” a little chortle of amusement escapes her. “And you, how have you been? We didn’t get too much time to catch up at the ball.”

Odhranos chuckles at the thought. “ I can’t imagine anyone sitting down to read about a fascinating tale of settling a hundred minor squabbles, as delightful as it may be. The writers have to play up the more fun and frivolous side of the role if they ever want anyone to actually aspire to rule.” His tone is humorous, but his face falls soon after. “I’ve been...well.” Odhranos turns and casts about behind him, instinctively “looking” to see if anyone is stopping to try listen in. “Is there somewhere quieter we could talk? I have a lot that needs to be said, but I don’t particularly want to unload in front of your entire staff.” Odhranos’ eyebrows are furrowed and up this close, it is apparent that he looks more haggard than he had done at the ball, scarcely a month previous.

Frozen Throne

Hildegarde smiled at his observation, noting the truth of the matter. “Indeed. It was hardly tales of standing guard by a door that inspired me to become a knight,” no, it was the tales of seeking honour and protecting those who could not protect themselves that served as her inspiration. “The truth is often much more boring than the fantasy,” she said with a little nod of her head. When Odhranos seems to become a little suspicious and cautious of his surroundings, the knight nods her head and speaks in the affirmative, “Of course, please, come with me,” she tells him, gently reaching out to place her hand upon his back. With his changed vision, he would no doubt see the shimmer of her metal vambrace reaching out towards him and the turn of her metallic shelled body. “We shall speak privately,” she guides him out of the main hall of the fort and into the throne room itself. Upon entering the throne room, Hildegarde speaks with the authority of a Queen and a commander: “Leave us,” which swiftly prompts the remaining guards of the room to abandon their posts and close the door behind them as they left. “There is no one here now,” she tells him, pausing to give him to confirm this by any magical means he sees fit. “If this does not suffice, let me know. There is another room we can go to,” whilst she does not name the room or gesture to it, Odhranos would likely be able to sense that there is a hidden room adjacent and below them; cut into the stone and ice itself.

Odhranos manages a smile. “It certainly wasn’t being pestered by students day in-day out that convinced me to become a professor. I thought I’d be hidden away in a vault as a researcher, uncovering the mysteries of magic. But here we both are.” Odhranos accepts Hildegarde’s hand on his back without so much as a flinch, though he does move a little stiffly as he is led towards the throne room. Odhranos stands to attention as the guards leave the room, moving towards the throne as the last of them leave the hall. He crouches as the door closes, pressing his fingertips to the pristine lacquer of ice near the base of the throne. “Huh, Emilia was right, you can really sense her signature in the ice.” When Hildegarde attests to the security of the room, the terramancer gets to his feet again, tilts his head to the side then with two short raps, he stamps his heel into the floor. After a few seconds, he is seemingly satisfied that there are no spies hidden in the floor or walls and the iron rod of his spine flexes as he deflates. “Sven above, Hilde, I don’t know how you’ve handled this for so many years at this point. I’ve barely been Archmage for two months now and I feel like I’ve aged a decade.” Odhranos plops to the floor beside the throne, sitting crosslegged while his shoulder leans against the hard cold ice. “Everything has gone to hell and back, and now I’m expected to lead the rest of the Guild to war, when I can barely lead myself to the bathroom and back unassisted.” Odhranos presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, rubbing his blindfold furiously as if to try chase away the deep bags that have set in underneath. “I’m exhausted. Honestly. I’ve been spending every speck of energy holding it together for their sake, but I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” His hands drop and he looks up towards Hildegarde, seeking some sort of answer from the Silver Queen. “How do you do it? Keep it together when all you want is to just fall apart?”

Hildegarde smiles wryly as Odhranos speaks about being pestered by students day after day. She knows the feeling all too well, to become a source of authority and to suddenly become that which everyone needed to lean upon. “It’s funny what twists and turns destiny holds for us all,” she tells him sagely, for there was no real other explanation as to how they came to be in these positions. It wasn’t something either of them actively sought. As Odhranos touches the ice, Hildegarde’s posture stiffens and she is ready to move swiftly if it is required but fortunately Odhranos does not make the poor decision of sitting upon the icy throne. From his touch he would certainly detect the signature of Satoshi’s work, but he would likely detect an enchantment or two woven into the ice itself. As Odhranos finally deflates and plops to the floor, Hildegarde takes a few steps and gently lowers herself by the other side of the throne and listens intently as he details his tiresome journey. The furious rubbing of his blindfold is familiar to her. She remembers all too well the sensation of rubbing the heel of her hand into her obliterated eye socket; the constant adjustment of her eyepatch in those early days of the disfigurement. After a short period of silence, the Queen exhales through her nose and finally tells Odhranos the secret: “You fall apart.” She watches his face, seeking to understand how he will react to the statement that may be somewhat controversial at first and not the answer he seeks. “You fall apart, Odhranos, but you gather yourself again. Fate has dealt her hand and the hand she has dealt to you means that others depend on you now. Falling apart is… it is like a cycle of nature; like the seasons changing. You fall, you gather yourself again, you rise again and… in time, you will fall again.” It is a vicious and horrid cycle but it is the truth, which Hildegarde had promised to deliver at every turn. Hildegarde has sympathy for Odhranos and his position, there is a mutual responsibility that they share and perhaps a newfound understanding of one another. The knight knows the struggle that Odhranos is feeling all too well. “Responsibility and duty are heavy burdens to bear. The title you carry is not dissimilar to mine, Odhranos. You are a man of note and skill, which is something no-one can deny now. But when you become that person, the people will want to test you. It is a strange and frustrating truth of this world.” The Silver looks to him and considers what she might offer him, but she knows for a fact that she cannot take the feeling away from him but she can help in other ways. “Tell me of this war,” she asks him, “and do not seek to hide detail from me. War is… well, war is my domain,” she does not say it with pride.

Odhranos doesn’t respond at first to Hildegarde’s softly spoken, but hard-hitting truth. After some moment, he snorts, then a dry laugh peals from his chest. “I hate how I know that you’re right.” He murmurs, resting his head against the throne, savouring the cold as it spreads through his cheek. “And what’s worse is, I hate that some part of me knew that already.” Odh lapses into silence again as he digests this truth, grimacing at the mere thought of it. “I’m terrified, Hilde.” He admits, his voice small and frail in the empty volume of this large hall. “I’ve done everything I can to try move on from...what happened, but Xalious curse and burn my soul… everytime I try to sleep, I’m back in that cell again. Everytime I wake up, I’m covered in sweat at the thought that maybe, I never left at all, that one day I’m going to wake up in the dark with only the sound of the chains and his….. godforsaken voice.” Odh pulls his knees up towards himself and buries his face in the cloth of his robes. “I’m so scared that if I go to pieces, I won’t be able to pull myself back together. And if I can’t, then I’ll be leaving everyone to the mercy of that… madman who would see himself become god.” Odhranos shivers and quiet envelops the hall for some time before he emerges from himself. “The war. Right.” Clutching onto the logistics like it is a lifebuoy to keep him afloat, Odhranos unfolds himself, splaying out like an undignified starfish on the throne room floor. “Xalious is currently under hostile occupancy, by the Ossian Order. That’s what Haladavar’s little cult call themselves.” Odhranos’ voice is quiet, but is regaining something of its steel as he focuses on the matter at hand. “They practice a ritual that was buried in the Guild’s coffers for centuries, that allows them to steal the soul of another individual and seal it in a relic that gives the wielder access to the incarcerates soul’s magic.” A weighty pause follows, then Odhranos puts it plainly. “They’re weaponising mages. Stealing their free will and making them...tools. If they are left unchecked, then I don’t see a future for any mage in Lithrydel. Not one out of hiding, anyway.”

Hildegarde smiled when Odhranos laughed and admitted to knowing the truth of it all along. It was a hard truth, one that she had to realise alone and she is somewhat glad that she can pass on the wisdom that she had to learn alone. When Odhranos speaks of his fear, of the recollection of what horrors he has experienced, it strikes a chord within her. She listens and waits for the time to speak, she knows she has to weigh in on what Odhranos is telling her; there is something that must be shared with him and a knowledge that she has acquired. “In Frostmaw, we call this the warrior’s malady,” she tells him gently, “the nightmares and recollection of battles past. The fear that sits in your mind,” she knows it so well and she knows that it is not easily overcome. “I cannot fix this for you,” she tells him sadly, reaching out to give him a reassuring squeeze to his hand, “but I can be with you throughout. You are no longer in that cage, other than in your mind. Those shadowy bars will return in the hallways of your mind, in the echoes of your dreams, in the whispers of the wind. It will always be with you, for that is a part of you,” another hard truth, “but it is not the master of you.” The Silver knew what it felt like to hear the scream of steel on steel and harken back to battles of yore; to smell burnt meat and recall the death of Mikael, seeing him drown in boiling oil that was meant for her. “Tell me three truths of your childhood or your youth; three truths that can be reduced to one or two words. Take these truths and hold onto them as your talisman, your war-cry and your fortress when those thoughts come calling. This will help to quell the storm in your mind,” she spoke with experience, that much was evident. “If you need more, then tell me. My shamans are well trained in the warrior’s malady. We have seen much of it in Frostmaw,” which was unsurprising for the so called City of War. As Odhranos talks of the events in Xalious, the knight feels so out of the loop. So much has happened that she has been unaware of; so secluded here in Frostmaw and the news she hears now is disturbing. Enslavement of souls, of mages, a hostile occupation… that is not good. “The people deserve liberty,” she tells him with a nod of her head, “and Xalious is my home.” Though Frostmaw was her found home, Xalious is and always will be close to Hildegarde’s heart for it was her childhood home. She is familiar with the range and the people of the village. “I will gladly help however I can, Odhranos. Treat Frostmaw as your shelter, for I shall always have space for you at my hearth. What can I do to help?”

Odhranos puffs up his chest then lets loose a ragged sigh of despair as he stares blindly up at the void of the hall’s rafters. Hildegarde’s hand is accepted and offered a soft squeeze of appreciation as Odhranos listens, rolling the knowledge around his tired mind. “It sounds like such a grandiose affliction, when in truth all I feel is small and fragile.” The terramancer lapses back into silence as Hildegarde offers her coping method. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he ponders his past. “Funny, I’ve spent almost as long running from my childhood as I’ve been in Lithrydel, but these past months have dredged up so much that I had forgotten.” Dragging himself from the floor, Odh crosses his legs and faces Hildegarde, twisting his hands in his lap. “I was born Oileanian, to a family of diplomats. My nation prided themselves on having been born of the sea, knit from centuries spent plying the waves. I found out recently, from a book that Inks’ father acquired, that my ancestors were in truth disgraced nobles, driven from their own homeland by their own kin that they oppressed.” Odh lifts his hand and with a graceful twist, urges some specks of dust and grit that had blown across the floor into the air to dance above his outstretched palm. “The commoners wielded the earth and drove my ancestors to the seas in fear. They fought for and won their freedom with the same magic that I, descendant of their oppressor, now use for that same purpose.” Odh smiles wanly and lets the dust drift back to the floor. “I am everything my forebearers idolised and reviled, the spurned blood of tyrants, the silvertongued voice of diplomats and the iron-willed hand of a rebel.” A small laugh escapes Odh as he considers this patchwork of identity within him. “Tyrant, diplomat and rebel, and in the end it falls to me to choose my own path.” All that, and Odhranos sits, a worn and tired man cross legged in a hall of kings, so mundane for the weight of history bearing down upon him. “They do deserve liberty. None of them deserves the fate that has been brought upon them. It is the cruelest of eternities.” Odhranos grits his teeth, remembering how S’erok had suffered that same fate and how Odhranos had felt the weight of his pain during his exile in the desert. “At the moment, Xalious is defended by a barrier of some kind. Lanlan knows more than I do, he’s seen it up close. But the bottom line is, Xalious is fortified and has closed its walls to the outside world. Not to mention…” Odhranos turn his head toward the front of the hall, beyond which, far to the south, the Mage Tower sits in it’s valley. “Have you seen the lights coming from the tower? And what has been happening to Arh’nuk?”

Hildegarde smiles when Odhranos confesses that it only makes him feel small and fragile, “I know,” she empathises, “it makes me feel as though I have no armour.” The feeling of vulnerability from some kind of invisible entity is a horrid feeling, one that strips you of power and strength. As Odhranos drags himself across the floor to properly face her, the Silver watches in silence and hears out his family tale. Perhaps childhood truths are not the talisman of choice for him! Note to self, Hildegarde, not everyone had a pleasant childhood like you did. “Good words. Tyrant, diplomat and rebel – a triangle of balance there,” she tells him before gently shrugging her shoulder, “but maybe not the talisman we need here. Perhaps, for you, it is your favourite metals or minerals. Take three and make them your talisman when those thoughts come knocking at the door,” she tells him, before focusing once again upon the news of Xalious and the fate it faces currently. When he asks her if she had seen lights, the knight offers a small shake of her head, “I haven’t personally, but the Eyrie riders have made mention of it in some reports. I am unfortunately out of the loop,” she tells him with embarrassment. “I am not the global force I once was,” she tells him with disappointment. Hildegarde was once a scourge to evil across the land. Now she was tied to Frostmaw and very much seemed to be locked to this land.

Odhranos grins at the suggestion. Only he would be expected to have three favorite minerals, and truth be told, he likely had more than three, but a thought comes to mind that fits so very well that he can’t help but laugh brightly at it. “Larketian Grey, Chartsendian Black and Cenrilian Gold.” His smile is so broad that his crows-feet wrinkles show through his blindfold. “I’m sure half the Guild could rattle off my favorite teas like it’s a mantra for them. Sven knows they’ve shared enough of it with me.” The effect on Odhranos from even remembering this tidbit is wondrous, he beams with the happy jovial brightness that in more simpler times characterised him to a T. Unfortunately, the more serious nature of Xalious’ circumstances bring him to earth rapidly. “I believe it is every second night at this point, starting when Arh’nuk clears the mountaintops and continues until it sets over Chartsend. Haladavar has installed some device at the top of the Mage Tower and is using it to carve runes into Arh’nuk.” Odhranos sets his shoulders and grimaces. “I won’t get into the specifics of what the runes are, but save to say they are the very same ones used in the soul-caging ritual. As best as I can discern, Haladavar is attempting to make a soul-cage of Arh’nuk, wherein he will transfer his soul from his current vessel. If he is not interrupted and the ritual completes successfully…” Odhranos finds his lips suddenly dry, but he persists nonetheless “ - then he will have domain over magic itself. It will be like clay in his hands, to mold as he sees fit. He will become a modern-day Xalious, and nowhere will be safe from his madness.” By now, the terramancer’s hands have balled into fists at the mere thought of this perversion of magic. “He has forced our hand. We have months at best, weeks at worst. If we can’t recapture the Mage Tower and stop his ritual, then it all ends. Magic as we know it becomes the whipping iron in the hands of a mad god.”

Hildegarde smiles as he rattles off some favourite teas, though she does reach out to lightly – very lightly! – push his shoulder playfully, “I notice this favouritism! I revoke all assistance,” she tells him, jokingly pointing out the lack of Frostmawian teas. The jovial nature of Odhranos here is almost infectious, but the gravity that pulls him back to more serious matters is also felt by Hildegarde who returns to her previous posture of leaning against the icy throne. “Sven’s balls,” she mutters, repeating the exclamation frequently used by Svilfon the Wizard. “He must be stopped. We need to do something about this, but what? I am not magically inclined, Odhranos. I can give you strength, you need only point me to where I am needed.”

Odhranos smirks. “If Frostmaw begins growing tea en-masse, you have my word that I’ll be the first in line to taste it, but the climate here isn’t kind enough for poor tea-leaves to thrive. Though, who knows what’s tucked away in the Winter-berry garden? Remind me to have a forage when all this is over.” At Hildegarde offer of strength, Odhranos smiles, though it is tinged with regret. “I’ll be honest with you Hildegarde, I am loathe to commit anyone else to this fight than I have to. I’m no war-leader, the reality of the cost of battle is enough to make me question committing even a single of my colleagues to the fray.” He wrings his hands, then turns his face toward the Queen, setting his jaw firmly as he does so. “But I do have a suggestion that hinges upon Frostmaw’s help, that can hopefully mitigate the losses suffered.” Odhranos elaborates. “The barrier around Xalious appears from the outside to be nothing more than a thin film of light, but it can withstand enough force to give even a sieging army a run for its money. A frontal assault on the valley would be costly beyond measure; enough that I refuse to even consider it. However, if the attention of the defenders can be diverted for long enough that a smaller force can breach the wall, we stand a chance of defeating Haladavar before they can turn and face us on open ground, severing the head of the enemy force before the body even notices what is happening.” A pause lingers, before Odhranos concludes. “If the Frostmawian army took up position on the border of the Sage, giving the impression that they mean to begin a siege, it would draw the Ossian defenders away from the Tower and into the pass. Once the Guild breaches the defences, the Ossians will find themselves torn between defending their leader and squaring off against Frostmaw without the help of their barricade. Hopefully it will be enough to deter them from engaging, and Frostmaw suffers no casualties.” The word “hopefully” rings hollow in Odhranos’ ears, it is quite the gamble.

Hildegarde smiles as he talks about the lack of tea options and what secrets may lurk in the garden, “We’ll make some time just for tea then, so you can see what my city has to offer!” Obviously she’s not really that competitive. Maybe. As Odhranos talks about his hesitancy to commit anyone else to the battle, the knight nods her head in understanding. She too preferred to minimise losses, but her experience taught her that sometimes this could not be avoided. “A gamble,” she says, nodding her head thoughtfully, “which is all war really is. Let’s do it.”

Odhranos puffs amusedly. “Y’know, in all the tales and stories, I got the impression that convincing a monarch to commit to joining a war would involve a lot more shaking of swords, passionate speeches of freedom and valiance and horn-blowing. Maybe with a royal declaration of warmongerly intent. I didn’t imagine sitting on the floor like this.” He smiles, a tired smile but a grateful one nonetheless. “Do you think it would work? I’m only stabbing in the dark here, trying to second guess based on notions from old books of warfare and tactics. I really have no clue how to lead an army into battle, much less win a war.”

Hildegarde grinned at Odhranos and his perception of how difficult it would be to convince someone to go to war. “Ah, maybe in days of yore, yes, but… this is the City of War! We love to fight, don’t we? That and, well, I shan’t let my hometown suffer when I can do something about it. A battalion of giants will look large to this order. With enough men, we can fake an initial siege under the impression that more will come.” When Odhranos questions whether or not she thinks it will work, she shrugs her shoulder, “It might. It might not. There is only one way to find out and that’s by trying. If it doesn’t work out, then we take out who we can and make whatever dent in the wall that we can. I can lead the army and stage the front, Sven knows we did something similar with Sage and for Frostmaw. It’s not impossible,” she tells him with a little smile, “but it takes heart.”

Odhranos can’t help the smirk, he really can’t. “Then I am glad that the City of War has its sights set on the Ossian Order and not myself.” He interlaces his fingers and nods, the gravity of what will happen should he fail not lost upon him. “Then I’ll make sure to bring that wall down, come what may. I have a plan in that regard, to leverage something that Haladavar won’t expect.” A sneer bares Odhranos’ teeth as he continues. “I can thank Larket for leading me to the idea, much as they’d despise the thought of it. It might be the first good to come out of the Hard-Headed city in a long time.” Odhranos slowly climbs to his feet and offers Hildegarde a hand. “But there’s a lot of preparation that needs doing and not enough time to do it. If it’s acceptable to you, I’ll have the Guild rally here, though I’ll move them in drips and drabs so as not to garner attention. My idea hinges upon having them in Frostmaw, right when Haladavar’s eye is turned to the Sage. The geography here is just what I need.”

Hildegarde chortles when Odhranos shares his relief that the City of War has him firmly considered as an ally and not as a foe. “Frostmaw has a long history of friendship with Archmage,” she tells him, “so it stands to reason that this good relationship should continue.” Obviously, Hildegarde doesn’t expect there to be any real gain from that kind of relationship, but it does make it clear to anyone else that Frostmaw is fulfilling its obligation to support a traditional ally in a time of need. The mention of Larket causes Hildegarde’s singular eye to roll with disdain, but fortunately for her Odhranos can’t see it. As he climbs to his feet and offers Hildegarde a hand, she politely takes it though she doesn’t need assistance in getting up on her feet. “Of course,” she nods, “you can make use of The Eyrie for any transportation requirements that you have. If you need any assistance, they are at your disposal,” a handy resource to hand for transporting anyone up and back from Frostmaw. “As for Sage… well, I’ll rally my forces quietly. For now, I shall increase Eyrie flight patterns and spread word of training regimes and rumour of expanding our ranks. This will allow those who see the extra flights to forgive them, whilst we gradually build strength in Sage and begin our supposed siege.” Hildegarde takes a moment before glancing behind her, “You ought to feel it, that the wall behind the throne is enchanted. Press upon it and it shall give way to a chamber that sinks below the ground; this is my war room. You are welcome to make use of it if you wish to see the layout of Frostmaw and parts of the Xalious pass,” she tells him. “But we should make our preparations now, rather than give this order any more time my friend.”

Odhranos smiles warmly. “Then I will be glad to follow in the good sense of my predecessors. As if I didn’t count Frostmaw my second home to begin with.” He helps Hildegarde to her feet, though in truth he does little more than hold her forearm as she stands herself. Holding the grasp for a moment longer, he looks up toward where he knows Hildegarde’s face to be and he lifts one side of his blindfold, revealing his right eye, with its pale white iris and unfocused pupil. “You’d think someone would have the sense to elect a leader who doesn’t have sight issues one of these days, but such is the way of this world. ” Odhranos winks and grins cheekily as he releases Hildegarde’s arm, replacing the indigo silk as he steps back. “I’ll stop by the Outpost on my return journey. I’m counting on Inks and Pin, along with my Kess, but I’ll see if I can sway a few of our comrades from the Larketian evacuation for one more flight. Purely sightseeing, if anyone asks. We’ll likely use Sato’s residence in the wilds again, if you are alright with that. Her defences proved helpful previously for keeping us from prying eyes, and with Emilia’s help, I might have managed to open her tome for the next time we arrive. Hopefully its contents will prove useful in the coming weeks.” Odhranos lets loose a slow weary sigh, then squares his shoulders. “You’re right, it's about time we put an end to this. I’ve had enough of that pompous orange nut kicking his heels about my home.”

Hildegarde is glad to hear that Odhranos will continue in the tradition of a good friendship between Frostmaw and the Mage’s Guild. “Then it is time for your second home to fight for you, my friend,” she tells him with confidence, committed to her plan. The knight sees his eye and cannot help but laugh heartily at his comment. “Us poorly sighted folk just have the best foresight if myth is to be believed!” she grins, “According to local rumour, my other eye can see into your soul,” local legend also said she was Aramoth’s daughter. “Of course, whatever you need. If I am not around, Lisbeth can facilitate your requirements,” she tells him with a little smile. “Let’s take out the poison from Xalious, my friend, let’s bring our mages home.”