RP:Frost Meets Fury

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: The two Death Knights Macon and Jhaelyn cross paths in Northern Sage Forest. After briefly bonding over mutual hatred of Arkhen's Paladins the pair clashes over who gets to kill the captive Kelovath.

Northern Sage Forest

Macon walks the northern edge of Sage forest from east to west in rather plain street clothes, armor forgone for one reason or another; likely comfort. He is not without a means of defense however, a simple broadsword hangs, unsheathed at his right hip. A few paces behind the former exile trails an aged, diseased-looking drow male. Every few minutes the aspiring Death Knight stops, allowing the drow servant behind him to catch up, and lays his hands on a fern or similar underbrush flora that has thus far avoided the curse spreading through the elven forest. A quiet prayer or incantation is uttered and the plant slowly withers, browns, die, and is reduced to ash, that final transition always taking the longest. Of course, long before the former Larketian Councilmember and his ‘patrol companion’ come into view their presence is heralded by the furious aura of the Rage Stone hidden somewhere on his person. Squirrels savagely fighting over an acorn, bees suicide stinging hikers, these types of things.

Jhaelyn was certainly an odd thing to behold as she too wandered through the forest, weaving in and out between trees idly, as if she were some lost child without a care in the world. The odd thing wasn't that she was dead, for she looked just the same as she did in life. She had been perfectly preserved in the snows and ice of Frostmaw, though her golden hair was quite unkempt nowadays. The strangeness was, in fact, that she barely had any armor on at all. What remained of her paladin attire was now broken and brittle, rather large pieces missing all over. Any breakage that might allow some indecency, however, seemed to be covered up with thick layers of ice. And yet, this didn't seem to bother her at all, either. Then again, there was a bewildering aura of frost that surrounded her, ice crystals coating the ground, leaving a path in her wake in all directions, though it was soon to melt once she was out of range. If she chose to stop, the ice would thicken and take longer disappear. The high elf continued on her path towards Macon and his servant, her distraction clear as she didn't focus on any one thing. That is, until, she was few yards away. It wasn't the things that was going on around him, however crazy may they be, that caused her to stop. It was -what- he was. The powerful magic that radiated from him felt so familiar and yet so different. Jhae only stopped, and stared, and nothing more for the moment.


Macon and the drow continue on their collision course with Jhaelyn, the servant is the first to take notice of the freezing elf, slowing his pace while the former sheriff seems to have his eye on yet another poor innocent plant to practice his craft on. The mute drow has no way to reliably signal his traveling companion, but the chill in the air does the trick and Macon is soon, shaking his shoulders in an overdone shiver and turning grey eyes on Jhaelyn. His footsteps don’t slow, instead they change the direction he is heading, leading him closer to the deceased High Elf while he curiously looks over the frozen woman. His right hand falls to the handle of the blade at his hip, prepared to draw it on the backhand, “Wha’ do we ‘ave here?” He asks, still approaching to a point where he is stepping on frost covered ground. He peeks back at the drow behind him, directing the question his way and not expecting an answer. He doesn’t even earn a shrug from the disgusting slave. Should she remain in place Macon will circle around her, just on the edge of the frozen ground, the Angry Aura pouring out of the Rage Stone in pulses of increasing intensity, while he tries to figure out just what it is that’s crossed his path.


Jhaelyn doesn't move, but neither does she draw her own broken greatsword, if one could even call it that anymore. Her attention doesn't waver from him though, as he walks that circuit around her, at least until he's behind her and she would respond by spinning about on booted heel to face him again. Her line of sight was ethereal, forever fixed on his form, and her voice much the same as it fell from her mouth with that familiar lilt all elves carry in life, though now it took on a much more haunting tone. "You...are like me." A pause, her curiosity getting the better of her as she studied his form and then the destruction his powers created. "And yet...not." The mute drow was spared a brief glance, but her thoughts soon focused on the other death knight. Her lips part, as if to say something more, but she seems to think better of it for the moment, a faint look of confusion on those pallid features of hers.


Macon stops once he’s walked a semi-circle around the elf and she turns to face him, placing Jhaelyn between the Larketian traitor and the drow, who one would be right to assume is of little threat. The accusation of the two being similar has him relaxing the grip on his weapon while he glances curiously down at his own chest as if to say ‘I’m not covered in ice.’ He hides it well, but he is a little disappointed that the frozen elf seems to be remaining calm in the presence of the furious artefact he holds, though not shocked as many have displayed strong resistance if not immunity to the stone’s effect, a fine example being that dying drow slave Macon is dragging through the forest. Still it is a shame, he thinks to himself, that he does not have his great axe to test just how far her resistance to the stone reaches. The Death Knight takes one step further into the cold and ventures a guess at what she has stopped herself from saying, “Vakmatharas...”


Jhaelyn shivered when he spoke the death god's name. The frozen woman actually shivered! She's quick to draw her fragmented greatsword, her skill and agility better now that the weapon was lacking most of it's length. Worry filled the elf's electric blue gaze, but it seemed it was more for him than herself. "Yes." The jagged point of her sword reached out towards his throat, closing the gap between them. "How did you come to be here?" Still the drow was regarded as not much of anything, all those years of training nothing more than darkness in her memories. She was very clearly flanked and yet, she didn't care at all, or perhaps it didn't really occur to her. "How are you--" Her free hand motions over her shoulder behind her at the path of taint he left in the forest.


Macon’s grey eyes widen as the pair of death knights draw their weapons almost simultaneously. It is possible that the broken blade would not have reached him, but no sense in taking that chance, he was still among the living after all. With the sword still held backhandedly he holds the handle about half a meter above his head, out far enough to meet the elf’s blade with his. A brief clash of steel is all that comes of it for now as he makes no further offensive moves, having displayed a certain amount of skill with this weapon despite it not being the one he favors most. The Larketian smiles, fighting back the waves of fury that pour from the trinket still hidden from view, and smugly states, “The Death God ‘as chosen me to deliver Larket from the hands of Cyris and Arkhen t’him.” ‘Arkhen’ is said with so much more venom than that other god’s name… Whether or not this statement is true is not yet clear, but one can be certain that Macon believes it wholeheartedly. At some point while he is speaking the former councilmember effortlessly pivots the blade handle at his fingertips so that he has a more traditional hold on it.


Jhaelyn 's golden brows furrowed as he spoke that name. -That- name. A sharp hiss passes her frigid lips, the temperature suddenly dropping around them as her mood takes a turn for the worst, her own icy rage flaring. "Arkhen...So his people -do- still lurk here?!" She'd been so careless, so worried about piecing together her memories somehow that those wretched zealots slipped through her icy grasp. A frown alights her pale lips, the sword lowering from his face, the tip of the blade soon digging into the frozen dirt beneath their feet. There was a moment of shame and nothing more before the anger was rekindled again, her gaze shifting away from the other death knight, her posture losing it's threatening stance. "I care not for Cyris' lot. I seek the paladins of Arkhen. All of them." The frost around them, whether it be on tree bark, leaf, or grass, grew heavily, a biting wind accompanying it. "I had been tasked to do so, upon being risen, to get my revenge, and yet I could find no one. There was one...but he is now fallen and lost to his hunger."


Macon, well within the reach of Jhaelyn’s frigid aura shuffles his feet so that they don’t freeze to the ground and shakes his free hand, trying to force more blood to the fingertips to fend off the cold. “They do.” He answers, seeing that Arkhen’s name has done what the Rage Stone could not: cause her to boil (freeze) over. With a flourish that knocks some frost off of the blade Macon returns his own weapon to that spot at his hip it had been drawn from. “I have one...” he gloats, “A paladin of Arkhen imprisoned in Larket.” He holds himself back, somehow, from saying something like ‘But he is mine to kill.’ Most likely because he cannot imagine a way to pull it off without losing the true prize he seeks, Larket’s Throne. “I am not aware of any others however.” Not that he has ever cared to look. There is only on paladin that concerns him after all.


Jhaelyn narrowed her eyes at him as he gloats, the frown shifting to a scowl. "You will give them to me. They -must- die." She takes the necessary steps forward to close the gap between them, her blade dragging along the now frozen ground, the tip scraping at the ice that'd begun to form. She was not a short woman by any means. The high elf had been the tallest of her family, reaching nearly six foot, the added height a nice bonus when it came to overpowering her foes way back when. But now, were she up against any one other than Macon, she'd likely seem nigh terrifying with that imposing stature of hers. "Give them to me." She held a commanding tone, yet there was a hint of desperation in there as well. "I will take them by force if I must."


Macon shakes, much different from the pronounced shiver he had shown before, and the rage stone beneath his clothing does as well. The angry trinket and the Death Knight seemingly feeding off of one another now. The drow slave behind Jhaelyn takes several steps back, moving completely out of the expanding ring of frost and fury as he watches the two bark back and forth. “This one is mine!” The vapor of his breath clearly visible in the unnatural cold while he once again draws his weapon, this time more aggressively, undaunted by the height advantage she holds over other of her race which the man easily exceeds. The broadsword is swung deftly, with malcontent towards the High Elf’s shoulder, “He will die when I see fit. Only after I have made him suffer.” ‘Find your own.’ is essentially what one Death Knight is saying to another.


Jhaelyn outright takes the sword to the shoulder, the blade digging through tough sinew til it reaches the cold bone beneath. "Your fury pales in comparison to mine." Despite her anger, her words were calm, but firm. "I can show you what they did to me, those paladins of Arkhen." Frost would begin to creep up his broadsword, her magic much different than his as it was fused to her bones and not some trinket. "I'm going to eat you, my still living friend." The hold she'd had on her own sword had become quite lax with the damage to her arm, but she'd paid no mind. A tilt of her head from side to side showed off the wounds that had been her downfall, both patched over with her icy magic: a deep bite out of the left side of her throat, so near to where his blade sat, and a chomp out of her right shoulder. "I'm going to savor every delectable bite of you, drink every drop of blood in you...and then I'll make you mine." A wicked grin forms as she continues to step closer, letting his sword scrape against her shoulder bone. "And then, I'll find your paladin and force you to watch as -I- kill him."


Macon is in a bit of trouble it would appear. Seeing the ice creep up his blade the former sheriff quickly and violently shakes the weapon, finally resorting placing two hands on the short grip of the weapon and yanking hard enough to dislodge it and stop the advance of the Frost. He takes in the gruesome wounds Jhaelyn shows off, but doesn't have the luxury of reacting to them. With his great axe augmented with the Rage Stone surely he'd have the confidence to trade blows with this icy corpse, but this fill in weapon has him backtracking and swinging defensively. There's still some skill on display however, with hardly any panic in his form, should she advance too close he'll surely deal another blow. As the elf tells him what she's going to do with his blood the former councilmember starts veering to his right while beginning the prayer he had been using just before their encounter. With the sword still in his hand he reaches out and touches the trunk of a nearby tree. The accelerated lifespan effect seems to be localized to the spot he's laid his hand on this time. Bark and wood have the life sucked from them, petrify and crumble, taking a chunk out of the tree and bringing the whole thing crashing down either between the two Death Knights or towards the elf should she ignore the danger Vakmatharas and gravity combined have wrought.


Jhaelyn began to laugh wholeheartedly as the tree began to crash down upon her. Battle had sharpened her mind and wit once again, and she would've had something profound to say in response to his defensive skills, but there was little time for that now. Instead, she focused her anger towards Arkhen and his ilk and her irritation at Macon's lack of cooperation towards that tree, the palms of her hands outstretched and facing the falling, dead thing. More ice begins to build quickly, great shards shooting up from the ice that she'd created on the ground. As the tree fell, her ice spikes did what they could to bolster it, to keep it from falling to the ground completely. The dead elf took a chance, scrambling after Macon by way of the small path beneath the toppled tree. Unfortunately for her, however, she's caught in the arm by a thick, pointed branch. It pierces through muscle and eeks its way past bone, springing forth on the other side of the upper portion of her appendage as the tree breaks through the ice and pins her to the ground. She tries to pull, but the branch threatens to pull off her arm entirely, and she makes the silent decision to stay put. Her other hand outstretches towards Macon, her magic used again as she attempts to stop him from running; first with layers of ice to coat his feet and freeze him in place, and if that didn't work, she'd go further and try to freeze the blood in his veins, enough at least to bring him to a halt.


Macon has started to break into a run when Jhaelyn turns her attention onto the falling tree. A quick peek over his shoulder has him slowing and turning to gloat now that it seems she is immobilized. Through a grin the Death Knight in training calls back to the elf, “Yeh are a powerful one. If yeh promise not teh take all my blood, in time I could-” he cuts himself off with a loud curse when he suddenly can't move his feet. The flat side of his sword is brought down multiple times against the growing ice at his ankles. He frees one leg and stumbles awkwardly away, leaving the boot from his other foot behind, frozen to the ground. The drow, when things went south, had fled and is now riding back into view on a horse, Macon’s it seems. “Auuugh!” The former Sheriff calls out in pain as blood crystallizes in his calf and sends him to the ground. He has to be helped up onto the mount by the diseased slave turned savior who Macon seems prepared to leave behind in the next few moments.


Jhaelyn 's magic drained rather quickly, as she'd not been taught how to ration it in a fight. As his assistant helped him to mount his horse, she'd lower her hand, letting the frost in his blood melt away and fade. Once again, the elf's mood took another turn. Now, it edged towards dismay. He was leaving? The fight had helped somewhat to stave off that void in body where her soul once sat and now that it was clear he intended to go, she didn't make a fuss. She'd contemplated moments ago to rip her very arm off, but what was the point if he was just going to flee? Instead, she adjusted her position to a cross-legged one, her attention shifting away from the other death knight to the ground, that branch still firmly embedded into her arm for now, at least until she'd gained her strength back. There'd be no verbal proclamation that he'd bested her. He'd just have to assume so.


Macon in no way feels he's won here today, not when he's needed the help of this wretched soul he's been charged to deliver to The Death God just to run with his tail between his legs and less a shoe. Thus there's no taunts tossed back towards the icy elf as he rides away, the drow servant trailing behind, ignored as he had been during this entire encounter. He rides towards Larket fully expecting to see her again knowing she shares his hatred of the Arkhen Paladins and now knows where to find one. The former sheriff just hopes he can have a better showing should they clash again… he may need to go retrieve that axe if this was any indication of what he is capable of without it.


Jhaelyn would watch him go off without a word. If he dared come back to this spot to get his boot, he'd find that it and the frosty female was long gone, though the tree still laid where it fell. How incredibly odd. Why would someone take a shoe?