Part of the Something Blue Arc

Synopsis: Queen Hildegarde seeks a audience with the God of War, Aramoth, in a bid to request a boon of the god and restore her mortal heart. High Priestess Leone initiates a ceremony to summon the god, who cautions that dark forces are at work and that the Queen must commit an act of war in his name to receive her boon. But was this truly the God of War? Or merely a false apparition?

Temple of Judgement

Hildegarde had arrived with Rorin after their long journey, a few scratches and cuts to her face along with some scrapes to her mithril armour. The jagged scrapes and frosty trail attached implies that the Queen has had a run in with some Ice Devils, who are notoriously difficult to deal with. The Queen and Rorin had scouted ahead for the purpose of clearing the way for those to come after them, either on a pilgrimage or simply out of curiosity. Since their initial journey, the Queensguard had since ventured out and set a ‘path’ of lit torches to guide visitors to the temple: the only time it would be open to all. Typically, one would need permission to venture this far out of the actual city walls unless one had a death wish. But this was a special occasion, the Queen herself was venturing out on a religious pilgrimage and all were welcome. Even the Exiled Giants of Frostmaw were welcome to attend under the white banner of peace. The creatures and more aggressive spirits had been warded off and calmed in a bid to clear the path as best as possible for any visitors and for the shamans that would venture out to prepare the temple. Hildegarde would stand just outside the temple, greeting visitors as they came and welcoming the shamans with a degree of warmth and respect. The inside of the temple had been well prepared for the ritual ahead: torches of odd azure fire lined the walls, keeping the temple lit but not overwhelmingly so. Its shadowed walls and the dancing of the light from the fire kept the mystic aura of the temple intact. Shamans wandered up and down the length of the temple, swinging the thurible gently up and down to spread a heady smoke across the temple. It reeked of ironwood. Perhaps something else was present in the smoke too? It had a heady smell to it, something that made the senses seem sharper… but was it a mind-altering substance? The shamans wouldn’t say. Hildegarde would wait for Leone to say she was ready to go, nor would she try to question her preparations. This was Leone’s playground.

Leone arrives soon after Hildegarde and the paladin with a contingent of pilgrims, priests, and shamans (note: Anyone can say that they have arrived with Leone and the party of religious followers). Because of the organization and mobilization needed to get such a large group through the frozen wild lands, they left later and moved much more slowly than the combat-orientated Hildegarde and company. As soon as the various devotees arrive in the Temple of Judgment, they scatter to begin preparations. The most visually stunning of these is an enormous censer on claw-and-ball legs formed to look like those of a dragon. The flared cauldron is assembled quickly with the High Priestess and her contingent of smithing monks. It is soon stocked with ironwood, a rare and sacred tree that grows in the far reaches of the western wild lands. Unfortunately for those unaccustomed to it, the dark grey, shimmering logs secrete a rusty red sap. As the monks load the censer up with wood, the floor becomes marred with streaks and splatters of thick, sticky red, some of it dripping from the rim of the crucible. Other smaller offerings are set up around the room, though they lack the ironwood of the main one. An unknown concoction of herbs, plants, and detritus leaves a heady, metallic scent in the air that clings to the back of the throat once inhaled. As those who have come to witness the summoning and the Queen's business with the God filter in, the paladins and shamans devoted to Aramoth direct them to stand or sit in locations where they will have the best view of the ceremony. Priests begin to make the rounds, small vials of anointing oil in their hands to smear a small symbol upon the foreheads of those who consent. Bertram, the High Priestess's assistant and constant companion, is occupied by marking the floor of the Temple. He is filling in runes that have weathered and worn away with the passage of time. The massive male wields a large lump of charcoal like a scribe, and expertly, meticulously, fills in the absent sigils.

Khitti hadn’t had a need for those torches; this wasn’t the first time she’d been here. Last time, however, she was very much undead. And now? Now, she was nearing the end of her pregnancy and felt like she had a purpose: to bring hope to those that sought freedom from Kahran’s attacks. Her Tikifhlee, the giant charcoal colored shadowcat would bring her to the temple and Khitti would ever so carefully make her way up the stairs. When she did arrive, with Tenbatsu Kaji strapped to her back, she’d offer a silent nod to both Hildegarde and Leone. Tenbatsu Kaji’s glow, usually a bright gold, was now red--much like it had been for Khitti in Cyris’ chapel--the sword feeling at home in the ancient place of worship. Khitti whispered quietly to Seika, the sprite inside the sword, though no one could hear them but the redhead.

Hildegarde hadn't seen Khitti in a long time. Maybe before the pregnancy, actually! The Silver cannot conceal the surprised look on her face when she spots the heavily pregnant Khitti, but she offers her a polite and quiet 'congratulations' as she enters the temple. That katana seemed familiar too... where had she seen it before?

Lionel follows the procession well behind its ranks, barely visible to its aftmost members atop his majestic Tikihflee. So dwarfed by the creature’s size, his shape is a wisp upon her strong and muscular fluffy back, and her eyes glow in the dark spaces her rider lingers. In this duty, and flanked by recruit Tilly and Guard Captain Kara Thrace, Lionel is like the stalking ranger prowling the perimeter, scanning the distance for interlopers. Magical wards are much appreciated, but Kahran and his sinister associates have proven time and again that if ever there is a narrow crack in one’s protection, they will slice it apart and kill indiscriminately. Lionel and his alliance companions, working both for Frostmaw’s Queen Hildegarde and for Lithrydel at-large, will be the first line of defense should the green streaks of Shadow Plane portals crack like thunder near the path. No enemies are spotted; perhaps no battles need fighting on this day. Tilly and Thrace take their positions at the edges of the temple’s grounds, Tilly sneezing to the strange effects the scents have on her nostrils, but Thrace seems to be thoroughly enamored with them. Too enamored, Lionel ponders, but he weaves his lithe way through the gathering to take his place quietly at his sister’s side. Wordlessly, he nods to her, here as much for Hildegarde’s determination as Khitti’s growing journey into the light. Even if it’s a journey Lionel will prowl through which Lionel prowls on the outskirts.

Bradyn could not resist the urge to witness this event. It was not every day that someone attempted to summon a god. For what purpose? Bradyn was particularly curious and the only way to find out was to be amongst those who are being herded into locations that would offer them a view of the ceremony. Bradyn was compliant with the instruction he received, the Maharan being ushered to one side of the temple. Bradyn opted to stand rather than sit, using his height to his advantage so that he had a clean view of the ceremony despite the gathered crowd. There might be a few faces familiar to him, like Khitti and Celaeno, but this was a very serious setting and he had every confidence that they would overlook the fact that he did not go out of his way to greet them. The time and place for small talk was not now.

Celaeno had been wandering about Frostmaw, wolf-fur lined cloak wrapped tight around her winter robes and her gauntlets nestled under her sleeves. Both her hoods were pulled up when she came upon the odd torches and the crowd. She would be coming near the back of Leone’s entourage, appearing far from a pilgrim or anyone who would pay homage to a god of war. Inquisitiveness did get the better of her most days, and this one was no exception. She had been reading up on the different gods of the realm a bit more lately, why not observe one of their rituals in action? She glanced around for anyone she knew among the crowd of onlookers, squinting as she pulls her hoods down.

Scandal felt very disturbed when he journeyed to his now current location, what monsters that had lurked in the shadows had done the opposite of what he had expected, making him fear the object in his knapsack even more. Or perhaps it was him, maybe they sensed what he was, or maybe it was something else, for whatever reason this left him feeling disturbed. Until recently Scandal had been trying new styles of clothing, and he was fortunate that his transformation ability had worked this morning. Otherwise he would have felt very out of place. He wore a simple red robe, with long sleeves and wore a pair of black boots underneath his lower robe, the red robe was a darker shade than his hair, so he it blended well with his ebony black skin. He had come with hope that perhaps seeing a god or hearing one might renew his own personal outlook on life, and now he felt the need to be in the right place at the right time. He hoped though a particular person would be here, so he could dispose of the book in his knapsack, it wasn’t right for him to carry it around any longer.

Lanara was visiting the place of her burial, as it was nearing her ‘death’ anniversary, and she wanted to pay tribute at the site of where her sibling had placed her and Krystan, to rest. Obviously, she’s no longer dead, as she had been returned to the realm for giving a sacrifice to the otherside. The urgency was so strong that she had left the safety of the home she shared with Eirik, and faced the heavy snowfall, the occasional frost critter, and the treacherous journey, with only her two dire wolves for protection. Her fur-lined boots make soft crunching sounds upon the snow, as she spies a group of shamans, led by Leone, up ahead. Curiosity is evident in her expression, as she shoves her gloved hands into the pockets of her heavy parka, and continues along the path of lit torches. Sigrid and Bjorn stay close to their mistress, one wolf to each side, as Lana steps over the threshold and into the temple, her chocolate hues settling briefly upon the Steward. “Hello, Hildegarde.” She pauses in wait of a response, a small smile on her face, before she fully enters the area. What was going on in here? Why was there a cauldron in the middle of the temple? Clearly, the witch wasn’t here on a religious pilgrimage, though her interest is piqued, as she lowers herself into a pew, and watches the scribe fill in the sigils.

Rorin had disappeared hours before Leones arrival while Hildegarde sat the rest of the markers. Although no one could be sure of his whereabouts it was unlikely he would miss an event like this. Few may notice the remains of some previous ritual here marked on the floor in black scars and scattered across the room. Whoever made them could not have been long ago.

Brennia is in disguise somewhere with someone’s face on - like if you hit random on the character creation page for your favorite game. Avian wings magically hidden by that repurposed enchanted ink of her’s and avian scent masked by simple perfume which was nothing strong to assault the senses, but just enough to throw people off the scent. Her mouth stays shut and those heavy lidded teal eyes scan for familiar faces, not like she could say hi or anything… It’s just nice to see them. Eventually her gaze falls on the still tummy swollen Khitti and a hint of a half smirk in remembering their brief encounter.

Celaeno opted as well to stand, offering a polite bow of her head toward both Khitti and Bradyn should they make eye contact with her. Lionel would certain get a nod, a presence atop his noble, furry steed... Lanara earned a quirk of her head before curiosity takes her back toward watching the proceedings unfold.

Hildegarde offered Lanara a little smile upon receiving a greeting from the witch. “Greetings, Lanara,” she replies with a little smile. “Come, make yourself comfortable,” she invites. It would be an interesting ceremony. The knight casts her gaze around and detects many unfamiliar faces… there’s a dragon amongst them, a vampire too.

Leone smiles a greeting to Khitti before she moves around to a position that rests solely behind the censer, on the opposite side from the door. The smith slowly eases both arms into the air. Brilliant, lime green sights fixed upon the ironwood filling the flared cauldron. As she tilts her chin back, and up toward the sky, the logs burst into flames. They shudder through orange and yellow, streaking through red and right into blue, before passing violet and settling upon a blinding silver-white. Two monks, positioned at the door, then each take turns slicing the other open from elbow to wrist before parting ways to drizzle a thin line of blood in a circle. The smith then bows, her frame folding further to bring her into a kneel that then pitches forward to supplicate both outstretched arms onto the worn, ancient floor. All of the symbols flare to life, emitting a dull grey light, as if each one were an open window on a cloudy day. The smith rises anew, both feet finding firm purchase on the floor. The teeming, leafy green sights stray over the devotees and spectators until they land upon Hildegarde. A gentle nod is issued toward the Queen; they are ready.

Scandal carefully scanned the room, spotting some familiar faces and some he hadn't met yet, but seeing lionel he moved toward the man, and when he was soon free he spoke calmly, "Sir, there is a book in my possesion, that I found somewhere you know about, the author says you were meant to have it, and that I have had several of them tail me, for a few days, only to be stopped by faking my death at the curtesy of another dragon." He took out the book from his knaps sack and handed to him. Then spotting lanara he moved off, knowing that they could always talk later. Moving toward lanara he gave her a silent nod and friendly "Hello there."

Celaeno returned the small wave with a wide smile and a small wiggle of her silver fingers, though with the cold their joints squealed with the motion, however small. Anyone with enhanced hearing, including herself, might feel it like tines on a dinner plate. It's with that realization she pulled her hand back down to rest under her sleeves and started a warming aura around the silver armor to keep that from happening again. She'd have to oil them soon.

Hildegarde has seen Leone’s signal that she is ready to summon their chosen god, acknowledging the signal with the slightest incline of her head. At this point she has already accepted the blessing of a passing shaman, the anointing oil smeared across her forehead with a quiet murmur of thanks. The Silver Queen raises her hand just slightly to silently capture the attention of a few around her before speaking up, “Silence, please. We are about to begin,” her voice is that of a commander, easily reaching the furthest corner of the temple with a hint of her request being more of an order than an optional thing. Her voice was naturally commanding, experienced. The Silver followed the motion of Bertram, taking her place beside the dragon shaped censer; standing at the ready for whatever Leone might need her for.

Lanara gives a curt nod to Celaeno, a knowing grin on her full lips. They had only met a short while ago and both women were in swimwear, and here they were today, dressed like Eskimo’s! Her expression sobers as Scandal nears his attire far different from when she had previously met with the dragon. He’s given a smile, as she inclines her head in direction of the cauldron and various other offerings. “What’s going on here, Scandal?” Her voice is just above a whisper, as she curiously looks around the temple, the heady smoke filling her senses.

Leone strides up a series of wooden planks erected behind the censer in order to bring her diminutive height up and over the rim of the giant bowl. The smith hovers near the fire for a moment before unclasping her cloak. It falls away to the floor. Next, she unties the ceremonial robes complete with mammoth fur and wolf hair. Those, too, fall away. The farrier is clad in little but simple cotton pants and chemise. The hem of the sleeveless tunic is seized, and then pulled upward. The smith exposes the pale, milky flesh that wraps her torso. One hand holds the shirt aloft, pulled up just high enough to expose the ribs along one half of her body. Bertram approaches, bearing a dangerous looking dagger. It is made from obsidian, and honed to a fine point. The dagger is taken up by the smith and, after prodding at her side to find the space between the lowest two ribs, it is shoved into the fleshy space with a disturbing squelch. The petite plover grimaces, her head turning away, out of the billowing smoke and cinders. The motion is two fold, and as her neck turns, her hand pulls, sliding the knife parallel to the rib. It is then extracted. Hands trembling, the sacred smith simply drops the blade onto the ground. It shatters, pieces skidding off in all directions. The wound bubbles and oozes, as if her life force were a child playing with chocolate milk, but in shades of red and black. The smith sucks a breath of air in and promptly chokes on it. While she is still coughing and spluttering, two fingers pry at the freshly made hole in her side, pressing past the rim of angry red flesh and flowing blood. Past the first knuckle, then the second, and finally all the way up to the third, soaking the webbing between fingers with fresh, sticky sanguine. A /thing/, not particularly discernable due to the grime coating it, is pulled from the farrier's rib cage. She palms it, turns it over in her hand, and raises her head. The hand is then thrust out over the cauldron, and the offering tipped into the flames. Bertram, in the meantime, has come to stand beside Hildegarde. He's grasping another obsidian knife in his hand. The diminutive woman descends the small staircase, and crosses the floor to where Hildegarde and Bertram stand. She takes Hildegarde's hand in one of her own, and accepts the new knife from Bertram, all while still bleeding through her shirt. The blade is quickly and viciously drawn across the Queen's palm. Leone then helps guide Hildegarde's hand into the flames as well, squeezing it until several drops of blood hiss into the fire. She then releases the Silver, and steps back. "Speak your request," the High Priestess commands of her redhead Sovereign. Bertram is surreptitiously standing behind the aging smith, one hand pressed to the center of her back, most likely in an attempt to keep her on her feet.

Hildegarde barely winces when Leone suddenly slices her palm, she didn’t even seem remotely concerned when the priestess ripped chunks out of herself with that ceremonial dagger. The Silver moves her hand as guided over - and, if guided, into the flames - for her blood to ooze into the fire. When Leone asks Hildegarde to speak her request, the Queen panics for a moment. Could she say it aloud? She must. She’s already committed to this. “I wish to be made whole again,” she whispers to the fire hopefully. With Leone’s ceremony complete, the azure torches of the temple seemed to zip out of existence due to some unknown and strange howling wind curling viciously through the temple. The fire itself didn’t blink out of existence, however, it seemed to follow the wind and come to some kind of centre point before the guests and pilgrims of the temple; this orb of blue fire suspended in the air before pulsating and transforming from an orb of blue flame to white hot fire that suddenly exploded! The orb of blue fire had become a wall of white hot flame, threatening to burn any who stood too close to it yet for those who braved it they would not experience nor feel any heat; only a supernatural cold that was unnatural to fire. From the flames there came what looked to be a face: furrowed brows of fire, eyes without a pupil and the stern mouth of a father. Voices fill the temple, one a booming voice of a lordly lord and a chorus of whispered repetition following that lordly voice: “You summon me, God of War, and I have come. I am Aramoth! Come before me. If you be unworthy, come at me and die!” the voice cautions, the whispered chorus taking on a more sinister hiss as it repeated. Was this face in the fire truly the God of War…? Or was it simply an illusion or hallucination caused by the smoke of the shamans? To those with a sense for the divine, they might register the constant appearance and disappearance of a divine… and an unholy… presence within the temple. After a few moments of tense silence, the flaming eyes fixate upon Leone and the lordly voice speaks lowly and darkly to the priestess, “Thief,” it accuses.

Rorin ||Something pulses and rises quietly in the back of the room, a power waxing and waning, the clattering of an object aalmost imperceptibly responding first to the commands of the queen and then violently rattling at the smiths sacrifice. When the wall of fire and its godly face appear, a small section of the onlookers may feel an uncharacteristic duality reaching out to them. Compelling them. Some would be drawn to the fire with unexplainable rage and yearning. Others would be repulsed with bottomless black despair. Whispers echo all around them in their conflictions while strange lights issue from an unknown source. Whatever compels them seems to be some ghost of both compassion and war.

Scandal stared into the flames and realizing what he was seeing. For the first time he realized just how old he was and it sickened him. He barely croaked out to lanara what was happening. "A Summoning"

Khitti :: The urge to grab Lionel’s arm for emotional support during this ritual was fought off, but barely. It was all too familiar to Khitti. The letting of blood, the summoning of forces not of this world for help. It shook Khitti, so much so that her body trembled, even as Tenbatsu Kaji’s light grew again in an attempt to soothe the pregnant woman. [Khitti, it’s alright. You don’t have to do things like that. It’s not your path anymore.] Seika’s words helped a little, but not by much. The booming voice filled the room and things felt… off. She couldn’t quite place it. But Seika could. [Something’s not right. There’s something unholy here and it’s not any of those you call ‘friend’.] Crimson brows furrowed as olive-green eyes found the face of her brother, a frown lining her lips, “Something’s wrong, Lionel.”

Lanara leans forward, her palms pressed against the pew before her, as she peers into the fire. Was that a face?! Aramoth?! The hair on the back of her neck rises as she looks from Leone to Hildegarde, and back again to the face of the God of War. The dark magic used to summon such a God was dangerous enough, she knew, so as the ‘threat’ is issued to the Steward, she blanches, and swallows hard. If Hilde was viewed ‘unworthy’ she would perish?! The petite witch lowers in the pew; her shoulders slumped, as her teeth dig into her lower lip. Wonderful. She had visited her grave an hour before, and now they may be digging another for her old friend. Could the warrior truly defeat a God, if it came to a battle? The others at her side continue to look on, some in awe, others in sheer horror, and a scant one or two that look to only be getting high off of the incense. Without knowing entirely what was going on, Lana merely looks on, for now, and wraps her arms tightly about her form.

Brennia knows nothing of the divine as avians typically do not worship them, it was difficult enough researching Vakmatharas’ recently! The disguised woman stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, took social queues to ‘oh’ and ‘ah’. A wince when some were singed by the flames and one of them shove away to where she stood, away. They were looking at their hands and immediately, without thinking, Brennia starts to apply a slave to their burns. A teal glare sent to the ‘divine’... pfft! In her eyes a divine wouldn't feel the need to wound! Then it’s accusing ‘theif’ and this is nearly when the woman blows her cover. She felt her face get hot and if those overly long ears shown they would be red with temper, “well… I c-” Accidentally projecting her voice, but catching it before anyone noticed, hopefully. She goes back to the stranger at her side she was aiding.

Bradyn 's reaction is kept under wraps, which should come as no surprise to anyone who has had any amount of interaction with the vampiric male. His gray eyes are so intently locked on Hildegarde and Leone, he has no care that any presence that might have been summoned within the room is unholy. If things went terribly awry with this summoning, as the necromancer secretly suspects may be occurring, then he would not be dreadfully heartbroken. He was here for one purpose, so see the results of the summoning, he had no investment in the success or failure. It was just an intriguing moment. So Bradyn remains the silent observer, pale hands clasped before him, standing as unwavering as a statue.

Lionel accepts Scandal’s book without comment. He fixes the man with a befuddled glance, narrowing his eyes cautiously. A moment passes, his sister whispering her concerns in his ear, before Lionel gives Scandal a curt nod and waves his right index finger into the air in a universal sign of ‘we’ll talk more later’. Simultaneously, his left hand squeezes Khitti’s in a quiet display of solidarity. Yet Lionel’s hand trembles slightly, betraying his nervousness over matters of the gods. For Khitti, he has slowly but steadily learned to forego snide insinuation in favor of an open mind, but even as Steward of Frostmaw, and even with High Priestess Leone standing so close beside him in all the battles against Kahran, there are some things about the society the Catalian has stepped into that he cannot adopt. He can tolerate Hildegarde’s faith, and the faith of the Frost Giants. In the past, he’s calmly watched over Leone as she’s blessed the alliance’s soldiers in the name of Aramoth. But being here, at this juncture, watching the women suffer their own brutal inflictions, hearing the gasps in the audience, sensing something awry amongst the flames and feeling Khitti’s arm grab at his as she speaks, Lionel feels a million miles away. The voice, the face, the booming noises and threats of mortal penalty if the unworthy approach -- it’s all so grim in Lionel’s mind, a painful reminder of his private past dealings with the wicked grace of the gods. “No,” Lionel whispers back to her, sick to his stomach with the poisonous memory of the first and only time before today that he’s heard these higher-power beings speak. “Nothing’s right about a thing like this.” His stance against the customs of his allies, stubborn but hushed to avoid incident, lends him a more resolute stature. He won’t let harm come to his sister or her child. He clings to Khitti’s arm in a display of protective strength.

Celaeno observed the proceedings, gasping some as the preistess shoved a knife into her own body and proceeded to shove her fingers into herself and pull something out. Suffice to say the macabre display was fascinating as she stares transfixed, keeping her hands stilled and folded at hip height. As the odd presence echoed through the temple, that was far more intimidating than any gods she had heard of from her homeland. Despite that she spotted Lanara’s reply from the corner of her eye, her attention had been far more stolen by the ritual. Had they potentially summoned the wrong diety? Knowing nothing of such things, she finds herself furthermore enchanted, though her fingers tighten around each other with her own unease. While others would feel drawn to the fire, she had her fair share of despair and suddenly it all seemed...magnified? She holds her head in one hand, balancing herself on the nearest pew in front of her as her shoulders shake and the world suddenly starts to spin.

Leone frowns at the flame-created face. "Not a thief," the farrier speaks in return, "A gatekeeper. It was not her time yet to join you. She still had work here, on this plane. In your name! Work to do still. Work that was seen to immediately with her renewed life. You cannot deny the battles, wars! In your name, your honor, and to your devotion that have occurred since the Queen was resurrected. These things never would have come to pass had she been delivered into the Halls. And now your followers are even more numerous. They see the blessings and benefits of the War God. They see the strength of all mighty Aramoth, and they flock to your stead to serve. They flock to a Queen who is not afraid to die for what she believes in, and a High Priestess who is not afraid to kill for what she knows is right," the farrier exclaims, her hands folded at her stomach, gripped into white knuckles. A breath is panted out, a wheezing sound quickly following the airy note. The blood weeping from the smith's side has saturated one half of her trousers, and has begun to pool at her feet.

Hildegarde almost expected nothing to happen. Her faith had been shaken in the wake of Larket, Kahran, everything negative that had happened recently had truly chipped away at her faith until now; until the face in the fire. The smoke filled her nostrils and her legs quivered for a moment before she sank to her knees, her face staring up in awe at the face wreathed in flame. “Aramoth,” she breathed in true awe. When Leone rejects the accusation with some solid evidence, Hildegarde can only remain silent. In all her years of faith and devotion, she had never seen her god before. This was a startling affair; a defining moment in her life. With Leone replying to Aramoth that her deed had in fact created a war in his name, brought him glory, souls and blood in his name, the fiery apparition of the God of War purses its lips. “That soul is mine,” it warns lowly to the priestess and those gathered; clearly stating that Hildegarde belonged to the God of War. Bertram, the paladin and faithful attendant of Leone, stumbles forward and plants his forefinger to Leone’s bleeding side. A sizzle and burst of holy energy jolts from his fingertip before he staggers robotically backwards. He shakes his head, as if he wasn’t sure what he had just done. Perhaps Leone’s words had appeased the god. “Aramoth,” the Queen says it again, this time with confidence and strength, “I wish to be made whole again. I cannot find the strength as I am. I do not sleep, I do not truly hunger and I do not feel the fire within me. This… This mechanical abomination in my chest… I cannot go on with it. Restore me, I plead with you. Grant me this boon and know that I am in your service for as long as I live,” her words are laced with emotion, her sole eye is misty with the threat of a tear. Hildegarde had truly grown to hate herself since her resurrection. She hadn’t felt like a person since she had returned from the grave. The face wreathed in flame takes a long moment to examine Hildegarde… was it thinking? The energies of the room swirled in anticipation, both holy and unholy.

Brennia felt that fire of hope burn within her soul when Leone and Hildegarde speak, then when Hildegarde finished she held her breath. A tear nearly formed and honestly if she could feel much of anything anymore she would show emotion, but she had no idea the Queen felt this way… then again they’ve only known each other a short time. Brennia is always a fan though.

Lanara balls her hands into fists so tightly that her knuckles turn white, as a shiver of fear runs up and down her spine and her anxiety spikes. Sensing an attack coming on, she focuses on centering herself, taking deep breaths, in and out. On her sixth exhale, she closes her eyes, takes one final deep breath, and opens both her hands and eyes, wide. Her palms have small cut marks from where her fingernails have pierced the flesh, and tears that she doesn’t remember having shed, are drying upon her cheeks. Glancing around, she exchanges a look with Cela and Scandal, before settling her gaze on the pregnant redhead and the blonde male at her side. Khitti and Lionel. She didn’t know either, at least not personally, though she knew them to always be present at unique occasions. Should something go wrong, surely they would save the day, and all the innocents in the temple. Right? As Queen Hildegarde steps nearer to the fire, her expression full of emotion, Lana’s heart begins to race once more. She knew what it was like to return from death, and to never feel completely whole, at one with yourself. She had felt very much the same, until she was blessed once more with her gift of magic. Perhaps this was a good thing for the Queen and her faithful friend Leone? Maybe summoning the God of War wasn’t going to destroy Frostmaw and its inhabitants? Uncertainty is painted on her pretty face, as she peers back into the flames, at Aramoth, from her seated position.

Khitti wanted so badly to speak out, to warn Hildegarde. But, this was Hildegarde’s choice to call upon Aramoth--or whomever had appeared in his stead--and it made her hesitant to do so. Khitti had not learned enough about Cyris and his teachings to know what was the right thing to do here. Tenbatsu Kaji’s glow shifted back to that red, matching Lionel’s attire of late, the sprite within just as determined to help protect Khitti as the Steward was. Hildegarde’s words resonated deep with Khitti: she too had hated what she’d become when she was a vampire. She squeezed Lionel’s arm more tightly, “She’s looking for a cure too… just like I was,” the words bringing tears to Khitti’s eyes. It’d only been months since Khitti’s attempt to cure herself of her vampirism and the subsequent death it brought, as well as her resurrection. Hildegarde’s own attempt brought it all flooding back; the things she did to live again, the things she’d tried so hard to put out of her mind. Was the Silver going to regret this as Khitti had come to do with her own cure? She could only continue to watch for now, an ever-present frown on her face.

Scandal thoughts were his own he was silent, respectful, and understood that wish to be, normal again. But then he heard a voice, and then it was silent. It spoke to him, words that were private. But he felt more at peace now.

Bradyn :: A soul. The Queen wanted her soul back. This revelation caused a grim smile to be briefly displayed. It's gone and Bradyn remains the silent observer. Would Hildegarde have her request granted? Both she and the High Priestess were trying for form a compelling case for why she should be in possession of her soul.

Celaeno caught bits and pieces about apparently someone, the Queen, being resurrected? Was that so common in those lands? She should have been in awe, but the unholy energies, the fire, brought about far too many familiar images, unpleasant enough she struggled to hold herself stable. Her stomach churned and the familiar faces, even the concerned glances from Khitti and Lionel toward the face in the fire, Lanara’s glances toward her, even Bradyn’s impassive expression as he simply observed in mild stoic interest blurred together a moment as she just focused on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. The Queen’s plea to be made whole makes her focus on the impressive woman. It seemed a dangerous thing, bringing about the hard lesson, “Be careful what you wish for.”

Leone reacts with a jump, and a measure of shock. She wheels around to cast an accusatory look at Bertram, and then promptly spins around to bow to the face in the flames. "Thank you, my Lord," the farrier says graciously. The next moment brings the lime green gaze to fall upon Hilde, and then sweep back toward the god. The smith falls silent while the Queen pleads her case, a hand moving to gently rest upon the redhead's shoulder. "Yes, it is," the sacred smith replies to Aramoth, "She is, and always has been. Look for yourself, look closely and dearly at this Silver lady, and see that from when time began for her, she has been your devoted servant. That soul is yours, curated by myself and the High Priest before me, and shall dine in your Hall once her mortal coil has been sloughed off. This much is known. But I contend that she will be one of the best, brightest, and most magnificent warriors you have to boast. To call on. To rely on in the divine war to come. I've no doubt about that. And right now, your most magnanimous representative is asking to be whole again. I am asking for her to be whole again, as well, even if this pursuit costs my life in trade."

Lionel twists his lips into faintest sneer at the thought of glorifying a being in such a manner. But his sneer never paints itself in full, because Leone mentions Hildegarde’s conviction and her own, and these are women he deeply believes in on an unflinchingly personal level. There is no blood boiling in Lionel’s veins to the tune of the complete respect he has for his Queen and her High Priestess, no matter the depths of his anxiety toward their idol. But when Aramoth declares Hildegarde’s soul his own, a vision tickles Lionel’s mind of Hellfire unsheathed. ‘Come and take it, I dare you,’ he hears himself say, but it’s a passing fancy, a fleeting desire he could never act upon. Only the Queen’s emotional plea snaps him from that stupor; only hearing her say -- in front of all those gathered today -- all the things he’s suspected she feels since coming into her service. The fullness of Lionel’s empathy cannot be overstated. For years after the deaths of the poorly-named Immortals and the burning of Vailkrin and Catal he walked the earth dispassionate, stepping over war’s corpses in single-minded ambition to remove all traces of the evil he once fought. Through the kindness and decency and burning hopes of those with whom he has become acquainted, Lionel has learned to live with himself in this mission, and to be passionate again, even in the wake of evil’s trace returned. He knows, almost too late and indisputably to his own peril, what it means to wander whilst lost, and no matter how hatred for the gods he cannot hate a Queen, a warrior, a woman who wishes to be made whole again. It’s only when Khitti voices her observation through teary eyes that it dawns on Lionel: he isn’t even alone in this self-reflection. All around him, the devoted and the doubtful alike feel something of themselves in Hildegarde’s simplest, most difficult request. Tilly is in tears as well, and even Thrace -- ever the cynic like her commander -- seems struck by the ordeal. She must be aware of her own momentary weakness, for her mouth is tight and she refuses eye contact. Lionel breathes into the chill. “I know,” he tells Khitti. What else can he say? A dark thought curls through his heart like a snake: would he not ask even Aramoth to return Valrae to the realm?

“Ardugaulirpalaxingeirtraintrurrturacvalam,” the voice spoke, the chorus of whispers echoing a soft ‘valam’ around the room in a bid to repeat what sounded like a name. “Daughter of Aramoth, Queen of the North, child of Xalious… I stole your eye from your skull in the hope you would not see the darkness that lay ahead for you, but still it came and still you fought. I can restore you, in my Hall, eternally. Step into the flame, into my embrace, my Daughter. Step into the light and you shall rest eternal, a star in the night sky, a being of light,” the flame wreathed face tempted the Queen, offering her such a gift that it would be hard to reject it. Rest would be so, so, so good. No more war. No more fighting. Just to rest. Hildegarde fell silent for a moment in deep contemplation, considering the offer. Could she really just go up into the flames and join her chosen god? The Silver cast a glance over her shoulder to those gathered within the temple, to Lionel, to Khitti, to those unfamiliar faces. “I… I cannot. There are people who must be defended, evil that must be defeated,” she replied after a moment. “I only ask for a mortal heart. I ask to be restored in only one aspect,” she tells the god, rejecting the offer of peace and eternal rest. The face in the fire contorts, briefly frowning in anger as the offer is rejected. The voice speaks up: “Then you will pledge a war for me. Defeat thine enemies in my name and I shall grant your request, Daughter,” the voice commands of the Queen. “Defeat the unseen enemy. Defeat the one who seeks to weaken me, Ardugaulirpalaxingeirtraintrurrturacvalam, protect the divine realm so I may continue to protect this one. The forces of darkness brew now… I sense them even now, attempting to break through my barrier. Do this deed, Daughter of Mine, and I will grant your desire.” The unholy aura surged in strength, the shadows hatred and that dark aura clashing together furiously now just above and behind the flaming wall that the deity had constructed. Would the flaming wall collapse? Would that unholy force be unleashed? Whatever it was, it was looking for a way out...

Lanara shivers, though it was not the cold creeping into her silken skin, but fear. Leone’s offer to give her life in an exchange for a mortal heart for Hildegarde brings tears to her eyes, and although this was a God they were making deals with… It felt as though they were bargaining with the devil, himself. Anything bred of fire and war couldn’t be trusted, and the fact that the Queen is so broken that it came to this leaves the witch shaken to her very core. A single tear trickles down her cheek, as she shakes her head, and nudges Scandal. “This is not going to end well. They need to stop this madness. I understand why Hildegarde desires to have her ‘self’ back, but at what cost?! This feels so very wrong.” Chestnut tresses stick to her face and neck as she breaks into a cold sweat, her anxiety reaching its peak. The urge to call out to the Queen and Leone is great, though she finds her mouth is so dry and she’s unable to speak, despite the evident warning she holds in her brown gaze. The face shrouded in flames is avoided, and instead, Lana focuses on Khitti, finding those fiery red locks to be almost soothing. As her worry creeps in, she’d shift her gaze to Cela’s hands, intently listening for their creaking noise. The woman looks at everyone and tries to focus on anything but Aramoth, not wanting to grant him attention, as he was already asking for war and far too much from the Queen of Frostmaw. Best not feed his ego.

Khitti :: [It’s getting worse, Khitti.] Seika’s words brought light again to the darkness that’d crept up in Khitti’s mind. This wasn’t the time for her to collapse from doubt and grief at her own actions. The pregnant woman wiped the tears from her eyes and took a step or two away from her brother, towards where Hildegarde and the others stood. “The darkness won’t win. Hildegarde won’t let it. -We- won’t let it.” Khitti’s heart was beating like a mouse’s, oh so rapidly, as if it were sure to give out at any moment; it was a heart that had been much like Hildegarde’s in a way: cold and yearning to be alive again. She unsheathed Tenbatsu Kaji, not to attack, but in a show of solidarity with the Queen’s want to do away with the realm’s enemies. The sword of Cyris’ aura grew ever more, its strength showing off Khitti’s want for everyone in Lithrydel to be free of the evils the voice spoke of.

Celaeno finally started to regain her composure, breath by breath as the odd attack on her body, perhaps from within her own mind even, began to pass. The god’s price for the Queen’s restoration made her mouth press into a line. He represented war, if she recalled correctly, so it should make sense. Blind commitment to fight an unseen enemy, without knowing the magnitude, went over her head as far as comprehension went. If she really stopped to think about it, she would probably see quite a few parallels from her own situations. Who wouldn’t want such? Who wouldn’t go to such extreme lengths to find the rest of themselves? She flexes her fingers, the joints moving easier now that she had warmed them some. Her stomach still had a touch of nausea as the air felt off, wrong. Khitti’s declaration did make her attention jolt toward the pregnant red-head, eyes going wide, part with admiration for having the nerve to speak up in such a gathering, part wonder at how she mustered that.

Lionel watches Khitti step forward. He watches her unsheath her sword like Donovan Keane reborn. He watches her despite the pressure in his head, the sound and fury of the ceremony, the selflessness of the supplicants. He watches her and he moves forward himself, refusing to let his sister stand courageously alone. Hellfire is drawn from its prismatic scabbard, its black blade made stark contrast to Tenbatsu Kaji. No flames billow across its steel, but reflective flames of ritual sparkle and sizzle intensely across its edge, giving it an even livelier sheen than if its own Ishaarite magic roared it to life. Together, they stand: Khitti and Lionel, in defense of the Queen, in defense of the realm, against the darkness.

Hildegarde seemed a little confused by the mention of an unseen enemy, someone who seeks to weaken Aramoth. Who? Who could it be? Was it Larket? Was it Josleen…? Who could it be? The Silver was not ready to wage war on Larket. Not when Kahran’s wolves were at the door, howling and prowling around the innocents of the realm as a whole. “Who? Who am I to fight?” The god didn’t answer her outright, these things would never be simple, after all! “You will see when the time comes,” the flame faced being warned ominously, “until then, purge this temple of the force which has defiled it and keep evil at bay for another day,” the deity commanded; the fiery wall dropping suddenly and unleashing the evil force from behind the flaming curtain. Hildegarde jerks up to her feet, drawing the short-sword from her belt and dreading the fact she had left her halberd over to the left with a guard. It was time to fight.

Bradyn would like to say that he felt some amount of inspiration by Khitti's words. We won't let it. Maybe she would not, maybe Lionel would not, maybe Celaeno would even feel motivated enough to join the cause. Bradyn would let the darkness win. He may be the exception to the statement she made, but that was okay, he was minding his manners and keeping to himself. Bradyn's thoughts would not linger on Khitti's sentiments for long, look away from the ceremony for too long and he might just miss something interesting. So his sights are returned to the Queen and the High Priestess.

Leone slides her hand up from Hilde's shoulder to her forehead. The smith is still bloody from the ritual, and uses it to her advantage. Due to her station, she is perhaps the holiest thing in this room, and thus anointing the Queen with her own blood should serve as more than enough protection against the unholy. The forehead, cheeks, and chin of the Silver are all touched, each scribed with a sacred rune to protect and bless. The farrier thrusts an arm, hand, and extended finger toward the back wall of the temple. The gesture is accusatory in nature, pointedly directing the room's attention to the corruption that exists within the once sacred temple. It has been defiled, and that desecration now seeks to consume the god once paid homage here. The same hand is raised into the air, assembling the league of holy warriors and divine mages to her side, those who had come to perpetrate the ritual must now defend it alongside their Queen. The various religious people all spark to life, weapons grabbed up and practiced incantations thrumming into a murmur like a well-oiled mechanical engine turning over. Then, the smith breaks off and turns to Lionel; if he should not prohibit her in any way, the Steward will be the next to be warded and blessed against the unholy forces that seek to break through the wall.

Lanara pulls back from Scandal as the two finish their small bout of whispering, and she glances towards the Queen, Aramoth’s enflamed face, and the joining of siblings, against the darkness. There was no time like the present. And it had been quite some time since she’d been part of any battle, so without a further whisper to Scandal, she merely gives the dragon a ‘look’ as though saying following suit, or stand back and watch. She had made her decision. And although she doesn’t have a fancy sword like Lionel and Khitti, she has a big heart, and magic flowing through her veins. So, without further ado, Lana slowly rises to her feet and inches towards those gathered before the flames, gaining strength with every step forward. Standing to Hilde’s back, and to the left of Lionel, she fixes a battle-ready look on her face, her jaw clenched in newfound fury.

Scandal stepped forward. He had no blade nor did anything to show to stand against the darkness, he wasn't even part of the guild but he stepped forward. His low rich voice resonating with the room, "Neither will I."

Lionel acknowledges Lanara’s appearance beside him with a nod and a curious glance. He only knows the witch in passing, but he knows she’s a witch, and circumstances have conspired to foster in him an unabiding appreciation of witches and their craft. Through Uma’s heroism, and under Valrae’s sacrifice, and for all the things their kind have done both in Cenril and abroad to stand valiantly against Kahran and whatever else festers in the night, Lionel finds himself utterly unsurprised to see one beside him now. Nor is it a moment too soon, for the corruption flakes at the rim of the temple, cloistered for now but building, throbbing, threatening. High Priestess Leone fixes Lionel with a meaningful glance, and his azure eyes drop to the ground only briefly before returning to face her with conviction. “Yes,” he says, his momentary inner conflict having passed. To fight in service of Aramoth is a nightmare made real, but to fight for the world he’s sworn to protect -- that is worth Leone’s holy anointing.

Celaeno understood just enough of what was going on to realize danger was afoot, with everyone backing up their own inspirational declarations, standing and making symbols of themselves. Then there was holy chanting, blood runes. She knew just enough to start tapping the runes along her left hand, the dull strings engraved upon the silver flaring to new life as she steeled her nerves and infused more energy into the enchanted glove, just in case. At the very least she could defend her own self with what magicks she did know. Her right hand stayed poised, as she brought her middle finger and thumb together, ready to light a spark in case offensive action was required. HEr stormy eyes shoot towards those she knew in the room, all seeming more than able to defend themselves by her estimation. STill, noting their locations just in case.

Hildegarde is glad for Leone’s warding and blessing, though it is an act she is long used to by now. With her short-sword at the ready, Khitti, Lionel, Lanara and whatever other brave souls that wish to fight alongside her, she feels emboldened. She feels that fire within her for a moment or two. That fire for battle, that passion for life and glory! “To arms! To me!” she commands the room - or at least those willing to stand and fight alongside her - and readies for the conflict to come. The swirling darkness ahead of the crowd continues to swirl malevolently, seemingly only gathering in size and speed as it whips around; chasing after itself over and over in an endless spiral. “Purify the temple, that’s what Aramoth said. Hold the darkness back another day!” she urges the crowd as the darkness suddenly spews forth: a collection of what seemed to be a dark sandstorm, little gritty bits of glass and what might feel like a horde of insects. It brings with it a wave of despair, a sense of fatigue and as if one just simply cannot go on any longer. The warrior Queen swings her sword from her left hip in an upwards arc as if to slice through the oncoming darkness. She had no holy magic in her though, save what Leone granted her from her runes.

Scandal saw what was coming when it came, as the particles came ad him he saw them coming as if they were slow his reflexs and perception activating allowing him to evade them. He felt the fatigue that they seemed to posses, but neither the despair nor the feeling of wanting to not go any longer did not sway him, the reason being is he had felt it all before, and like a vaccination he felt prepared for it. The room would not hold his bulk should he change, nor was he sure if he could with how his transformation was out of whack, but he knew what he could do, He opened his reserves and called out to lanara, "You know what to do, you've done it before, now lets do it again, anyone who needs a source of magic to draw from, draw upon me."

Celaeno :: The darkness swirled, thick with solid things that pricked at the half-elf’s cheeks and threatened to cloud her exposed eyes. The budding necromancer hadn’t picked up anything quite offensive in the new specialty she was pursuing, but her current one still had some tricks hidden in those gauntlets of hers. She holds her breath, as the particles in the air threatened to spill through her nose and the buzzing wears on her ears. The fatigue was nothing new, the despair something that fought inside her gut every day since she left home. She holds out her left hand, imbuing her power into the runes there. Her magic may be the regular variety, but that meant it didn’t have a weakness to whether something was holy or not, right? Her attempt at a defense was as simple as a barrier to keep out magic, an orange field that swelled out from her and consumed all those in her immediate vicinity at the back of the pews, twenty feet in diameter at the very largest. Would it cover enough of the other actual fighters to make a differece? Its effect would ideally keep any obscene magic being cast by their opposition outside for as long as she could hold it up, a few minutes as her energy waned, or until it broke down under too much weight. Scandal’s aid might come in handy if he lended himself to her attempt at defense, but that would all boil down to how this battle went down with that unholy force.

Lionel is a slender blur. The Ishaarite fire of his blade breaks across its steel, roaring like battle triumph. His sprint to the Queen’s side is an arc that keeps him perpendicular to his sister as well, all the better to defend them both, and his shoes leave trails of faint flame that boost his speed like jets through the temple. The darkness swells, expands, seems to breathe of its own essence and regurgitates black glass and blistering black bugs. Lionel swings Hellfire into a frenzy, letting its red blaze go green and soar through the air into the malevolent force, smacking noisily into individual bits of malice and burning them with righteous ire. But the darkness must be satiated, it must feed on its victims, it must grow. Despite Lionel’s strong-willed protest, despite the fire he sends forth, so much of it shudders past him and leaves him feeling cold and blank, and he coughs in its wake and continues the fight as best he can, but it’s beyond his reach and it’s engulfing Queen Hildegarde, it’s wrapping its bleak tendrils around Leone, it’s moving to kill them, crush them, end them. “Frak you,” Lionel groans, the infernal jets by his feet swerving him forward into the abyss to stop it...

Khitti whispered the command to summon up Seika’s armor, “Cyris Guardian Armor Make Up!”, and was quickly adorned in the simple rose gold half-plate and reddish-brown leather (don’t mind her. Just a pregnant woman in some armor. Nothing to see here) that the holy sprite had bestowed upon her, the room filled briefly with a light mirroring the hues of flames. A wide arc was cut into the air with Tenbatsu Kaji as Khitti, a streak of holy fire sent headlong into the darkness to keep it at bay. She kept herself close to Lionel, using the few abilities she knew of that Tenbatsu Kaji offered, arcs of holy fire sent to match the hellfire of her brother’s own sword. If only she was further along on her path towards the light. This would have to do for now, however.

Brennia brandishes a sword only Hildegarde and Lionel would know, but she trusts they wouldn’t give her away. Yes, she’s with Hildegarde in this fight as best she could because even though her abilities have dwindled she will fight with this woman as the Queen did for her own cause not that long ago. Dipping and diving she used whatever force was thrown at her against the attacker, while she did well at evading she made sure to look out for those familiar faces’ backs as well. A soft hum could be heard by those close to the bard and it would be warriors call to place some power behind punched, light a flame of courage and give confidence to those who need it in this fight.

Lanara readies herself, as instructed by the Queen, and steps nearer to Lionel, not for protection, but as an ally. She gives the blonde a curt nod, a half-smile on her lush lips, before she narrows her gaze on the impending sandstorm of darkness. Arms extended, the brunette, lifts her palms upwards, and inhales, as time seems to stand still for the witch. “Goddess, Goddess, up above. Send a shower, doused with love. Cleanse this evil, show it light. Protect those gathered with all your might.” Lana’s form seems to shimmer for a moment, as sparks fly from her fingertips, and up towards the ceiling of the temple. She’s a minute too late however, as the sand storm divides itself, heading in various directions, before taking various forms. The area she wishes to strike, holds one of those sand-beings, in the form of a solidified sand-coated warrior, brandishing a maul. The faceless monster is glared upon, as holy water sprouts from an invisible sprinkler system in the ceiling directly above. As the droplets splash upon the sand-warrior, his coating of armor moistens and drips onto the ground, leaving him ready to be sliced and diced by someone with a sword. Lana exchanges a glance with Lionel, before she darts to the right and places her hand upon Scandal’s shoulder, aiming to replenish the magic which she had nearly exhausted in her attack upon the darkness.

Scandal felt his constant headache clear as soon as lanara touched his shoulder, as if looking into himself layer upon layer trying to figure out just how abundant this source of magic was, he imagined himself opening a door and feeling a powerful release of energy which made his eyes glow with a new found light, the next who drew from him, would surely feel a surge of power of high intensity, allowing them fabricate strong feats of magic. He moved stepping out of the path of the oncoming darkness, avoiding it again, but trying in to keep ready near those who needed magic.

Leone returns to where Hildegarde is. The smith bows her head, lips moving quickly as she clamps onto the Queen's shoulder once more. There's a surge of white light, a burst of divine energies as they travel up the farrier's arm, across the Monarch's shoulder, skittering and bouncing over her plate armor and into the sword the one-eyed redhead wields. It charges the metal, the blade becoming embued with holy power, sparking and sintering against the oncoming darkness. The spray of opposing forces stings her eyes, tearing at her skin. The opaline flesh pricks with pinpoints of red, some areas raw, and then it all crowds in. The smith gasps for breath, her teeth gritting against one another. Her other hand splays, and an orb of brilliant blue light consumes it. A moment later, the smith's holy relic is in her hand: a hammer emblazoned with Aramoth's sigil.

Hildegarde can feel the darkness surge towards the gathering of people, but it doesn’t seem that bothered about spending much time with them. It wants Leone, the holiest woman in the room and a fountain of divine power. The Silver cannot do much to distract the darkness but that sense of despair and fatigue clings to her, it feels like such a weight upon her… but it only serves to anger her. It angers her that this unholy force is subjecting her to these feelings! That she cannot pull away from it and simply escape! Perhaps it is that desire to escape and the sheer emotional ordeal of seeing her chosen god and inching closer to her goal of restoration that causes the Queen to simply let go. To let go and become that which she has always been and always will be: a dragon. The body of the Queen merely slumps to the floor, her eye shut and everything just relinquished. With the darkness swarming everywhere, it’s easy for Hildegarde’s body to become lost in the heat of the fight… until it rises as the large, silver scaled dragon she was. The Silver dragon’s serpentine head reared and bellowed out a mighty roar within the temple, barely managing to fit within the temple. It was as if she could fit at just a squeeze. The Dragon Queen’s mighty wings open and spread but not quite to their true and full wingspan, but it’s a rare sight to see. Rarely did she showcase her truest of forms. Bellowing once again, her scaly head rears back before unleashing a mighty breath of icy wind within the room. Those with any sense of the divine might feel a hint of divine magic within the breath attack; thanks to Leone’s runes and wards.

Bradyn remains passive. Any measures taken for protection are defensive and limited only to himself, not even Celaeno is offered any amount of assistance. It did not seem that the Novus Morior was in need of any assistance and that was something that Bradyn was pleased to see. Well, pleased for Bradyn. The despair and fatigue were warded against, and while things were definitely starting to go awry...Bradyn would remain in the area just a little bit longer, he wanted to witness just a little bit more, but his escape was inevitable. He already had the spell in mind to pull him away from this place should things continue to go haywire. His presence at this point was probably an awkward one, he was neither trying to flee nor was he trying to help, he was just there.

Kanna was making her way to the site of her next duel, rather begrudingly at that-- she could only prayed she would not lose her precious voice again. That was when she heard the rumbling from the lost libraries she had seen but once. Finally managing to waddle through the snow, the exhausted bardess sees the makeshift army, and the encroaching darkness. Then she sees the dragon. And so, she does the thing she does best: she screams. A burst of soundwaves is thrown in the direction of the darkness, and any in it's path. Travelling quickly, the waves only seen by the smallest of fluctuations in the light will knock into anything in it's path.

Larewen is late, as she seems to have a habit of being perpetually so to a lot of things lately. The necromancer shields her eyes, raising her left forearm and gritting her teeth against the stinging of sand in the open, decaying and festering, rotting flesh of her arm. Those that had happened to see Gilwen's arm before it was cured will recognize the necrotic curse; will know that the necromancer's cure was one of transference. Dark tendrils of energy reached out, mingling with other magics in searching... searching until it found the familiar runes of Cela's own and brought the necromancer to the apprentice's side in the darkness. Only then would she cast her magic out further to get a better feel for the situation, for the others present and a grim expression settled on her features. Her magic would brush against Bradyn, against Khitti and Lionel too; against Hildegarde and Leone. Her presence would be known before she reacted to the darkness that so hungered for the smith and the Queen. And then, the necromancer's mouth opened, silvery words beckoning sweetly to the things emerging from the darkness to battle those nearest her.

Lionel has eyes but cannot see; the darkness has overwhelmed his vision, stolen his sense of direction. Yet Khitti’s brilliant sword lights up like a beacon in the distance, even as his Hellfire does the same, and between their beacons so much of the heinous pain upon his skin seems becalmed. He shakes in fits and starts, but swings in wide slashes at crazed angles, ripping through the glass and snapping through the insects, making waves of safety for others to retreat within. He cuts through the darkness at his own expense, his muscles raging at the pressure. In the distance, he espies Tilly and Thrace and the disguised Brennia, their shortsword and halberd and blade lunging to and fro, and nearer to his person he spots the sand warrior that Lanara has readied for his blow. He pierces it, shattering it like misshapen pottery, and then he dodges a sweeping gale of stinking baleful evil by letting his limbs go loose beneath its stride. Lionel carves its backside with a flourishing strike but shields his eyes from the beam of glossy light that overwhelms him when his Queen falls to the ground. Yet his heart is made serene to see it, because he knows what it portends. The temple shakes when the dragon rises.

Lanara removes her hand from Scandal’s shoulder, and darts back into action, as his mana fountain had fulfilled its purpose. The witch didn’t usually need a rest after using magic; however, holy magic had exhausted her abilities, as spirit magic was the most difficult for the woodland woman to wield. The makeshift sprinkler system slows to a halt, and Lana looks at the Queen, in time to see her shift into a silver dragon. The sheer magnificence is enough to bring her pause, as she had never seen the warrior in her scaled form. However, the moment is short lived, as the darkness seems intent to destroy Leone, the holiest out of all of those gathered. Narrowing her eyes on the raging sandstorm, along with the sand that managed to form into sand-beings, Lana seems at a loss. Who should she defend? What plan of attack should she prepare next? And just then, Larewen enters the mix, and her words seem to ‘speak’ to the unholy entity. For now, the witch stands still, watching as some of the sand seems to respond to the vampire, and she lowers her hands, enjoying the moment of rest, though she nears the location of Leone, should anything further occur.

Hildegarde-dragon was determined to get out of the temple and more or less chase out the darkness that had previously been there. The dragon’s head stoops low and she bellows once again, but this time the Queen begins to stomp her way out of the temple; barely making it out of the temple doors given her massive frame. With Leone clutching onto her scaly back and swinging her divine hammer at any darkness she passes, the dragon can only watch as many leap out of her way. Some of the darkness clings to her scaly form, nibbling away at her scales like unholy piranha. The Silver can only hope it isn’t chewing Leone alive up there! With a snarl, the dragon bursts free from the temple doors and threatens to trample Larewen altogether if she doesn’t move soon! “Flee, darkness!” the dragon commands, as she escapes the temple; rising up into the sky with the priestess and a cloud of darkness swarming her silver body. She was taking a good chunk of it away.

Larewen has no intention of being trampled, that much becomes clear as she moves out of Hildegarde's way.

Khitti ’s holy armor would repel Larewen’s magic harshly as she continued to send flames of Cyris’ will into the darkness. Oh, it didn’t take much for Khitti to sense Larewen’s power--not even Seika needed to tell her. “Those of you against the darkness, stand near me!” Khitti pulled the circlet from her head and tossed it like a chakram, the plain bit of rose gold armor soon gaining those same holy flames. The circlet would spin around those gathered, entrapping them in a sort of cyclone before it returned to its wielder; they were safe from the flames, but those that sought to threaten them would not be.

Bradyn would not feel any brush if Larewen’s magic for the Maharan would not continue to remain in the area. His motivation for being here has come and pass and he had no interest in offering any amount of aid in this situation. He was not a hero like the rest of them, he saw not immediate benefit to himself for intervening. As quickly as Larewen appeared, Bradyn would disappear. This was not his fight, the vampire had no reason to meddle in the affairs of a dragon.

Scandal gaze turns to the his own new nemsis this cluster of darkness which seemed to have finally realized that the whole attack as a cloud was not going to work, and so it folded itself into the shape of warrior of obsidian, from its own arm it drew a sword, which it raised to cleave him in two. but raising his arms and scales becoming prominent, he thrusted his arms up, and as the blade came down on his arms the blade shattered, thrusting his hand out impaling the the crystal warrior in the chest, but because it was not living it pulled itself forward to attack him, but then came its second mistake, ripping out his hand, a glow rose through the chest of the obsidian warrior, and then it was still, becoming a statue, forever. Scandal stared at it, as other fought the other strands of darkness in the room. "Time will tell."

Leone goes with Hilde, because riding a dragon is better than walking.

Celaeno ’s barrier seemed to be both draining her too fast and doing nothing against the onslaught as it slipped right through, so she taps some of the runes on her gauntlets and manages somehow to to swallow a whole mouthful of dark sand, despite that a good chunk of it got up her nose. She finally lets out the breath she had been holding and goes to her old standby of snapping her fingers, enhancing the spark that touching those particular symbols on her fingertips together made. She spread the fire about her and others, trying to burn the unholy insects and sand away if she could as one would when spraying out a blaze. The mix of the holy energies flaring out from Leone’s hammer and Khitti’s sword makes her chest burn something fierce. The brushing past of Larewen’s uniquely spectral energy makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. Even trying to watch Lionel’s Hellfire spin about with him made her dizzy and the way Lanara sucked the mana from Scandal’s waiting form to battle the more solid figures shaping around her had her suitably impressed, at least as long as she oculd absorb it before she’s hacking up a lung, red tendrils dribbling from her nose and the corner of her mouth. Hildegarde’s transformation would have had her bedazzled otherwise, and the next she saw the queen it would be in an entirely new light. The gritty fog began to clear some as attack after attack seemed to draw it away, especially when Hildegarde took flight with her preistess right on top of her. Despite that her knees shook under her with the effort it took to combust any particles in the air around her with that fire, she somehow managed to stay standing, at least for the moment. Khitti's holy fire did have her edging inward toward the red-head, away from the barrier that, despite that it wouldn't hurt her, felt far more repellent than anything.

Lanara picks up on the intent of the dragon, and is relieved that Leone is atop the scaled back of her lifelong friend, as the duo storms from the temple. Her heart skips a beat as Larewen is in the path of the silver dragon, though the vampire manages to move out of the way in time. The majority of the darkness seems to flow outdoors, leaving the temple to a bearable reprieve, as Lionel manages to annihilate the sandman from earlier, with ease. Lana looks at the male with a newfound respect, pleased that they had worked in tandem to bring down at least one of their foes. Flicking her attention to Celaeno, she moves to the young necromancer’s side, and nods to the doors. “I think Hilde is trying to get the fight outdoors. Let’s go!” Without further ado, the young witch sprints out into the snow, without hesitation. Her cheeks are flushed, her heart is racing, and the magic is flowing steadily through her veins, with the urge to expel all that pent up energy.

Lionel | ‘A cornered Catalian’s tones are often lilting, ever the irony.’ It’s an ancient phrase carved on too many tombstones, and it’s hard to deny its truth. On dire occasions, Lionel’s accent is thick with rhapsodic pronunciation, a kind of bardic harmony that pierces the din of conflict to be overheard. “Hit it with everything you’ve got,” he requests, assuming command in the wake of Hildegarde’s departure. “One last assault will end its power. And do as Khitti requests.” His sister will know his need to stand outside her cyclone. Supplicants race to her side in the dozens, a throng of men and women protected by her knightly spell, but Lionel remains wreathed in dark forces. The pressure continues to build within him, a pressure only burgeoning when Larewen’s magic weaves. Hellfire slices through it, ridding the temple of every blot of darkness that it finds. Lionel rushes past Scandal, and past Lanara, too, but he stops beside Celaeno and despite the terrible pain he’s subjected upon himself the man cannot help but glance upon the student inquisitively. She’s seen better days, he thinks, and for that he slams Hellfire’s tip into the ground to let it burst forth a pulse that -- should she let it -- will push Celaeno deep into Khitti’s protection.

Scandal was vaguely aware of hildegarde becoming a dragon, or being trampled out the door. Getting up from the snow, Scandal looks around and sees a huanting sight he could see his eyes glow on the snow, how much energy did he have? Seeing one last shape forming out of the darkness in his vincity he approached it, beneath his skin his viens began to glow as a powerful energy seemed to be flowing in them, violently so. as the form turned toward him, he raised his hand into a fist, and as it touched the obsidian scandal felt himself picked up and tossed like a ragdoll. As the thing exploded. Quickly he shut off his power he wasn't going to see where its max was today, and somehow he didn't want to know.

Celaeno had indeed seen better days, having expended far too much on that barrier and so many fire tricks at once against a thick, gritty darkness that she had no idea how else to combat. The waste of energy makes his pulse fling her back across the pews much like a rag doll, into the heart of that holy-fire’s protection. The Tetsu Kaji’s wielder would find the half-elf flung toward her, ready to hit the floor sliding as she’s unable to keep her footing under the circumstances. All the while she’s still hacking, the entire world blurring around her as she grips her roiling stomach and chest.

Encara :: Some minutes ago, Encara had entered the temple unseen, abseiling in through an upper air vent like a spider strung on the end of its web. While her original intent had been simply to observe from the shadows, safely secluded in the rafters far out of sight of those gathered below, it doesn't take long for the drow to understand that things have taken a turn for the worse… or perhaps just for the expected - bartering with gods always has its downsides, of course. With chaos swiftly engulfing the main floor and a foul, tangible darkness spreading along with it, Encara makes the choice to remain despite it all; even with divine energy flashing all around her, making the ranger curse and growl at the brightness; even when that awful feeling in the air is screaming at her: run, coward, you can do nothing. It is almost overwhelming, but it is what gives her the push to fight back - it's how she lives, after all. An arrow lashed with rope flies from Encara's bow, embedding itself in another of the ceiling beams before Encara wraps the other end of the rope round her arm and dives from her perch. Down she sails, a near miss with Hildegarde's massive dragon head causing her to twist her body in mid-air - freeing herself from the rope, the drow lands in a low crouch and straightens while watching the Silver burst out of the temple and take to the air. A frown crosses her features, before she turns to whip her dagger through a turbulent cloud of blacksand gathering behind her. The grains scatter and fall - the shadows, however, are drawn in to swirl and collect in Encara's upturned palm, where she spends a moment inspecting them before, with a shake of her hand, disperses the darkness into nothing. Well.

Lionel | That dangerous abyss is sealed, its infernal howling silenced against the might of Lithrydelian warriors. Lionel howls, too, the full extent of the pain blowing over his tingling skin. He falls just a heartbeat after the darkness, but he smirks to know the darkness still fell first. Not for his strength, but for the combined strength of all who stood beside him today. “I didn’t do it for you,” he growls a whisper to Aramoth. He’s certain he hears the booming laugh of a god-like creature as the temple’s flames snuff out in unison and the visions abruptly end. Only the cold remains -- winter’s chill, not evil’s.

Encara turns to face the others - some she knows, most she doesn't. Lionel, closest, gets a sharp look. "And you people call drow mad," she snorts, somewhat incredulous.

Khitti watched her brother sadly as he remained outside of her protection. Gods, she wished she could do more. The child within her wouldn’t allow it however, instead hindering the training that the sprite within her sword had been putting her through. She tore her gaze from Lionel only briefly to settle upon Larewen--she had no place here. Her brand of darkness was just as bad as the one that was being fought now and Khitti was glad for Lionel’s sword-strike on all the darkness gathered--even Larewen’s. There was a glare for the vampiress, but it was cut short as Celaeno was flung at her feet, the pregnant redhead moving out the way so as not to be sent flying like a beach ball elsewhere. “Cel!” She kneeled next to her friend and stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her as Lionel dealt with darkness itself. “It’s alright. I’ve got you,” she said, holding the half elf close. As if all of the things concerning Celaeno wasn’t enough, Khitti continued to see herself in the other woman, especially with this newfound lust to throw herself into the battle while untrained--it was vintage Khitti, really.

Scandal stood up, checking for lanara first, and then if she was able to heal, he'd help her with anyone who needed help. And when that was over, he would tell to Lanara, "you need ride back to Venturil, because I am headed back that way myself."

Lionel clutches snowy dirt as he forces himself up, eminently glad for once that he’s so light. Scratching the stubble on his cheek takes more effort than it should, but he peers at the stranger Encara with a caustic shrug. “Trust me, this isn’t my idea of a nice night out, either.”

Celaeno 's pointed ears pricked at the new voices coming to the area alongside Lionel's cry that echoed throughout the temple, some familiar, including Encara's. Though that was the least of her concerns at the moment as the darkness fled and replaced it with the chill that seeped into her lungs just then. It helped to numb her throat, sure, but she hugs her cloak closer to her as she shudders. Much of her energy had been spent, too much, so the silly side effects of her particular situation decided to take their toll. She wouldn't be of much use until she got warmer, a few rebellious coughs making their way out, some blood droplets staining the white fur of her hood.

Khitti would help Celaeno to her feet if she were able to, or at least whenever she was ready, “Come with me. We’ll get you to the fort so you can rest and get your strength back.” She mustered a faint smile for the half elf, “You’d get to ride on the Tikifhlee too.” The holy fire cyclone faded once the darkness was gone, Tenbatsu Kaji resheathed, and whether or not Lionel was going with her, Khitti would head back to the fort for now and word sent to Brand that she was fine. Well, mostly fine. Those memories from the recent past of her own ill dealings with gods was still lingering there in the back of her head.

Lanara re-enters the temple and shakes her head in response to Scandal, her parka and fur-lined boots covered in soot and sand. She was unscathed, thanks to Lionel’s quick actions with the sword, and Khitti’s cyclone or holiness. “Thanks, Scandal. But I’m going to head back tomorrow. I have business elsewhere. I’ll catch up with you soon.” The dragon is given a curt nod, before those dark hues shift to Encara, and as she speaks the word ‘drow’ the witch has to bite back a curse. Lana was not a fan of the drow race, for personal reasons, however Encara had proven herself twice now, so she merely gives a disgruntled hiss, and walks over to Khitti. The red-head was pregnant, and battling darkness, all while a God was being summoned. She truly was something else! “Congrats on your pregnancy, Miss. Should you need a midwife at the birthing… Seek me out.” A shred of paper with the name ‘Lanara’ and an address in Venturil scribbled in red ink, is offered. Cela is fixed with a concerned stare, but seeing that she was in capable hands, Lana doesn’t interfere in her healing. A faint smile is given to any others that catch her gaze, as she retreats back the way she had come, intent on a destination far from Frostmaw.

Celaeno only nodded, managing to pry herself up enough to totter along beside Khitti as she was guided to rest.

Encara might've helped Lionel up if she knew him any better. Instead she simply grins at his remark, the look not entirely pleasant, but quickly hones in on Celaeno, who's a slightly more familiar presence than anyone else here. The mage's condition is taken note of - she definitely looks a little worse for wear, though the drow supposes it's not all that surprising. Khitti, or more correctly, the blade she wields, gets a glance that's almost wary, but Encara won't interfere with her spiriting Celaeno away to somewhere warmer. She lingers in the temple while others leave, watching the shadows breathe, and wonders.

Scandal bowed his head to lanara and then changing form he into a dragon over 500' long 250' wide 300' tall scandal leaped into the air and flew toward venturil.

Lionel limps toward Khitti and Celaeno, swallowing only the dryness of his mouth. His scarlet silk shirt is in tatters, revealing toned abdominal muscles that don’t seem to mind the cold in the slightest -- but do mind the instruments of torture which have left them riddled in scars. “Go,” he says. “I’ll remain behind to assess the wounded.” He glances at Celaeno again, just so, and then nods. It’s well that his sister will see to her recovery, and well that Khitti herself will be away from all this. “Tilly, Thrace, on me,” he drawls. The women rush to his side, and the three of them work through rubble in the way that the alliance works best: united.

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RP:If I Only Had A Heart

Temple of Judgement