RP:Laughter on the Wind
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Frostmaw Wilds
Hildegarde had spent the night tending to Dami’s wounds before slinking off in order to check up on her troops and the progress of the priests. She wanted to at least try and bring some kind of good news to Satoshi, to the people of Frostmaw. It had seemed as if everything had just been bad news as of late and she wanted to change the tide. The light of dawn was barely breaking through as the knight approached Lake Frysta, instantly spotting Tormund, Onjar and Gunjar sitting together and quietly chatting. “Friends,” she said, offering them a little smile, “has the night been quiet?” Gunjar was the youngest out of the giants, brawny and lusting for battle. “Aye, too bloody quiet, m’lady! I’ve been expectin’ t’ fight! Show ‘em my axes,” he grinned, going so far as to flex his brawny arms. Onjar, his elder brother, smirked and elbowed him in the gut playfully, “Aye, ye say that but wait ‘til the battle gets ‘ere. Ye’ll be pissin’ yer breeches!” he guffawed, before looking to Hildegarde and saying politely, “Pardon me language, Lady Hildegarde.”
The Silver had become accustomed to the language of the giants, of Frostmaw, of brutal warriors. So she simply raised her hand as if to hush him, “No need, my friend! I am more upset that you both continue to treat me as if I am above you in rank or social station,” she smiled, feeling that it was important that they see and treat her like an equal. But rather than dwell on it, she looked to Tormund and spoke to him, “Are the priests progressing at all?”
Tormund had always been a happy-go-lucky sort of man, until the death of Sabjorn. It had bothered him as much as it had bothered Hilde, it was something that – unfortunately – helped the two warriors bond. He looked down to her as he spoke, “No. Still tryin’, though,” he answered her factually, trying his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice but it was difficult. “Some of the elves are convinced that they can hear laughter,” he grumbled almost angrily. He wasn’t sure what to believe: his gut that told him they were just cowards and making excuses or the elves with their sharp hearing.
“The last time we heard laughter on the wind, Tormund, it led to Ice Devils ambushing us,” she replied softly. The giant frowned and folded his arms, not wishing to be seen as too stubborn or just too arrogant to accept defeat, mumbling out a gruff apology. “Aramoth does not seem to favour the priests,” he grumbled darkly, looking to them as if to check their progress. They had all assembled by the water, arms raised in prayer as they attempted to cleanse the polluted waters by divine means. “Give them time,” the knight replied, “they have to figure out what we’re up against.”
The priests were too engrossed in their praying, their divine work to notice the Ice Devil that had suddenly appeared at the opposite end of the lake. It wasn’t until they heard that devious giggle, that they all turned their attention to the Ice Devil. It was as if it had waited specifically for everyone to gaze upon it, before taking what looking like a handful of ice shards and depositing them languidly into the lake. The Devil did not seem short of ice, seemingly producing it from its very hands! “Stop him!” the knight bellowed, springing into action as she sprinted in the direction of the Devil. But like any Devil, it had no real care for the world and its troubles.
As the knight and her band of merry giants attempted to close in on the Devil, they were joined by exiled giants: five of them. The knight realised, by charging for the devil, they had left the priests open to attack. “Fall back!” she commanded, but Gunjar did not listen: he continued to charge ahead, swinging his battleaxes with a mighty roar at the Devil who simply danced away from his attack as if it were absolutely nothing. Indeed, the Devil was quicker than any giant could be and would always easily evade any attacks. They moved where the eye did not see, after all. The giant stumbled, tripping up over his own feet in his failed effort to smash the Ice Devil to oblivion! The exiles were amused by his failed effort, stepping in to attack the stumbling giant.
One brought down his sword with a vicious roar, blade biting into the flesh of Gunjar’s shoulder which only quickened the pace in which he fell down. Two other exiles were moving off in the direction of the priests, determined to eliminate them while the other two began to close in on Tormund and Onjar. With the blow to his shoulder, Gunjar had fallen to his knees, which only elicited a roar of rage from his brother Onjar. The older brother attempted to run forward and help his little brother, but the other two exiles blocked his path: grinning maliciously at Onjar and Tormund alike. “I’ll cut ye down!” Onjar threatened, gripping his axe and heaving it upright as if it were nothing. The exiles, however, did not seem to be surprised or overwhelmed by the threat. In fact, they almost looked as though they relished a challenge!
Hildegarde stood beside the gathered priests, watching as two exiles made their way – slowly and surely – towards them. “My life for yours,” she told the priests with certainty, determined that she would protect them until the very end. “Aramoth favour you,” they replied in a mumble, doing their best to focus more on the lake than the battle around them. The first exile let out a rumbling laugh when he was close enough, “A one eyed girl?” he mocked, leaning on his warhammer as he assessed her. “I almost think it’d be unfair to fight you!” he grinned, fingers briefly twining into his beard to scratch his chin. “I was thinking the same thing. Might be humiliating to be beaten by a girl,” the dragon replied, fingers flexing around the shaft of her halberd. It seemed her remark wiped the smile from the exile’s face!
The exile growled and surged forward, “You’re mine!” he roared, leaving his associate to stand there dumbstruck. The knight didn’t wait, though, she moved when he moved: surging forward to dip between his legs and swing her halberd against his heel to tear the tendon to pieces. He wobbled forward a bit, as the knight swung her halberd again and reached up for the back of his knee. With a cry, he fell forward with a might ‘crack’. But Hildegarde could not finish him off just yet, she needed to deal with his friend first.
While the knight was protecting the priests, her comrades were doing their best to fight against the exiles. Gunjar had fell to his knees at the blow to his shoulder, immediately taken off guard by the strike. He was battle hardened, but he had never walked into battle so cocky before; his brother had always put the fear of death into him and made sure he would keep his defences up. But now he knelt there, shocked and dazed; able to hear his brother scream and roar defiantly as his weapon clashed against the exile’s. That was the last thing Gunjar heard, actually, before his head severed from his body. Unfortunately for him, it took three swings of the blade to sever head from body; hanging at an awkward angle for a short period of time.
Onjar screamed, arms thrusting forward to slam the axe against the chest of his attacker and forcing him back a little. The giant howled with rage, “Gunjar!!” he raised his axe and swung it down, splitting the skull clean in half while Tormund tussled with the other exile. Onjar wrenched his axe free with a grunt, kicking the body to the side as he proceeded towards the exile who had killed his young brother. “I will End you!” he roared, sprinting straight ahead at him and tackling him to the ground. He had seen Hildegarde use a similar tactic and he could think of nothing better than being up close and personal with his brother’s killer, dropping his axe so he could raise his fist and throw it into the face of his enemy. But the exile was not that foolish, he threw out his own fist as hard as he possibly could; striking Onjar’s gut and forcing him to roll off of him with a wheezing gasp. “Retreat!” he cried, turning tail and running the way he came.
However, there was not many left to retreat with. Tormund had let the entrails of his enemy hang loose; Hildegarde had slit the throat of one giant and had been thrown aside by the other. A mighty wallop of a club had struck her leg and sent her flying. Only two of the exiles had escaped with their miserable lives.
Onjar knelt beside his brother’s crumpled form, hands reaching out meekly towards his brother’s severed head. “Gunjar,” he wept, sobbing uncontrollably. Tormund knelt beside him, gently placing his hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Hildegarde was not far behind, once she was certain the priests were safe without her beside them. She stood beside them both and said gently, “He will be avenged, Onjar. I swear, we will avenge him.”