RP:Moans of the Elven Dead

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Summary: A horde of dead elves appear before the gates of Frostmaw, calling for their murderer, Trajek. Grailan confirms that the only method of granting them a peaceful rest is to end Trajek... and adds that this will grant Hildegarde her redemption. Pilar objects to Hilde needing redemption at all, but Grailan reminds her that not all see Hildegarde as a savior. He also delivers a message from beyond the grave, and offers to ferry the restless dead over in exchange for a favor.

The meeting is interrupted by Kovl, who comes to report Josleen's peril. This enrages Hildegarde to no end, and Grailan offers a choice--he can still ferry the souls of the dead over... or he can rescue Josleen. Pilar urges Hildegarde to pick the latter and offers her aid when Hildegarde decides to lead the rescue herself. Kovl offers his help, too, and Grailan leaves with the dead. Hildegarde refuses Pilar's aid, leaving the vampire paralyzed in her tent, and runs off, letting Kovl scout ahead.

Frozen Pathway

Pilar was wandering the camp, which had been moved for the second time in less than a month. Now, they were at the mouth of Frostmaw. Beyond the walls was the tyranny of Balgruuf and the suffering of innocents. It was hard not to think about, but Pilar tried. She stayed busy, running errands for the blacksmiths and armorers, cooking and cleaning, and doing other menial tasks. All the while, she was trailed by a child, probably about ten years old. The child looked like her, though whether she was of the same family or not was hard to tell without closer inspection.

Grailan, contrasted to Pilar, had emerged from his obscurity in the wake of Balgruuf's tournament upon the threshold of his victory only to fade and go unseen once more, though his enigmatic appearances and hauntings began to grow more frequent and more interactive the closer that the armies of the Silver came to Frostmaw; his actions were an opposite reflection of the vampire's in that he did not distract himself from the imminent battles or the horrors of the war. Of course, his appearance and manifestation, which came like an apparition by flickering to existance in that black and deathly platemail armor and cased in the cloak and hood of equally dark hue, in front of the camp and facing the entry to Frostmaw's city raised a cry of alarm behind him -one that he ignored.

Pilar's head shot up when she heard the cry and she hurried to where it had come from. When she laid eyes on Grailan's frightening image, she gasped. The child with her didn't react at all, only following behind the vampire. Pilar stared at Grailan, a vague feeling of recognition tickling the back of her mind. Had she seen this terrifying warrior before? And if so, where?

Grailan stared at Frostmaw's gates and walls with the glazed and dead gaze of his kind, which was both hauntingly focused and yet adrift all at once, as if he were not looking at whatever lied before him, but through it to something -or someone- else. He didn't react to Pilar's stare or presence; he didn't react at all, simply stared from his position just before the war camp and between it and the gates of the City of War itself. Moments passed, the Dread Knight offering no response to summons, to hails, even to an arrow fired, which shot through his figure -it passed him and flickered his form like some sort of mirage or projection, despite the snow beneath his feet bearing a real and physical weight. But then something happened; the snow bore dozens and dozens more booted prints and weights, as if some unseen troop stood just behind Grailan -unseen for only a moment, before they, too, flickered into existence. They were nearly transparent and translucent, and with an otherworldly, haunting white in the telltale fashion of ghosts and spirits -apparitions. But their forms were startlingly familiar. Just behind and to the side of the Dread Knight himself stood Aeth, his neck a distorted blur in the evidence of his beheading. Behind him stood dead elves, disembowled and throats slashed. Among them were less recognizable ethereal figures of the people, the once-living beings that were used by Trajek as ammunition. Each of them had hollowed holes where their eyes would be, darker than the rest of their ghostly bodies, and like Grailan, they each were staring as if -through- the front gate.

Pilar gasped again as the ghosts appeared, one by one. She recognized Aeth, the elder, and the youth who had grabbed at her so desperately after being fired from a catapult, before his life was extinguished. There were other gasps and murmurs from the crowd in the army, from giants who recognized neighbors and elves who recognized kin. But no one dared step forward and ask for an explanation. No one dared move. The child behind Pilar still didn't react, even as she, herself, flickered away.

Grailan was not in command -he did not summon these spectres. They were not summoned at all. But he was a being with a peculiar damnation and with it came an extensive list of abilities -rules, as well, but also abilities. And these dead were silent as they amassed, unresponsive to the uncertain and wary calls from the war camp or the walls themselves. Anything would pass through them, they just stood there, as if preparing. Each of them were those that were used in death to serve a nefarious purpose -the elves hung at the walls, the bodies that rained from the skies, the beheaded for examples. Nothing about their faces, however, seemed 'friendly'. In fact, it seemed that they were actually moving very subtly, which would become more and more apparent the more Trajek might be seen; their eyes were fixated on him, through walls and obstacles, never once wavering from his form. But at least, they were silent at first. When that silence broke, it was not a comforting sound that resonated. It was a low hum of deep and disembodied sound, which sounded like gathering of distorted voices. Exponentially they increased their volume, until a single word could be clear -a hostile, unforgiving and condemning word. "Trajek... Trajek... Trajek..." Continuously they would threateningly chant this -a sound not of praise, but of judgement.

Pilar recognized that name, at least. The traitor who had stabbed Hildegarde. The fiend who had murdered Aeth and all those souls still hanging from the wall. Pilar wondered at the meaning of it all and wished she knew where Hildegarde was. She had to see this.

Hildegarde had heard some kind of commotion and decided it was high time she investigated the matter. This camp was in the process of settling; tensions were high what with its proximity to Frostmaw’s city gates. There was some kind of commotion near the gates and the knight immediately suspected that Balgruuf was launching some kind of surprise attack on the camp! She raced towards the gates only to find a collection of spirits and a more solid figure chanting at the gates. Chanting ‘Trajek’. “Enough!” the knight announced after a few moments of observation. “Let the dead rest.”

Grailan 's form flickered and vanished, but the chanting did not -the ghosts did not, neither lessening nor even acknowledging the Silver's command. The Dread Knight, however, did for the most part; he flickered into being like the manifestation of an apparition before his body solidified and became corporeal, with those cold, dead and glazed eyes of gray upon the Silver. "Hildegarde," came the deep and haunting sound of his voice, which was echoed by another voice -a resonation of his own that was disembodied and distorted, "They won't rest." His voice was enthralled in that dread and remorse.

Pilar cringed away when Grailan materialized before them. She'd made her way over to Hildegarde, hoping for some protection and comfort in the face of so many restless souls. She looked at them mournfully. "What can we do?" she asked, looking from Hildegarde to Grailan. The undead was a fearsome sight, but... he didn't seem to mean them any harm. "They won't rest until... until they get justice, right? But... will killing Trajek be enough? Will killing Balgruuf be enough?"

Hildegarde shifted slightly as Pilar approached, making sure that she was largely in front of the smaller illusionist just on the off chance that something went south. She listened to Pilar’s theory on the matter and the remorseful words of Grailan. It made sense. These elves had died brutally and she was, perhaps, to blame for it. “What can I do to help them find rest?” she asked of Grailan, assuming he would be an expert in these matters.

Grailan allowed his head to tilt beneath that hood just slightly, yet the antic caused a ripple to run through the cloth of deep raven that had the hem hang low over the front of his paled face and dead gaze. Yet that stare was full of a certain sympathy that was resonate and enthralled in his damnation. "You can slay Trajek," The words were simply, but haunting in that followed them was worse; "Their retribution will be swift upon his spirit when it is liberated from his body. Then you will have redemption."

Pilar's brow furrowed. "Hildegarde? She doesn't need redemption, she's done nothing wrong, she's been trying to save them." As far as she was concerned, the blame fell on the giants, and only the giants. They were the ones that had killed so many. If Hildegarde was not fighting them, it wouldn't have stopped the slaughter. The giants would have just saved it for sport at a later date, and probably tortured them for the interval.

Hildegarde would not have surrendered to Trajek or Balgruuf, not even to save the lives of these elves. She wished it could be so, but to surrender would only mean their ongoing suffering and enslavement at the cruel hands of Balgruuf and Balder. “Trajek will meet justice,” the knight said in what was certainly a promising tone of voice, full of determination and righteous retribution. “He will see justice, of this I am sure. But know that haunting these here gates, that frightening the giants who are fighting for the freedom of these elves and their brethren… it is of no good. It creates fear and brings with it a sense of dismay. Please. These fallen elves have my word that I shall avenge them, but I cannot do it if they dishearten my men so.” The Silver appreciated Pilar’s support, but she knew that disagreeing with the spirits could be to her peril.

Grailan slowly turned his head toward Pilar in implication of his gaze upon her in the deadened stare of those sad, mournful eyes against the woman. "I know full well the injustices Balgruuf has committed. I have seen Frostmaw change in every bout in his tourney. I merely am relaying their decisions. But the dead do not all share one view. Some blame Hildegarde -some see her as their killer in a crusade to be Queen." Back toward Hildegarde, though he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he thought for a moment, or rather remained silent for a moment, before he spoke, "They want more than your word."

Pilar flinched when Grailan looked her way. She reached out and grabbed Hildegarde's arm, either for comfort, or to offer it. Or both. "No es su culpa..." she murmured. She stared at him as he relayed a message from the ghosts. If he could talk to them, could he... No, she couldn't ask such a favor of a man she didn't know.

Hildegarde did not dare glance back at Pilar. Her full attention needed to be on Grailan and the spirits. “What do they want?” Hildegarde’s word was always her bond, she was known as a trustworthy soul who stuck by her word. But of course, not everyone could be satisfied by a simple swearing of word and honour.

Grailan remained quit for some moments; he had no idea that Pilar was contemplative over something, but moreso was concentrating on the spirits' demands, especially considering that a few of them blamed Hildegarde. Thus the reason for their desire for more than simply the Silver's word. Of course, that did not reflect Grailan's own opinion, as it were, if he had summoned and commanded them this would be a lot smoother. As it were, he was merely allowing them their opportunity to strike at the man that had offended their spirits. "A reading of each of their names, a memorial -as they have been desecrated and unable to be mourned- and to leave Trajek's body to be left unburied, for the crows to feed on." A pause, a tilt of his head, before he continued, "The elf wants you to tell a Gilwen to 'keep her damn head'," his voice briefly became Aeth's in that instant, before it returned to the dreary chilling one of the Dread Knight's own, "And someone close to you... Mich--Mikael? He is not trapped, it is difficult to hear him."

Pilar understood the desire for a reading, and in fact approved, but leaving Trajek's body unburied... She understood that, too, how in their rage and hatred, they would want him debased as they were. But such a thing didn't sit well with her, and she knew it wouldn't sit well with Hildegarde. When Mikael was brought up, her hand moved to take Hilde's. She could only imagine what the Silver was feeling.

Hildegarde nodded at the demand of a memorial. Such a thing needn’t be asked for. “I will give a brief reading here at the camp. When we retake Frostmaw, we shall a much bigger memorial. Something to permanently commemorate their loss and sacrifice. A place where the families of these noble elves can visit and mourn,” she promised. It was the least she could do there. On the subject of Trajek, the knight fell silent as if in consideration. That was no easy task. She had even afforded Balder the proper rites and honour; bathed his body and carried him back to the city atop their shields. It was an honourable thing to do. “Trajek is a paladin of Aramoth. He has done much and more to fall out of Aramoth’s favour. He shall be afforded no such funeral rites from me,” she promised. It didn’t sit particularly well with her, but rationalising it away as something Aramoth would condone helped her. Yet at the mention of Mikael trying to commune with her, she froze. She visibly tensed. That hand that took hold of hers was met with a slight tremble. “He… I…” She cannot formulate the words.

Grailan immediately lifted up a hand as the Steward stumbled for the words, the armored gauntlet with obsidian-encased fingers and palm exposed to cut her off from continuing to speak. "I know. -He knows, rather. Mikael is his name, yes, he's not trapped. I cannot see far into the afterlife beyond the spirit plane, that torturous place where many are condemned, by themselves, another, or in few cases, the divine. I am not allowed to. He says he knows. He wants you not to mourn him, not until after you finish this. He wants you to be proud of him -and that he's proud of you. And that Aramoth-" The Dread Knight's voice cut out and his hand dropped, "I do not know," he confessed, "I am not allowed to know or witness the plans or grace of the gods. I can no longer hear him, but he is not at unrest."

Pilar squeezed Hildegarde's hand in a show of support and looked sadly up at the dragon. It was good to hear that Mikael was at peace, but still... It must have hurt so much.

Hildegarde listened to the words of Mikael through Grailan and felt her body go cold. It was good to hear from Mikael, but it hurt her deeply. She missed him terribly. He had died for her, because of her and yet he was proud of her. How silly that felt. “I…” she might have cried, but instead she inhaled deeply and gave Pilar’s hand a little squeeze as she composed herself. “I thank you for the message. I am glad to hear that Mikael is at peace. Do you know at all if he is within Aramoth’s Hall?” she asked. “If not, well… that’s okay. I’m glad to hear Mikael is at peace. Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

Grailan did not smile; there was no happiness in his gaze or upon his cold, dead features of bloodless pallid skin. There was only a mournful and profound melancholy, just as there always was and always will be, just like the dread that emanated from his very frame, armored and unearthly as it was. He was forever in remorse. But his message was none of those things -"I am not to lay my gaze upon Aramoth's halls. However, because of who I court, and because of Mikael's wish to contact you, I can have no doubt that he is within them. Were it in the favor or realm of another god, I would not be able to even hear him. Were he in this plane, here with ghosts and the restless, I would know it."

Pilar continued to hold Hildegarde's hand, a quiet but caring presence by her side.

Hildegarde nodded stiffly at the words. The matter of Grailan’s courtship was not entirely clear to Hildegarde, though she had seen him around Leone enough to know something was amiss between the two. Though it was not her business to pry and this was hardly the time nor place to make comment on it. “Regardless, I thank you for this. It is… It is meaningful to me.”

Grailan turned his body slightly in order to look over his shoulder on the same side of Hildegarde that Pilar lingered, in order to cast his dead stare behind him and toward the ghosts that were amassed outside of Frostmaw's gate. They had since stopped their chanting. "They want him to suffer. To know that he is going to die. Some are here for you. They call out to you, in their armor, to fight for you, to serve you. There are many who feel their duty to you stronger than their consciousness in death." His face became, briefly, a bit more melancholy as he said further, "Some still act out their battles. Some sit among your camp unseen and unheard, without realization that they are dead. I fought Frostmaw's tournament, I helped stop your stampeding herds, I defied Aramoth and helped snatch you from the afterlife, I served my King Eboric as his wives' personal guard, but I have left Venturil unattended, and I must fill the void my King has left, until his return or successor. But there may be one more thing I can do for Frostmaw before I leave..."

Pilar looked at the ghosts herself, her heart going out to those poor souls. She wished she could do something to help them. But she had not the ability to see or hear or speak to them. All she could do was to help bring them their justice.

Hildegarde nodded, listening to the words of Grailan. It was good to understand the meanings and feelings of the restless dead. It helped her envision how to bring them relief and justice. “I see,” though she did not know what to do with that information. Especially for the helpless dead who didn’t quite know they were in fact dead. The news that Grailan had assisted in her resurrection is news to her, but she doesn’t press for details. She didn’t want to think about that. “And what is that?”

Grailan gestured with a gauntleted hand over the camp, "Restless dead are not undead, they are not some monster or conscious denizen of Vailkrin -they are not so much like me as they are a projection -a manifestation of the consuming facet that prohibits them from crossing into the afterlife -heaven, Hell, Aramoth's Halls, these are many forms that are considered 'the afterlife', though it is not really singular. The space they are trapped in, be it condemned like me, summoned to, or trapped, is a temporary stop. Well, except for the condemned, we can never move on. It is delicate, and it takes time and personal investment of attention and dedication, but most of the restless dead could be put to ease without destroying them. Like... how an advisor might put to ease the mind of royalty. War... creates a surplus of these spirits. And the actions of Trajek make many unable to reach their afterlife until justice for their desecration is served -desecration, I have seen, can pull spirits from the afterlife itself if it is offensive enough." He paused in order to survey the camp once more, though the only gesture is the slow sweep of his head and dead gaze, "I can, before I leave, pass every last lingering soul over to their afterlife like how a servant of Death itself might, a true servant not a cabalist; 'ferrymen' are a common term for them among my kind -to 'ferry' the souls to their intended destination from this state of unrest. It will be very draining, and I will be dedicating extreme amounts of attention, patience, and quite some time too, to do it. I would... have to ask a small favor in return..."

Kovl shouted, "Hildegarde!"

Pilar turned her gaze from the ghosts back to Grailan. If he could help these spirits, it would be worth nearly any favor Hildegarde could grant, she thought. But she could speak only for herself, not Hildegarde, and wouldn't accept his offer... Unless it was a favor she was capable of granting.

Kovl hurries into the camp, hearing word of Hildegarde's presence in the frozen pass. He zips past everyone, desperately scanning the crowd for a familiar face, asking for Hildegarde, and zipping past more soldiers and allies toward where they point. Finally coming upon the Steward of Frostmaw, the illusionist doesn't wait for his turn to speak. "Josleen's in trouble! I know it!" Kovl can hardly breathe. He rushed here from some place in Xalious. It took an hour to find where he was and then much of the day to arrive here in this moment. The pixie stops and scans his surroundings, passing only a glance to Pilar and Grailan. "Hildegarde. She's in the fort north of here. Probably." The pixie finally breathes.

Hildegarde is ready to ask Grailan for more details about this favour he would want in return for services rendered when Kovl suddenly zipped into the area. With Kovl being so panicked and so… up in Hildegarde’s face, the dragon can do no more than rear her head back slightly and make a look of confused disdain. It wasn’t disdain about Kovl, but more at the fact her sole eye was finding it hard to focus on the tiny little man flying so close to her face and so quickly and so panicked! It was a lot to take in. “Wait, what?” She heard something about Josleen. Only once Kovl stopped, did Hildegarde finally realise what he had said. “What?!” she roared the word, letting go of Pilar’s hand. “What do you mean she’s in the fort? What is Josleen doing in Frostmaw? How do you know this information?” An angry dragon is never a good dragon.

Grailan twisted his head only slightly in order for it to track the zipping Kovl before, just after a brief scrutiny of the tiny little man, he spoke in that same melancholy tone. "I see you have other matters to tend to of personal importance. My time is very limited, so I present to you two options; I have enough time," ironically, considering his undead state and apparent timelessness, "to complete one. I can put to rest the souls that are trapped here, in your camp and among your own casualties, and thus spare the risk of their eternal damnation to remain stuck here forevermore, unable to seek or call upon the aid required to push them from their unrested states. This also would allow me the chance to ease any that blame you, for whatever reason they might have found in the confusion and fear upon their deaths. Or, I can go into Frostmaw alone, to the very heart of it, and get Josleen back. As tournament winner, many have seen what I am and am capable of, and are unaware if I have taken a side in your war. As well as that, my ability to travel through the spiritual plane before the afterlife would allow me to resurrect her if only little time has passed since her demise -in the case that they would be so foolhardy as to kill her. I cannot be killed. I do not tire. I do not sleep, I do not eat. They will be unable to stop me, and I will drop Josleen right in your lap." While not being killed was quite a stretch, it was immensely difficult to do still, and he very literally meant dropping her into Hildegarde's lap. "I apologize for pressing you, but you must choose now. For your own end, I ask only the favor that you uphold your promise, and to remember that I have done for you all that I was able, were I to ask for personal aid or Venturil come to you in any official capacy. Just to remember it. But you must choose, Lady Hildegarde."

Pilar was stunned by the sudden appearance of the pixie and his dire news. She didn't know Josleen that well, but learning she was in enemy hands horrified her. The things they would likely do to her! It seemed this same thing was likely on Hildegarde's mind as well. When Hilde's temper reared itself, Pilar shrank away. She'd never seen the woman so upset before. It took all her courage to step back up and try to calm the raging dragon, taking her hand once again. "Hildegarde--" She looked at Grailan as he made his offer, stunned once again. There was no real choice in her opinion, and she made this known as she looked to Hildegarde. "Life is fleeting and precious... The dead can wait."

Kovl shakes his head, wanting to share more with Hildegarde, but he cannot. The pixie, in his drugged state the previous day, was unable to retain much of the memory of how Josleen was captured. He suspects she may even be dead. As Grailan considers the possibility of her death aloud, the pixie pauses to keep himself composed. Kovl swallows and takes another deep breath, measuring his words, trying first to answer Hildegarde's question. "We were infiltrating the fort for supplies. Um, these." The pixie reaches quickly into the satchel at his side. Potions, powders, herbs, bandages, and other medical aids appear in his hand, first at a pixie's proportion, and then growing to their original size. He sets them atop a cleared area on the ground before Hildegarde. "And there's more. We stole them. But Josleen didn't come with me. I don't know where she is!" The pixie's voice cracks on the last syllable as he breaks into tears. Again the mention of death, this time from Pilar's mouth, crushes the pixie.

Hildegarde is ready to fume and pace frantically; all this talk of the dead, of life, of Josleen’s limited amount of time on the mortal plane and whether or not she may or may not already be dead…! It was a lot to take in, particularly for a dragon who was terribly worried about her bardic friend. It is only when Kovl produces the supplies and begins to break down into tears does the knight decide on what to do. Hildegarde reaches out with a gentle hand to take hold of the crying pixie: her grip upon him is light. She has no intention of crushing him and her hold is merely to reassure him and to let him cry without also trying to fly at the same time. “Kovl. My friend. My dear old friend,” she said softly. “You and Josleen… You are both fools, but you are the bravest fools I have ever known. I thank you deeply for your bravery, but I wish you had both told me of this so we could prepare for this kind of outcome. But what is done is done. We will get Josleen back, my friend,” she reassured the pixie as gently as she could before looking between Pilar and Grailan. The dead or Josleen. “Put the dead to rest and consider me in your debt,” she never typically agreed to terms so quickly and recklessly, “I will rescue Josleen.”

Grailan promptly nodded his head beneath the folds of that hood that was attached to the cloak that draped along his black armored form, which caused the hem to dip slightly with the antic. "As you wish. I wish you had more time, but alas. If we do not meet again, then it has been a pleasure." He did not mean if one of them died; he would not be returning to report to her after he finished his task. It was likely they would not meet again any time soon merely because he intended to leave the moment he had finished what he had promised. With that, in the style of an apparition, he -as well as the gathered ghosts in front of Frostmaw's gates, all vanished after a brief distortion of their appearances, like a television abruptly cut out, once again leaving the living to the living.

Pilar shook her head at Hildegarde. Oh, foolish, loving Hildegarde. "Hildegarde, if you go in there alone, they'll... they'll kill you on sight." She gripped the hand as tightly as she could. "I'm... I'm coming too. I'll... I can be a good distraction." She had joined this war to protect her friends, and by the gods she was going to protect her friends. Grailan's departure is noted, but ultimately ignored. There were pressing matters to attend to.

Kovl doesn't fight Hildegarde's grip. He lets her gentle touch and words soothe him. The pixie is a fool indeed, but he doesn't let Hildegarde know how much of a fool he actually is. He brought his hallucinogenic crutch into the fort with him. And he indulged, losing Josleen in the process. No apology is given for the duo's lack of communication with Hildegarde. Kovl is too focused now on the next step. As Hildegarde makes mention of rescuing Josleen, he quickly chimes in. "I'm going, too. I can get to her without being spotted. I will tell her help is coming." Kovl's eyes meet Hildegarde's. These eyes are now focused, determined, as if nothing Hildegarde can say will change his mind. The pixie then turns his attention to Grailan as he disappears, hoping that Josleen will not soon be joining the crowds of the dead who accompany him. Kovl wonders at Pilar's words, what skills she brings to the table, but he decides not to ask. All he can think of is Josleen and his error which may have cost her life. Kovl shifts in Hildegarde's grip to indicate he intends to go to Josleen now. He looks up to Hildegarde again, showing his will for her to release him.

Hildegarde looked at Kovl as Pilar gripped her hand as tightly as she possibly could but felt no pain. The woman was hardy. “Kovl, Pilar…” she shook her head gently. “Kovl, if you are to accompany me, then you shall wait for me. But I will need you to first take those supplies to the healing tent. Do not let what you and Josleen have risked your lives for go to waste. Take it now,” she bade him, her voice stern and serious as she finally released him from her grasp and watched him for a moment; as if to supervise his taking of the medical supplies. With Kovl presumably gone to tend to the supplies and Grailan having disappeared, Hildegarde is left with Pilar holding her hand. The illusionist wants to come with her. But this journey is dangerous. This is practically a suicide mission, but Hildegarde would risk it all for Josleen. Did Josleen tell Kelovath of this perilous quest in that note she had left for him? No time to think of that, Josleen needed her now. And time was of the essence. “Pilar…” the knight said softly. “You are very brave. And very kind. I do not deserve your kindness,” she said quietly, before tugging on Pilar’s hand to jerk her and pull her in close to her own body; her arm twining around Pilar’s as her hand settled on the small of her back. The Silver leaned in very close, as if to lean in for the fairy-tale knight-kissing-a-lady kiss. “Forgive me, Pilar, for I am the greatest fool,” she whispered ever so softly, before tightening her grasp upon Pilar and exhaling a concentrated and potent breath of that which was natural to her breed: paralysing gas. The Silver exhaled the breath, knowing full well from experience with Dami that even if it were not inhaled, it could be absorbed through the skin and render stillness. The Silver kept hold of the paralysed Pilar, soon sweeping her off her feet and hurriedly marching back to her own grand tent. “I’m sorry, but I cannot risk you,” she apologised to the girl, setting her down on the furry bedding with the confidence that she could not follow before turning tail and exiting the tent. It was time to move quickly.

Kovl puts the supplies he placed on the ground back in his satchel. Each item, one by one, shrinks to pixie proportion and is placed inside the bag. "I will bring these to the medical tent, but I cannot bring myself to stay put for much longer, Hildegarde. I... I -need- to know she's alive. I can enter and leave the fort as I please. No sentry will stop me if they know not of my existence. If you really need me upon entry, I will come back. Otherwise, I will assist you when you go to the fort. And I will keep -you- alive." For some reason, the emphasis on 'you' seemed stressed, more than other words. "Hildegarde, I respect your wishes and words, but I -have- to do this. I cannot live with myself if I do not go now." Kovl pauses. "I just can't." His voice breaks again as he zips quickly toward the medical tent.

Pilar watched Kovl flit off with the items, only to have her attention yanked back to Hildegarde. She blushed under the compliments and was going to reject them, only for Hilde to take her into her arms and lean in... Pilar gulped, her heart (metaphorically) pounding in her chest. The Hilde exhaled, the noxious gas overpowering her. Pilar coughed, her throat tightening and her body falling limp, unable to move. She tried to object, to scream, while Hildegarde carried her to the tent. Oh, she was going to give that dragon an earful when she came back... IF she came back. As she watched the dragon go, a single tear slid down her cheek. Oh gods, what was going to become of the camp? The army? The war? "Hhhhh..." Pilar tried to speak, but nothing came out. She tried to move, but her muscles refused to work. She could do nothing as her friend ran off. She really was useless.

Hildegarde had listened to Kovl’s words and only offered a grunt at them. “You’ll do exactly as I command, Kovl,” she told him. “Do not disobey me. I have experience with war and… well, as we both know, from this kind of infiltration. You cannot go against what I tell you to do, Kovl. You must stick by me unless otherwise stated. Do you accept? If not, you can stay here with Pilar,” meaning he’d be made to by Hilde.

Pilar struggled to get free of her paralysis, but it was of no use. She kept trying to call out, to yell for somebody to stop Hildegarde, but no one came.

Kovl turns back to Hildegarde before he leaves. "Please. Let me check if she's even alive. It's pointless to infiltrate the fort otherwise. Please, Hildegarde." Kovl waits for Hildegardes reply. The pixie knows he's going anyway, whether Hildegarde has to be convinced he is staying or not. If she insists on his presence in the camp, the pixie will have to deceive her to believe he never left.

Hildegarde glanced back at the vague noises Pilar made, feeling immense guilt at what she had done but knowing the head start was necessary. “All right, go. Quickly, report back to me who is on the gate and what the path is like. Hurry!”

Kovl nods at Hildegarde. "Thank you." He quickly darts to the medical camp to drop the stolen supplies before the camp's healers. As soon as he's sure they are set, Kovl leaves to scout Hildegarde's next mark, and more importantly, to make sure Josleen is okay.

Pilar had almost given up when Lisbeth entered the tent. "What on earth--Pilar?!" The giantess rushed to the vampire's side. "What are you doing here?" "Hhhhh..." Pilar tried to speak again. Lisbeth's brows furrowed. She lifted Pilar's arm, felt how limp and weak it was. But the vampire didn't appear sick. Could vampires appear sick? And why was she in Hildegarde's tent anyway? Something wasn't right. "Hhhhhhiiiiiiiiiillllllllll..." Pilar squeaked out. "Deeeeeee.... Gaaaaaa... Rrrrrrrde." "Hildegarde?!" Lisbeth cried. Of course, Hildegarde's paralyzing breath. But why would she use it on an ally, and leave said ally in her tent? No, there had to be another explanation. "Pilar, please, what's wrong, what's happened?" Pilar wanted to scream in frustration.