RP:Negotiation, Frostmaw Style
Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc
Summary: Hildegarde and her people are ready to go on the offensive and march on Frostmaw's gates. When they arrive, they are stunned to find Kovirsson, Chieftain of the Northern Kuronii, beaten and bound, mumbling about the terms of surrender. Hildegarde, angered by the cowardice on display, rejects surrender and demands Balder come out and face her. Trajek, in retaliation, beheads Aeth, an elven elder, to show what will happen if Hilde doesn't change her mind. The dragon isn't given the chance as Gilwen, enraged, attacks, and an all-out fight breaks out. The giants, including Balder himself, are slaughtered, but this victory comes at a cost: dozens of innocent elves disemboweled and hung from the city wall.
Main Hall
Hildegarde ’s war-camp was abuzz with activity. Elves, humans, giants and all manner of warriors and volunteers paced hurriedly around the manse as they gathered weapons, donned armour and gathered up what possessions they deemed necessary for a march. The Silver herself had donned her mithril armour, chainmail and even the frost-worm silk cloak with the sigil of Frostmaw emblazoned upon it with pride. No one would be able to refute her love of the land with this image. She looked every part the noble warrior ready to fight and reclaim that which she loved deeply. Lisbeth stood at the ready, near the largest chair of the main hall that was evidently once the main seat of whoever ruled this manse. The giantess was bedecked in the most prestigious black ice armour that was native to Frostmaw; a set of armour that only she and Mikael wore (outside of the members of a secret order of warriors). The Silver joined Lisbeth by the chair and lifted her halberd up in silence, as if to call for silence in the hall, before allowing the butt of the halberd to thud against the floor twice to call for the attention of all those gathered. “Friends! Warriors! Brothers and sisters in arms. We have come so far in our journey for justice and liberation. We have all suffered terrible losses, we have all felt the agony of being so close to our goal and yet so terribly far.” Hildegarde paused for a moment; sole eye casting around the room to gauge expressions. “Most of you know me. Some of you have only heard of me. But we are all here for the same reason. We are here for justice! For freedom and liberty! We shall not be stopped, we shall not be held back from our goal. We shall reach Frostmaw, we shall persevere and by Aramoth we will be victorious! Are you with me?!” she roared the question, her halberd raising again to call of giants; the ‘hoo-rah’ of men and elves alike. “March! March to Frostmaw! March with me!” And just like that, the knight was headed for the door.
Pilar finished strapping on her armor and stood, nervously looking at Hildegarde. This was the first battle she was willingly, knowingly walking into. She had no idea what she would be doing. What she -could- do. But she had to do something. She had to help her friends, had to avenge the atrocities committed by Frostmaw. She listened to the Silver's speech solemnly, shaking slightly. She wandered through the crowd as it began its march, searching out a familiar face.
Khitti was pacing back and forth near the staircase. She felt like an animal in a cage, but she knew better than to leave the mansion for too long. Who knew when another attack might happen? The monarch butterfly that was often by her side was so even now, the shadow creature phasing in and out of this plane of existence every so often, but otherwise sitting there contently. Amarrah never stressed out, or at least if she did, she'd never tell Khitti. The vampiress had enough on her mind. Despite visiting Vailkrin and mostly gaining her health back, there had been other things that worried her. Something needed to be done about her magic. The time for that was not now apparently as Hildegarde called for silence and said her piece. As shouts filled the air in response, she kept quiet, but even if Hildegarde looked in her direction and saw her silent, she know that she was on her side. The vampiress remains by herself, intent on not joining the crowd as usual until it was time to leave, lithe arms folding across her chest as she took in the scene that unfolded in front of her. Unfortunately for her, she did not receive her armor yet from Kreekitaka, but the tattered duster she wore would have to do for now. She'd just have to be more careful. With her bow and quiver strapped to her back, she was ready for whatever was to come. At least, she hoped so.
Sykule packed his few belongings in a small travel pack wrapped around his lower back. The young dragon-boy threw his cloak over his shoulders and donned his trusty wizard-like cap with a wide grin. At Hildegarde's call, he stood among her soldiers, ready to finally prove himself worthy of his friends.
Ashe had never professed any great love for Frostmaw. To hear the bard himself tell the tale, he was happy to have left it behind. Nor did he seek any justice, freedom or liberty. He would not be expected to join the march. In fact, he had, himself, claimed to have no interest in further battle or a return to the north. And yet, in spite of all these things; there he was. Just another face blending in in a sea of others. If anything, that seemed to be his goal. He kept well away from any position that would draw any particular attention and had pointedly avoided wearing or doing anything to make himself stand out from anyone else. Simply a faceless presence in a crowd. Present in spite of self-professed misgivings.
Odhranos had only recently joined the camp, on foot of encountering some of the army's men in a cave a day or two beforehand, he had decided to throw in his lot with the side he judged to be righteous. Upon arriving in the hall, the grey mage felt out of place, unused to the bustle and noise of so many others, when Odh hadnt encountered a group larger than a dozen in the past two months. He was seriously considering turning around and hightailing it back to the quiet serenity of the Sage when Hildegarde, or the woman he assumed to be the fabled Hildegarde stood and gave her speak. Now, uneasy as the mage was, he knew stunning rhetoric when he heard it and felt a fire he hadnt felt in a long long time. Deigning not to add his roar to the enflamed cry of the multitude, he cinched the belt of his pack tighter about his shoulders and strode with the crowd, long crystalline staff at his side.
Linn finally looked up from another bout of work he had been doing with more of the strange violet splinters that he had fashioned into a few tools of his own. Lately he seemed to be growing more distracted and distant, fixed in a constant expression of impermeable focus that was never quite on the current task. Hildegarde’s speech didn’t bring much from him, save for a slow stand from his seat before he took the halves of his mask from his leg and after looking the metal and sapphire in the face for a few seconds, flipped it over to close it around his own head. Silently he wove into the trail of people making their way to the door with Hildegarde.
Gilwen was helping a few of the elves lace up their vambraces, or don heavy breastplates when Hildegarde's call to march was announced. The horrific attack from the giants weeks prior had fueled fresh fires among the Sage elves, and more had returned with Gilwen to exact their revenge for the torture and deaths of their loved ones. Every elf shouted their answer loudly, and when the Silver turned to lead her army into battle, the people of Sage followed eagerly.
Dominic felt lost in the chaos, drowning in a sea of strange faces. Why did his pounding heart choose -now- to drop into the pit of his stomach? He hung back as the crowd advanced, apprehensive and alone, fist clenched around a many-faced rune stone. As others continued to pass him by, he finally caught sight of someone he recognized and weaved through the mob for Khitti’s side. “Hey,” he murmured as he approached. He’d keep himself in her orbit for as long as he was able.
Alex stood silently out of the way of the proper warriors with aggravated blue eyes settled upon Hildegarde the Silver as she spoke before moving to the door, the human leaning onto a crutch with gritted teeth as he scoped out the occupants and noting their stance - a mixture of fear, anger and excitement filled the entire area and the human contributed with his own irritation that he wouldn't be able to advance beyond this point. He was helpless in this march and contributed nothing worthwhile but he still had to be here to watch things set off, he knew what was coming and with a longing stare he watched Hildegarde make her way to the exit and with a mutter he wished her and the rest of her loyalists luck.
Frozen Pathway
A lone figure stood in the middle of the frozen pathway, as cold and silent as the mountains. It was a man, if in his current state he could be considered human. His bent back promised height that was no more, and the broadness of his shoulders whispered old wives’ tales of strength, of stature, of vitality. Upon his head, stopped only from becoming a necklace by the figure’s ears, were the broken, mangled remnants of a Kuronii crown. Royalty he may have been once, but now he wore more muck and mire than clothing. His arms, his hair, and his face were soiled by both human and animal dung. Wounds upon his body, some clean cuts from bladed weapons and others jagged splashes from whips, festered, oozing rancid puss and infected bits. Parched and broken lips parted to drag in a shallow breath, and the words that came out held the last few ounces of his resolve. “I am…King of the Kuronii. I am released as a gesture of good faith…to show you that Frostmaw will not harm you while you negotiate terms of surrender…” -- Roars erupted from the tops of the mountains lining the frozen pathway. Taunts, jeers, sneers, and curses were thrown from tens upon tens of giants who stood upon both edges of the corridors. But one pocket remained silent, their gaze focused on the arrivals as they marched into the grounds. An old man stood with this group at the northern most edge, his sword resting upon his chainmail armored shoulder. His four silent giants stood behind him, their stoic parameter housing a kneeling, hooded figure. “Let your brethren howl. You, all of you, are the ones who will break the Steward.” A murmur rolled through the giant guards, though it stopped as soon as the broken figure in the road spoke again --“I am…King of the Kuronii.” The nigh broken man in the middle of the pathway spoke again and again, intoning his words for each person that arrived.” I am released as a gesture of good faith…to show you that Frostmaw will not harm you while you negotiate terms of surrender…”
Hildegarde travelled up the pass with her men in tow, sending some elvish scouts up ahead first to make sure the route was secure and sending two down the way they had came to make sure there was a clear route in the event of a retreat being necessary. The elves returned with word of some kind of weary man having a message, which certainly put a spring to Hildegarde’s step as she now hurried throughout the pass only to stop after a certain point. Ashe’s advice rang through her mind. She could not be so foolish. Not now. Not after Mikael. Slowing her pace, the Silver walks throughout the pass with Lisbeth at her side and her army at her back. She is confident in her stride, but wary. As the once brawny man staggers forth into the pass and begins to deliver his message, Lisbeth immediately reaches for her hatchet and keeps it at the ready. Hildegarde doesn’t discourage her, but she recognises the man. “Kovirsson,” she whispered the name, recognising the chieftain of the Northern Kuronii people. An ancient tribe of Frostmaw, made of mortal men. This crown was an ancient relic of battered blue iron, but it looked to be covered in horrid little barbs and thorns. It was desecrated. “Terms of a surrender,” she repeats the phrase, “and where are these terms to be hashed out?” It was difficult to speak so formally and bluntly, especially when all she wished to do was relegate a healer to the care of Kovirsson. But no sudden movements. Not right now. It’d be foolish to do that. This could be a trap, after all. “You swear to Aramoth above that all gathered here are granted safe passage during this… negotiation? You swear this upon your honour?”
Ashe remained where he was. Content to remain a faceless figure among soldiers far more warrior-like than himself. Of course, surrounded by fierce men, the most delicate of boys could seem quite a bit more fearsome. And Ashe knew few things better than how to melt into a crowd. For now, the bard made no move to separate himself from the others.
Khitti had caught Dominic out of the corner of her eye before they left, though she gave him nothing more than a brief nod at the moment. The hood of her torn duster is pulled up, hiding those red locks from sight. The look on her face was grim, but those dark eyes of hers held worry and concern as always; all the more reason for her to hide beneath the confines of her coat. Once Hildegarde's army reached the mountain and the message was given, Khitti let her gaze wander from the 'king' towards the giants that loomed over him. A bit of air is sucked in between her teeth and let out in a soft hiss. She was really getting tired of these frost giants and their ridiculous games. Her fingers twitched idly at her sides, Amarrah fluttering about near her. "It's probably a trap..." is whispered cooly, though whether it was to herself or to Dominic that stuck nearby her is unknown. The urge to fire upon the giants, whether with magic or arrow was resisted for now, and a hand slipping behind her back for Dominic to take if he had decided to stay near, as if she meant to protect him. Regardless of whether or not he took it, she'd slowly weave through the army, pushing her way towards the front, dark eyes shifting between that of the Silver and the giants that blocked the way.
Linn remained on the edge of the crowd, facing the scene in front of him without any visible reaction under his armor. In most cases he’d be more than willing to charge in to fight on this front, but self-preservation was taking priority for now; he had a much bigger task set in front of him soon that he couldn’t risk delaying for injuries that wouldn’t heal quickly enough to be at full capacity for when that time came.
Sabrina traveled somewhere in the middle of those gathered, sitting astride the massive hound and bent forward to speak to a fellow healer that had taken the risk of following through with the task asked of her. They wore the same mark of Asclepius on the right shoulder, noting they were not part of the quarrel that likely would take place- but were meant to tend to the fallen solely. The tension in the air was thick and Rohk insists the elfess remove herself from him, as sitting so high made her a target and he could not very well spring into action if something were to go awry. So, Sabrina dismounts; quietly, smoothly, without threat and disappearing within the ranks as her stature awarded her with an easy hideout within the surrounding forces.
Dominic saw these giants in an entirely different light than the first time he’d ever encountered them. This time they were undoubtedly a threat, and as they towered above the army he shrank into Khitti’s back with a shiver, taking her hand as she extended it and squeezing it rigidly. He came with her up towards the front of the army, emerald eyes darting wildly and taking in as much as they could. Whatever courage he’d possessed in coming here, in allying himself to Hildegarde’s cause, in other fights he’d been in -- it wasn’t present in this moment.
Pilar stayed by the back of the army, too scared to be anywhere else. She hadn't found anyone she knew during the march, and this lonesomeness sapped any semblance of courage she had. She wanted to turn and run back down the mountain and hide in the camp, but she couldn't, she'd come too far for that. She couldn't see or hear what was going on up front, but there were ripples of tension in the air. Something was amiss.
Xzavior looked about in anticipation of the whole situation ever since he had gotten there. He wasn't entirely too trusting of people he had just met, or seen really. So far the man had offered them some fairness instead of just attacking out right. Though he wasn't too sure about the whole 'surrendering' thing. He doubted that was the reason they were here. But hey, whatever Silver has in mind Xzavior would follow with. That didn't stop him from at least preparing for whatever would happen. The whole situation with Sabrina here too made him a bit nervous but he was sure that with the large about of people here there would be little chance of her getting hurt. Thats what he had to believe anyways.
Sykule was glad he could finally spread his wings after such a long time in the camp, he missed the sensation of the cold wind on his feathers. He flew above the countless marching soldiers, shrouded by the clouds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the city and it's army of giants with his sharp eyes. He hastily landed amongst the army once he saw the commotion below. The young dragon was not sure who the disfigured man they talked about was, but he stood beside his companions, waiting for Hildegarde's orders and sharpening one of his claws in anticipation.
Gilwen filed in with the marching army, but every chance she found, she pushed closer to the front of the amassed loyalists. There was an innate need to exact revenge for the horrifying mistreatment of her people, but also a personal requirement to ensure her husband’s murder paid for what they had done. As they drew along the pass, Gilwen’s gaze danced along the area, looking for any hint of a possible surprise attack, but the moment the marching army came across the Kuronii king, the druid’s attention fell on the tortured soul. The urge to render aid was strong, to pull him into their fold and protect him from whatever mistreatment Frostmaw’s current rulers had doled out, but Hildegarde’s hesitance kept Gilwen’s bleeding heart in check. Instead, she turned her attention to the giants while mouthing silent words of prayer; this simple spell-like litany saw the vambraces that covered her forearms begin to wriggle slowly. Clearly, the intricate, snake-shaped pattern wasn’t carefully constructed leather and metal, but hardened, dark brown vines harvested from Sage that would react to Gilwen’s commands without second thought. Aside from their languorous movements, the ensorcelled foliage didn’t react further, and elf cautiously turned her attention back to the broken man before them.
Kovirsson’s bloodshot eyes did not register the many men and women who walked into the pathway. His mind and his body were as equally abused, and neither could glean that these were an army of liberators, protectors, or even the group to which he was meant to speak. The dry, cracked lips parted, his battered lungs pulled in air, and his near voiceless vocal cords repeated what had been drilled within him to say. “I am King of the Kuronii. I am released as a gesture of good faith…to show you, Hildegarde. Hildegarde…?” Sentience came for the briefest of moments as a flicker of life in the gaze that looked at the Steward. “Do not test Frostmaw. All along the walls are…are elves with nooses ‘round their necks. With…with daggers ready to cut their stomachs. If you or your men break this peace…” A human voice rang out from the northern end, and in haphazard unison the Giants along both edges of the pass called out. “Leash your dogs, Bitch Queen, or we will with elf guts!” Kovirsson winced each time the giants’ chorus sang ‘elf guts.’ His hands tried to reach up to his blackened eyes, but they were stopped by the binding that held them to his belt. “Do not test Frostmaw. Please, Hildegarde…do not test Frostmaw. The terms are…’For peace to come to Frostmaw, there must be full disarmament. All those who have participated in the war will be forced to stand trial if they wish to return to Frostmaw. The trials will be fair, but war crimes may lead to their deaths. If they do not want to face a trial for their crimes, they are banished from these lands for five generations. You will renounce your false claim to the Throne, and you will be banished from ever returning to Balgruuf’s lands. Bring as few men possible and your acquiesce to the far northern end of this..this path.”
Hildegarde eyed the bonds that restricted Kovirsson’s movements. It made her uncomfortable and frustrated. She could easily undo his bonds, but those elves would perhaps lose their lives and they were not a sacrifice she was yet willing to make for the life of one man. But then… then he tells her that if she surrenders, all will be well, they will live. And if she does not, they will suffer. She knows they suffer regardless, though. Servants, slaves, no better than filth under the boots of these cruel giants. The yelling of ‘Queen Bitch’ catches her attention, though she doesn’t seem to be terribly offended by it. The woman raised her voice so she might be heard by all gathered in the pathway: “Balgruuf’s lands, you say. I call them coward’s lands! The man will not face me himself. Had he the honour, he would face me in honourable combat to determine who should rule our City of War.” The Silver paused for what felt like a long time. “I will not surrender,” she finally announced. “I will not surrender,” she reached for Kovirsson’s bindings and unravelled them before gently shoving him towards the crowd of gathered men and women behind her; expecting a healer to step forth and tend to the wounded Kovirsson. “This man is ill from mistreatment! In the spirit of peace and good health, I am seeing to his treatment!” she announced to all who had gathered. “As you can see, I have stayed my blade. I am willing to talk. But I shall not surrender. I will accept *your* surrender, though. Come forth, Balgruuf! Come forth, Balder, son of Balgruuf! Have you no honour? Must you rely on the treachery of an old and wretched little man to win you an icy chair?”
Ashe must have slipped away while all eyes were elsewhere. As the bard was nowhere to be seen. Elsewhere, however, a crow broke out of a pile of snow and sailed over the heads of Hildegardes army. With a screeching caw, it landed on the silvers shoulder. It gave the would-be queen a look with it's sharp eyes before rustling it's black coat of feathers and twisting it's head to look up at the giant with a sub-vocalized rolling noise.
Linn slowly stepped forward from the crowd to receive Kovirsson, the sorrow etched into his face visible only to him through the glassy cover of his helmet. Once the two met he’d crouch and bring an arm around the old king to support him as they walked forward; if necessary he’d pick the man up and carry him back to the healers that he knew could do something. In this business of death Linn had become trapped in, a chance to offer some help back to life was… comforting.
Khitti continued her path through the crowd until she reached the line of men, elves, and giants just behind Hildegarde. As the Silver and Kovirsson exchanged words, she turned to look over her shoulder at Dominic, peering up at the taller male, her lips twisted into a frown, "Stay near me, Dominic. Do not stray..." A squeeze is given to his hand, though her own was shaking somewhat. "And be brave. I know you can. I believe in you..." She'd muster a smile for him, then return her attention back to the scene that was unfolding. The words 'I will not surrender' find her ears and another tight squeeze is given to Dominic's appendage before she ultimately lets go. Her hand remains behind her back, however, as her ever faithful wisp-like tendrils spring forth from her fingertips but remain hidden, the vampiress ever at the ready for whatever was to happen now that surrender had been denied.
Dominic watched the exchange between Hildegarde and the battered man and the giants grimly, mouth pressed in a thin line. Fingers on one hand twisted that runestone of his, an anxious habit he didn’t seem fully aware of; the other hand returned Khitti’s squeeze. “Hey, at least they’re not spiders...right?” he whispered in reply to Khitti, the dry quip a poor attempt at hiding his apprehension. Her smile was met with a weak, queasy one.
Xzavior sort of regretted his mistrust but he couldn't displace it. Those damned giants were putting them in a very precarious spot right now. And there wasn't much they could really do. Perhaps though... perhaps. Carefully, he made his way up through the group he attempted to get to the front lines. In no way was this going to be acceptable.
Sykule was sickened by the brutal threats of the giants. He did not appreciate the spilling of innocent blood, especially by cowards whose actions were fueled by their lust for power. Hildegarde's demands were exactly what he expected from The Silver, solving this political conflict through single combat would avoid the bloodshed. But he doubted the giants would comply. Their enemy knew they held the advantage and wouldn't give her a chance to defeat them so easily. And the dragon knew they probably had other dirty tricks up their sleeves, so they must thread carefully.
The announced recourse, should Hildegarde’s company refrain from keeping peace, drew Gilwen’s attention back to the ledge, this time, with an expression of horror. Quickly, her mind raced to find a solution should the giant’s decide to hang the elves regardless of Hildegarde’s decision, which consequently saw her ignoring the Kuronii’s need for aid, and being passed along to another healer who would undoubtedly focus all of their attention on the beaten man. “Hildegarde,” the elder elf murmured, pulling her thoughts back to the woman, she drew near the dragon and reached out as if to still any movements made by the knight. However, whatever she had wanted to say died on her tongue, her hand fell short of its target, and she pressed her lips into a tight, anxious line in the wake of the knight’s refusal to surrender.
A roaring din of curses, howls, and all manner of foul words were thrown at Hildegarde when she first began to speak; they reverberated from peak to peak, from ridge to ridge, from mountainous wall to mountainous wall. But honor was as real within giants as their beating hearts, and the call to it from the little human woman did still a few of the giants close to her. The howls ended in a slow, choppy wave until there was silence. Until all eyes were upon the four guardian giants and their smaller, treacherous old man. “You do not accept this offer?” Trajek’s voice called from the far end of the pass. “I will kill every man, woman, child, and elf behind these walls. I will rip every stone, from Fort to Palace, from its foundation, and what cannot be toppled will be set aflame. There will be nothing but rubble and melted nails when I am finished!” If the giants and Hildegarde’s forces clung to honor, then the old man certainly did not. He motioned for a guard to push the kneeling man up to where the man stood. The giant ripped the hood free, and what blinked up at the too bright sky were old elven eyes. “I found this elf clutching a tome to his chest in his room! He is old, and his time has passed.” With another nod, the same giant grabbed a handful of the old elf’s white hair and wrenched his head higher. “She has made her choice, old elf. Speak your name.” The old elf fought for his words as he fought for breath, and both came to him in whispers. “Aeth.” – “His name is Aeth!” The four giants around the man roared the name, chanted the name. --- “Please…” To whom did the old elf plea? To giants who held him captive, or to Hildegarde far down the pass? Or was it to Trajek, who now swiveled on his feet, who hefted his sword and swung with all his might? The answer would forever be upon his now bloody lips, within his dying eyes, as the giant’s hand who held his hair tight lifted with a bodiless head. “And the rest will follow,” Trajek yelled as he kicked the headless body from the high mountain perch, “if you do not accept the terms.”
Hildegarde did not glance at the crow that had settled on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look at it to know it was there after all. Gilwen’s quiet murmur is largely ignored, though only because it seems they really have no choice at this point. She has made up her mind. Trajek’s words promise murder, but she can sense the disapproval of some giants. What he suggests is dishonourable, mightily dishonourable. Even Aramoth would not save such a sinful soul. And while she is ready to rebuff his murderous suggestion and counter with what would have been a rousing speech, she is interrupted by Trajek’s dramatic unmasking of Aeth: the elder of the elven council that had made Frostmaw their home. Aeth the elder, who had been kind and understanding of Hildegarde, who had only ever supported her in her efforts to do right by the elves was now held hostage to the whims of Trajek. She doesn’t need for Aeth to announce himself to recognise him. She knows him, “Aeth,” she whispers the name before even he can name himself. As the blade fell, the woman can do nothing but watch. What could she do? She couldn’t make it up there in time, not by a longshot. The Silver looks over her shoulder, to the army at her back and then to Trajek and his cronies. “I do not accept the terms, you despicable cretin! Honourless swine! I challenge you in both the sight of gods and men, face me, coward! Face me and die!” The Silver drew her short-sword, halberd at the ready. Lisbeth beat her hatchet against her heavy shield, as a chorus of unsheathing weapons rang throughout the pass. “I am Hildegarde the Silver, rightful Queen of Frostmaw! Come at me and die, unless you are so without honour that even your courage has fled!” she roared the words, ready for the fight to come.
The crow buffeted the side of Hildegardes head with a wing. Not very hard but a buffet none the less. With a caw it pecked at the queens pauldron with a sharp noise of beak meeting metal. Almost like a steady beat of a drum. A four-piece march, by some stretch of the imagination. Though as soon as it began, it stopped. Whether there was any significance to it or not.
Pilar couldn't miss the sight of the old elf murdered and thrown from the wall, even as far back as she was. Nor could she miss Hildegarde's cry. Pilar gasped in horror as the elf was slain, hand flying to her mouth, before she looked around her at the roaring army. She didn't belong here. Even her righteous fury didn't stoke the fires of bloodlust within her. She didn't belong.
Khitti grit her teeth as Trajek beheaded the elf, the dark magic stemming from her fingertips flaring with her anger. An unnecessary breath is drawn in as she prepared herself, the monarch butterfly that stayed nearby disappearing from sight. "No...zhis is going to be more fun zhan zhe spiders." is finally given in reply to Dominic's quip, her tone of voice stern and full of rage. There was no reason for these senseless, brutal acts on the frost giants' part. They were so much like the enemies of her past: bloodthirsty, unfeeling, depraved. Their honor meant nothing to her, held no bearing on what she thought of them. When Hilde gave the word, she'd do her very best to rend them limb from limb or drive an arrow into their heart. There'd be no mercy.
Dominic was as ready as he was ever going to be. After one more glance and an ‘if you say so’ nod in reply to Khitti, he focused his gaze to empty space at his side. Runes lit up on the rock he held as the space quivered, shadow slowly taking form into full-fledged illusion, once again the appearance of Brand, though it appeared at this time to have a tenuous hold on this plane. Still, it was progress to be able to do even that much without first being under immediate threat of a blow of a fist or slice of a blade. Now, if he could just keep his actual physical form out of harm’s way while the illusion fought, this time...
Xzavior clenched his jaw as he got to the front just in time to witness the elf die. Well there goes that plan it seems. Well all wasn't a waste. At least everyone was more then willing to fight now. Not that they weren't before but now they were all out for blood. And blood was something he was more then willing to spill this night. Clearing his throat he held out his hands and swords of ice occupied both hands. "Well. It seems we have a bit of a show on our hands. Lets make sure this is one worth remembering eh?" Spoken to no one in particular.
Sykule was sure sure the elf was not simply "found", or else there was no need to make the feeble old man's name known to all. Whatever sick plan they had for Hildegarde and her army was already in motion, as their the ominous silence was broken by furious shouts and screams. The young dragon joined them with a challenging roar towards the wall, extending his wings in a intimidating display, eager to taste their blood.
Gilwen could only watch in horror as Aeth’s life was ended at the hands of Trajek, and unlike the moment she found her husband’s mutilated body after it had been used as ammunition, all the druid could do was stand there, shell shocked, as she watched her friend and teacher’s headless body fall from its execution point and fall into the pass meters ahead of them. It was Hildegarde that pulled Gilwen from Aeth’s body, and with a renewed anger, turned to Trajek once more. Around him, the ground vibrated ominously, and within seconds, the root systems of nearby winter berry bushes burst forth and lashed out at the man and nearby giants, seeking to ensnare throats and flay flesh with whip-like strikes to faces and bodies. The vines that made up Gilwen’s vambrace armor wriggled furiously, unfurling from around her arms to dance like snakes in the air, ready offer a similar strike to any giant that wished to dish out further harm to the captive elves, or the army down below.
Trajek stood triumphant on that northern ridge. He took Aeth’s head from the guard and held it high with his weapon; that was his response to Hildegarde’s challenge. It was a giant behind him that fell first to those commanded roots; he was pulled onto his back, his hands ripping and tearing at the roots that subdued him. The three others were equally as dispatched as they fought their own battles against roots that grasped, cut, and lashed. Trajek was the last one to know he was attacked from the rear, and what triumph he felt in his callous murder was replaced with anger. The head was dropped, careening down stone to the pass’ floor. Trajek needed both hands to fight the roots. But it wasn’t just the grunts, groans, and heaves of man and giant against root in the north. There was a rumble. A low, deep, syncopated thundering. Creaks and snaps of chains ran through and rested atop the beats of war. The symphony of war rose to its crescendo with the deep hum of large walls pushed open. Frostmaw answered Hildegarde’s challenge.
Balder snorts and paces behind the mighty gates, each grunt a frosty puff upon the mountain air. In his good hand, the warrior's trusty axe, bound to his mangled fist by leather straps that wrap well up his forearm. His off hand, a fearsome work of blue iron, forged to cap an empty stump. Wide bands of mammoth leather wrap his body, pulled tight, ready to bind his body together even when bones are broken and flesh is severed. Above this, his-trimmed cape and blue iron necklace bearing a heavy insignia upon his chest: the sword and spear of Aramoth. His eyes scarcely see the stones beneath his feet, scarcely see his white breath. He sees blood. Behind him, his warband waits, led first by what remained Balder's band of cronies, all of them looking less eager than their maimed and brooding ringleader. Some two dozen warriors stand behind. Above, Trajek is bargaining for peace. Below, Balder prays for war. The horns sounds. "Our god be praised." Balgruuf's son spares quick glance behind himself so his wild, craven eyes can sweep the faces there gathered. "I'll kill any coward among you." he growls at his men. It's the closest thing they get to a pep talk. Balder's eyes turn back to the gates just as they part, and his crazed visage is the first to greet Hildegarde's forces. The sight of them brings a shout to his throat, a war call, the honest cry of one who has come to kill or be killed, slay or be slain, lay waste with no regard to self. The cry raises likewise behind him, and like a chained dog suddenly loosed, they break from their station and charge, barreling out to greet the Silver, her allies, and any that lay challenge to Balgruuf's claim. Ahead of them, Aeth's head lays where it's tumbled down from Trajek's hold, and it is no accident when Balder's heel finds the elven scull, just a soundless pop and nothing more as the warband tramples on behind him.
Hildegarde recognised that deep rumbling. She knew that to be a challenge. “Shieldwall!” she commanded, earning a unified ‘hoo!’ of motion and strength from those who had gathered here today. “Healers to the back!” She needn’t instruct them, they should know what to do but it wouldn’t hurt to make it clear that this is where they needed to be. Out of the line of fire and able to reach the wounded as the main bulk of Hilde’s forces proceeded onwards. With the appearance of Balder and his warband, the knight twirls her short-sword in her hand and stands at the forefront of the army. “Death!” she cried, “Death!” The Silver took a small step back as if to integrate in with the shieldwall alongside Lisbeth, dragging Gilwen alongside her so she is not left outside the protection of the shieldwall. Balder could charge forward if he so wished. The squelch of Aeth’s head popping under Balder’s sheer weight is gruesome, but she cannot afford it the attention. “Iron!” the knight roars, earning a ‘hoorah!’ in reply as her forces push forward; advancing towards Balder and his warband. Balder and his cronies break forth into a charge and Hildegarde can only watch: “Hold! Hold steady!” she commands, urging that her men remain steadfast in the wake of this oncoming charge. “Break,” she whispers to Lisbeth, who suddenly opens up her space to let Hildegarde swiftly step forward only so she may slam the golden lion-head pommel of her sword against the earth. A sword blessed by a kiss; a sword made from the earth, it had the touch of a terrmancer to it and the Silver could only pray it would heed her request. Regardless, she would step back into the line up and command them all to ‘hold fast’ once again. The earth before the charging Balder would crackle and splinter, as a sharp and jagged spike of earth shot upright and forth in an attempt to spear the oncoming giant and stop him in his wicked tracks.
Sabrina immediately gathered her help and ushered them back, Rohk was no fool to this call as his tails pressed firmly against her chest that she not be the first healer wounded in this battle- or at all if he could help it. The hound would be ready to gather the wounded, his speed and strength more than enough to carry the first of the fallen so the healers would not enter into harms way.
The Crows head twisted this way and that, looking all around as birds do. It flapped it's wings in dismay and cawed aloud as the situation escalated. Unavoidable as it might have been, apparently the bird did not appreciate the sentiment. Still. It remained where it was, firmly attached to Hildegarde, while most any feathered creature would have flown away at the first sign of trouble.
Pilar had no idea what she was supposed to do. She saw the way the healers looked at her, in her armor, questioning why she was back there with them. Coward, their eyes seemed to say. Craven. Weakling. Unable to take their (in her mind) judging eyes, Pilar turned away. She couldn't fight in the battle... but maybe, she could protect the healers and the wounded. Concentrating every ounce of her magic, she raised a wall of illusory fire between the non-combatants and the army. To one who didn't realize it was fake, it would burn as badly as true flame.
Khitti :: The corner of the vampiress' lips twitch upward into a grin as the very much alive vines rip through the ground. -Someone- around here had the right idea. A growl is let loose before she too unleashes her own purple and black tendrils, the thick strands of dark magic popping through the dirt, seeking out Balder himself and the frost giants that follow in his path, reaching out to do much the same to them as Gilwen's vines had to Trajek and his own party and aid Hildegarde in her earthen attack. She's shoved from some of the men behind her as they take up formation, her attention faltering slightly. "Dominic?!", she called out, but was unfortunately not met with a response. He had been lost to the masses behind her. "Damn it" was hissed out, but she ultimately kept her focus on her own attack; she'd seek him out later. If there was to be a later, anyway.
Xzavior grinned viciously as he readied his blades. He would hold, but as soon as those orders were given to have at it Xzavior would be right up in front of the crowd. No reason for him to stay behind a wall of shields when he could make his own wall. Of course, if he needed it. The spikes of earth weren't the only things to hinder the giants' approach though. Xzavior swayed his sword slightly and ice along the ground shot up to join the array of earth as a sort of tag team effort to spear the oncoming force. He was more then ready for this fight.
Sykule watched astonished as the roots lashed at the giants. and uproar of a battle rised from both sides. He took flight, propelling himself upwards with his strong wings, and darted through the sky, his sights trained on the wall. He knew he had to act fast, someone had to try and save the elves on the wall while the giants were still struggling with the vines. With a gracious maneuver, he twisted himself high above the battlefield, closed his wings and dived downwards at an amazing speed, with his hinder claws ready to catch one of the elves trying to escape his captors and fly away to safety.
Sabrina hails Sykule with a sharp whistle though most of her noise would be drowned out by the roar of war. In hopes he saw her he motions for him to bring the elf to her, giving him a chance to grab another at the first opportune moment.
Gilwen had endued the roots of those winter berry bushes with enough power that they continued to battle the giants and Trajek long after her attention had been wrest away from the fray; of course, this wasn’t an unlimited amount of power, and so once destroyed, the foliage would die away, but hopefully not before inflicting serious damage or even death on Trajek and his giants. From behind the shield wall, Gilwen was unconcerned about Balder and his approaching army, instead, her attention was focused on retrieving the fallen figure of Aeth. Finally, those vines that danced in the air around her burst forth, carefully avoiding the legs of her comrades, toward the dead elf and quickly curled around his body to draw him back to the group; unfortunately, the head was destroyed before it could be retrieved. Once Aeth’s body was back behind the defensive line, three elves came forward to collect the dead and cart him to the back of the lines; while there wasn’t much a healer could do for the elven elder at this point, he could at least be properly wrapped. With the remaining bits of Aeth retrieved, Gilwen unleased her vines once more, this time to cause similar damage to those on the ridge, any giant that came close enough would be lashed at mercilessly by those whip-like vines who seemed to be showing signs of abnormal growth in the form small nodules that grew at an accelerated rate. These protuberances grew into a set of spiked, working jaws- venus fly traps, yet much deadlier, and of a size to snap up a whole hand, and of a strength to sever it cleanly. These new growths aimed for other places than just hands, however, they went for faces, for throats, stomachs, inner thighs, anywhere where one bite might end a life.
The battle of the roots ended with the old man and his guards little worse for the wear. Bloodied from a hundred cuts, it took the man a moment to realize what had fully transpired. Balder, the fool! None of the giants under his command would die needlessly. “Back to Frostmaw. We must see to the defenses. The Steward will be at the gates soon.” He turned, but the guards did not. They neither listened nor obeyed him as their eyes were on the battlefield. Whatever loyalty the giants had to Trajek crumbled in the face of their rightly giant leader. He could not command them to retreat nor could he demand that they stay on the high ground and pick off Hildegarde’s forces with rocks and whatever else there was to throw. The charge, the glorious rush into the face of an enemy force, had the twenty giants on the wall howling, pawing their boots on the stone, pulling their hair out from their heads, until the first Giant jumped down. Perhaps it was as suicidal as the charge, but honor demanded the giants fight with their comrades. Twenty giants jumped from the walls with weapons and teeth barred, falling from the sky much like corpses.
Balder's attention is swift to land on Hildegarde. Many times, he's been warned of her trickery, of her treacherous strengths. His heart races. His eyes widen. He can feel himself salivate as the handle of his axe seems to throb and itch in his grasp. Battle courses though him, a paradox of murk and clarity, sense and senselessness, and when the first spikes begin rising to impale and break their charge, it is as though an unseen arm guides his iron hand to smash through the earthen pike in a blast of dust and fragments. Behind him, his comerades try likewise, and many succeed with clubs and axes and hammers, hacking vines and blasting spikes alike. Many, too, will fall, tripped or impaled or ensnared, only to be trampled by those charging behind them. Momentum undimmed, Balder vaults the next spike likewise, and his breath catches in his lungs. The warrior, the fanatic, the youth is close. There Hildegarde stands, the ultimate obstacle, and the object of Balder's desire, a hereditary vendetta passed from father to son. Only then, something happens that Balder did not expect; a shadowy tendril grasps his ankle, and all his weight brings him whipping around and tumbling onto one of Hildegarde's stony spears, and the keen eye will see it tear his side clear open, piercing a deep, spreading until his flesh no longer can hold and it tears, pulling entrails with it. Balder spares it a passing glance and kicks back to his feet, trying to salvage what he can of his momentum even as blood scatters the stones behind him. The charge splits around him, battering into the defensive formation with the intent to shatter shield and bone alike. Dazed, dismissing his fatal wound, Balder expends the last of his adrenaline on a pounce, a leap, both hands raised high above his hand. An inarticulate howl shakes his throat, and he aims to bring axe and fist alike down upon the Silver's head.
Hildegarde wasted no time in issuing another command, “Horseshoe!” she roared, stepping to the side along with men and giants alike as they formed a horseshoe shape and welcomed the stumbling Balder now into an open space rather than have him crash against their shields. “Close!” the Silver commands, hearing the clash of weapons and shields, the yells of the fighters and the screams of the wounded and dying. “Overhead!” the knight snarls, “Gilwen, Xzavior!” she needs their skills to effectively cover the space above her group and protect them from the falling bodies of giants. Although Balder had more or less stumbled into her group of merry men, the knight waved them back to create space. She would fight honourably. She would fight him, one on one. That was the Frostmawian way. That was the honourable thing to do. As he swings the axe down, she steps to the side and taps her halberd against his axe. He is badly wounded from the spike. He’ll die regardless of what Hildegarde does or doesn’t do. Suddenly, with a yell of effort and a near graceful pirouette, the knight swings her halberd and lets the axe-head swing cleanly through the shaft of Balder’s axe to cut off what support he might gain from it and to take away that weapon from him. She moves swiftly, ducking under that now clear gap so she is directly under Balder. “For Mikael,” she hissed, jerking the halberd upright and into Balder’s chin; upon which she’d twist the weapon and tug down hard. The twist of the axe from its original entry point would certainly mean the weapon would catch and cause inordinate pain to Balder. With his head and body tugged down towards Hildegarde – who is snarling from momentous effort – the Silver finally brings up her short-sword and drags it across Balder’s stubbly throat to end his life.
Ashe emerged out of the chaos shortly after a certain bird fled it's perch. The bard weaved through the formations forming at Hildegardes command, his own voice just under hers. It was... a song. A echoing melody in some unspoken language. But the words rung with a sort of nostalgic meaning, like the name of someone one is quite intimate with but has not heard of a in a long time. And the name was power. Again, any magic cast by any who could hear the song – and most would as it carried supernaturally over the sounds of battle and muffling distance – would be strengthened in it's potency. As for the bard himself; he closed up nearby a giant in search of cover and lashed out towards the sky with an arm as if striking with a whip towards one of the descending giants. What struck was not a whip, though. Cutting through leather and quilt, a brightly glowing blue line, thin as a brushes stoke, shot out and unfurled from Ashe's arm and cut through the air as easily as it would plate, flesh and bone. It uncoiled like a spool of thread and whip-lashed towards the bards chosen target.
Khitti has a brief moment of triumph as her tendrils manage to cause that honor-driven fool to trip and head into what will hopefully be his demise. The scent of the frost giant's blood fills the air and she can only grin further. The grin fades quickly, however, as the wound is ignored and he still continues his path towards Hildegarde. A step or two closer is taken towards the Silver, though she doesn't let up on her assault of the giants that had followed Balder. They certainly didn't need to get in the way. Her own journey towards Hildegarde is halted as it's clear she wants to take Balder on herself. As the dragon tends to the horrid child of Balgruuf, the vampiress outstretches her left hand towards the bloodthirsty giants that had come through the gate. More tendrils would spring forth from the ground, clawing higher and higher into the sky, grasping for anything that'd come within range. As the bard's song reached her ears, she felt...what was it? A brief cry of glee spills from Khitti's throat as his music causes her magic to grow stronger. She'd never felt that surge of power ever and was going to use it to it's full extent. With newfound strength she darts forth closer towards the giants, acidic globs formed in the palms of her hands and pelted towards the Balgruuf sympathizers as her tendrils continued to work their magic.
Xzavior instantly looked to Hilde, then up when she called out his name and smirked in confirmation. Look at that. Living targets. He tossed up his hands and from the icy walls around them decent sized spikes launched out at them as fast as cannon balls to throw them off course. Preferably outside of the are where Hilde's forces held their defence. His brows furrowed in concentration as he kept the assault up but as the song washed over him, he rolled his shoulders and gave a fanged grin. Those spikes had just about doubled in power and in size. He would have to find who did that for him and thank them. Well this should most certainly push the giants away from their intended landing. If the spears didn't just punch right through them first. With that thought in mind he hummed in thought before forming pillars of ice in relatively open areas that formed a sort of umbrella overhead.
Sykule opened his wings and soared just above the battlefield. The giants probably saw nothing but a blur flying through the wall as the dragon grabbed the elf and held him tightly beneath him as he flew away from the city, dodging whatever the giants were throwing at him, until he was quickly out of their reach. The dragon proceeded to try and find a place to throw the elf, without causing even more harm than the giants already had, so he could try and go back to save the rest. Simply hoping that the snow would be enough to cushion his fall would be too risky. A sharp sound caught his attention amidst the sound of clashing steel. It came from Hildegarde's forces, where he recognized the elf woman he had met the other day, waving her arm towards him. He hoped either the woman or her hound would be able to catch the elf midair. "I'm sorry about this." He telepathically told the elf beneath him, hoping he would still be conscious enough to hear him. He slowed down as much as he could and threw the elf towards Sabrina, while using his momentum to make a long circular trajectory to face Frostmaw yet again. As he ascended above the army, the symphony of steel was replaced by a strange melody, which filled him with warmth, but was over as suddenly as it began. He wasn't sure where it came from or if it was even real, but he could not shake the feeling of resolve it brought to his mind. The young dragon was sure that his actions would have inspired other flight-capable members of Hildegarde's army to aid him in saving the remaining elves and raiding the walls.
Pilar was losing her strength, her illusion flickering in and out of existence while she sank to her knees, the world around her going in and out of focus. When the song made its way to the back of the pack, she was revived, although only somewhat. She made it back to her feet and renewed her flame wall.
Gilwen’s carnivorous plants, or those that remained, continued to chew through the giants, until all had been chopped through. When Hildegarde motioned to the giants who leapt down in a show of suicidal comradery and solidarity, the foliage that made up her vambrace immediately retracted. With the new strength awarded to her by the bards song, the druid turned her attention to the earth along the edge of the cliff as she called forth the aid of whatever vegetation might be nearby. Their root system sprung forth from the cliff-face and snatched up any giant that had been missed by Xzavior by their throats, yanking them back to the mountainous wall to suffer Prometheus’s fate- albeit, the giants are left to hang, dead or slowly suffocating, and their livers will not regenerate.
None of the giants who jumped from the mountains had expected to survive. Much like their leader, gored, disemboweled, and dying, they welcomed such a death as glorious as his! Those that were not caught in midair and shredded, who were not caught and killed by magic, landed on stone with bone crushing velocity. Some groaned their last bits of life, though none were able to put up any suitable defense against sword or spell. --- The walls of Frostmaw were devoid of life; not a giant manned it nor was there a cowering elf waiting for death. Those elves met with what was promised to them. Corpses bounced against the iron walls, their blood streamed in lines down the fortifications and their entrails melted the snow at its base.
Sabrina gasps as the elf is tossed in her direction. Was he crazy? The elfess didn’t even reach a full five-foot stature, how was she supposed- Rohk jumps toward the limp and falling body, shouldering the smaller form just enough to slow his downward speed and jar him side wards, a lesser blow but trauma was bound to ensue. He could have caught the chap in the several rows of hellish teeth lining his maw, but half a body is hardly something to present to the healer that would have his head on a pike. The elven form rolled, being chased by the frantic Elfess and quickly surrounded by the few healers there. They worked quickly as the numbers expected were far less, thankfully, than they could have been.
Balder's lifeless corpse is given little more than a passing glance by his fellow warriors, and in the eyes of each, a look of rage deepens, as if infected by the freshly fallen giant's passing spirit. The giants are fighting for their lives. As the shield wall falls back, the frontmost of the charge must regauge their steps at the cost of wind. They had already been bracing for impact, and the addition of distance is off-putting, precisely as Hildegarde knew it would be. They are surrounded on three sides, and beneath the barrage of acid, ice, and energized beams, the giants of the sure-to-be-infamous "Balder's Charge" find themselves facing hopless odds. Outwitted and likely outmatched, the remaining warriors know their destiny is with death today. They fight with abandon. As many lay gored, burning, freezing, and writing in pieces, the brave few remaining fight with renewed vigor, a final push to carry them to the grave.
Hildegarde had honour enough to not defile Balder’s body, though it sorely tempted her to. He had left little of Mikael. But she would not deprive Balgruuf this right to his son’s body. The knight withdraws her halberd from his chin and steps away from the body so it might slump to the ground without crushing her. Huffing and puffing as she catches her breath, looking around the battlefield to try and understand what was going on and what everyone else seemed to be doing within the battlefield. Ashe, Khitti, Xzavior, Sykule and Gilwen had all done much and more to keep the shieldwall intact and to stave off the attack. It was a good effort. A successful effort. With the enemies dead or surrendered, the knight would call for peace and silence. “Let us gather our wounded. Get them tended to. Secure the passes, get men on the ridges up there. We make camp here. We return the dead to Frostmaw. We are not without honour,” she said.
Pilar, with the battle ending, finally dropped her spell. The flames flickered and vanished, and the vampire fell into the snow. Without the song to lend her strength, she had exhausted all of her energy. She would need a nice nap and plenty of fresh blood after this... With some effort, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Until she had to move, she was content to just lay there.
Khitti continued her assault on the giants until none had remained. As Hilde's words reached her ears and Ashe's song faded, she roused from her power-induced stupor. It's then that she realizes just how much of her magic she'd used when the bard's magic washed over her. Tired now, she turns her attention towards the crowd of people that had sworn themselves to Hildegarde. With still no sight of Dominic, she frowns and continues on to the back of the group. There she finds Pilar and attempts to assist the younger female to where the camp would be made. Regardless of whether or not she takes it, Khitti goes eventually to be by herself and ponder on the recent events: mainly that of the power she was just introduced to.
Pilar, with a groan, followed Khitti to the new camp, found a soft pile of snow, and went to sleep.
Xzavior lowered his arms as Hilde called off the attack. Good. First attack went off with little problems. Little enough. He remained where he was to defend those making their way back with wounded soldiers if any of those on the wall thought it to be a good idea to attack them while they had their backs turned. hildegarde was showing them a lot more kindness then he would have expected. Or have given himself. Once the last of them passed by he followed them only to the point where he could break off to find Sabrina. Despite having high hopes and knowing how well the defences held up, he still wanted to be sure.
Sykule searched the walls, only to find them surprisingly empty. The bastards had chosen their deaths and took the hostages with them. The young dragon let out a loud shriek filled with rage, and started gaining altitude, rising higher and higher. From there he would be able to see anyone inside the city, someone had to be commanding the forces from inside, and one of them caught his attention. The human among giants was trying to rally to remaining forces. He wasn't a fully grown dragon yet, so fighting a giant would prove difficult. But a human? He was confindent he could at least try the wound the man and leave him for his companions to do the rest, even if it meant he would have to hold on his own until they got there. He was already considering going for a suicidal dive when he heard Hildegarde's call in the distance, and her forces started to retreat. He cursed himself, and turned around towards Hildegarde's camp."Maybe next time..."
So repelled and soundly defeated, the giants now serve only to set a grisly spectacle. The corpse wagons will certainly have their hands full with this daunting haul, and it will be hard work to get the dead honorably buried before the crows find them.