RP:No Iron Hearts This Time

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: The Eve of War is upon us. As Frostmaw gathers on the edge of the Sage, Odhranos visits Hildegarde for one last time before the storm breaks.

Pass Through Xalious

Hildegarde had set a temporary encampment within the Pass Through Xalious. There is a cluster of canvas tents, large enough to house multiple human families or just a few giants who needed to collaborate before a battle. For the untrained eye or unsuspecting passerby, this looks akin to a training exercise given that there isn’t enough giants here to consider it an invasion force or an actual military threat. Of course, Hildegarde knows better than that. She knows better than to lay her plans out for the world to see them and understand her intention. The Queen of War winds her way through the encampment, “Lisbeth, have you received word back from our friends?” the warrior Queen is a small figure in amongst these giants; the camp is bustling with movement and no-one seems to be standing still for even a moment. The great campfire crackles and snaps in the wind; the pot that hangs over it steams with the promise of a hearty broth and a “not bad” flavour for a camp meal. “Aye, m’lady, they have deployed thrice now,” the giantess confirms to her liege who continues to weave through the camp until reaching a canvas tent with a flying pennant atop it. “Very good, one more journey and we ought to be ready. I trust you have sent men ahead to seed our story?” the redhead asks with a little smile. The giantess smiles in turn and nods her head, “Aye, our hunting trip to Gualon will be a bountiful one!” The Captain of the Queensguard accepts a dismissive nod of the head from Hildegarde, taking her leave of her Queen to finish up her work around the camp. Hildegarde stands outside the canvas tent that was signposted as her own. The Queen is not nervous, but she feels that sensation in the pit of her stomach that is all too familiar. The pre-fight jitter. Her fingers flex around the shaft of her halberd as she gazes over the camp, assessing the readiness of her party. “For Xalious,” she said, her words a soft yet hopeful whisper carried on the cold wind of the mountain pass.

Odhranos travels subterranean from Cenril, having just seen off the last of the mages on their way to Frostmaw. The Coral Castle had felt bare and empty as he closed the doors behind him, but he had been assured by Lanlan’s students that they could piece together enough of an illusion to keep public suspicion at bay. All there was left to do now was wait. As he walks beneath Sage, his small tunnel echoing with the rumble of the earth’s passage, Odhranos feels a ball of cold iron settle in his stomach. He is no warrior, Sven knows, he is no leader, but such thoughts could be a fatal thing right now, especially if he left them fester. Clenching his teeth, Odhranos’ increases his pace, setting the earth roaring as he drives his way toward the Pass, seeking out the one person who’s leadership he has always had unshakeable faith in. Near the forest’s edge, the earth rises, like a bubble is about to pop beneath the leaf-strewn grass. Splitting like an open maw, the surface yields to Odhranos, who climbs up out of the rift, dusting sand from his shoulders as the earth closes behind him. The sun has no warmth in it today, and were it not for the bustle of the forest’ denizens, Odhranos could have mistaken it for night. Further ahead, where the foothills of Xalious begin their slow rolling climb to the heavens, Hildegarde’s camp flashes with the signs of life, great confident strides of giants resonating through the earth like a warband’s drum. Odh tightens his blindfold, tugs up his hood, then strides out of the forest, his stark greyness setting him apart from the lush green of the hillside as he approaches the camp. As the shimmering forms of armored warriors and glinting weapons begin resolving themselves, Odhranos’ unseeing eyes search the chests of each individual he comes across, seeking the ironheart he recognises at the Queen. Once found, Odh takes his hood down and approaches her, his features set into an expression stony and stern. “Hilde- ah.” He murmurs, then catches himself, glancing around at the warriors about them. “Probably not appropriate in this setting, perhaps.” His expression softens and a warm smile plumps his cheeks. “Ready?” The question is simple, but there is more behind it than is simply stated. Some part of Odhranos wonders if he is asking himself that same question.

Hildegarde turned on her heel at the familiar call of her name, offering Odhranos a smile he would undoubtedly not see. A hard habit to break. “I’ve been called Hilda before, you know,” she tells him in a playful tone, “but as you well know, it’s not my name,” she told him off jokingly. “_Hilde_ will do just fine!”, with plenty of emphasis on Hilde. “We’re in our final phase,” she tells him with a little nod of her head, taking a step back as she extends her halberd to slip into the entrance of the canvas tent and effectively pull back the opening. “Let’s discuss this further with a little privacy,” her tone comes across as a polite invitation, but there’s some firmness to it that suggests this is not really an invitation and more of a gentle command. Hildegarde would only enter the tent once Odhranos had done so, closing the flaps of the tent as firmly as she could behind them to grant what privacy they could afford. “The Eyrie have already moved many of my men and supplies to Sage, using the cover of training exercises to their advantage. We have used feints to the south of Chartsend; the southwest of Schezerade, the west of Craughmoyle and beyond… even to the Duchy of Vhys, we have sent distractions so that my men and tools could move to Sage without casting much suspicion.” A clever little feint. “It is still eye catching though and I do not doubt that our enemy has spies of some sort. All of us have spies to some extent,” was she admitted she did? Not something one would like to dwell on to say the least. “So far, the rumour is that I am planning an extended hunting trip to Gualon. It is standard for a royal to travel with a fleet of lackeys and what have you, though you and I both know that’s not my style.” The Silver recalled their last meeting and the melancholy that had been felt at that point; the uncertainty and hubris that Odhranos had shared with her. “I…” she is unsure how to proceed with what she wants to say. The knight takes a few steps further in the tent, seeking out a comfortable travel seat to perch upon. “I go by many names, Odhranos. Queen of War, Queen of the North, Daughter of Aramoth, The Stormbringer… Hildegarde the Silver,” her titles could possibly go on, but it might seem a bit braggy at that point and may not add a lot of value to the situation, “but I am your friend. I am at your disposal at this point, this is your battle. I will lend you my strength and my wisdom, but if you are unhappy with any work I have done so far, speak it now.”

Odhranos, despite all the tension and worry, can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips. “I’ve been getting blue in the face telling people I’d rather be called Odh than “Archmage Kerrigan” this and “Lord Odhranos” that. I’ve gotten into a rather bad habit of being familiar with everyone I talk to, to try to encourage them to call me something more… simple. I forget sometimes that there’s a time and place for propriety. My childhood tutors would be distraught.” Sparing a lively chuckle at the thought, Odhranos looks around for where Hildegarde is leading, nodding fervently when he notices where the halberd is gesturing. “Ah, yes. Indeed.” Inside the tent, Odhranos places his satchel on the table, once his hip finds the edge of it rather painfully. He nods intently as Hildegarde details the lengths to which her deception had gone to ensure the troop’s movement went as unnoticed as possible and he can’t help but be in awe at the scale of the operation. As he listens, he produces from his pouch two tomes. One that would be familiar to Hildegarde, the blue leather of Inks’ binding wrapping the secrets of Satoshi’s musing under the glassy sheath of ice. The other book is much more plain, its cover a simple cured leather. The only hint to its significance is the circular lamen embossed in the cover and the slight blue aura that wreaths it like the faintest of penumbra. Once Hildegarde takes her seat, her tone turns to something more concerned, a friend asking after another rather than a warleader and a revolutionary discussing the fate of a kingdom. Odh’s first response is to shake his head. Unhappy? Lords above, no. “I couldn’t possibly be unhappy. The lengths you’ve gone to lend both your city’s assistance and your own is more than I could have asked for. I’m not versed enough in the minutia of war to niggle particulars, but I have faith that what you’ve done and what you’ve yet to do will be enough that Aramoth himself would approve. So no, I’m not unhappy with any of your work.” A sad smile tugs at Odhranos’ lips as he leans on the table, drumming his fingertips on the leatherbound book. “My unhappiness doesn’t stem from anything like that. I’m just a little sad is all.” Odh bites his tongue before he continues and from where Hildegarde is sitting, the struggle in his face is blatantly apparent; there is something on the tip of his tongue and he doesn’t know how he can possibly word it.

Hildegarde knew the struggle of titles all too well! She too had insisted upon shunning these titles and names until understanding that they served a purpose if used at the right time and place. A hard lesson to learn, however. The sharp jolt to Odhranos’ hip does earn a silent wince from Hildegarde who mentally notes to be more helpful going forward. Should have thought of that. Of course the tomes cannot go unnoticed: one elicits a very powerful emotion within Hildegarde, a sense of grief almost blended with pride to see it safe in the hands of Odhranos. The other is regarded with curiosity but she cannot yet inquire about it, given that Odhranos is confirming his satisfaction with her work thus far in sowing the seeds of the siege. “War is not a maker of joy,” she tells him gently, “the work that we do today will not bring joy to our hearts but it might bring some relief and freedom to those we know and love,” she tells him this in the hopes it might steel his heart a little for the fight to come. Although Hildegarde is hardly a social butterfly, she can tell when something has gone unsaid. Slipping out of the chair, the knight approaches the Archmage and looks him over to assess for any kind of physical hurt or perhaps something deeper. “Speak your mind, my friend. What is said in this tent between us shall not leave it. Besides,” she said with a little shrug of her shoulder, “I have something for you. So… tell me what’s on your mind and you’ll be rewarded,” she said with a gentle but playful nudge to his shoulder.

Odhranos laughs slightly at Hildegarde’s incentive. Like a child who needs a treat to fess up to a fib. The notion is quite amusing, but it doesn’t do much to settle the cold curling feeling in his stomach. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out, as if the words simply don’t want to leave his throat. He closes his mouth and grits his teeth, clenching his fist on the table out of frustration. Why is this so hard to say? Sven blast it, why couldn’t he be more open, more honest about this? Something this important? He furrows his brow, staring blindly at the table as if seeking some courage that might have been sequestered away in this table that has likely seen more battles than he has seen dawns, but the weathered wood is cruel in its silence. Instead, Hilde’s words resonate with him. “Relief and freedom for them. Aye…” The terramancer lapses into silence, then gathers his breath in a slow dragging sigh and lays out plain what has been preying heavily on him. “Hilde, I’m not making it out of this conflict.” His statement is delivered to the table, even though he can’t see, he can’t bring himself to face her. He dare not let her see what hides behind his expressions. “In order for us to win, I die. There’s no two ways around it. No resurrections, no bold last-minute plans.” Odh casts a sidelong glance at Hildegarde and a sad smile tugs the corner of his mouth. “No iron hearts this time.” He raises his head and lets his breath out in one ragged sigh, as the words flow easier now that the dam has been broken. “That’s our win condition. And I’m not afraid.. No, that’s a lie, I am afraid. But I’m resolved. What’s killing me is I couldn’t tell them.” Odh now turns to face the knight, his face set into a smile that looks like he is on the verge of crying. “I couldn’t tell any of them other than Lan. I did my best to say goodbye in my own way, but I can’t rattle them this close to the end. They won’t know a thing until it’s already happened.” Odh raises his arms and shrugs, a slow desperate plea to whatever heavens happen to be listening right now. “I needed to tell you, because we won’t have immediate communication when everything goes down. I need you to know in advance, so you don’t…” Odh trails off and his shoulders hunch slightly. A moment later and they shudder, as a laugh racks the terramancer. “Who am I kidding?” Odh lifts his head and smiles at Hilde, this smile is an open and gentle one, devoid of the pain he had been feeling not moments ago, but fringed in sadness, the kind one feels when setting out on a very long journey. “I wanted to say goodbye to someone. That’s it really.”

Hildegarde couldn’t help but smile when Odhranos laughed at her incentive, it felt like a small win which was a very good feeling before a fight. As Odhranos seeks the strength to speak his truth, Hildegarde lapses into patient silence. She won’t rush him or encourage him, he needs to speak when he is ready to do so. The incentive was truthfully much more playful than a true encouragement, but the knight knows not to push for more until such a time that he is ready. Yet… by the time that Odhranos is ready to speak the truth, Hildegarde is by no means ready to hear _that_ particular truth. Her singular eye widens with surprise as he confirms to her that he would not be surviving their upcoming battle and has no intention of coming back. In truth, nor did she and therefore she understands the feeling of being brought back when it is not wanted or requested. “You’ve thought this through,” she tells him without any real need of it. She knows he’s thought it through, he wouldn’t come to this conclusion otherwise. “There is time yet for goodbyes. I… I am sorry, but I would like to hear what lead to this conclusion. Talk me through your plan, Odhranos,” her voice carries authority and tries to poorly mask a determination to save his life. “You haven’t really waged war before, perhaps I can offer you some wisdom,” she tells him, not meaning to demean or diminish his plan; it was simply the words of a worried friend. “If… If that is the only way, then I… well. I can talk to you about what it’s like. The moment and the after,” she says it softly, timidly. Death was the great unknown, after all. Though not to Hildegarde. She knew what death felt like and what the after was; she remembered all too well the desperate pain she had felt upon being ripped away from that afterlife. “Oh!” she exhales with a wavered breath, “and what about my gift to you? This is incredibly rude of you, you know.” A jest to try to conceal the true feeling.

Odhranos nods, he had thought this through. Half a year in Haladavar’s prison left more scars on him than he had ever really admitted, but the one good that came out of it was the time he had to think and the resolve he mustered. The kind of resolve that makes you swear no one will ever have to go through what you’ve been through. The kind that stares down death with an iron resolution. “I’m not a warmonger. I’m a researcher. Research got me into this mess and wove the web we now find ourselves wading through. Unfortunately research also paves the way out.” Odh turns and unshoulders the strap that held the large golden cage by his side, its sandstorm heart still swirling unabated. “I won’t go into the detail, it’s too long and unnecessary, but the crux of the matter is this.” Odh plonks the gilded artefact on the table, where it catches the slim rays of light that enter the tent, bouncing a golden radiance across Odhranos’ blindfold. “This is a soulcage, containing the essence and spirit of S’erok, a dragon from the Nameless Desert. I’ve been bonded with it since the resolution of the Raiez Incident, it was what drove me into the desert all those years ago.” Odh opens his mouth and rather bizarrely, his voice drops pitch and instead of speaking in Common, the terramancer speaks in the ancient language of Dragons instead. <”Odhranos has been carrying me around in his head ever since. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure before, Silver. Would that we could have met at a better time.”> Speaking through the terramancer, S’erok dips Odh’s head in a simple bow before retreating, leaving Odhranos massaging his throat, not meant to handle the rough phonetics of Draconian. “Ahem, yes. We’ve been coohabiting for some time now. Originally I was researching to find a way of making a new body for S’erok, so he could be independent. The long and short of the story is that I succeeded, and the fruits of my effort are currently what keeps Haladaver’s soul this side of the Great Divide.” Odh pats the golden cage then pulls its strap back over his shoulder. “I know how it works because I designed it. Consequently I also know that it can only be disassembled from inside.” Odh grimaces as he lets the significance of that sink in. “In order to defeat Hal, someone needs to take the cage apart from within and see Haladavar’s soul to the point of dissolution, where he can’t return from. The whole way, beyond the point of return.” Odh splays his hands against the table and settles his shoulders as he considers the task. “It’s a one way trip. Soul-death. No coming back. And no one else knows how to do it.” He laughs and casts a wry grin Hilde’s way. “I’m the orchestrator of my own undoing, I tied the knot that only I can untie and I have to be hanging from the same rope.” He lets that hang in the air, then laughs gently at Hilde’s attempt to salvage the situation. “I think I’ve earned that reward, wouldn’t you say?”

Hildegarde watched, waited and listened to Odhranos as he explained the situation to the best of his abilities. Anything further may have required them to postpone their efforts rather than continue on! As the gilded artefact is plonked onto the desk, Hildegarde eyes it with unabashed curiosity. “A soul cage,” she repeats quietly, wondering if this is not the same as a phylactery? As S’erok speaks, however, Hildegarde is surprised by the draconian tongue and too taken aback to reply immediately. Instead, she is quite simply taken by his explanation of events and how this has solidified his plans to meet his end. “I do not like this,” she tells him after a long silence. “I have always had a respectful disdain for these things. Give me a sword or a weapon, throw me to a fight and I’ll understand how to see it through but this…? It is beyond my ken. I am helpless. I am unable to help you and it is not a position I enjoy,” she tells him plainly, but empathetically. She holds Odhranos dear, therefore she feels the constraint of their predicament. “Could your soul not be… I don’t know, tethered? Something surely can be done. Have you spoken to Larewen?” a great and powerful necromancer, surely she would know something? “Maybe even Josleen’s father could have some kind of knowledge,” she is throwing about names and trying to think, but it is truly beyond her ken and therefore she is very much out of her depth. “Would your soul truly die though…? Would you not simply be trapped on that other side?” Magics, souls and the like was very much outside Hildegarde’s comfort zone, so when talk turns to the reward she had promised him, the knight dips her head and sighs with resignation. “Indeed, you have earned it,” she turns her back to him and seeks out a fur trimmed pouch, whipping it up quickly before returning to Odhranos; her halberd finding a resting spot in the tent as she does so. “This was from my first liege lord, Kirien, who was then a Prince of Frostmaw. He was… he was kind and good to me, though a man with much sorrow in his heart. He was burdened with much, though he didn’t share his burden. I say to you to share your burden, Odhranos. A burden shared is a burden halved, Aramoth above knows I have strength in me to carry a burden or two.” The knight opens the pouch and reaches in to produce a small dark-wood box. “It is a helpful being, I’m led to believe, though it hides in a headband. Perhaps it will give you some inspiration,” she tells him, opening the box to reveal the gold silken headband. Though it did not particularly look like much, Odhranos would surely feel the magical energy ripple from it. “This realm needs you, Odhranos. I…, well, I tolerate having you around of course, so you better do some more research,” she tells him with a very warrior-like sniff; definitely not a sniffle.

Odhranos looks apologetic. “If there was more time, I might be able to find a way. But this close to the moment of confrontation…” Odh looks toward the west wall of the tent. Through and beyond the fabric, the stoic silvery form of the Xalious Mountains looms over Odhranos, now wearing its crown of suns as Haladavar’s arcane barricade glows balefully from the slopes. “I don’t know. There’s so much that I don’t know and so little I can do with what I do know… it’s the curse of the scholar.” Odh chuckles blithely at the thought. “Always knowing there’s something beyond the next hill, but never quite being able to see over it. Yet the hill keeps calling.” Odh looks back towards Hilde, where her armor sheens at him impassively, and the only human-like feature he can see is her heart, beating stoicly onward, like the Queen herself. “I’m not giving up, I still have a few days, and maybe by some miracle, a solution will present itself. It’s possible.” The tone of Odh’s voice tells that this is less of a hopeful statement for him and more something to comfort Hildegarde. When she turns to fetch the pouch, Odh turns his attention to the table and the two books he had placed there. Satoshi’s tome feels smooth and glasslike beneath his fingertips and he presses his thumb against the ice, leaving the faintest of foggy imprints. He had intended to ask Hildegarde if she would take the book back, for safekeeping since Odh wouldn’t be around to bear it anymore, but right now, that felt like it would be the nail in the coffin, returning a gift to its giver. He begins tucking the book back into the satchel when Hildegarde returns and his attention is drawn to what it is she has brought. “Ah, pardon me.” Odh reaches out to touch the item, not entirely sure what he is expecting. He is surprised to find the pliant feeling of cloth beneath his touch, then he breaks into a smile when he realises what it is. “Ah! I’ve had more need for these lately, this is a very timely gift.” Odh beams brightly, lifting the silk from the box with both hands. “This fabric… it reminds me of something, but I’m not entirely sure what. Inks would know, fabric is her expertise.” Placing the headband back down momentarily, Odhranos reaches behind his head and unties the plain grey blindfold he had picked out this morning. Placing it on the table, he blinks, his pale white eyes not reacting to the light but out of habit, then he lifts Hildegarde’s gift once more and ties it in it’s place. “There’s… a magic to this. I can feel it, but it’s elusive. How fascinating.” Odh murmurs quietly as he tightens the knot and turns to face Hildegarde, smiling gently. “I’ll do what I can. I am fond of a great many people and I would like to spend more time with them.” Odh pauses, then his smile broadens. “I am glad to be so highly tolerated.” Bright laughter rings around the small tent, as Odhranos glows like a dim, but happy sun. “My short time left makes me feel like throwing propriety to the wind, so let me be honest and say you are as family to me. I count myself very fortunate to have known you all these years. I would wish for all the bounties of the heavens for you, for your kindness and patience and steadfast heart.” Odh’s expression is warm and heartfelt, and if his eyes still worked, he would likely find them filled with tears. “Thank you for everything, Hildegarde. Knowing you has been a gift.”

Hildegarde , before reaching for the fur-trimmed pouch, reached a hand out to gently hold the shoulder of the terramancer, for he needn’t apologise. “Most often than not, the way we seek is revealed to us at the very end. Do not discount that for a moment. I would, reluctantly, caution you to be realistic but to not shun hope from your heart. Keep it there and hold onto it like a medallion,” she tells him, cementing her words with a little squeeze to his shoulder in reassurance. Upon returning with the gift and watching Odhranos affix it to his face, the knight offers him a little smile as he seems to have taken to the gift well. “You know I’m no mage, so… I don’t know too much about it, but it felt right to pass this on to you.” When Odhranos laughs at being tolerated, the knight cannot help but laugh too. What a silly thing to have said when a friend informs you that they’ll likely be dying soon. When he confesses his feelings, however, the Queen of War can no longer hold onto concepts such as propriety and Queenly conduct! Without seeking his permission, the Queen closes the gap between them and pulls Odhranos into a tight embrace. “Of course we’re family, you nitwit,” she tells him with her eye shut tight to barricade against any tears that threaten to escape, “and if you think I’m going to just let you die without trying to do anything about it, you’re so sorely mistaken!” Taking a small step back, Hildegarde has her hands upon his shoulders. “Knowing you has been an honour, Odhranos, and I will pray to my gods that I shall have many years more to learn from you and laugh with you. For now, however, we will fight as comrades to liberate our people.”

Odhranos tips his face up toward Hildegarde and nods seriously. “It was the hope and stubborn belief of the Guild members that saved me from that cell and has me standing before you today. Their hope saved me, I pray my hope can repay that debt.” Odh squares his shoulders, presenting a stoic front, before he chuckles. “You know me too well, nothing could get me to defy death like an arcane puzzle waiting to be figured out. Maybe Kirien’s legacy will reveal something of itself to me in the coming days. I’ve always had admiration for the Prince, his work has been a source of great interest to me for years. So this gift holds a lot of meaning.” Odh would say more but instead he finds himself wrapped in Hildegarde’s embrace, which briefly startles him before he returns it wholeheartedly. Once she steps back, Odhranos’ expression has brightened, as if something of the Silver’s iron has bolstered him. “Then I will do what I can to see those years. But yes. Now is the time for action.” Odh reaches up and places his hand on Hildegarde’s pauldron, a show of camaraderie between the mage and the knight. “Frostmaw calls, Xalious will answer.”