RP:Seeking Counsel

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Skylei, Hildegarde and Leone have an opportunistic meeting in the Healing Room in Frostmaw. Hildegarde has business to discuss with both Leone and Skylei. With the first she discusses an amulet and with the second the recent ongoings regarding the elves of Frostmaw, with Skylei having been beckoned to Frostmaw by a letter from Rhosorien. Hildegarde offers Skylei the chance to present reparations to the leadership of Frostmaw to preserve the elves' status in the city.

The Healing Room

Hildegarde, having dealt with Rhosorien and being left with an irritating decision, had trudged towards the healing room of Frostmaw for Eleenin to tend to her wounds. For the deepest wound, he had pressed a package of salt against the wound, eliciting a pained roar – one which quietened down into a yell – from the knight. Eleenin was not surprised, after all, he had tended to Hilde’s wounds many times before and had grown used to hearing the inhuman sounds she often made. Often people forgot that the woman was not all she seemed, that her truest self was one of scales, talons and fangs; a winged fury that breathed ice. “It stings,” she grunted miserably, “but I imagine the slap you’d give me for not seeing you would sting even more, Eleenin.” The giant shaman chuckled heartily, merely nodding along before rummaging through his herbs and salves to tend to the next wound.

Leone strides into the healing room, her arms full of packages and parcels. Many of the plain, brown paper-wrapped items are plunked onto an empty cot, the blacksmith enumerating their contents while sorting them into different piles. "The monksbane, wormwort and bandages are to the right, while the incense, new brass censer, and other items are to the left," the farrier's husky voice peals through the room. The clear, peridot sights are trained on the job at hand, only looking up to Eleenin once the declarations of delivery have been made. It is then that the smith notices the shaman's patient, and moves over toward where Hildegarde is seated to more closely inspect and converse with the Silver. "What happened here?" The question is stern, meted out through pursed, caramel-hued lips.

Skylei is also in search of healing. She arrives a little after Leone and thus misses the roars of pain that come from the dragon. Indeed, she’s not even sure if there’s anyone in the backroom of the shop, as the door masks most of the sound. Whilst walking up the mountainous stretch to Frostmaw, she’d tripped over a masked protruding rock and cut a large gash into her ankle and thigh. Whilst Skylei would usually weather such injuries, she feels as though it might be inappropriate to seek out the steward in a bloody and battered state. That and it stings like a bitch. Miserable and grumpy, she’d dragged herself and her wounded leg through the streets of Frostmaw and to the healer where, surprise surprise , when she sticks her head around the door and into the healing room, she spies not just Hilde, but Leone as well. “I’m so sorry,” the half-elf exclaims as she realises that Eleenin is actually already tending to a patient, “I’ll just be outside. Sorry.”

Hildegarde’s hand was keeping hold of the package of salt, keeping it pressed to her shoulder and neck. Leone’s stern question is answered with a small smile and a raise of a free hand, “The delivery of Frostmaw’s justice,” she said gently, trying to be reassuring, “a Red dragon had found its way here. Ate some avians who were in the area and was picking off some mammoths. I thought I could scare it out of the bloodlust, but apparently not. We fought, it died, I am being tended to. All is well.” And in that moment, Skylei entered the healing room, only to try and leave again: “Nonsense! Eleenin can see to you. My wounds will hold. Besides, you wanted to see me, I wanted to see Leone. This is convenient, is it not?” Leone smiles toward Skylei's entrance, her head shaken as the half-elf attempts to excuse herself. "If you don't mind magical healing, I can help," the blacksmith says, both brows raised in inquiry. Soon, the farrier's citrusy sights return to regard Hilde, and a frown turns down the lush, tawny tiers in stark concern. "The red dragon is dead, then. Where did it come from? Why was it in Frostmaw and why was it chasing Avians? I assume the girl is alright," the plover asserts, her voice carrying the hallmarks of restrained worry.

Skylei does as she is told and returns to the room, shutting the door behind her as she does. She makes no comment objecting to magical healing, rather choosing to offer a simple greeting instead, “Leone, always a pleasure.” She sits in a spare chair and begins to peel the blood soaked leather from the open wound. It’s neither particularly large, nor likely to be fatal but it’s deeper than Skylei would have liked. Once the clothing has been drawn away from the injury, Skylei would begin to speak. “Aye, I suppose it is of some convenience that we happened to meet in this way. Though I feel I shall start hiring a carriage to bring me up here. I so rarely arrive unscathed.”

Hildegarde nodded in confirmation, “The dragon is dead, the girl is in the care of Valen,” she had no room or time to take care of a child after all. “I haven’t heard from him, mind you, so I shall ask him how the girl is doing. It would be no good if he was not suitable to care for her,” she remarked thoughtfully. But at the mention of a carriage, the knight shook her head, “A carriage is a sure way to kill the horse, break the wheel and break your neck,” she said with certainty. “I have told you many a time, I am happy to provide an Eyrie escort to fly you here and back,” she reminded softly. “But you wanted to talk about the elves, didn’t you?” she said, straightening as Eleenin peeled back the salt package to eye the torn looking slice, grunting thoughtfully before wandering back away to rummage for supplies. “And I wished to speak of this,” the Steward said a tad more quietly, fingertips briefly touching the amulet around her neck.

Leone turns toward Skylei, a careful assessment made of the ranger's injury. The farrier bends at the knee, her legs coiling beneath her like a frog resting upon a lilypad. The blacksmith looks over the newly revealed cut, grass-green sights roving across the puncture while the shoer pulls her hair back into a low-hanging bun. The lithe digits then come forward, plying softly at the flesh surrounding the wound. A soft glow begins to harken at the underside of the petite female's wrists, a luminance that is akin to metal being rapidly heated. Dull, red light gives way to orange, then yellow, and finally white before the synergy reaches its peak and tendrils of radiance curl over the metallurgist's palms before lashing around her fingers to deliver divine healing unto Skylei. Provided the elf held no resistance to the magic, the wound should begin to knit, ceasing any further bleeding and preventing any infection from setting in. It would still need to be tended to, regularly cleaned and bandaged until it closed wholly but hopefully, with the help from the priestess-turned-smith, the injury would close much more quickly. At Hilde's myserious words, ones which accompanied the indication of the tree around her neck, the cleric turns her silver and raven head. Shaking off the etheral glow of the godly powers, the farrier flexes her fingers while casually asking, "What of it? Is there a problem?"

Skylei sighs as Hilde makes her very valid points, “I have told you once, and I will tell you again; I wouldn’t and will not take a member of the Eyrie away from their duties merely to escort me. I’ll just have to be more careful.” Inevitably, that will not happen. As Leone settles and begins to work her healing magic, Skylei would pull a face and look away. Whilst the healing isn’t particularly painful, there is a sharp sting as the flesh begins to weld itself back together, vastly covering the bloody mess. Once Leone removes her hands, Skylei would stand and head across the room to talk with Eleenin in hushed tones about exactly what she should put on the wound and to purchase bandages and supplies as necessary. Leone and Hilde’s discussion is none of her business, after all.

Hildegarde has been handed a needle and length of thread to stitch her own wound, so Eleenin can wander freely about the shop and show what herbs and bandages might best suit Skylei’s needs. All kinds of herbs are offered to her, even fragranced onces, but Eleenin swears that the foul-smelling herbs are the best kind of herbs. “There is no problem in what it does,” she reassured the smith hurriedly, carefully letting go of the salt pack so she might thread the needle, “it is more that my Queen and the shamans,” a grunt from Eleenin, “do not approve entirely of it. They think it is acting as a crutch for me… they appreciate what it does and do not think it harmful as I vouched for you. If they thought it harmful, they wouldn’t have hesitated to tear it from my neck. But they think it is acting only as a crutch; that I must still work through my… my problem before wearing it again. And I would rather have your guidance on this before I take any action. I can see where they are coming from and as Steward, I need to keep the people happy. Shamans hold great influence in these lands,” she explained briefly, knowing full well that most could catch on to the cultural importance of shamans in the City of War, “and if I am to remain a leader of the Tundra… then I must have their backing.”

Leone purses her lips, giving a hesitant glance toward the Eleenin. "The Shaman are important, as is their support," the smith agrees with a nod of her head, "But simply learning to cope with a trauma and actually recovering from it are entirely different things. To put a fine point on it, let us use Rayala as an example. She is missing limbs. Without her prosthetics, it is nearly impossible for her to move around. She needs crutches to cross her cave, enabling her to move, though not without pain or inconvenience. With her prosthetics, the pain is better and her self-reliance is nearly restored. You have had your peace of mind amputated. The echoes of your horrors are like the phantom syndrome that limbic amputees experience. Your amulet is not a crutch. It is not helping you merely cope, while still being broken. It is a prosthesis, it allows you to actively function, as near to normal as possible, and overcome your affliction." The farrier rocks back onto her heels, standing upright from the crouched posture she'd assumed to heal Skylei, and eases her frame into a chair before continuing, "They may thing that because this is not a visible injury that it is easily healed with some effort and dedication, but mental wounds, such at this, are life-long, and must be treated as such."

Skylei tries not to listen to the conversation, and deliberately makes loud remarks to Eleenin as he shows her the various foul smelling substances. The one she eventually chooses smells utterly vile to her nose, but the shaman clearly disagrees, thinking that she should have chosen one of the ones that had made her gag from a distance. Still, as she examine the herbs, she cannot help but catch some wind of the conversation.

Hildegarde removes the salt pack from her shoulder and neck entirely, exposing the wound so she might be able to stitch some of it up. The woman was a warrior: she knew some field medicine. Not enough to heal perfectly, enough to save a life or close a wound over if it was within her power. With a short and sharp hiss of pain, the needle has pierced her flesh and the knight has begun to slowly stitch the wound shut, albeit awkwardly. “My Queen seems to think I am relying on it when I ought to heal without it. I can understand her hesitation, she is wary of all magical devices or a dependency on any item or any person,” a hard position to be in when your job is to protect someone and their life can depend on you when they don’t trust being dependent on things. “I have said I will try to find some compromise, but I would be lying in saying that this amulet has not restored peace of mind or some… some semblance of who I was. I am loathe to part with it. I was hoping you and I could think of something that might act as a compromise.”

Leone frowns heavily, though a nod is given. "My tribe was very similar," the blacksmith assures the steward, wholly unphased by the field dressing happening before her eyes, "Most of them would refuse magical aids, and very few magic users were trusted or accepted." The human gives a gentle shrug accompanied by a sigh. "The methods that come to mind are all magical. Perhaps having someone remove the memory entirely, though that would take a very skilled healer. A tattoo, rathre than an amulet, that accomplishes the same purpose. I would be happy to work with Meri on that, for instance. Maybe if the Queen and I were to meet. Perhaps I could convince her of the need for your amulet." Skylei continues as she has been. This remains none of her business and yet she listens anyway. Once she’s concluded her dealings with the shaman she heads back to her chair and ostentatiously looks away from Leone and Hilde.

Hildegarde might have offered a nod of her head, if she weren’t in the middle of stitching her shoulder. Once Skylei has concluded her business with Eleenin, the shaman is by Hilde’s side and pulling her hand away so he might take up the process of stitching the wound; grumbling something about tiny needles for tiny hands. “I cannot lose the memory,” she said firmly, “for then I would forget Sabjorn, Onjar, Gunjar and Tormund. Besides, every time I go home to my family, I see my crippled brother and know what I have done,” so that rules out the memory wiping. “I think the risk of altering my memory might be too great. Someone could… I don’t know… repurpose me to serve them and not Frostmaw, you know? I do not enjoy the idea of being someone’s personal attack dog or losing who I am to magic.” She might shudder at the thought if she weren’t aware of Eleenin’s work. “The shamans here do not look well upon magic users. Satoshi defeated the Jarl here and won the support of giants. They see her as the Snow Maiden, not as a magic user. Her magic is gifted by Aramoth,” she said, knowing that’s what the giants believed. “And rumour circulates that I am the daughter of Aramoth,” something that always amused her, even if it made her cheeks redden a bit, “so I must be at my best for their sake.” Finally, the knight looks to Skylei and offers her a small smile, “So! You wished to speak about the Sylvan folk and the Queen’s most recent decree?”

Leone nods toward Hildegarde, a display of understanding and agreement shaken out through the silver-flecked crown. "Yes, I understand. Though as a gentle reminder, my own cult was one of war. Granted, we did not call our god by the same name, but they do seem remarkably similar. Perhaps I should, as maybe they are one in the same. Still, it is noteworthy. I'm sorry I've no further ideas right now, but I will continue to contemplate it," the farrier promises. Quieting so that the Steward may have her conversation with the ranger.

Skylei looks back to the dragon as the conversation turns to her reason for visiting the frozen land, “Aye, that I did. The news of the decree had not reached me in Cenril until yesterday. I will confess, I have been primarily holed up in the library with my research again. But, I am most concerned by this decree, and namely the events that caused its necessity. Might you enlighten me further? The letter I received was not exactly helpful in its contents…”

Hildegarde offered Leone a friendly smile, “Well, like you said, if your god is Aramoth, then you and I are sisters, right?” a joke she remembered from before, one that amused her. It was always good to turn rumours to your advantage when possible. But she turns her attention to Skylei, hand settling on her knee as Eleenin pulled the flesh shut and even patted a bit of salt upon it for good measure. One could never be too careful, that was his motto. Even though the dragon had made it very clear infection was extremely difficult to find amongst dragons. “I am curious about the letter you received detailing the decree,” she said gently, almost implying she would like to see it or learn who sent it at least. “But… the elf, Rhosorien, came to Frostmaw to learn more about the Sylvan refugees. His timing was unfortunate, for he saw me in my truest of forms and decided that was a good time to speak to me. Indeed, he warped my words until I had no option left but to agree to witness an attempt at negotiation with the drow between him. He intends to reclaim Sage,” she informed the elf, having a feeling that she already knew all about this. “And if he is not a fool, he will listen to my advice, just as Kalid did. And if he is a fool… he might well die or he will lead many others to their deaths, something I cannot condone.” The Silver stared at Skylei for a long moment before shaking her head, “But alas, that is not what you came here to find out about. The decree was put in place because the Frostmawian people and the Queen have lost patience with the Sylvan folk who would spit in the face of their gracious host. The few who have chosen to disrespect Frostmaw have slandered my good name, the Queen’s name, and many others. They have vandalised the homes of ‘drow sympathisers’ and the businesses of what few drow live here. There were refugees from both sides, Sky. Frostmaw was not a part of the conflict. We will not be harassed into fighting for the elves, which is why the Queen has elected to put up this notice.”

Skylei grits her teeth and furrows her brow as Hilde speaks of the vandalism and slander, “For the love of the gods, this is not the way.” Skylei reaches into her bag and passes the note she had received from Rhosorien to the dragon, should she wish to read it. “You speak of the one who sent me notice. He has a certain way with words, no? A way that leaves you feeling backed into a corner...” Skylei rolls her eyes and then sighs, “I must confess, Hildegarde, I am sympathetic to his aims; I cannot think of an elf who does not feel that they wish to return to Sage, but there are ways of doing these things. No matter what the way, Hilde, people will die. It has started already and seems it has spread far beyond the elves. Some insane feline woman tried to present me with a drow head in Kelay Tavern, thinking I would appreciate it, if you will believe that.” Skylei shakes her head again and begins to rub absentmindedly at her newly healed leg. “Still, this is not what I came to seek, nor what you need to hear. They lack structure, racial leadership. They’re without everything they knew in Sage and, it seems, the structures put in place immediately after the exile have begun to break down. But if they choose to live here, then the Queen is correct. They live and die by your laws. Elven prejudice has no place in this land. Should I have my way, I would seek a way to reunite the people away from this place, but alas this seems unlikely…” Skylei sighs wearily, “Have reparations been organised for those affected?”

Leone is hesitant to stay, though she'd like to hear about the current events of Frostmaw. A soft chuckle is given in regard to Hilde's joke, the smith's inky brows waggled at the Silver jestfully. Having been involved in the genesis of the conflict the conversation now takes a turn toward, the farrier frowns heavily, shaking her head and grumbling bitterly. Excusing herself with a forced smile and a genial wave to both ladies, the dour plover makes her way out of the healing room.

Hildegarde offered Leone a glance, murmuring gently, “You are welcome to stay, if you wish,” so the plover needn’t leave if she did not wish to or was only doing so out of politeness. She was permitted to hear this, as was any person. The knight accepted the note and glanced over it, sole eye visibly scanning the page as a frown developed upon her features. “I am sympathetic to the fact the elves have lost their home, but I am not sympathetic to how they have acted here in Frostmaw,” she answered as softly as possible, there was genuine sympathy in her voice. “This… Last Ranger… is a bit full of himself,” she said almost grumpily. “He twists words until they suit his needs and I find this action to be devious; somewhat dishonourable.” The knight sighed and looked at the letter once again, “The giants will not hunt the elves down the mountainside. They hurt over this disrespect, and yes, tensions have risen but they would not hunt them down. We are happy to keep those who wish to stay and obey our laws, we see them as family. But those who do not? Those who slander us when we took them in – when no other would – they wound us, Skylei, and we will not abide it.” The Steward scratched at her chin for a moment before shaking her head, “As for this letter… Rhosorien was far from not welcomed. We are not barring elves from these lands, we are telling those who have slandered us to leave. What he writes – being not welcome – is a lie, Skylei, and you know this. I… Frostmaw is a welcoming place, albeit intimidating… but the giants can’t help that,” the muscle, the brawn, the weapons everywhere… it did scream intimidating. “This man argues constantly. He hungers for a fight, that much is obvious.”

Skylei shakes her head, “Speak no more of him. He is of little relevance to why I am here. My concern is for the elves of Frostmaw and their continued safety and assimilation to your community.” Skylei sighs and gestures back to the letter in Hilde’s hands, taking it back from the dragon if she were done with it, “We do what we can to dispel the tension and placate the people. I’m ignorant to the way of the giants, but I’m sure that the vast majority of the Sylvans will be receptive to whatever it is that needs be done. The peace must be made, but I expect it to be fragile, Hilde. Have you heard the rumours of those from Frostmaw who chose to behave in the most foolish vigilante manner down in Sage? If they are true…” Skylei shakes her head, “Well, I daren’t assume they are true.”

Hildegarde sighed heavily and waved the giant shaman away at last, “Peace is something I deeply want,” she reassured the scholar. “So, on that note, and in my official capacity, I propose that you… well, make peace with the giants.” The Steward levelled her gaze upon Skylei, “If you appease the Queen, she will forgive the elves for this… slander and this mark of disrespect. Attempt to placate her and the community.” The knight frowned, “I do not know if you will want this Rhosorien to assist you in this matter, but… you have a few days. Gather the folk who are preparing to leave, speak amongst them and then present your case to myself and Queen Satoshi,” she offered. “Do this, most importantly do it well, and perhaps the giants and the Queen will permit them to stay in the safety of Frostmaw.”

Skylei blinks several times in rapid succession, “Speak with the Snow Queen? Hildegarde…” Skylei opens her mouth to offer protestations of inability, ineloquence and the age old race card; the fact that she cannot be allowed to speak on behalf of the elven race because, as far as many of them are concerned, she is not part of their race. Still, these protestations are quelled before they have a chance to fall from her lips and she closes her mouth decisively. Swallowing deeply after a pause, she speaks again, Rhosorien, if he can be persuaded not to speak out of turn, might be permitted to assisst. I shall speak with those elders who retreated up here - the ones who are less… traditionally minded, shall we say, identify those culpable for the acts – and if they are in agreement and the Queen will see us, I will speak with her. Do you feel that would be acceptable?”

Hildegarde nodded after a long moment of thinking over the compromise, “If he causes further offence, I cannot guarantee what will happen,” she said ominously. “But… know that if Satoshi cannot see you, it will be me who deals with the matter and it will be in an official capacity, Skylei,” meaning personal feelings must be cast aside, “for that is my duty. I am sure she will try to see to this personally, but… her business in Vailkrin and the Mage’s Guild often take up her time, you understand?”

Skylei almost hopes that Satoshi’s business keeps her busy and she merely has to deal with Hildegarde. Official capacity it may be, but the intimidation factor is greatly reduced. “I understand. I will take that as my cue to leave. There is much to be done and little time.” Hildegarde said to you, "You have a week at most, Skylei. Three days would be best, but a week at most. Use the time wisely."