RP:The Herd is on the Move - Part 2

From HollowWiki

Part of the The White Hunt Arc



Synopsis: Drawn by strange sounds from the west, a few of Frostmaw's inhabitants gather at the western gates to see what's happening; they discover a stampede of frostmares. Working together, these brave few employ their extraordinary talents to save the city from impending disaster. Leone, Linn, Hildegarde, Callamyre, and Krice meet the stampede at the gates while Orikahn and Aira are trapped in the thick of the herd.

Western Frostmaw Gates

Leone shouted, ":: A rumbling begins to grow, the distant sound of thunder emanating from the west. In spite of the stormy rapport, there are no gathering clouds, no looming catastrophy that threatens from the skies. A shrill scream echoes upon the icy air, a brief but piercing wail that seems to bleed through walls and echo down streets, surpassing the common din. ::"


Leone shouted, ":: The rumbling grows in volume and depth, as if the entire side of a mountain were collapsing, and each boulder that tumbles down the side voices its own timber to the chorus of thundrous cacophony. The ground begins to shake, minute vibrations coursing along the ground. The hum and tremble crescendos, building into a deafening buzz reminiscent of a swarm of wasps, yet no mass of insects blots out the sun. Frigid mist, even more biting and heat-leeching than is typical of the Frostmaw atmosphere begins to seep in, curls and wisps coiling around rocks and trees, encasing them in a layer of hoarfrost almost immediately. The phenomenon is apparently coming from just beyond the city. ::"


Leone appears from the east, the High Priestess at a full run. Legs pumping and kicking up snow in her wake, the petite woman, swaddled in a black and red cloak emblazoned with the symbol of Aramoth, comes to a skidding halt at the wester gates of frostmaw. Phosphorescent, gemlike eyes in a brilliant peridot hue peer up at the guards stationed there while the woman pants to catch her breath. "What is it?" The question is blurted out, and the cleric's attention is promptly diverted out of the gates and into the frozen wilds beyond. Of course, the guards offer no help. They don't know what is causing the rumbling and shaking, either.


Linn came walking briskly, missing the pack that he usually wore. The plates of his mithril armor was already becoming frosted over from the northern air, though the flexible armor around the joints was kept clean by constant movement. A series of crystals jutted into the gap between the plates over his right ankle for some purpose, though at this point only those with the keenest senses could tell that there was a difference in how his weight was carried on that foot. A dark leather hood was pinned to the plating on his back, while a sword, some pouches, and a black iron gas mask hung at his waist. He approached the gate to peer out into the wilderness and find wherever the sound might be coming from to no avail. A brief sigh was given before he turned to look at Leone, his eyes growing wide as he recognized her from their last meeting. For now he said nothing, returning his gaze to the wilderness.


Hildegarde appeared with couple of giants at her back, her steps quick and full of worry. The Silver could hear the rumbling and the shaking, but it was far too noisy and far too much for her to discern what the source or cause was. It could have been giants for all she knew, or wyverns and dragons. Lisbeth and Mikael were behind her, adorned in the armour of the Queensguard. She recognised Linn and Leone, immediately making her way to the gate. “What’s out there?” she asked of no one in particular. “It cannot be a storm, can it?”


Callamyre came racing down the snow-drifted streets in a beige blur, wasting no time in coming to the western gate. As she came to an abrupt stop, her momentum sent a flurry of snow ahead of her, but she ignored it as she turned to the only person she immediately recognized: Hildegarde. Their prior meeting had been brief, but Calla thought of the woman has capable, and so it was to the lady knight that she spoke. “Storm? No, I should think not,” the scientist said, having overheard the question as she arrived. Fending off a shiver as hoarfrost attempted to grip her, she moved over toward the Queensguards, nodding to Hildegarde. “Good to see you again,” the vampire greeted warmly. Her hazel-hued attention drifted toward the others gathered, each of them receiving a quick, cursory once-over but gaining no recognition from the freckled woman. With a frown marring her brow, she turned her gaze now toward the west and the apparent source of the cacophony. Another shiver rippled up her spine, but the woman summoned a bubble of warmth around her to defend against the icy mist that permeated the area. “What is going on? I came as soon as I heard!”


Orikahn is quickly swept along in the chaos. Frostmares on every side of them for hundreds of feet around, he and Aira have no choice but to be a part of the wild, thundering herd. If they hadn't found a frostmare of their own to ride, it would be difficult to imagine them meeting any fate apart from grisly death. Across the frozen tundra, the frostmares thunder in a great black stampede, lit a preternatural cerulean blue by the glow of their manes and hazy with the cloud of pulverized snow and frost they've raised. Their frightened eyes are wild, and their frightened neighs add to the tulmutuos roar, the great horrible sound of their inevitable approach as they roll over the snow like a flood. The very ground is abuzz and trembling with the impact of their hooves, rumbling with enough force to make any loose objects dance across the ground, enough to snare the attention of anyone yet so unfortunate to be unaware of the impending cataclysm. The roar of the stampede escalates to a crescendo as it crests the last frozen ridges, sweeping horribly, inexoribly, tremendously toward the city. Orikahn blinks in puzzlement. The gates. He calls behind himself to Aira. He points demandingly, as though she can do something about it now. "The Gates! Why haven't they closed the gates!" The stampede will be into the city in moments unless, perhaps by the intervention of heroes, something extraordinary is done.


Aira 's whole body trembled between the movement of their own mare and the thundering of the stampede. The landscape was nothing but a blur of blue as they joined the fray of wild animals running from something. Aira knew very well that had Orikhan not pulled her onto the back of the frostmare she would would most likely already be dead, a slender hand instinctively reaching towards her stomach where an impressive hoof print was already beginning to bruise. A shift in movement caused Aira the double up her grip on the feline once again, head bent low against the wind and elements. When Orikahn called back to her, she turned her head, platinum blonde locks whipping about her face as she too, noted the open gates and turned back to the hunter, a confused expression on her face. What could they do as they were a part of the impending stampede?


Krice came ahead of the stampeding frostmares, a much smaller point of black movement that rushed toward the gate. Closer to Hildegarde and the others, he seemed to materialize out of the mist, 'popping" into sight just behind Callamyre facing the east. Clothing, hair, and muscle moved against the current as he halted in place, snow spraying outward from the anchor of his right leg. Similarly to Orikahn, his attention was on the gate and the whatever guards remained there. " Close the gate!" He yelled, his voice strong and firm and entreating of the other men to listen. Without another moment wasted, he dashed back into the stampeding herd, passing the stunned and confused onlookers. If he could mount a horse on the edge of the mass, maybe he could steer it into the others and lessen the directness of their impact with that gate.


Leone looks over her shoulder, first to the newly arrived Linn, then as Hildegarde speaks. Finally, the farrier's lime green sights fall upon Callamyre. "Not a storm," the plover confirms to the Silver, the sentiment carried over to Callamyer's conclusion of the same. "It's..." the bantam woman's grit and gloss lilt leads in as she squints through the mist and into the darkness of the tree-lined wilderness beyond, "...Not in the sky, at least. Can a storm occur on the ground?" The notion is, frankly, ridiculous. Still, the cleric peers through the gates, her shoulders rigid and tense with anticipation just as the Stampede rolls into view. The blacksmith gasps, and nearly falls over at the sight of the churning river of midnight blue stallions. She manages to maintain her balance, and in the next moment, a hand draws vertically through the air to trace a thin, bright white light that descends nearly to the ground. The priestess is certainly putting herself in the path to be trampled.


Linn barely had time to address the new arrivals before the growing rumbling had him fixed out west, leaning forward as if the few inches closer it made him helped. The moment the first frostmare leapt over the threshold into vision he blinked, the second and third immediately following made him dash his way around to one of the doors, skidding sideways on the ice and snow before grabbing the edge of the gate to stop himself and pull behind it. He gave everyone a quick look as to close the gates or not, taking a brief look at the hinges and the position he had to be in. If they decided to close the gates he would begin, making up for his smaller size with magical force. If the plan turned out to be something else he would follow with it, Leone’s display giving him some doubt of what exactly was to happen next.


Hildegarde didn’t need to be told to shut the gates. Once the frostmares were in sight, the knight was already in motion: tossing her halberd aside and reaching to plant her hands upon the blue iron gate and push against it with a mighty groan of effort. “Lisbeth! Mikael!” she roared their names, begging their assistance. The giants, similar to Hildegarde, didn’t need to be called upon to get started. They were already pushing at the blue iron gates to seal them shut. “Everyone get back!” No one should be beyond the gate unless they wished to die.


Callamyre could feel the ground trembling beneath her boots, and she glanced warily toward the west -- just as the stampede crested and rolled toward him at an alarming speed. “Ohno,” the woman breathed, her feet crunched against the snow and ice as she took a few steps forward. Amidst the blue equine waves surging toward them was something else, or some-one- else, and the woman began to panick. Something was not right. Something was definitely not right. Whirling around in time to see Krice racing past her, she spun back around, reaching vainly after him, but she was too slow to catch hold of his shirt or arm. “Krice! Wait!” she called after her friend. With a curse, the vampire jumped and slid across the ice toward the gate, sending an additional wave of energy toward it to help those already seeking to barricade the city in safety, her right hand stretched toward it, palm flat and perpendicular to the ground. Calla may not have a deathwish, but part of her suspected a good trampling was not going to be her end of days, and after she sensed the giants and Hildegarde had the gate covered, she ran after Krice. A few paces in, she stopped, holding her hands up as she urged the earth to shift and slide, the icy air around her crackling with her innate magic. “Krice!” she called again, but it was unlikely anyone would hear her over the thundering roar of hooves. Panic welled up in her, and with a growl she summoned a wall of ice to begin rising like the curve of a wave, providing what she hoped was a smooth enough arc to redirect the herd away from the gates. It spread outward from either of her sides and in front of her, curving higher and higher; she only hoped it would be enough to keep the herd from trampling the city and also from keeping any of the animals from being hurt.


Orikahn looks around himself for an opportunity, any opportunity to make himself useful, because right now, as a member of the approaching stampede (an unwilling member!) he can't help feeling more like part of the problem than part of the solution. Normally, the cat solves his problems by killing them, but has neither the time nor the arrows to deal out that much death. Aira's confusion is a reality check. What does he honestly think they can do, he she and their mount, a speck in a roaring sea? Yet unhindered, the frostmares thunder on, surging onward, beating through waist-high drifts in dazzling bursts of white that shower over their midnight coats like falling stars and vanish forever beneath their blue, flaming hooves. "Look!" Orikahn shouts, and he laughs in a moment of relief and triumph, pointing at the gates as they begin swinging shut, but eyes swing next to the front of the herd. Already, even as the gates have begun moving, the loney forerunners ahead of the stampede are dashing through and into the city. They are scared, and anyone who would happen to stand in their way could find themselves tragically trampled beneath uncaring hooves, the first of many more to come. Another comes through skidding on the ice and slams forcefully into one of the gates. The animal falls and kicks frantically; plainly, the fallen horse is desperate to right itself before the quickly approaching multitude sweeps over it.


Orikahn :: Much to fallen mare's surprise, a wall of ice begins forming beneath it, and it manages to kick itself over the rising barrier and join the other forerunners in the town's streets. Other mares follow and find themselves butting up against the freshly formed barricade. They rear high, kicking and neighing. Some of them strike at the ice, knocking out fist-sized chips. Others turn away to gallop on in whatever direction they cat, flowing along the city's walls.


Grailan 's spectral figure would not be visible to those that were not privvy to the plane where souls and the dead resided; it was a place where the sky was a lamented gray, colors blurred like preliminary sketches, and sound trailed in the wake of itself like tortured moans. His form walked with a stalwart gait that did nothing to belie the melancholy that surrounded him, to, unseen by most if not all, pass through the shut gates not terribly unlike an apparition.


Aira leaned to the side, further than was probably safe to peer around the feline, his call to look garnering her attention. Copper eyes settled upon the figures ahead whose thinking obviously mirrored their own, moving quickly to close the gates. The runaway breathed a sigh of relief as that was one concern averted, for now at least. Aira noted the few mares who make it past the gates, running wild and scared away from their counterparts. Eyes narrow slightly on the fallen mare, and the wall of ice that begins to form beneath it. The high elf leaned close to Orikahn, yelling over the thundering roar as she pointed towards the forming ice wall. "We going to jump?" Assuming that this would be their course of action as she saw no other route to safety, she settled herself back in behind the feline, grabbing ahold tightly once more so she wouldn't be inclined to topple off the back of their mare and get lost amongst the legs of the stampede.


Krice had to somehow get parallel to the stampeding frostmares, at such an angle that he could attempt jumping at one of them from the side. For that reason, he rushed past Callamyre despite hearing her first call for him to wait. It was only upon her second, along with the crackling energies signaling her magic, that he once more halted so abruptly as to skid a couple metres away from his intended stopping point; thunder rumbled up from the ground, sending tremors through each leg that marked the impact of hooves hitting earth, but he kept his feet. In the same motion, the warrior whirled around to gaze after the vampire but his vision of her was obscured by the arcing wall of ice she had constructed. From -his- perspective, that wall of ice was neatly camouflaged against a scenery of white beyond it, but he knew that she was there. -Some-where. He was also unable to see the others, though he knew of their presence as well and hoped that they were behind the relative safety of the large western gates. As the first of the frostmares dashed past him toward those gates, Krice tensed and rushed forward a few steps in concern for the safety of his vampiric companion, but the success of her ice barrier assuaged him of at least -part- of his concern and he was able to watch, without panic, the redirecting of the entire herd. The horses that managed to break through to the city were regarded with a regretful glance, for he could not risk leaving the herd for the sake of a few, despite the damage said few could do whilst running wild. Somewhere in the chaos, he could sense Leone's magic at play, as well. Now opting to return to the gates, he ran -with- the herd in approaching the ice-wall, alongside them, until he spotted the Priestess on the stampede-side of Callamyre's magical obstruction. He could see Callamyre around the rise and locked his gaze with hers only briefly, for the person in most immediate danger was Leone. After just a few seconds, he had wended his way ahead of the herd to be within metres of Leone, keeping his distance because of her magic use; was she planning to use a massive explosion to stay the stampede? He remained out of the immediate blast radius if so, but did not relax by any means. Lifting his chin, the silver-haired man called out to Priestess above the roar of the herd, his voice firm and underlined by a hint of breathlesssness; moving so fast in so short a span of time, across considerable distances, affected even him. " Leone, careful!" Lifting his left hand, Krice gripped the hilt of his sword in preparation to enter the herd with the intent of cutting down the front-runners if necessary. He waited, on the edge of his toes, for a signal from the priestess that she would need assistance.


Leone is startled when a wall of ice suddenly appears behind her. Exhaling a breath that quickly billows into a cloud before her face, the farrier displays the only note of her relief that at least one other person in the gathered crowd has the same idea she does: divert the mares from reaching the gate, lest they plow into it, perhaps over it, and potentially either gain entry to the city or gain injury to themselves. Amidst flying chips of ice and clouds of snow projected into the air as the mares at the head of the stampede collide with the wall of ice, the High Priestess moves to ensnare the equine army before they can flee too far afield along the walls of the city. Krice's voice is just a bleating note among the galloping, whinneying cacophony around her. A hoof from a leaping and rebounding mare catches the diminutive female upside the head, another thumping her square on the shoulder. The metallurgist is dazed, though she manages to keep her wits about her enough to remain upright and active. Like the grand curtain on a stage, the petite preistess peels apart reality, rending color and light into nothing but a bleak grey expanse as the previously drawn slit of white widens into a gaping maw that seeks to envelop the herd (or as much of it as she can), throwing the captured Frostmares into the unobstructed space between the world of the living and the plane of the dead... at least temporarily.


Linn began his share of the pushing the moment he saw Hildegarde and her entourage rush to the gates to close them. In shutting the door the man drew a strange violet-black crystal from the pouch above his sword. From it came a veil of blue energy rimmed with a sharply defined, impenetrable darkness that he pressed against the door and made headway with the combined physical and magical forces, but stopped just as there was the door was about to close, his view at the edge allowing him to see Callamyre and the others in front outside. “Get in! Now!” he shouted through the slip that would allow two, three if they squeezed, to pass at a time. Barely hearing himself, he banged his fist against the iron door, a resonating boom echoed through to the other side to get their attention before he waved for everyone else to get through. He eyed a crack beginning forming in the wall of ice as it was torn away by the constant beating of hooves and bodies. “NOW!” he barely managed to scream over the rolling thunder of the stampede, ready to slam the gate shut the moment they were inside.


Hildegarde ’s strength combined with the two giants and Linn would have the gate shut in no time. The gate hummed with each frostmare that battered against it, causing the knight to visibly flinch but she did not deter from her efforts. Sound was no friend of a Silver dragon, that was true, but duty and honour bound her to her cause. “Hold the line!” she bade her companions, bidding them not to leave their position as she took a step back. “Linn, get them inside, *now*!” she commanded him as she visibly began to contort and shift. The woman was no longer a woman, for she had assumed her most truest of forms and reared up on her hind legs to lean against the gate: her massive wings held up and out in a proud stance as taloned hands curled around the top of the gate and began to squeeze it shut effortlessly. “Lisbeth, get them inside! Mikael, stop the advance!” Each commanded ushered, each giant running to see to them. Mikael tackled the frostmares that had already slipped by; his blade swinging and spilling blood as Lisbeth slipped through the gates and flung herself into the fore. Her shield would certainly steer some frostmares away, along with her longsword. The Silver’s massive serpentine head peaked over the gate and roared at the oncoming herd, as if to tell them all to leave off; hoping the sound would direct them otherwise.


Callamyre gasped as beads of perspiration began to form along her brow and temples, cold and slick, almost frostformed as magickal wall of ice she’d formed was battered and rammed with hundreds, perhaps thousands of hooves. Despite the cries to get back behind the gate, she was not going to abandon her post, and renewed the strength of the barrier. The sound of ice crackling and splitting pierced the air as another layer shot from the ground, adding to the support of the wall; she dug her heels into the ground as she slid backwards. She wasn’t strong enough, though; not with her pendant tempering her abilities. Alarm trickled into her as she saw Krice race toward Leone, and the woman gasped again as the sight of the great gaping maw of void was dragged in front of the cleric blacksmith, awe and appreciation taking over the freckled woman’s features. The effects of the divine magick were like palpable auras to the woman, though, and she shook her head, fighting off whatever blurriness threatened her vision. Cursing beneath her breath, Calla then growled, but it was vastly overshadowed by the bellow of a dragon. Rather than look behind her to where Hildegarde now towered over them in her true form, she dared not look upon the dragon for fear of losing her concentration; although she respected Hildegarde, dragons made the woman just a -little- nervous. With several more grunts and crackles of energy, more shards of ice drove upwards from the earth, reinforcing the wall, and continuing to spread north and south from her point, growing several yards a second. “No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed as the frostmares endlessly beat against the wall, a massive thundering echoing and sending tremors up her arms. Despite this, she stood her ground, sending more and more energy into the wall as she could.


Orikahn throws a glance back to Aira. His full-face visor betrays no emotion. "Jump? Tightening his hold on their posessed frostmare, he glances uncertainly between the elf, the gates, and the growing wall of ice. The herd is deep, and there are hundreds of frostmares ahead of them before they can even get close to the gates. Abruptly, the scene changes as a massive rift opens at the curved ice wall's exit side, and all can plainly see the stampeding herd take a wide, banking turn along its length. Higher and higher the ice barricade grows, and wider and wider the spiritual rift spreads, and any chance of jumping seems slimmer by the passing second. "Jump where?" It's an honest question, because, mask or no, Aira might sense Orikahn's apprehension. He has seen what happens when things pass through Leone's portal, and he isn't eager to join those things in their misfortune, packed in, flank to flank, shoulder to shoulder, there doesn't seem to be much choice. Just then, another unexpected thing in a day full of unexpected things happens. The herd startles at the sound of a roar to rival even the thundering of their thousand hooves, and Kahn sees his very first dragon, a silver one, peering out over the roiling multitude. Orikahn sees in the an opportunity. Clutching his frostmare's hide tightly, he pulls it to veer. "I think I see it!" As the herd sweeps headong toward the portal, some of them slip by on either side, escaping a netherworldly journey. It is plain by his angling that Kahn plans to be one among these, and sure enough Aira might notice what Kahn has; there is an empty patch of snow behind the portal, shielded from the rushing stampede by the priestess' gate. Meanwhile, on the other side of the icy wall, Callamyre will see her icy wall holding, despite long jagged cracks. The many diversions seem to be working.


Aira watched apprehensively as Callamyre reinforced her ice wall, higher and higher it grew and the high elf needed to tilt her head back to see the top. Despite his hidden face, the runaway has spent enough time with Orikahn to recognize his own apprehension as she breathed out a deep sigh. Where to jump indeed? Those mesmerizing metallic eyes dart around quickly, settling upon the dark portal, recently conjured and she grabbed ahold of the feline's shoulder. "Orikahn..." she called out nervously as their options seemed to be growing smaller. A deep roar drew Aira's attention back to the gate and her almond shaped widen as she witnessed a dragon, powerful and commanding, for the first time in her sheltered life. The sight momentarily distracted her from their impending doom, but Orikahn's mention of a possible out reeled her back in. "Where?" She called out over the deafening roar. It mattered not whether the hunter heard her or not because based on his angling of the frostmare and the trajectory he had put them on she spotted the patch of snow just beyond the portal. Just as she had trusted Orikhan when she took his hand she had to trust him now to get them out of this.


Krice 's acute hearing caught the sound of -someone- yelling in the distance, but the roar of the stampede blocked out -what- those words were - and Leone was getting trampled by horses. He rushed forward but didn't get two steps closer before a frostmare strayed from the herd, running more laterally than forward. With a grunt, the warrior managed to maneuver himself -back-, out of the horse's path, though barely; the silver hair that trailed behind his swift evasion slapped the edge of the horse's pectoral, and he turned his head to avoid collision. The sound of Hildegarde's roar commanded his attention and he looked briefly toward the gate, but Leone still remained his concern. As the horses responded to the dragon's message, scattering away from their intended path, the silver-haired warrior dashed forward to assist Leone. At that point, he heard even through the stampede that Callamyre was in distress and as he arrived at Leone's side, he twisted around to glance at the wall. Horses continually ran around then and crashed into that wall, and although Hildegarde's roar assisted on that front, the warrior intervened to help further. Whilst Leone focused on redirecting the stampede through her portal, Krice moved away from her go use his body mass against those who strayed toward Callamyre's ice wall, his entire weight thrown against the meat of their legs to push them away.


Leone cannot hear Linn yell above the galloping and colliding hooves of the frostmares. The splintering ice, as well as the magical means that keep it aloft, provide even more distraction and disorientation to the already dazed (and confused?) farrier. The silvery, roaring head that appears gathers the sacred smith's attention, her flushed ivory mein coming about to press bleary and unfocused, grassy green oculars across the distance toward the shimmering saurian snout. Markedly strange, though probably entirely unnoticed in the thick of the ado, one of the bantam woman's pupils is enormous, while the other is little more than a black pinhole among a sea of jade. At the shick and slice of the Steward's guard's intervention, Lisbeth is given a cursory glance, a single moment of regard, and Leone makes a mental note to stay out of the path of the swinging sword. Kahn and Aira streak past the priestess aboard their frostmare ferryman, the feline and his elven companion earning little more than a bewildered and confused stare from the clergywoman. As the final dregs of the herd gallop headlong into the open portal (thanks to Hilde's detouring roar), the plover begins to draw the ethereal curtain closed. Her steps are unsure, each stride wobbling and tottering as she runs the distance between the drapes of colored reality and the monochromatic netherworld to once again drop the veil. The High Priestess looses her footing, sliding along the hoary road and to her knees just as the line of white luminance that initiated the door between worlds flares brightly, and then extinguishes entirely. Clamboring once more to her feet, the Aramothian cleric turns upon one heel. Her new orientation is not toward the gate but away from it, a single beat of pause to calm her spinning vision before she bolts pell mell into the wilderness.


Linn looked up at the claws over the top of the door, taking that as the cue that he wasn’t needed to help hold the gate anymore. He ran out against the wall of ice that was constantly reforming itself right in front of Callamyre, plunging the crystal that he wielded into the ice of the barrier. The shifting blue light that followed melded with the lower section of the wall, flashing faintly under each hoof strike with similar bursts of light coming from the crystal in spite of the darkness that filled it. The chipping, cracking, and chunking of the wall ceased under the arcane reinforcement, though he flinched at every blow as if each one costed him as well. Seeing Orikahn and Aira through the wall he gives them a chance to make it through before trying to get everyone back inside, only to find that most of the horde had dispersed by then. He breathed a sigh either in relief or frustration before looking back up to find Leone making her way into the forest. Cursing, he withdrew the crystal from the wall of ice before circling around it to give chase to the priestess, somewhat in his own daze from the intense hammering on his shield.


Hildegarde roared only a few times more, ensuring that the frostmares veered off in the right direction and the ensured the safety of the city. The Silver watched as the priestess ran off, Linn hot on her trail. With at least someone going after her, the knight feels that she may remain at the gate rather than also give chase. “Report!” her thunderous voice calls, demanding to know who was hurt and who was unhurt.


Callamyre continued to dig her boots into the ground, supplementing the strength of the wall until at last the battering died down. It was only then that she looked away from the wall to see that Linn had added his own magic to the wall of ice, but before she was able to grant him a thank-you, he was chasing off after Leone. With the herd dissipating, she withdrew her gloved hands from the frozen surface of the barrier, and took a half-step back, swaying unsteadily. The vampire swallowed past an uncertain lump, grateful for having fed the night before else she'd have been a lot less useful. Releasing a great sigh of relief, the freckled woman stumbled backward another pace, and as she did, the ice wall began to groan as it splintered and cracked. Calla's head was buzzing, and the air continued to crackle of her magick, audible only now that the thunder of hooves was dying down. She turned away from the barrier, and with a -whoosh- the ice quickly evaporated, hissing in her wake. It was at that point that she looked up toward the silvery dragon, and she meant to say that she was well but for the sudden nausea that welled up in her. Her steps were uncertain, and she grit her teeth, resting a hand on her stomach as she attempted to keep whatever weakness she felt in the wake of such a magickal exertion to a minimum. A wan smile found her lips, then, and she gave a lazy wave to the Lady Knight, before stumbling toward Krice.


Orikahn hunches low. He is not an experienced rider, but knows he can trust the spirit possessing the frostmare, as he has already before on many occasions. As the portal draws nearer, the Prime Hunter shifts his weight, readying himself to leap, and he throws a final glance back at Aira to check that she is doing the same. Their frostmare makes its veer, pushing hard into mare beside it, and the looming portal rushes by to their left. Kahn doesn't hesitate. He leaps free. The maneuver earns him a hard landing as all some-odd hundred pounds of him crash into the ice. He skids to a stop. Lifting his head, the cat can see the thin remnants of the herd scattering aimlessly, prancing around the city's walls. Back toward the gates, the last leg of the stampede batters along the icy barrier and, with the aid of Krice's ushering, the charge fails at long last. The wave has broken, and the allies of frostmaw are there to witness the last ounces of momentum bleed out of the horses. The stampede is finished, and nothing but a band of agitated beasts remain, rearing and tromping. The portal vanishes, and Orikahn looks around. He is astonished and unsure; the peace had come as suddenly as the danger.


Aira caught that final glance of Orikahn's, nodding her head that she understood, hunching her own, smaller frame down and getting ready to leap. She waited and as soon as the feline took off she was soon to follow, landing hard with a sickening crack as she fell on her side, rolling several times. The high elf finally came to a halt on her back, groaning slightly as her breath came hard and fast, causing piercing pain to shoot along her ribs. She simply lay there in the snow, her hair and clothes dampening as the sudden silence seemed louder than even the deafening roar of the stampede. It was odd, how quickly it ended, almost as fast as it had started. Eventually she rolled over on all fours, a violent cough taking hold of her and sprinkling the white snow with droplets of blood. Another groan and Aira is on her feet, clutching her side as she meandered over to Orikahn with uneven steps, "You okay, Kitty?"


Krice was rather successful in helping the horses to divert from the reinforced ice-wall, the combination of his body mass and their momentum aiding in this. With the impact against the last horse to run his way, he was pushed back a metre and dug in his booted feet to avoid hitting the ice wall--after all, he had been diverting the equines to -prevent- further impacts from taxing Callamyre. Facing forward, Leone was the first woman he saw sway and his instinct was to assist her, but then she was running off into the west, leaving him frozen in a moment of panic and indecision. With Linn giving pursuit of the priestess, Krice begrudgingly turned away and instead focused - without regret - on finding Callamyre to check her condition. She was stumbling toward him, and though he had taxed some of his energy reserves maneuvering around the stampede, he still possessed more than enough strength to support the weakened vampire without visible effort. Sliding his right arm around her waist and angling it upward along her spine, Krice kept his companion upright whilst directing a sweeping glance at their surroundings, double-checking that no more horses were stampeding their way. The herd had thinned considerably, thanks to the combined efforts of the group, and after a final concerned glance sent in Leone's direction, he redirected a similar look to Callamyre. Calling out to Hildegarde, " Fine over here," he answered her call for casualities - or none - before asking of the vampire in his hold, " You alright? Are you hurt?"


Callamyre breathed heavily made her way to Krice, a weariness creeping into her bones. "Y-yes," she stammered, nodding as her hands found purchase on the warrior's upper arms. "Yes, I am alright." Using Krice for support just as much as she could also offer, she tore her golden-glowing gaze away from the warrior in order to look around at the others scattered about. Leone was gone from her sight now, with Linn in pursuit, and that left Orikahn and Aria, the two having arrived in style. Their arrival alone inspired a thoughtful, inquisitive gaze, but she quickly turned her attention back to Krice. "And you? Are you okay?" As she asked, she lowered her eyes, giving his body a once-over, looking for bruises, cuts, or gashes of any sort.


Orikahn offers Aira a hand up, more interested in the blood on the snow than her words. "You're hurt," the cat plainly observes. He looks around, noting the frostmares still pawing around, and he decides against shouting for fear of startling them again. Even if the stampede is past, the hunter isn't keen to catch a stray hoof to the face, especially after having come this far with little more than bruises. Thankful for his luck, he begins helping Aira back to town, that is, of course, if she wishes to be helped back to town. Somewhere, out in the herd, a green-maned frostmare shudders and collapses onto the ice, convulsing. In a moment, it is dead.


"I'm...fine." Aira offered unconvincingly, grasping at the feline's arm while the other still clutched at her side. She did not wish to appear weak but each step drew a sharp intake of breath and in return a stabbing pain in her side. "I land...on ribs...funny." She offered to Orikahn rather lamely. As if suddenly remembering something she reached to her back with a wince, pulling off the large bow that Orikahn had dropped in the treeline when the stampede first started. Copper eyes glanced over it quickly and noting no damage, she handed it back to the hunter. The runaway would accept Orikahn's help back into town, fearing she would not make it on her own. As Aira passed the others, who were strangers to her, she offered them a curt nod before walking on with slow, calculated steps, hand back on her ribs.


Krice seemed okay on the surface, but Calla's vampiric senses might be able to smell blood beneath the skin in the general vicinity of his left shoulder - the side he used most to deflect the stampeding horses. He held that arm without too much obvious discomfort, however, and as the vampire solidified herself against his sturdy frame, he glanced out at Aira and Orikahn. The former's injury was noticed, and his gaze lingered on her to properly gauge her condition. Given Orikahn's decision to assist her, the warrior himself did not intervene. In response to Aira's nod, Krice reciprocated with a half-nod of his own, and returned his attention to Callamyre once the other two had walked out of earshot. After a brief glance toward the gate, where Hildegarde and her allies had presumably pulled it open and dispersed to tend to the runaway horses in the city, the silver-haired man said to his vampiric companion, " I'm fine." And then, with concern in his tone, he asked, " Are you sure you're okay? Can you make it back to the fort?"


Callamyre looked over toward Aira and Orikahn, the former earning herself a more concerned stare than the latter; but in fact, the latter seemed capable of tending to the woman, and Krice regained her full attention. "Yes, but ... the others." She looked past Krice toward the forest where she's last seen Linn and Leone departing, and she frowned, chewing on her lip. "I just need a moment," she insisted, her hands tenderly moving along his arms toward his hands. "Are you? Coming back to the fort, I mean ... or?" The woman did not want to return without him, and if he intended to chase after the others who had helped protect the city, she would so as well.


Orikahn carries on. It's been a long time since he'd given this much help to another living thing, and admittedly, had he been out in the woods alone with her, he would have suggested putting the elf out of her misery. The presence of others, Krice in particular, makes him reconsider this offer. Instead, once safely within the gate, he contents himself calling up to Hildegarde. "One injured." Fantastic outcome, considering recent events, but perhaps not so fantastic for his elven companion. No doubt there'll be ample treatment for her in the city. No doubt, too, will Orikahn be expected to make an account. He throws Krice and Callamyre glances, and the latter gains his curiosity; he lifts his visor and squints to get a better look, revealing his fully feline features and saber teeth. It's a passing look of overt scrutiny. There's work to be done. The cat moves on.


Aira scrunched up her nose at Orikahn as he called out to Hildegarde, indicating her injury. "I am -fine-!" She offered a bit more sternly, narrowing those metallic eyes at the feline before sliding them to the road ahead. As if to prove her point, she relinquished her grip on the hunter as well as her ribs, quickening her pace as her arms hung at her side, hands balled into fists. The faster steps, however, caused her breath to quicken, which only resulted in more pain. No matter, the high elf, choked down the groan that was fighting to break past her lips, Aira kept her pace, eyes focused, unwilling to give in to the pain. Orikahn had spent enough time with the runaway as of late to recognize her stubbornness right away.


Krice 's gaze drifted between Callamyre and the retreating pair of Orikahn and Aira, their interaction ensnaring him briefly. His concern still divided his attention between the present company and those who had run off, in particular the Priestess. Following his companion's mention of 'the others', the warrior turned his head and murmured an anxious, " I know." He didn't seem particularly bothered by the trail her hands took down his arms, but as they found -his- hands, he turned away to face the path Leone and Linn had taken, thus allowing Callamyre access to only his right appendage. Once he felt her fingers against his palm, he curled his own around her hand and held it firmly, a glance thrown past that shoulder toward the vampire. His expression was one of vaguely evident concern and uncertainty, amplified by Callamyre's words. " I can't leave her--I can't leave -them- out there..."


Callamyre nodded resolutely to her companion. "Alright," the woman said. "Then let's go." With that, she left Aira and Orikahn to their own devices, and shifted her steps toward the forest. To Krice, she said, "We'll find them," and gave his hand a squeeze.


Orikahn jumps a little in surprise. Well then. "No injuries." He corrects himself. Now *those* are impressive odds.