RP:The Ice Queen Cometh
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Frostmaw War Council
Admitted through the descending tunnel of ice behind Frostmaw's throne, one finds themselves in a cavernous room hewn from the land's permafrost. The length and width of the room tests the strength of the human eye, plunging so far from the entrance that the smooth, bare frozen walls are no more than glimpses of pale blue. Unlike the rest of Frostmaw Fort, this room is devoid of decoration, devoted entirely to the structure dominating its center. From the entrance a giant's stairs have been carved into the glacial earth with extreme precision, its edges meeting with perpendicular kin to create a descending square of steps--or perhaps they're seats, in the same fashion as Frostmaw Arena and ancient public theatres. Indeed, these steps could fit many a giant on them while granting them a clear view of the center of the room, where a large flat stone has been sunken into the ground. This stone serves as the foundation of a map. If such a masterful piece of arcane cartography could be called a mere 'map'. Frostmaw's expansive land is on full display before you, from every valley, hillock, and stream in its forests, to the wall-enshrouded town's every building. All wrought as if from ghost light, for while the landscape appears solid, it also looks to be semi-translucent in nature. The sheer size of the map cannot be truly comprehended until one stands beside it, for then they will see the scale in which the land has been recreated, with its mountains rivaling the height of giants in their depiction. Bordering the map are countless figurines, carved from a variety of colored stones and shaped to look like Frost Giants--along with a handful of unique pieces, including a black sword, a white fox, a silver dragon, and what seems to be a red pointed hat. Likely, they are meant to be placed on the map in representation of Frostmaw troops in formation. This is the room of the War Council, where strategies are debated, decisions are made, and battle plans are forged.
Satoshi resides in the cavernous room alone, the remainder of the war council having left after their final consultation. The enemies are at the gates. Frostmaw is ready. All that is left are the last little preparations. Of which Satoshi is seeing to now. From down the entrance tunnel, those entering with sharp ears may catch hint of the magus' voice whispering, "This is it. Behave yourself, and do exactly as we practiced. ..And thank you, little friend." The raspy sound of slithering follows, along with a wet, thick shredding and a snarl of pain from Satoshi. Gasping, the kit stumbles into the tunnel, an arm clasped over her stomach as she grits her teeth against an obvious agony. One hand braces herself against the tunnel wall before Satoshi forcibly straightens and sets her shoulders. Frostmaw is ready, and so is its queen.
Hildegarde had already been heading down the steps of the war council, suited and booted in armour fit for a god which made her more than a bit self-conscious. She carried the great-helm in the crook of her arm, her halberd held steady in the other; perhaps the only other indicator about who was really behind the armour. “Satoshi,” she said, having heard the gasp and snarl of pain. Her eye immediately locks onto the arm clasped over her stomach and she attempts to close the gap between them, as if somehow her very presence might protect the Queen. “How did you come to be wounded?” she asked, glancing around as if some foe lurked in the shadows that she might dispatch.
Satoshi's determined expression falters, flickering with alarm as the knight rushes forward. Instinctively, the foxkin raises her hands, palms out, to show Hildegarde that she's unharmed. And yet, there is a hint of a dampness on the front of Satoshi's coat that darkens the suede. "I'm not injured, Mithril. Or..." Satoshi's gaze runs from the Silver's head to armored toe, clearly impressed. "Should I say 'Aramoth'? My, my, that armor is indeed fit for a god, isn't it? Think how chests will swell with pride when they see you upon the battlefield, fighting alongside them~." An impish gleam brings sparks to the amber of Satoshi's eyes, vanquishing the remaining haze of pain.
Hildegarde , like a true dragon, exhales heavily through her nostrils and creates a small plume of frost. It’s a clear show of her annoyance or disbelief, frustrated that she can’t extend her occupied hand to try and check Satoshi’s suspected wound. “Master Gikal outdid himself,” she said gently, “but at least the men will have a figure other than their Queen to rally behind.” The knight didn’t exactly feel fit to claim the title of ‘god’ or even pretend she was Aramoth; she felt so terribly unworthy to be in the fine armour. Dark steel to create a near pitch black look, edged and decorated finely with resplendent golden looking true steel. It was a decorative appearance that would serve her well in combat. The great-helm itself would conceal her face and mask her voice to some extent, so some people would certainly be unsure of her identity. “But you are hurt,” she murmured, her face evidently worried with the almost pouty look she gave.
Satoshi counters Hildegarde's exhale with puffed out cheeks in true petulant fashion. When the kit releases her held breath, there's a whisper of something akin to 'dragon-mule' on the wind. Unfortunately, Satoshi knows the knight too well, thus forcing her to concede rather than engage in a contest of wills--she'll just send Hildegarde an extravagant present later as revenge. With the ease of long practice, fingers nimbly undo the fastens of Satoshi's coat so that it can be draw back to expose the sweater beneath. A small, round tear is in the wool, vaguely damp, yet the skin visible is unharmed. "I am not wounded. I was simply preparing myself. I will not bore you with the details, only know it was a discomfort that has passed." As Satoshi speaks, reassuring yet stern, she draws her coat back into place. The eyebrow-lifted gaze she fixes on Hildegarde then dares the knight to challenge her.
Hildegarde may have been cowed by the challenge before, but much has happened since becoming a member of the Queensguard; even more since she became the captain. She stood tall, even daring to lift her chin a little and further accentuate her need to look down at Satoshi: “And what was this preparation that caused you discomfort? I am the captain of *your* Queensguard, I feel I ought to know these things. If you do not wish to tell me on that basis, then I ask as your friend and confidant that you confide in me.”
Satoshi bristles, in turn drawing herself up. While her height may be meager compared to Hildegarde, the magus is long skilled in shrouding herself with an air of authority to make up for stature. As if in response to this, a chill deepens around Satoshi, giving her form a hard-edged, glistening outline from the gathering frost. "As your queen, and your friend," Satoshi's voice is low and glacial, "Can you not for once trust me without questioning me?" While she speaks, the frost hardens further to materialize Asorial in the magus' hands. The scythe's winglike edge gleams a warning held likewise in Satoshi's voice: she won't be pushed. Not today.
Hildegarde gives no indication about noticing the deepening chill of the room, more specifically around Satoshi, instead focusing on her response. “You know full well that I ask only out of concern of you,” she said, voice growing gentle and losing the authoritative edge she tried to hold. “You know I trust you with my very life, Satoshi. You know I only ask because I care,” she said far more quietly, finally looking away as if defeated by Satoshi’s retort. “We all have our secrets, let us not butt heads over this. Are you ready for today?”
Satoshi tightens her grip on Asorial, her anger unfading but for the moment drawn behind a mask of composure. She would need this anger for the coming battle. It would be her fuel. When she looks at Hildegarde again, its with a gaze that still blazes, albeit with fires not yet fully stoked. "I am ready. By the time the moon rises, their leader will fall." As if on cue, the fort vibrates with the echo of the battlehorns, mighty mammoth tusks carved and mounted upon the walls for the guards to call for battle. With ease the horns' roars travel throughout Frostmaw, shaking walls and kindling hearts as all of the city reaches for its weapons. Satoshi squares her shoulders, hefts Asorial, and strides from the war room--she has no doubt the knight-captain will follow. But the queen cannot afford to glance back. She must appear prepared, certain, and above all else, triumphant.
Hildegarde lingers behind for a few moments as she dons the great-helm to conceal her identity, before trailing after her Queen. She could waste her energy reprimanding herself for her words later on, if she made it through the fight. “How powerful a Queen you are, to summon a god to your side,” she remarked wryly, her voice muffled by the helm; losing any femininity it held and losing most of its familiarity. Only those who truly knew her would be able to identify her.
Satoshi smirks, the expression producing a dark edge to the planes of her face. "All I had to do was call on an old, reliable friend." As they pass through the fort, the guards on duty salute their lady, only to have firm hands falter upon spying her companion. Who is that armored warrior? It couldn't be... could it? Like wildfire whispering spreads throughout the building, words floating on the air of, "Aramoth. War. Victory." By the time Satoshi descends the front steps and mounts her reindeer 'steed', a crowd is already gathered and waiting. Cheers go up amid the battlehorn bellows and the stirring clash of weapon against shield, a rallying cacophony that lends Frostmaw a roar of its own. And yet, despite this, the magus' small voice carries with unnatural clarity as she declares a single line, "Frostmaw will not fall." In the north, there is no need for speeches.
Hildegarde chortled behind her helm, continuing to follow Satoshi’s footsteps. As the guards on duty salute the lady of the fort, the knight almost salutes them back with respect before remembering she must be true to her role of Aramoth, God of War. She offers them a nod and a gruff kind of grunt, as if it was a noise between warriors. The woman sees no mount waiting for her, so she gestures to a guard at random who brings forth a reindeer for the ‘god’ to mount. As much as it kills her, she doesn’t say thank you. “Satoshi Queen!” she roars after a few moments of silence, attempting to lend weight to Satoshi’s words of victory and triumph.
Satoshi, surrounded by the cries of Frostmawians, rides through the city and toward the western gates. It is there the armies have gathered, each side bringing forward all they have to offer in a final struggle for victory. Frostmaw is superior in numbers, armor, armaments, and training, yet the Exiles are not without their own advantages: driven by revenge, infused with dark magic, allied with darker creatures, and a willingness to forego battlefield honor. Victory will not be lightly won for either side. The first to lose their leader is the one all believe will ultimately fall, and so there is a certain anxiety that ripples through the Frostmaw forces when they discover their petite queen weaving her way through the ranks. But anxiety turns to wonder, thrill, and reassurance, as they see who rides alongside Satoshi. The God of War joins the battle once more! Rumors had run wild before, that Aramoth had been sighted fighting for Frostmaw. To see that great armored figure now beside their Snow Maiden lights a fire in the hearts of the Frost Giants. Even those forces from Gualon, Larket, Vailkrin, and Chartsend are bolstered despite not quite understanding the significance. Murmurs follow Satoshi's trek, whispers that grow in volume as the mantra is repeated by countless voices, "Frostmaw will not fall." It is a cry of defiance, of challenge, and of triumph, of Frostmaw is an invincible as Winter itself.
Makeshift catapults and the hulking forms of chained Ice Trolls stand out among the sea of Exiled Frost Giants that face Frostmaw. Peppered throughout the forces of enormous beings are smaller races, from humans to elves, a smattering of felines, and even a few rogue drow. There are only two similarities between the humanoids: none are giants, and all are armored in a glossy black material, much too fine of gear for the penniless army. Many of them ride upon Frostmare steeds, the blazing blue horses emitting steam from their snouts with every breath as they paw the ground eagerly. Unlike Frostmaw, however, the Exiles' leader does not seem to be heading his army. Something disturbs the back of their ranks, a shadowy ripple of malice and discontent. For those sensitive to the arcane and darkness, the distant spot feels like an abyss, simultaneously drawing you forward while instinct drives you to flee.
Satoshi's eyes narrow, fixated on that location. She's sensed that aura before. It had caught her offguard then, and she'd fled rather than charge in blindly. But this time, she knows what waits for her. The spirits of the ruins have whispered long and urgently over the months, filling her ears with the dark tales of the Exile's rise to power. He is her target. Frostmaw Queen must face with False Jarl, and one must fall before this war can end. "There." The word is barely a whisper, yet rings clearly in Hildegarde's helm for the Silver's ears alone--courtesy of Emielle and Kenway, as bonds with the couatls serves well for personal exchanges on a deafening battlefield. Through the bond, involuntarily, roils a miasma of anger from Satoshi. Her wrath builds with every passing second, visible as a tension in her form and an angular set to her face. The abyss calls to her. She must answer.
Hildegarde, if asked, might be inclined to confess she is not entirely comfortable watching people grow confident by merely gazing upon her; to shout praise at her assumed name and figure. To be worshipped, to put it simply! It was awkward. She wondered how the gods themselves could bear it or did they enjoy that? Now wasn’t exactly the best of times to think of it. While Hildegarde is often regarded as naïve and, more harshly, a dullard with a thick-skull, she has become perceptive in regards to the people of Frostmaw and her Queen. The dragon can sense the worry and anxiety of the people as they gaze upon Satoshi, for she is so small and fragile in comparison to them; they fear her loss. ‘I won’t let you fall’, she promised herself silently, glancing to Satoshi as she weaved through those collected here today, ‘I swear it.’ All silent promises she made herself.
But now the God of War is peering at the Exile forces ahead, assessing what she could see: chained Ice Trolls, makeshift catapults that could cause plenty of damage, perhaps more so against their smaller allies. However, Hildegarde is not attuned to magic nor is she a paladin with a keen sense of ‘evil’, but she is a beast and like any beast, she can sense something that is a wrongness in the world; something that simply wasn’t right. Something that made her guts quiver and made the little voice in the back of her mind whisper ‘run’, ‘flee’, ‘not right, not right’. “What is it?” she asked Satoshi, once hearing her hate-filled words.
“Those trolls,” she started, even going so far as to nod her head in their direction for any gesture of the arms and hand may very well set off the army, “can be to our advantage. If we roil them enough, they may break their chains or turn upon their masters. A risky tactic,” she conceded, “for then we would have trolls to contend with. We will have to contend with them regardless, but would it not be better that they turn their rage on those who would abuse them first? Might tire them out before they turn upon us,” she suggested to her Queen; assuming that Satoshi would be in command of the army at this stage of the war.
Without hesitation, Satoshi gestures to two giants standing nearby, warriors of rank judging by the plumes upon their helmets. Obediently they stoop to hear their orders, swiftly delivered, before they stand and begin calling to their men. Hildegarde's strategy spreads like wildfire: the trolls are their primary targets, to be turned back on the enemy in the same way the wyverns had been. Satoshi herself has no intentions of commanding the entire battle and army. Ever since Eliason's prophecy, the magus had taken care to entrust power to others and not solely in herself. Command had been handed out among the most-seasoned of generals, each overseeing a portion of the army and in communication with one another. They would tend to the battle. Satoshi, and Hildegarde beside her, would tend to the shadows lurking behind enemy lines.
Sensing the mounting tension, Satoshi's reindeer snorts and gives a shake of his great, curling antlers. It' d be mere moments now, before the battlefield was charged by both sides. "Keep up," the magus whispers into that link between herself and the disguised Silver. As if the words are a key to a lock, Frostmaw's army suddenly surges forward with an earth-shaking roar. Hardly a breath behind in reacting, the Exiles answer as they rush ahead. Like two oceans meeting, the armies erupt against one another after a short time, the sound deafening as shield, armor, sword, and flesh collide with immeasurable force. Satoshi waits a moment longer, ensuring the battle is underway, before she slips from the reindeer's back and dashes down the aisle of open ground her forces have left in their wake. She cannot spare time to see if Hildegarde follows, she must simply trust in the dragon's dedication, for Satoshi cannot resist the call any longer. In a blaze of shadows and frost, Asorial manifests itself within the kit's grasp while emitting a high-pitched, eager keen. Blood, rage, death, and malice are in the air, a veritable feast for the weapon that it feeds into Satoshi. With each passing moment, the magus' pace quickens and aura brightens, fueled by the warzone and her own boiling rage.
‘Aramoth’ nods in passing to the generals as they embark on their business of relaying orders, noticing how some glance in her direction as if impressed to be receiving the strategic advice of Aramoth himself! It felt dishonest to maintain such a deception, but the Silver would not deny the advantage it provided them with in doing so. “Eliason is keeping away the death knights and imps,” she relayed to Satoshi, with a glance to the eastern-most side of the battlefield, “I know not who fights with him, but his holy forces will occupy them for a time.” Meaning, they’d remain occupied so long as Eliason lived long enough to let Satoshi and Hildegarde get into the fray.
The reindeer that bore her snorted as if in reply to the one beside it. “Try and stop me,” she replied, knowing full well the Queen would pick up on the sense of anticipation and eagerness to serve from the dragon. Hildegarde is only a beat ahead of Satoshi, slipping off of her own mount just before the Queen and grasping her halberd to follow the now moving Satoshi. For being clad in armour, the knight moves surprisingly quickly.
Though she is well aware that Satoshi can handle herself just fine, she cannot prevent herself from trying to stay as close to Satoshi as humanly possible on a battlefield. She needs to be close enough so she might block any sort of attack, shield her from whatever trouble might arise. This was her duty.
Rage. Burning, seething, incurable rage drips off Satoshi like an insidious poison, corrupting her typically pure azure aura to an infernal midnight. Each footstep leaves a liquid shadow in her wake. Asorial screams in her grasp, its voice rich in its maniacal joy. No mind is paid by kit or weapon for the specifics of the battles surging around them, but they feel every spark of anger, every roar of pain, every shift of power. All of it serves as sustenance for Asorial, and thus fuel for Satoshi as the weapon triggers its unique ability. In a frenzied of heightened senses, speed, and strength, Satoshi charges and Asorial swings, cleaving through obstacles of metal, flesh, or otherwise with unnatural keenness. Together the vulpine duo carve through foe and friend alike, blind to the difference, mind focused on a single desire: the abyss. We must eat it. We must destroy it. Spoken in a low hiss, the words seem to come from Satoshi and the scythe simultaneously. An Exile steps into the foxkin's path then, certain he'll end the little queen and win the war in a single stroke...
But the warhammer never falls. With a powerful leap, Satoshi is in the air and Asorial is tearing a hole through the giant's breastplate and chest, large enough for the kit to tumble through without missing a beat in her movements. She hits the ground, rolls, and is on her feet, still running. The warrior may as well have been a paperdoor attempting to halt a runaway train, for the berserking magus is unrelenting. And although she moves at an unnatural speed, her path is not difficult to follow, riddled with limbs, bodies, and unidentifiable remnants, along with a trail of glistening frost hanging in the air. Like a comet, Satoshi's tail blazes brightly and sheds the ice crystals in her wake, growing more prominent with each soul Asorial claims.
All around, the battle rages, and tearing through the center in a glittering beeline is the tiny magus.
Unlike Satoshi, Hildegarde hasn’t gone into a berserker type rage and managed to literally go through an exile giant viciously. For every scream of rage and pain is something to be stored in her mind and assessed later, should she live, something to torment her for an uncertain amount of time. Keeping up with Satoshi is growing increasingly difficult, especially because this is a battlefield. Enemies are everywhere, her men, allies, friends are being wounded and some are even dying. It’s difficult for the dragon to remain on Satoshi’s course, she yearns to divert her course and strike down exiles who threaten her comrades.
Although it is easy to see where Satoshi is headed, thanks to the frosty trail she leaves behind, it is difficult to keep up. But the path of frost is briefly obscured from sight, as a larger than usual exile suddenly blocks Hilde’s path and announced: “No God of War can conquer the God of Death!” as he swung his battleaxe in a wide arc, aiming to slice ‘Aramoth’ in two. While some would stop and perhaps leap back to avoid the blow, the dragon only continued to run; even before the exile announced himself, she continued to run and recall how she overcame Korike’s summoned centaur abomination. A similar tactic could be deployed here. She forced herself down quickly onto her knees with a roar, sliding just below the swing of the axe and through the exile’s legs; allowing her to jump up quickly and swish the axe-head of her halberd against the back of his heel to disable him. The exile screamed and fell forward onto his front, ready to be set upon and finished by any allied force close enough as the God of War had already left to continue ‘his’ pursuit of Satoshi.
As if inflicted by a sudden battle-rage or bloodlust, the dragon has caught a second wind: she runs faster than before to catch up to the Queen, not quite threatening to overtake her, but getting closer and closer to her. Occasionally, her halberd twirls elaborately along with her body as she dances amongst foes; in between them in order to slice and dice at those who dared to get too close to the God and their charge. The weapon shone in the light, sparkled red with the blood of foes.
Deeper into the Enemy Army
Hildegarde does not have long to worry about closing the gap between herself and Satoshi, for the kit is suddenly comes careening through the air on a collision course with the knight-playing-Aramoth. It isn't exactly of Satoshi's own volition, mind you. She'd been midleap when... something. A blur of flesh and steel, a reek of decay, a sensation of wrongness. Something -foul-, had swung out in her path with monstrous force, halting Satoshi's momentum and reversing it to fling her back the way she'd come--directly toward Hildegarde. The raw power of the hit is enough to leave Satoshi momentarily bewildered, grip on Asorial slackening and aura dimming in response. She's aware, somewhere buried in the depths of her rage-filled mind, of pain. Splinters of it coursing from head to tail. But the magus is ice this day, cold, numb, and unyielding. Pain will not stop her. Not now, while Asorial still burns. They would not be stopped, not by anyone or anything.
But something has certainly tried...
An unsettling silence fell upon the battlefield as the shuddering, snarling creature comes forward. The beast was larger than a giant – if by only a bit – and seemed to roar obscenely. The snowy weather that Frostmaw is renowned for initially blocks it from view, only the shadow of it can be seen: that shadowy apparition that indicates the sheer size of the thing. With what seems like a lunge, it comes into proper view now and it is a monstrosity. For some of the Frostmawian troops, it strikes a painful chord; for some it strikes terror.
A hulking mess of reddened flesh, armor soldered to muscle and skin, limbs too numerous and projecting at unnatural angles, its mere presence causing giants to step back in alarm. Upon the main head two additional faces are fused together, one held high on a lumpy shoulder and one awkwardly fused by the cheek and essentially looking like a bulging muscle upon the shoulder, snapping and spitting viciously like a rabid beast. Those two faces are familiar to the troops, one with a short cropped beard and one with an elaborate knotted beard. Of course, Onjar had always been afraid of someone grabbing his beard in combat so he kept it short, whereas his hot-headed younger brother, Gunjar, thought the knotted beard was fashionable and would most certainly appeal to the lady giants of Frostmaw. He was a heart-breaker, in more than one way.
The main head, however, roars furiously, swinging his head from side to side as if to check for enemies. The redheaded man was, in life, a brave warrior, well-liked in Frostmaw for his strength and humour. Tormund was known for his laughter and his great bushy beard. He was a memorable face in Frostmaw, the city had mourned his loss. Yet here the brave trio stood once again, stitched together in obscene undeath, ready to strike down their foes and cripple whosoever dared to oppose them. Five strong arms were attached to that body, two wielding clubs, one wielding a Warhammer, one with a sword and one with a battleaxe. A vicious and most deadly combination to be sure. The eyes of the mutilated heroes search across the battlefield, searching on and on for their prey.
“Satoshi!” the knight roared as she saw her Queen fly back from what she assumed was a hit, immediately stepping over just slightly so she might catch the kit with her own body; arm winding around her as she twisted her body and presented her back to the enemy, “Are you hurt?” she asked impatiently, keeping her hold on the Queen. She couldn’t comfortably let her go without knowing she was well enough to stand: her back would shield the Queen for now.
Whatever Satoshi responded with, the knight would carefully let her go: either to stand tall and alone or to rest on the snow, should she require a moment. The would-be god turned around to face her opponent but paled at the sight – fortunately her armour concealed her paling. The faces before her seemed to be searching for someone and the knight had an idea who it was. Her fingers immediately reached for the bottom of her great-helm, pulling it up and off her face to expose her for who she was to the beast; garnering a savage growl and grunt from them, as the body turned to face her. “I am no man,” she said, “I am no god,” she smiled, “but I am a knight and I am a friend. I have betrayed you in allowing this to happen to you,” she confessed whole-heartedly, “but I will honour you in sending you back to the grave!” she pulled the helmet back down and twirled her halberd, allowing it to settle in her hands as she took a defensive stance.
“If your master sent you after Satoshi, you must go through me first to get to her!”
Pain, a knight's concern, roars and words exchanged. All of it means nothing to Satoshi. She knows anger and anger alone. And she can feel it pouring off that macabre construct like molten rock, burning, smothering, and unyielding. Heedless of Hildegarde and with Asorial firmly in hand, Satoshi rises to her feet with all the grim determination of a soul possessed. A guttural snarl comes from the kit, the sound ragged, ferocious, and far from the delicate voice she's prone to. This is not the Lady of Frostmaw, this is a beast in queen's clothing that's as blindly violent as the chimera standing before them. Magnetized toward this wrathful 'kin', Satoshi launches herself at it with Asorial poised above her head in an executioner's swing.
While it may mean nothing to Satoshi, so blinded is she by her anger, it is of great importance to the knight. She has betrayed her men: she has failed to protect them, even in death, and has allowed them to fall into enemy hands to be abused and used as tools against her, her Queen and their people. A part of her yearns to grab hold of the Queen and pull her back away from the chimera made from her comrades, wishing to spare them from her wrath but she knows there’s no point. Either has to die: Hilde and Satoshi or the heroic trio.
But all thoughts of honour and respect for the dead are tossed out the window, as the two fused heads of Onjar and Gunjar roar furiously at the sight of Satoshi launching herself towards them. The warhammer swings in a sideways arc to knock Satoshi aside; a club swinging in a diagonal arc as the sword-arm comes down in an overhead arc. They were literally attacking from all sides; perfectly timed with warrior’s skill to skim past each other gracefully in their effort to slice, batter or maim Satoshi.
Just watching it is enough to make Hilde want to physically grab hold of Satoshi and toss her back, out their way, out their reach. Her pride told her to deal with them herself, her honour told her she owed it to them. But her logic told her to put it aside and deal with the matter at hand, that it’d be difficult enough fighting this chimera with Satoshi,why try and do it alone? All these thoughts had raced through her mind, quicker than a blink of an eye! The knight had cast her feelings aside and was surging forth with a battle cry, forcing her body into a forward roll to escape the immediate swinging of weapons; springing up into a kneeling position to stab the spear-headed point of her halberd into the knee of the chimera so she might twist the weapon hard and send the balance of the beast off.
The chimera roars with fury and a dull sensation of pain, leg kicking out in retaliation to force the dragon back. As she propels back into the snow with a loud ‘oof’ and clank of her armour, the beast readies a club to swing down and crush her for good. If she didn’t roll out of the way or the beast distracted, the knight would find herself in a whole new world of pain.
There is no attempt to dodge or buffer the incoming strikes on Satoshi. Asorial breeds wild recklessness when its frenzy is active, and so it is no small wonder that the magus' path does not divert. And thus, she is struck. First by the warhammer, a devastating blow that all but crushes Satoshi's small frame with the ringing cacophony of breaking glass. Before there's time to blink, the club comes in from the other direction to deliver equal force, and fortunately launches Satoshi out of the cleaving strike of the sword--if you want to call that luck. Satoshi's body lands a short distance away, a mangled heap in the snow, Asorial still impossibly present as its frozen surface gleams darkly. The midnight blaze around the weapon has not dimmed in the least, seeming, in fact, to have gained in brilliance and malice.
Few in this realm could survive a single blow from a giant's warhammer, but to be struck twice by the magnified strength of the chimera? It's surely the end for one as frail and little as Satoshi.
And yet... there's a hint of movement. Too small for the chimera to notice, its rage focused on Hildegarde. Too small for any of the countless warriors on the ongoing battlefield to spare a thought. But the movement is there nonetheless. A twitch at first, then a shudder followed by a roil. A crackling, rending, and shifting. The snows seem to darken then, already foul with blood, churned earth, and soot, and now turning pitch as if bathed in ethereal shadows. Temperatures plummet in the already arctic environment, enough to steal the breath from those unfortunate enough to be near. Winds rise, howling as they hurl razored snow in every direction, clouding vision, stinging flesh, and numbing grips.
Even the chimera does not seen completely immune to the sudden onslaught of the weather. Its three faces are momentarily blinded by eyes filled with frost so that it reels back, its raised club not yet descending upon the ground-bound knight.
A shadow separates from the inky snows then, hurtling at the chimera and latching onto one of its misplaced heads. Fangs sink into the flesh as the shadow takes shape: a wolf-sized beast, fox-like in body, slender limbed, thickly furred, and black as pitch, a writhing mass of tails blazing behind it, slitted eyes a glowing white. For those that have seen Satoshi's alternate form, this beast is of a near-identical construct, save for the abyssal coloration and the maniacal slash of a grin that makes up its fang-filled jaws. That black and grin belong to the pipefox-shape of Asorial. At present, the two are one and the same, intact, bound, and ravenous as they cling to the chimera's face with unrelenting strength. Snarls come from both fox and construct as one rips and shreds at the other.
Hildegarde might have screamed upon witnessing Satoshi’s battering, if it would have done any good. But frankly, screaming and rushing over to the Queen wouldn't do much good right now. If the threat continued to exist then abandoning her post to try and lend comfort would be a foolish move, that much was certain.
As she was ready to roll to the side and out of the path of the descending club, she noticed how the chimera reeled back; the temperature of the immediate area falling harshly. So the knight leapt to her feet and sprinted towards her halberd, gripping it with both hands and forcing it upward and free from the leg of the beast. Had it been living, it would be close to death: as the knight had torn the leg open from knee to top of its thigh and destroyed the artery there, forcing the person to bleed to death. But undeath is handy in that regard, it is difficult to die again. Blood loss wasn’t an important thing, really.
But as the beast clung to the face of the chimera, the knight had no time to waste! She would definitely attempt to get behind the chimera and disable the legs first, the heels and knees from the back, then behead it or remove the heart(s). Distracted as it is by the Satoshi-beast, it can overlook the knight dipping between those legs and facing its back: readying herself to bring it down as she twirls her halberd. With a mighty battle-cry, she swings her halberd clean through the meat of one ankle and severs foot from leg, putting the chimera off balance. However, her attack hasn’t finished there, as she swishes her halberd in a swift but brutal arc to rip the tendons out of the other heel; twirling the weapon so the shaft will strike behind the knee of the chimera and hopefully force it flat on its chest or at least to its knees.
Hildegarde is, however, already moving in order to face the giant chimera and spear it; to end it now rather than allow this vulgar game to continue. Three hands have now occupied themselves with Satoshi, attempting to rip her off by clutching at fur and tail alike, doing everything possible to be rid of her.
Duty is the burning thought in Hilde’s mind now, planning to slash the arms clean off the body and cease their assault upon the Queen. Inhaling deeply, she moves forward to begin her assault only to stop dead in her tracks and spit in her helm. She didn’t feel the giant hand clamped upon her shoulder, nor did she immediately feel the blade pass through her armour and flesh alike. If only her face could be seen beyond that great-helm, what a sight it would be! She stands eerily still, as if she were a statue, before roaring furiously and raising her halberd up and above her head; both hands clasping around the shaft of the weapon as she brought it down furiously through the wrist of the giant chimera. The head of Tormund howled with pain and sought to bring his sword-arm back, but the knight held firm and refused to let go. Her halberd and might alone was keeping him in place, but the tug of his sword made her feel ill. The hand that had been on her shoulder begins to furiously pound against her armour: helmet, pauldron and breastplate are not excused from this onslaught. “Aramoth preserve me,” she whispered, as with another battle-cry she tore her halberd to the side; using her sheer strength to rip the wrist open. Tormund’s hand was left hanging by the stringy looking veins and muscles, but his arm pulled back and took the sword with him, forcing the knight to gasp in pain.
Her halberd swung, though, slicing the wrist from the arm and allowing the sword and hand to drop to the ground as the chimera howled and retracted his assaulting fist to clamp it around the oozing stump. Hildegarde withdrew Oathkeeper from the sheathe and inhaled shakily. It felt as though she was drooling, but she knew what it was really. She had seen men die in the field, she knew exactly what it was. So she falls to her knee, slamming the lion-head pommel against the earth with a ‘thrum’ of power radiating from the weapon. The earth itself trembled and quivered, cracking at the feet of the chimera, threatening to open up and swallow it entirely.
Every tear, punch, slam, or other abuse Satoshi endures from the chimera's multi-armed assault seems irrelevant to her. Certainly damage is being done to her body aplenty, yet by the time the next strike comes, the prior wounds have mended, be they gaping wounds or crushed bones. Such is the 'blessing' of Asorial's frenzy, inflicting a mindless, berserking rage upon its wielder but in turn drawing upon ambient hostility to augment agility, strength, and regeneration. And what place is more infested with wrath than a warzone of bitter enemies? In such a location, shrouded in wild energies, no injury can last on Satoshi. She should be dead twice over from the warhammer and club assault alone, lying crushed in the snow, and yet here she is now, a rabid beast clinging to the chimera.
The downside to this is that Satoshi cannot tell friend from foe, nor spare a thought for any but her fangs' target. Hildegarde's plight might as well be a pebble hurled at the sea, for all the effect it has on Satoshi.
But Satoshi is not the only Frostmawian on the battlefield. While the fox focuses on shredding the remnants of Onjar's face from his 'body', others have gathered to the battle site. Their giant forms create a ring around the three combatants, broad backs, gleaming armor, and bristling weapons staving off those that would interfere. Armor of black ice and trimmed in white, these warriors are none other than the Queensguard, coming to the aid of their Queen and their Captain, as is their duty and desire. One lunges forward with a mighty roar of, "Frostmaw!!" when the chimera stumbles to send his broadsword ripping through the construct's midsection, his intent to buy Hildegarde some time.
While the attacking Frost Giant distracts the chimera, a second moves in, hands on Hildegarde's shoulders to urge her out of range of Tormund's arms. Urgently he shouts over war cries, howls, roars, and eruptions, desperate for the Silver to hear, "There are more of these creatures on the field! They cannot be slain! We must retreat from them, find their source of power!" It is a bitter pill for any Frost Giant to take, in retreating from a seemingly invincible enemy, but the first on the battlefield had already discovered the dangers of the chimeras firsthand. Mages, druids, priests, and warriors alike were falling victim to the constructs, without a single of the beasts failing. Immune to magic, the chimeras feel next to no pain, they cannot bleed to death, they cannot die from wounds or decapitation, they simply continue fighting, devouring the dead to grow in ferocity and size. Those with a sensitivity to magic were the first to solve the puzzle, as each chimera gave off an aura of dark energy that seemed to leash them to... something... deeper in the enemy ranks. Few in Frostmaw had tasted the foul essence of death magic before now, instinct alone informing them of the horrors that loomed beyond. The hand upon the chimeras' leash was a wicked one.
Fighting the chimera was a futile endeavour. Finding their creator is the only option. Upon discovering this, the Queensguard had hurried to catch up with Satoshi and Hildegarde--arriving nearly too late for their message or aid to be of use.
Hildegarde’s attempt to impact against the earth with Oathkeeper and perhaps swallow the chimera into the earth is interrupted by the sudden appearance of her fellow Queensguard members, allowing her to sheathe her sword in order to handle only her halberd. As a few begin their attack upon the chimera, the knight takes a staggered step backwards and yanks her great-helm up and off her face; it was stiflingly hot, it was impairing what limited vision she already had and she could barely hear her comrade while wearing it. “Then we get her off the beast and we proceed to the driving force,” she said firmly, “but if we leave them unchecked, they will severely maim our army! Relay orders that you amputate them at the feet, hamper their movement and then keep moving! Don’t engage them for too long; keep moving!” she ordered, looking to the bestial form of Satoshi.
“Satoshi,” she murmured, immediately using her current height to her advantage: she could dip and duck between her fellow Queensguard; get closer to the chimera whose foot had been lopped off and tendons severed viciously. The knight cared little at this point for her own health and welfare, the wellbeing of Satoshi was more important to her. With a mighty cry, she shoved at the chimera and allowed it to flop backwards onto the ground with a disgruntled roar from two heads; the one currently being savaged by Satoshi wasn’t exactly in a position to be roaring with anger at the beast or at the fact that it had flopped backwards.
At this point, the knight was doing her best to get to the shoulder region and close to Satoshi; hand attempting to grip the scruff of her neck and drag her off. “Move!” she commanded of her own Queen. If her aim and grip proved true, the knight would keep a hold of the scruff of her neck and power on through the battlefield. “We must kill the source, not the beast!” she explained.
With practiced ease and grim determination, the Queensguard move in to hew the limbs from what remains of Hildegarde's former men. It is not a job the guards relish, more than one of them having been friends with the three unfortunate souls, but it is a necessary job to protect the lives of others on the battlefield. While they work, Hildegarde is removing Satoshi. Had the knight attempted to grab any other part of the magus-turned-beast, it would not have ended well, for Satoshi would have turned on the Silver in a flash. But Hildegarde, be it by chance or understanding, has fastened her grip on that ruff of fur around Satoshi's neck. Instinct kicks in then, programmed like all beasts and beast-like races from inception to grow still when scruffed. Thus it is a compliant vulpine that Hildegarde hefts from the chimera.
...Or, at least until they're a number of paces away from the gruesome scene. As if awoken from a trance, Satoshi gives jerk and snarls then, lurches to her paws, and renews her earlier charge without any preamble or warning. Out of the radius of the chimera, the eidolon's bloodlust is rekindled, locked upon that distance source of Wrong once more. It is her singular focus within the storm of fury that envelopes her. She's determined to reach it at all costs. Up to and including bodily dragging Hildegarde along, if the knight doesn't let go.
The Silver had spent enough time with stable-masters and animal handlers to realise that the scruff of the neck was the best place to grab an animal, for it caused them little harm and would force them to go still and relax in her grip.
Of course, she never intended to keep a hold of the Queen for too long, just until they were out of the immediate danger. She lets go at the first sign of a jerk, trusting in Satoshi’s instincts or perhaps assuming her Queen would resume her more humanoid form again. However, it’s time to run again and the knight cannot match her speed. She tries her best, but it is evident that she is straggling behind.
Somewhere, between one leap and the next, Satoshi's form reverts. A magus once more, still armed with Asorial and as equally bloodied as the weapon, she trudges on through the churned quagmire of snow. Little else seems to have changed about Satoshi, however, for she still lashes out with the same savagery, Asorial's voice shrill with a madwoman's laughter as it shreds through obstacles left and right. Neither seems to be flagging despite the obvious degree of exertion. Neither seems to falter nor hesitate, be it to remove the head of a former Frostmawian citizen or cleave in two a deathknight and mount. Asorial thirsts and Satoshi strives to answer its demands. So much so that, despite still cutting a relentless way toward that approaching darkness, Satoshi's path is becoming ragged, zigzagging to actively strike down enemies that would otherwise not be in her way. It may be enough for the knight to catch up as the kit slices a weaving, winding dance through the battlefield, tails ablaze with frosted light and Asorial burning darkly like beacons.
With each step that draws queen and knight closer, the Exile forces change through the ranks. Frost Giants fronted the army as seasoned and vengeful warriors, behind them a swarm of smaller humanoids. Some mounted, some winged, some mutated, but all fierce. Renegade elves, criminal humans, Vakmatharas deathknights and priests, forsaken avians. It is an army of the abandoned, gathered under a single flag, grim and determined to destroy the Northern city, to claim it as a sanctuary for themselves in a world where they've been outcast. Despite having inferior weapons and armor, the Exile forces fight on against Frostmaw fearlessly.
But now the city's queen is among them, a whirlwind of frozen destruction that tears through them as blindly as a Winter storm. She does not care for their pasts, their goals, their fears, or even their existence. They are no more than a pebble attempting to block her path, and Satoshi intends to kick them aside with the same indifference a pebble deserves. All that matters is reaching that Abyss. Asorial wants it. Satoshi wants it. With the two inseparable in their mindset, it is an unwavering goal. Damned be those that try to interfere.
Hildegarde would be lying if she said she was comfortable with the mindless slaughter before her, the way that Satoshi was driven on by Asorial. Not that she knew that was what drove Satoshi onwards: for her, she was seeing her Queen as a cold-blooded and ruthless killer, not someone who killed purely out of necessity. With the Queen stopping every so often to kill a foe or zig-zagging about the field, the knight had the perfect opportunity to catch up to her.
With growing impatience and growing anger, the knight growls as she reaches Satoshi’s side; spotting a foe not far off and knowing the Queen is likely to divert and attack them, she grasps Satoshi’s forearm, “Enough!” she urges her. “You postpone dealing with our actual enemy by busying yourself with the tools they employ! Return to your wits, Satoshi, cease your foolery and continue onwards. Only kill when you must, not when you lust,” she implored her Queen before letting go of her forearm; nearly shoving it back in the direction of the Queen.
“Do not make me carry you forward.”
Satoshi's gaze is fixated on that nearby foe, only to be torn elsewhere. Not by the knight's grasp or words, but the unlying anger. Like a magnet, it draws the magus and all her frozen fury to lock on Hildegarde. Lips draw back to reveal elongated fangs in a snarl, primeval and cold. It is clear Satoshi does not see her knight, deaf to the pleads as she glowers at the Silver. However, through that contact of hand on forearm, Hildegarde will find her mind assaulted by a voice, high, shrill, and maniacal as it laughs and taunts. Words are hissed through the cackles, words that trickle down the spine like something slimy and slithery, You think she can hear you? That your begging or demands will bring her back? You're a fool. We'll enjoy devouring yo-- The cold voice cuts off as Satoshi looks up, eyes wide and ears forward like an animal catching a scent on the wind.
Again something has captured the volatile queen's attention, making her oblivious to the shove from Hildegarde so that she merely sways numbly. A growl rumbles deep in her throat and courses through her body as a tremor, even as lips curl into a fanged smirk. From between bared fangs, the magus manages a single, hissing word, "Kasyr." Without warning, Satoshi lunges past Hildegarde. As she springs from the snow, her form shifts, once more adopting the shape of that pitch black fox--albeit, surpassing the stature of a draft horse in size this time around. Paws land lightly upon the shoulders of a pair of giants mid-combat, and just as quickly Satoshi springs away without stopping. The giants pause, blinking in wonder. What was that beast?
But even the keenest of eyes will have trouble spotting Satoshi for long as the fox races across the backs of the armies, little more than a black blur trailing sparks of frost.
Satoshi's part continues in Caliginous Cat vs Ophidian Fox.
Satoshi has broken her promise to Hildegarde by leaving the knight behind. But the Silver is not alone, as her Queensguard comrades rejoin her shortly after. While gathering in a half circle, the giants are clearly protective of the Silver and watchful of the skies above. One or two mutter above voices in their heads. Fortunately, what they're searching for isn't long in coming, announced first as a gentle whisper at the edge of Hildegarde's mind. A sound that grows in strength, a voice familiar despite being laced with worry. << Dear Knight,>> Emielle calls as the couatl winds among the clouds, glimpsed as no more than a shimmer of blue scales and white feathers. She knows better than to descend fully upon a battlefield when she cannot fight. But call to the Silver Emielle does, her usual hasteless manner nearly lost in the anxieties of war. << Dear Knight. You are wounded. Can you reach me among the clouds? I will carry you. We must retrieve her. There's wrath, so much wrath, inside her, I nearly did not recognize her beneath it. She's being drawn toward more this very moment. We must undo the spell clouding her mind. Will you aid me? >>
Hildegarde scowls at the vicious words that permeate her mind, offering an audible growl of her own, “Your serpentine whispers have no place in the mind of my Queen!” she stated, knowing full well it’d be foolish to threaten when she couldn’t back it up. After all, she couldn’t do anything that involved harming Satoshi nor would she wish to endanger her in any regard. So she merely stands before Satoshi, staring down at her with a look that was a cross between utter disappointment, disgust and even sorrow. It was a miserable face.
As the Queen lunges past her, she takes a step back as if she assumed the Eidolon was lunging for her and was aiming to strike her down. “Satoshi!” she growled loudly, knowing full well she would never be able to keep up with her, especially while she remained in that form. It isn’t long before she has trouble even spotting the Queen in the sea of enemy and ally alike.
Left alone on the field, an enemy giant thinks this is the perfect opportunity to deal with the Captain and immediately attempts to deal with her in the most humiliating of manners: by squishing her with his boot. The Silver cried out as she dropped to a knee, arms above her head as she bore the weight of the giant with great effort. She had the strength of dragons, it was plausible for her to uphold such a weight. A glance to the side and she could see the swiftly approaching members of the Queensguard.
“Die, dragon bitch!” the giant spat, pushing down harder with his foot. The knight struggled, her body shrinking more into itself as she tried to combat the sheer weight and power of the giant. << Hilde!>> she hears faintly, knowing full well that her companion Kenway could sense her distress in this moment. That’s all she needed, just to hear his voice, to be reminded that she couldn’t give up now: she had responsibilities such as Kenway, such as Satoshi who ran rampant. With a cry of defiance, the knight gathered her strength and pushed upwards as swiftly as she could; knocking the giant off balance and sending him sprawling onto his back as he tripped up over a nearby corpse. At that moment, her comrades reached her and two set about swiftly executing the exile who had assaulted her.
“Satoshi is not herself,” she told them quickly. “How fares the battle?” she asked of them, seeking only a quick report, one word or just a few. Soon, her eye was directed skyward as she too sought what they were looking for. << Emielle,>> she thought with fondness, << my oath is my bond, I will be honoured to aid you.>> But reaching the couatl in the sky would be difficult, given that changing shape might only worsen her wound.
<< Kenway, I need a lift!>> she thought whilst taking a few steps forward. “We mustn’t dally. Support our troops where necessary, but continue pressing forward through the field. Satoshi is whom we protect, yes, but we cannot leave our brothers and sisters to suffer on the field. For Frostmaw,” she said with a nod, just as the armoured couatl sped down from the skies and cut through the battlefield, so quickly it near seemed impossible for the knight to grab hold of her companion and race skyward.
But she had spent so long training Kenway, so long flying with him and teaching him every evasive technique she knew and he had learned well. They were so bonded that they could act in perfect harmony of each other. << To Emielle, Kenway, hurry.>>
Bearing her skyward was easy enough, reaching Emielle so high up as she was. << Emielle, might I sit upon your back? Kenway will be at better use as a second pair of eyes on the field for me, rather than my escort.>> Providing Emielle consented, the knight would switch from Kenway to Emielle, allowing the brave and noble couatl to fly away again; keeping a watch of the field.
Above the Battlefield
With the ease of long practice in Frostmaw's stormy skies, Emielle dips her wings to bring herself level alongside her brother. Flying just below Kenway, the cerulean-scaled couatl presents her back for Hildegarde to hop down with minimal risk. << My wings are yours, Dear Knight, so that my beloved sibling may be our eyes,>> Emielle answers in her same steady, thoughtful voice. She dips her head to Kenway then, acknowledging with radiating respect her brother's skills as a couatl-knight. She could neither carry the weight of his fine armor, nor fly and fight with all his speed.
When Hildegarde has made the shift from one couatl to the next, Emielle's wings give a mighty flap to carry her back into the safety of the clouds. It is here the couatl circles for a long moment. Despite the obvious need for haste, Emielle is not rushing off after Satoshi, almost as if the couatl prefers to think long and hard on a matter before she flies toward it. After a time, and perhaps sensing Hildegarde's impatience to see their task through, Emielle turns her snout toward the west and begins the flight. Surrounded by clouds, there is little to see of the battle below, although the deafening noise still reaches them at these heights.
<< I did not know there could be so much anger harbored in a size so small. >> Emielle's mental voice projects softly around her, for Hildegarde to hear. << She is not herself. She is...>> Here the couatl trails off, searching for the right words. Still young, it is difficult to describe the flavor of an emotion she's never encountered before. << Raging-boiling-freezing-thirsting-hungry-lusting-shadow-serpent-fury. I do not know if there is a true term for that. My mind feels as if it will be pulled into darkness if I so much as brush hers. She cannot hear me. She does not know me. She knows only the stranger-fury that has wrapped itself about her mind, trapping her. There is another in Frostmaw that tastes the same. That is where she has gone, to confront it. That is where we are going, to free her and return her to herself. >> A tremor of fear laces the couatl's mind-voice, for she does not understand all that is going on, from Satoshi's rage-filled actions to the war itself. How can creatures with lives so short be so eager to cut down the lives of others? Such heated, thoughtless actions. Do they not stop to contemplate? << I would like to smell a mountain flower again,>> Emielle says then, her feelings translating into words, for the couatl's favorite passtime is to spend hours admiring a single object. Be it a flower, a bird, a snowflake, or a speck of dust floating on the air. To her eyes, there is much to learn from these things, if one is willing to stop, wait, and listen. To move and act without thought is bewildering to Emielle.
Given that Emielle is so slow to head off towards their mutual task, what with her being so ponderous, the knight had sagged forward somewhat and shut her eye, perhaps to rest a little while being carried by the couatl. Indeed, the knight sagged so far forward that she felt her body-weight shift which startled her back into awareness.
“Yes, she’s not the same,” she said in agreement, “but we must catch up to her. She said ‘Kasyr’,” she pointed out with a frown. “I think they are together, that he too must be in the field and somehow catching her attention. Or he’s in trouble, too.”
But the Silver could not help her smile as she listened to Emielle’s pondering and thoughtful words, “After this war is over and done, you will smell a mountain flower again,” she promised, “but we must hurry, Emielle. For what love you bear Satoshi, for what love I bear for my Queen, we must help her.”
Emielle is no foolish horse or mindless reindeer, she is a couatl, proud daughter of Emiur, and she will not let the knight fall even should Hildegarde become unconscious. It is while thinking this, and regarding the drooping knight, that Emielle hears Hildegarde's words. A slow, deliberate nod follows. Hurry. Such a foreign concept.
In answer, the couatl's wings pick up in their tempo, carrying them through the skies at a swifter pace than she'd care to. Emielle does her best not to think about the different cloud formations she is passing without investigating, of the swirling air pockets she'll miss out gliding through. Dearly as she'd love to dally in the airs, Hildegarde's words strike deep in Emielle's heart. 'For what love you bear Satoshi'. Companion of her father, caretaker of herself and her siblings, Emielle carries an immeasurable love for the magus. And she knows Hildegarde feels strongly too.
And so, Emielle, ever slow, ever passive, ever unhurried, finds there is speed in her wings and focus in her mind when the time calls for it. She'd never known she could fly so quickly, and almost fears she'll lose the knight to the air passing rapidly over them. << Hold tight please, Dear Knight. We are not far off. >> With warning delivered, Emielle folds her wings and angles herself into a dive to exit the cloudcover at last.
Below them lie the western Ruins, distinguished by the half-standing walls of the long destroyed town, buried in ice. The the south, is the Academy of Aramoth. Smoke rises from the building, the snows a dark stain and littered with bodies of various shapes and sizes. Battle has been here too, over now but at a heavy cost. Jutting over from the academy is an unusual sight: an immense furrow in the ground, torn through snow, stone, and permafrost to carve a path deeper into the ancient battlefields. It looks almost as if a small meteor has struck the land, leaving in its burning wake a scar upon the land that still smolders with azure 'embers'.
<< She has been here, >> Emielle comments, a golden eye fixed on the destruction and mayhem around the academy. But the couatl doesn't stop. Satoshi is not here. Not anymore.
Hildegarde truly doubts that Emielle would allow her to fall, but it is a point of principle. She could not recklessly endanger the couatl in such a way, nor bring such distress to her. Besides, she was the captain of the Queensguard, she needed to be seen as a symbol of unyielding might and strength; never tiring; never weakening. It was important for her to be seen as an impossible enemy to defeat. But as Emielle gathers speed, the knight offers her a soft, “Thank you, Emielle,” knowing full well that this couatl in particular was slow in her actions due to the great deliberation of thoughts in her head.
To alleviate the fears of Emielle, the knight leans forward and places her hands more firmly upon her scaled back. “Have no fear,” she said encouragingly, “I know you will help me, should I fall,” she said confidently.
But as they near the now quiet battle-field, the knight finds herself immediately assessing the area with keen interest. “You say she isn’t here now,” she repeated, nodding to the furrow, “but could she have gone down there? She is immensely powerful, especially in the form I last saw her in.” She took on a chimera, after all.
Emielle's answer comes not in words, but rather, images. Flickers of the battlefield pulled from the minds of those present, dizzying as the angles of view alternate rapidly. The images paint a scene displaying a great, bloody, scaled... something. A cat? A dragon? In war, even one's eyes cannot be fully trusted, and the couatl is left to piece the puzzle together to try and show Hildegarde that some form of monstrous form had been here. Although, it had not lingered long before another entered the fray, this one more easily recognizable as the vixen that had been Satoshi. She had arrived like a comet, buried fangs into the other beast, and dragged it off with blinding speed to leave the burning furrow behind.
Dutifully Emielle turns her flight path to follow the torn ground. As she flies, more images radiate from the couatl's mind. However, this time they seem to come from a single source, and focus solely upon the feline beast as seen through a predator's eyes. A fight plays out in flickering frames, unsteady and rapid. Rage and bloodlust ooze from the visions, familiarity and hatred empower every movement of the fox, pride and pain compel the confrontation. As the couatl sifts through the mental visions, she begins to fly lower, her wing beats more labored. The raw fury that she picks up from the path Satoshi took is weighing heavily upon Emielle, to sap her of her strength little by little.
It's with a sluggish determination that the couatl forces her wings up and down, up and down, afraid to slip into a glide lest she be unable to move. << Not far now... >> Weariness is plain in Emielle's voice. Yet a spark of energy courses through her as she spies a clearing ahead. Little more than a speck at this distance, Satoshi sits in the middle of the field. Asorial lies beside her, for the moment abandoned as the magus stares absentmindedly toward the heavens. Gathered about her is a swarm of tails, nine in total, for the moment lying dormant and subdued as the queen.
Field of Snow
Although the knight is well aware of the manner in which couatls communicate with one another and to other people, she would be lying if she said that such a rapid pace or flow of information didn’t dizzy her or make her feel somewhat ill at the thought. Alas, she clings onto the couatl and attempts to mentally sort through the images and information that was being pieced together by the pair.
But Hildegarde is an experienced flier, she knows flying well and she has experienced flight with Kenway. She understood that emotional or mental happenings could drain their energy and weaken their physical efforts, which is why she smoothes her hand soothingly over Emielle’s scales, “Do not push yourself, Emielle. Kenway, Alahir, Mamoru, Satoshi and all would show me no mercy if I let you come to harm,” she said gently.
As she too spots Satoshi, the knight smiles, “Excellent work, Emielle,” she praises with genuine feeling. “If you think it safe to land there, do so. My oath to Satoshi extends to you, of course, I am your shield before death.”
One more heavy beat of her wings carries Emielle and Hildegarde skimming over the snow, to land in a sliding slither not far from the magus. With owlish blinks, Satoshi twists around to face them before dipping her head in a nod of greeting. Emielle heaves a sigh of relief and sinks further into the snow, wings sprawled out from her body. The couatl has no energy left, having pushed herself to speeds she's never flown before, while her mind bore the weight of Satoshi and Asorial's wrath. Aside from a weak flick of her feathered tail, the couatl gives no reply, seemingly content to just rest while knight and queen are reunited.
With a groan, Satoshi climbs to her feet and turns, to be standing and ready for Hildegarde. Drooped shoulders lift with weary dignity, as if the kit is bracing herself for an argument. Or worse, disappointment from the knight. Her face is an expressionless mask, frozen to conceal whatever thoughts lurk beneath the surface.
It's enough that Emielle privately remarks for Hildegarde's mind alone, << Be gentle. Her heart is wounded. >>
As Emielle lands on the ground, the knight gently departs from her back and directs a few thoughts towards her: <<You did so well, Emielle, be proud. Rest for a moment. If you feel even a touch of fear or alarm, you need only say but do not delay. I will protect you, this I swear.>> After a soft touch to Emielle’s scales, the knight carefully approaches Satoshi.
She is silent as she approaches, her face set to look grim and unmoving, offering no words to indicate an argument or disapproval in regards to Satoshi and her actions. Instead, she continues forward until there is barely any space between them and immediately pulls the Queen in for a tight hug. For someone so tall to hug someone so short, it was a funny sight to see. The knight seemed to just envelope the Eidolon in her arms, looking like a protective friend or family member, trying to shield this person from all the woes the world might offer them.
“Don’t you dare frighten me like that again,” she ordered her quietly, the upset evident in her voice.
Emielle's tail rises and falls again in acknowledgement, although the couatl musters no other response as her eyes flutter closed. A flicker of concern crosses Satoshi's face then, slipping past the mask as her gaze flits to the exhausted couatl. And yet, just as quickly, she composes herself in time to find Hildegarde standing directly in front of her.
There's no time to react before the knight is crushing Satoshi in a hug, to leave the magus blinking in surprise and grown tense. It's clear the kit rarely engages in hugs, so used to people avoiding contact with her at any cost. It had been Kirien who had introduced her to the familial form of affection, the fellow foxkin ignoring the bite of Satoshi's cold flesh for that simple, reassuring contact.
And Satoshi had grown fond of it, even to look forward to it. Thus, after a startled moment, she relaxes into the gesture, even going as far as to press her forehead to Hildegarde's breastplate. There's a certain solace to be fond in a knight's protective embrace and the cold touch of armor. A solace Satoshi badly needed after having chosen to go to her city's aid rather than track down and confront Kasyr.
Squaring her shoulders then, Satoshi lifts her arms to return the hug before pulling away, head downcast as her gaze lifts toward Hildegarde. An unhappy smile twists her mouth into a grimace. "I cannot promise that. But... I will try. That, I can promi--" Satoshi's words die as her eyes narrow with a frown. Without invitation, she steps forward with hands lifted toward Hildegarde's bloodied armor, "You're wounded. Let me mend it. We have a ways to go yet before our work is done."
Hildegarde had only ever really hugged her family before coming to Frostmaw, growing more into the habit as Kirien regularly hugged or showed affection in some manner: pats to the head; a comforting hand on the cheek. Things she dearly missed when she dwelled on the memory for too long, things she tried to forget to stave away pain.
Even though Satoshi is her Queen, she has always been treated as an equal and rarely as someone who merely obeys and takes orders constantly, which is why the knight feels it’s acceptable for her to act as she was right now. If she had been treated any other way, she’d never dream of doing such a thing! She was well aware that her height and armour awarded her a sort of protective aura during embrace, people trusted in her physical strength, her height, her appearance. Sometimes it made her feel a little dishonest, when she thought upon how weak she truly was.
“You can only try,” she said in reply once Satoshi pulled away, “that’s all you can do.” As Satoshi offers to mend her wound, the knight only spoke in concern of Satoshi, “Will it weaken or tire you to do so? I can push on a bit longer,” she said reassuringly. She didn’t want to take away from her Queen’s strength, not when she knew the people were relying on her so much. Part of her wished to ask what had happened; why the Queen was looking so glum; why she was all alone here but she didn’t for now. If she was meant to know, she would be told.
In answer, Satoshi steps nearer and peers closely at the wound. One hand lightly swats the Silver's arm, directing it to be lifted out of the way so that the magus can work without removing armor. As chilled fingers lightly probe the torn flesh, Satoshi mutters, half to herself and partially in response to Hildegarde. "We've more than a bit longer to go, we need you patched up. The sooner we can end this war, the sooner..." Satoshi's expression darkens as she ducks her head to hide the grimace. A cough follows as she composes herself once more before looking up at the knight, a false smile on her face. "This will hurt a bit."
As the magus turns her gaze back on Hildegarde's wound, an ear flicks back and her tails give an anxious twitch. There, flitting on the edge of her mind, where the other shadows have been banished already, lurks a darkness. The abyss. Still it calls to her, closer now, inviting and deadly. Emielle too feels it and lifts her head to look toward the north. Alarm pours off the couatl in waves. << He is coming. >>
"But still a ways off, my dear, don't fret, I need to focus," Satoshi whispers. With frigid determination, she shuts out the abyssal presence then and pours her mind into song. And yet the melody that passes her lips is not the same gentle, coaxing tune Satoshi normally conjures for healing. This one is darker, edged with frost, and thick with misery. Try as she might to be delicate while stitching Hildegarde, Satoshi cannot make the watery threads any thinner, so that every plunge of the icy needle is like a worm burrowing anew into the knight's flesh, leaving crystallized liquid behind. Her distraction and apprehension are clear when Satoshi withdraws, leaving a frozen, bloody, and poor excuse for stitches emblazoned upon the Silver.
An apologetic look is lifted to Hildegarde then, the corners of Satoshi's mouth pulled down grimly. "It should stop the bleeding long enough for your natural healing to kick in." There's an unspoken 'I hope' left hanging with the words. But Satoshi never speaks them, stumbling forward suddenly and clutching at her chest. With a cry, she drops to a knee and curls inward against an invisible pain. A hiss comes from Emielle as the couatl wrenches herself out of the snow and flares her wings. She's poised, like a cobra prepared to strike. << He is coming! >>
From the north emanates a cold, twisted wrongness with the world. Where Satoshi's rage had been a blazing whirlwind of shadow and frost bright upon the battlefield, this presence is different: a chilling sensation of something foul slithering down one's spine, an obscene caress by talons upon one's heart, a skitter and plop of something slimy moving among the shadows beneath one's bed, a promise of pleasure obtained through the tormenting of one's body, mind, and soul. Hildegarde does not need to be an empath or a couatl to feel the shadows licking at her heart despite the distance. For Satoshi, the sensation is worsened tenfold.
"The snow." Satoshi manages to force the words out through clenched teeth. Still she kneels upon the ground, huddled in on herself as if to ward off a physical blow. All around her the snows tremble and shift, gathering closer to the magus, either to shield her or hide against her, it is uncertain. "It's crying. It's in pain."
Hildegarde offered Satoshi a grunt when she swatted at her arm, raising it nonetheless. She was obedient, if a bit stubborn. But as fingers probe the torn and bleeding flesh, the knight becomes rigid in the effort to still the growl that’s beginning to grow in her throat; she does not wish to be seen as hostile or totally against the idea of being healed. However, probing the flesh of the wound is much like coming close to a wounded animal: they will growl, they will huff and they will hiss to try and deter the closeness, purely out of that animalistic instinct. “Yes, you’ve healed me before,” she murmured, recalling the memory.
She is uneasy, though, as she stands here. Half-expecting an enemy or many enemies to stumble upon their location or for this to be a trap that they’ve simply walked into. Alas, these thoughts do not linger for very long, as she is soon focusing on trying not to scream or yell with pain as what feels like icicles pierce and weave through her flesh, tugging it together in order to seal it well enough for her to naturally heal. Of course, in her effort not to scream or yell so loudly, she is growling furiously and her grip upon her halberd would perhaps crush the bones of a human.
The knight gasps as Satoshi pulls away, body hunching over slightly as one hand gently reached for the gaping hole in her armour. She wouldn’t touch the wound, not yet at least, but she wanted to press her hand to it as if it might somehow make her feel any better. “It’s fine, thank you,” she said quickly and gratefully, “wha-” she was ready to ask something but Satoshi has cried out and is falling to her knees, forcing Hilde to react instantly and stoop to catch the kit with one arm. “Satoshi!” she hissed, keeping a tight hold of her and sinking down slightly. She would not force her to her feet, she would be at her level.
The sudden reaction of Emielle has alarmed the knight, causing her to flex her fingers around her halberd and inch it forward; poised to spear anyone who got too close from this kneeling position. Her reaction is caused by three things: Satoshi’s fall, Emielle’s agitation and the creeping sensation of something sinister approaching. She cannot shake the feeling of some oncoming storm. While some might doubt the snow would cry or be in pain, the Silver has spent too much time around the likes of Kirien, Dami and Satoshi to question these things or doubt them: “What could cause such a thing?” she merely asks, not doubting for a moment that it wasn’t in pain or crying.
With fangs gritted, Satoshi forces herself to her feet and turns to face the north. "Only one thing can. I felt him before, in the ruins with Kasyr, when we were drawing the Devils off your rescue party. We... we fled. I was not prepared to face him." Satoshi's expression darkens at the memories. When she'd felt that shadowy presence approaching, instinct had sent her into a panic and she'd used her Snow Blink to teleport herself and Kasyr away. Unfortunately, with fragmented concentration and with no experience transporting more than herself, Satoshi had cost Kasyr his arm in the process. She had braved the ruins again later to retrieve her husband's wedding band as a poor attempt at an apology. But Satoshi has not forgotten the feeling of that presence. It had been at the forefront of her mind for months, the reason behind her strategies and furtive actions.
And now the time has come.
From ahead, where the treelines encircle the clearing, appears a series of seven figures. Six of them are tall and slender, easily standing above the height of men. Even from this distance, their horns, tails, and cloven hooves clearly mark them as Ice Devils. But no ordinary devils, for these beings have flesh of unholy midnight, radiating with frost and malice. These are Elders. Surviving the harshest of environments for centuries has forged them into powerful entities, fearing nothing and striking fear into the hearts of those who gaze upon them. They are primal, malicious, obscene, and cunning. And they all clearly defer to the seventh figure: by height and build, this one is certainly a Frost Giant, plated in black, glossy armor that encases him like chitin.
This giant is the source of that abyssal aura. Even the light in the area seems to bend away from him, unwilling to touch upon his blasphemous form. Where his boots fall, the snows turn black with shadowy decay.
Satoshi's eyes narrow, her mouth pressed into a thin line. In her ears, the ice and snow cry to her of their agony, clawing for her attention and protective. Like the countless hands of small children, the magus can feel the snowsong tearing at her heart in its drive to escape the entity.
"Hrathgar." Satoshi hisses the word like a curse.
The Winter Lich has come.
Continued in A Frozen Game of Chess.