RP:The Warlord Marches

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Eastern Frostmaw Gates

It started with a steady drumming in the south. Tristram had waited for nightfall. A light snow had begun to fall, not enough to conceal what was coming, but enough to muddle the numbers, to disguise the force approaching Frostmaw’s gates. A rain of arrows dipped in not fire, but acid (a mire made from Tristram’s fire breath and cut with a gelatinous ooze that wouldn’t degrade too quickly from the acid), appeared in the night sky, sooty specks against a bleak snowfall that peppered the ground and towers around the gates. The army approached, horns sounding, machinery traversing the difficult, frostbitten terrain — machinery retrofitted with chains for the wheels to find purchase along the icy ground. An army approached. And above them flew a black dragon.

Tristram did not attack the gates. He could have done significant damage there, but Hildegarde had warned him, warned or pled with him to do as little damage to her people, people that had turned against her but her people nonetheless, and so he acquiesced. He dipped from the Eastern Gates, doubling back, roaring to his army who roared back, each fearsome orcish warrior beating his breastplate — now a bit muffled as most pieces of armor were covered in furs from the last time the saurian governor brought his army to Frostmaw. Far below, a substantially larger force was assembling, climbing over rocks, uneven footing along the base of the cliff, maneuvering into position for transport up the steep cliff face.

Sparky kneeled on a cliff near the western gates, he had been goven his job by tristram to formulate a storm, while his expertise was not in ice or snow he still was able to control the energy concentrated in the clouds themselves. Holding his copper rod, and closing his eyes peering into his unique electrospectrum vision he visulaized the cloud to move and bend forming over a the gates and a little beyond the army, with the fastest winds and snow concentrated at the front to conceal the troops, further inward he directed the storm to dispate as naturally as he could, he hoped that his counterpart at the eastern gates was able to do as well as he was, or hopefully better.

Emilia is here because she was requested by an old friend for assistance in the battle that was about to erupt at the gates of Frostmaw under nightfall. Unlike the army who walked in dawning armor and furs the Genasi was exposed to her natural element in little more than a white flowing spring gown with bare feet gliding over the snow, not even a trace of prints left behind in her wake. Make it snow, make it hail, make the army as invisible as she was in the winter-wonderland. Neither Eastern nor Western gate did the Genasi travel, but a path lost somewhere between the two where she could keep mostly out of the fight while still being able to cover both with her icy presence. A frozen hill top of the terrain became her standing point where those bright eyes could scope out either way, watching and aiding. With Sparky at the western gates her first focus was that of the eastern gates. Inhaling slowly the ice-woman connected with the frozen life around her, calling it to answer to her will. It started with a gusting wind kicking up the already fallen snow creating a fog like presence around the army’s perimeter, she didn’t want to cause them any trouble if she could help it. From above the sky, already darkened by Sparky’s storm clouds, would spread over the land as the snow began to fall faster than the light snow moments ago.

The orcs at the western gates had a long, arduous climb ahead of them. Scaling the cliff face, even with draconic assistance, would have been a project and a half on its own. But they were here for battle, battle against GIANTS. Commander Furbog was at the head of his division, leading his men up the cliff. He wasn't a religious fellow, but he sent a quick prayer to Rothik (and one to Aramoth, for the hell of it), that they might have victory today. Near the back of the pack, armed with a bow, was Umurn, a new recruit who had managed a spot on this mission through sheer talent. Still, he was unbloodied, and nervous, far more nervous than a proper orc should have been.

Xersom was not late; he was a creature of his word. Like the pact of a devil or crossroads demon, the very letter of every bargain was adhered to as if binding to his very soul, although, truth be told, it was simply the personality of the former demon general and great wyrm. In order to suppress any suspicion, the male arrived much earlier than either army an in the guise of his mortal man exterior. But that was a disguise that was shed upon the call of the spiny black dragon in silent acknowledgement not of the rallying cry, but the subversive cue that it presented; that of initiation. Tremendous in size, the 'Shadow Over the World' remained low to the ground and veiling most of the larger, amassing force with that green wingspan, of which its brilliant color was dulled and well-hidden by the snowstorm and the cascading, furious flakes that it sent to cover it. Beneath those wings, orcs were fervently constructing haphazard 'carriages' to house themselves around the boulder-like talons of clawed hands, pushing themselves together and huddling tight to ensure the greatest quantity of soldier per each jury-rigged "seige-house", like the tops of seige-towers, or less creative wooden horses.

“Do you want to die in bed, you miserable flock of pixies?" Balgruuf cries, rallying his war march. "When they sing your tale at fire side, will it end with a warrior or with a toothless, incontinent old fart?" Balgruuf beats the pommel of his club against his chest. "To the eastern gate, all of you who want a warrior's song! To the eastern gate, all true sons and daughters of Aramoth!" The call to arms is answered, and growing band collects to funnel and march, militant, ready and proud to greet death eye-to-eye. "Hold. Hold, or this war has been for nothing!”

The orcish army advanced upon the enemy, but they didn’t charge or launch an offensive against the gates as though to seek entry. Emilia’s ominous weather concealed the shapes in the snow and fog, orcs covered in mammoth furs creeping into position. Frostmaw was a mighty city, a city of war. Taking her gates would be no easy task. The orcish army stayed out of range of the archers and launched various attacks, testing the mettle of the wall, its soundness. There was some collateral damage. There was always collateral damage.

Tristram skidded onto the ground, landing close to Xersom — if close was the proper word, as Xersom’s breadth was so wide and substantial. He did not acknowledge the other dragon. Xersom had once asked a favor of him. Now that favor was being returned and there was no need to discuss it. At once, some of his orcish generals approached, throwing ropes and chains over the dragon’s shoulders, over his wings. Platforms were attached and maneuvered into position. The orcs mounted one of the platforms, linking onto each other, arms connected, shields locked in. A shout went up and the black dragon beat his wings twice before slowly beginning to ascend. A few seconds later, the two platforms jerked, then lifted from the icy, craggy base of the cliff. The orcs swayed and stumbled, but held tight, and soon, two squads were airborne, ascending the cliff face with the dragon flying vertically above them.

Sparky keeping the clouds moving at the pace of the army, he focused on keeping the storm natural. His thoughts though were on more than just the battle, but also on monitoring how much power he was using to move the storm, he would not let his body try to force more power than was nessecary to fuel the storm, he just hoped that perhaps he'd get a chance to use his new ability soon.

Umurn was not a fan of heights. As his squad was raised up and up and up, he screwed his eyes shut and told himself not to look down. He wished with all his might that he would soon feel solid ground beneath his feet again. The moment the platforms hit the snow, the orc warriors poured out. 'Sweet, sweet land!' Umurn thought to himself. He almost forgot to take up his position, but another soldier jostling him brought him back to his senses. Commander Furbog was shouting instructions to his men. This was it, the time to fight or die.

Emilia remained calm as the snow continued to fall from the sky with an increasing anger of its own mirror off that of those going to war. From a light sprinkling to an almost wall of of flakes raging down around the troops of Tristram as the wind started to whip with an icy bite. A bond shared long ago with her spouse allowed the ice woman, when she closed her eyes, to tap into the connection with him so that she could see the front of the Eastern gate through his sight. With this enhanced vision the woman was able to guide the storm with ease around those on her side of the battle, keeping them protected from its harsh bite while allowing their vision--in the general area around them--clear of the snow wall. For the Western gate on her other side the storm spread in that direction, mindful of where her allies climbed. A bit of pushing her attention in two place the Genasi offered aide to the climbers struggling with footing steps of ice forming where they were not at, but needed.

Giants across Frostmaw had heard the rallying call. From the Tavern and the stocks. From the healing huts, the alleys, and the mines. Fighters and workers alike, all would take part in the hold! Warriors within reach of their armors were the slowest to arrive, and those with swords and mail stood like breakers around those who had not but pickaxes, hammers, and what weapons they could find at hand. But all of them, beaten by past losses and nearly buried by the army that stood just at their doorsteps made their way to where Balgruuf called. They stood still but not silent, their readiness, their eagerness, hoisted weapons in the air and roaring war cries to their enemies.

Xersom waited, but during the wait the massive saurian cast only a single and intense emerald eye upon the smaller, sleeker form of the black dragon in momentary scrutiny from the side of his head, much like any reptile might. The moment was brief, and given a small huff of breath that, although monstrous to the orcs beneath him, was easily veiled by the howling winds and whipping flakes of the snowstorm conjured forth by his wife and the eel (of which he couldn't see, though the detection of magical signature of another magic-user was relatively simple and second-nature to the creature of that particular age). But the mighty green continued to wait even after Tristram lifted an began to ferry a portion of that army up the cliff face; he had to wait until the ground forces could muster a suitable distraction not insofar as the Frost Giants would be unaware of him, as that would be impossible once he ascended -it was just so that they would not be able to do anything about it. Once Tristram was nearing his objective was the point where those simply enormous wings lifted and beat with tremendous force in order to begin to lift the myriad of makeshift and MacGuyver'd housings all along his arms and legs, the wood creaking and squealing in protest as they began to ascend. From the Frost Giants' view, it'd be like the rising of some infernal beast from the earth itself, absolutely massive and a silhouette of a blanketing darkness due to the low visibility from the weather sorcery used.

The army skirmished, launching continued, mild assaults, toying with the opposition at the gates, provoking them. Balgruuf’s forces had the high ground, the good ground — not so easily provokable. But it was apparent the orc army was waiting on something. They sent a ball of acid fire toward one of the walls to see how much of the partition it could damage before it was put out, and while the archers that lined the wall relayed buckets of water to douse the dangerous fire ball, some of Tristram’s own eagle-eyed archers sniped them from the shadows. Some of the war-hardened watchers on the wall commented lowly about the dip in temperature and visibility, not always uncommon in Frostmaw, but highly suspect during an invasion attempt.

Tristram kept himself upwardly mobile until the platforms crested the top of the cliffs. He moved his army inland and then dipped, letting the platforms skid against the snow. The orcs cut the ropes and the platforms fell free, dropping each platoon on the ground. The dragon circled, dipped, and started down to the next group to be ferried up. Not long after he was loading his second squadron, a large shout came from the west. The giants had spotted something, but it was too late now, too late to even recall the forces that had left the western gates to defend against the attack in the east. Tristram knew Xersom could land a substantial force near the very gates themselves, giving his army time to set up and defend against what defensives remained at the western gates while the Governor brought up the rest of his troops and maneuvered them into place.

Emilia was careful with the storm that was brewing around the walls of Frostmaw, by not allowing too much focus or build up hit either Western nor Eastern gate. Instead, much like the natural unpredictable wonderland of snow the Genasi let the change of whether spread beyond the walls into the city beyond. Allowing it to remain still in only limited areas would make the giants more leery about it. Northern and southern winds started to pick up slowly while snow continued to fall from the skies slowly taking over the entire city on both sides of the walls. Again, careful to keep light patches over the troops, dragons, and areas where acid-fire was landing--wouldn’t want to put it out for the giants now would she? Her eyes keeping a random watch from a shared bond with Xersom to scouting her own surroundings, just in case some giant went out hunting for her. Did they even remember her? She hoped they had long forgotten her from her many visits to the city.

The orcs set to work right away, unloading everything they needed to defend themselves against an assault from the giants. They raised shields walls and rows of spikes, constructed trebuchets, and settled in for a long wait. Commander Furbog was at the forefront, watching the western gates. They had their orders. No one was to lift a finger to attack until the giants came through. Umurn was antsy, his bow in one hand and an arrow ready to be nocked. Minutes passed like hours for the recruit. When would it be go time?

Sparky teeth chattered, he knew he should have worn the wolfskins, except he had donated them to the cause, now he on top of maintain his power and the storm, he was having to pull thermal energy from the mountain to keep his body fom freezing, as if he didn't have enough on his mind, hopefully, he could hold out.

Xersom, unlike Tristram's ferry or the forces that they transported, could not simply have the orcs that hitched a ride with his enormous form cut cables or ropes and be freed to sow chaos; he had to land in order for the sizable army that he was carrying to depart from their makeshift housing and form up in their seige positions. On the bright side of that, proverbially speaking as they were in the midsts of a snowstorm that darkened everything significantly, it allowed the monstrous green dragon to further intimidate the defenders of the City of War with the slow, rhythmic beats of his colossal wings, their span, and the sight thereof -if not the force that they exerted. His form, were there a sun visible in the sky, would have blotted it out and case the city beneath his shadow. As it were, it allowed him ample time to land -sure, Frostmawian arrows breached one or two of the more shoddily-made garrisons along his limbs, which felled a handful of individual orc warriors, but in the great scheme of this battle that made no significant impact. The garrisons opened like drawbridges to fall flat against the earth when the mighty and ancient dragon landed, which freed orcs to spill forth from their confines like the sudden swarming of some vicious insect in defense of their hive. X, meanwhile, would splay his wings wide and upward in display, as his gargantuan head was thrown back and a roar was loosed against the heavens.

Hildegarde had given her word to Josleen that she would keep an eye on Laezila and Kelovath, that she would do her best to make sure Kelovath was safe and well. She had given her word to Laezila too. As the camp is plunged into chaos, though, she suddenly emerges from her tent with Josleen in tow. They’re about to leave, having received word from Kenway who had been watching over the paladin and the former matron. The knight whips her head around and finally catches sight of the immense dragon that is Tristram; he is unmistakeable to her. She has seen this form before. The woman who stood there is gone, replaced by the Silver dragon instead. Josleen has clambered onto her back and the dragon has swiftly taken to the skies, but not before a roar permeates the air of the camp and the City of War. A roar that means ‘this is mine’, a roar that Tristram will understand the meaning of. Without further ado, Hildegarde and Josleen are off. Off to save their allies.

A great saurian call echoed across the distance, causing the black dragon to stop and lift his head, listening, observing. It wasn’t Xersom. Hildegarde. Hildegarde had the east. Tristram answered, an acknowledging rumble in his throat that shook the trees and ground nearby. Another loud roar conveyed to Xersom that he trusted his massive counterpart to hold the west, his men, his people, his army, while he attended to matters in the east. Soon, the dragon was streaking back the way he’d come. At the eastern gates, his men received orders to withdraw and decamp. Frostmaw thought themselves victorious. Those on the gates began to celebrate, just as word reached them: The Gualonian Governor’s army was gathered at the western gates, and there were not enough forces there to stop them from potentially seizing the city. Tristram doubled back to the west to claim the victory as his orcs rooted what remained of western forces, pushing them back into the city. But the orcs did not lay the city to waste or ruin. They took the gates and remained there — an occupation without invasion.

Xersom would -he would hold the gate with that large contingent of orcish soldiers for quite some time before his eventual departure. For now, however, if the immense size of the creature wasn't persuasive enough to keep any from reclamation of the Western Gate, then the amount of orcish soldiers there surely would be.

Emilia would stay while Xersom stayed, keeping the storm willed to to her call until it was time to take leave on the back of the massive dragon back to their home. When she left the storm was left to take on whatever natural course it would take before dying out.

Sparky letting go of his power on the blizzard and finishing his task, sparky fell to the ground on his tail, then pulling it around him as his teeth chattered, he used his power to heat the surface of the rock in front of him to keep warm. "Brrr, i hope i don't hibernate, it would be a long thaw."