RP:Three Brave Warriors and a Silver Knight

Royal Academy of Aramoth

The expansive entrance hall of the Royal Academy of Aramoth has transformed: its already decorative depictions embellished with garlands of Winterberries, trophies of polished, horns, sharpened fangs or talons, and glistening pelts, and tapestries in frost white, ice blue, and frostbite black, Frostmaw's royal colors, depicting feats of war, slaying of great monsters, and earnest celebration. Lanterns of Magelight sit scattered throughout the enormous room, each one burning with a different colored fire, giving off an arcane heat that warms the flesh without threatening to burn or melt that which is near. The entrance hall's fluorite floor shines as if freshly buffered, and has been left open to allow room for guests to move about, dance, and merry-make. Along the walls are lines of long, sturdy oak tables, decorated with sprigs of Frostmaw's local plantlife and, most importantly, laden down with mountains of food housed in glistening silver dinnerware. Platters of juicy venison sit side by side with cuts of rich, red steaks, accompanied by a wild variety of sausages, chops, and even a selection of meat-kabobs--while at the center of this immense table resides the centerpiece, an entire mammoth, expertly skinned and roasted to perfection, a Frostmaw tradition. Pies of every sort from the sweetly sour Winterberry to luxurious chocolate, tangy lemon, and savory cherry, gather in militant rows on a table all their own. Nearby is another table devoted entirely to sweets such as fudge, tarts, Snowflake apples, and puddings. Breads, rolls, and even sandwiches of too many types to count have found a home here amid the silver and white displays. Barrels of mead stand at the ready, their labels declaring numerous selections of flavor and strength. Casks of rum are in accompaniment as well, along with a selection of drinks from each of Frostmaw's allying cities: Trist'oth's dark ale, Larket's potent whiskey, Enchantment's levitation lager, Vailkrin's blood wine, and the hearty beer of the Craughmoyle dwarves, to name some. Yet the food and drinks are only a part of the event being hosted tonight, with a stage having been erected between the twin staircases, where a minstrel band of wildly diverse races--is that an orc with a triangle?--devote themselves to providing music for the ball attendees. Over all of this drifts a gentle snowfall, the flakes pristine in their color and strangely without a sensation of cold, instantly disappearing wherever they should fall without leaving water behind.

Dyzz had heard whispers of a warrior's guild in Frostmaw, during her time there, and naturally, had to go see for herself. Axe and bone club at her hips, wearing a near body length mask, and a fur that shrouded her entire form, she'd be a shuffling, yet hoppy little figure around the acadamy entrance... sniffing around, quite literally. She thought she smelled dragon. More importantly, there were giants everywhere in frostmaw, and she'd picked fights with more than just one or two. If this was a place of warriors, there were sure to be more here... and she'd a mind for toppling big things. Her methods of combat were unrefined, if well practiced... with no formal training, her long years of action had always relied on an inherent sense of savagery and a natural capacity for violence, along with an incredibly resilient body. Herculean strength, speed and maneuverability, and her ability to more than take a hit had carried her through many trials. The question remained... would it be enough here? She'd shake her bone at anyone who ventured too close, yelling profanities in goblin, as she adjusted to the setting, and made herself more comfortable.

Calen , similar to how he approached other buildings, did enter the academy in a purposeful manner, a warhammer clutched in both hands due to how large it was. Upon seeing Dyzz and others gathered, he promptly stopped then, an alertness that was quite visible in his body language displayed while the individual was appraised. He'd say nothing yet though, while shadowing the visitor to prevent any trespassing or other criminal acts.

Beldur , like the two before, he heard about the Academy. His sheild on his back and a dragon fang saber tempered to be a straight blade at his hip. The armor seemed to rest easily on the muscular frame. He seemed to be the youngest of the group. Perhaps just came of age or a little older. His eyes held wonder at the place as if he was pleasently surprised at the marvelous structure that the academy was.

Hildegarde had made it clear that the renewed Warrior’s Guild was seeking those willing to join and that any interested parties should make their way to the Academy of Aramoth in Frostmaw, so a gathering of people is somewhat expected. Though to what degree, she wouldn’t know until this precise moment. The stage for bards is occupied by only one man and his lute, strumming a placid tune as warriors come and go from the Academy. The knight stands in the entrance hall, waiting to greet whoever actually showed up. Calen she recognises but not the other two. “Welcome to Frostmaw,” she offers them both politely, taking a moment to look at them each; her sole eye making who she was looking at fairly evident. “I assume you are here in regards to the regeneration of the Warrior’s Guild,” she said, “and perhaps about joining the new institution?”

Dyzz approached Hildegarde, scrunching up her nose beneath her mask and inhaling. Hmm. "Yes." She settled for a single word in common, a furred paw doing something beneath her mask. She was tapping her chin, but it looked more like she was eating something beneath the mask and fur. "Who Dyzz gots to beat up?" She felt she had a fairly accurate understanding of the requirements of such a guild.

Calen responded at last to Hildegarde once there seemed no current danger from either Dyzz or Beldur. After that gesture, the two he wasn't familiar with are greeted politely, before at last, "That is one reason, yes," is said since he didn't speak of guard related matters in such public places.

Beldur nods as he smiles warmly to the others in greeting. His attention turned to Hildegarde as she asked her question. "I have, ma'am. My father claimed that this was the best place for training."

Hildegarde dipped her head at Beldur’s reply, “Well, your father wasn’t wrong,” she said yet not in an arrogant manner. It was not in her nature to boast or to be anything beyond modest. “To join the Guild, it is expected that you fight the Guild master or a Champion of the Guild. That would be me,” she said, clearing her throat a little bit. She was not overly fond of titles. “You must agree to adhere to our rules. If you cannot accept the rules, then the Guild might not be the place for you. My rules are simple: you are respectful to the city that hosts the Guild, Frostmaw, and you listen to what I tell you. I am not here to see you kneel or cower, I am here to teach you and see that your skills grow. Furthermore, there is a fee of five hundred gold coins in order to join. This fee will give you bed and board here at the Academy, along with access to all the training facilities here. A fair deal, if you ask me.”

Dyzz was tapping away at her chin. Five hundred gold coins?! She'd anticipated this, though, and earned money off of bounties. It was always this way with the soft skins... money made their worlds go around. She'd nod to the terms, as Hildegarde laid them out. "Yes, yes. Fight you, then? Hmm. Ok." This promised to be rather entertaining. The woman was obviously a capable fighter, possessed of many beautiful scars as she was. She honestly stirred an old jealousy in Dyzz... Dyzz could not acquire scars, as her goblin people could. She healed too well.

Calen remained observant and listening while Hildegarde addressed Beldur and Dyzz, even when the goblin spoke of accepting the requirement for joining. This is only partially because he was now mentally preparing for the time when he'd have to do that.

Beldur nods as he unslings his shield. putting the base of it on the ground before him as he looks to the other two. "So how are we going to do it? One at a time? As for the gold, father said it was expensive." He pulled out a coin purse and holds onto it, as if waiting his turn to come forth.

Hildegarde offered a nod at the question, “Yes, one at a time. It is intended to be a test of your skill, so I can determine what you need training in and the like. If I am fighting you all at once, I will be unable to determine who needs what training as I will be focusing more on the battle than what you are lacking.” That said, the woman looked between them all as her fingers flexed around the shaft of her halberd. “Who would like to go first?”

Dyzz took this opportunity to shrug off mask and fur, stretching in the light, and cracking her neck. She wore only loincloth and skull bra now, and took her bone club and axe to hand, settling into a rather ferocious posture. "Dyzz'll go first!" Always eager, always spoiling for the fight, her ruby eyes shining with delight at the thought of a sparring. Learning seemed to be a secondary consideration... she was here foremost for the challenge of it all.

Calen remained focused upon Hildegarde while still steeling himself for a fight against the dragon. This ensured that, despite an intention to answer and state he'd go first, it was Dyzz who spoke first. After that, he's frowning while stepping forward, aware that taking the initiative could either earn respect for not waiting.. or Hildegarde's anger for ignoring the wishes of another to fight first, thus showing disrespect to a potential ally. As a compromise of sorts, "I am ready," is said so that he'd (hopefully) remain on her good side.

Beldur was rather surprised at the eagerness Dyzz shown. His eyes shifted to Calen as he simply leaned on his shield. Watching the others as he otherwised remained silent. The sword on his hip becoming unbound as the peace knot was untied.

Hildegarde can see that Dyzz is just spoiling for a fight, easily calling for the spot to fight first over her fellow applicants. “Very well, you will go first,” she informs the troblin, before looking to both Beldur and Calen. “You might wish to debate amongst yourselves who will fight next and if you have a preference for which weapons you wish to fight with, be that your own or hand-to-hand, so on and so forth.” That said, her attention returned to Dyzz; sole eye resting upon the small troblin who stood in attire she would not consider to be the most advantageous in battle. Her hand briefly tugged upon the ornate lion-head pommel of her short-sword to loosen it enough from the sheath that it could be more easily drawn in the heat of battle. “This is only a test of ability,” she reminded the troblin with a friendly smile, “and no one is a master of combat,” she reminded them all before her body lurched forward and into motion, immediately tucking into a forward roll to propel her towards the troblin; allowing her to swing the shaft of the halberd in a wide arc as she shifted from roll to kneeling position before the troblin. Of course, being an experienced warrior, the knight would not remain in this kneeling position long enough for the troblin to retaliate. She would attempt to strike before rolling to the side to avoid any counter attack; hopping up to her feet and sharply kicking out with the intent of smashing her mithril boot into the face of the small troblin.

Dyzz 's answer to Hildegarde's challenge and pre emptive strikes were of brute force... the loosening of that short sword, the shifting of hips and shoulders, told Dyzz how her opponent would move. She came directly, with the superior reach of her halberd, and Dyzz would twist, doubling her short frame over backwards to dodge the horizontal swing without surrendering the position her opponent was trying to conquer... Rancor would give a spark, as she brought the bone club down to intercept the proffered leg, hoping to catch her shin, and pummel it against the ground with enough force to shatter the bone, and leave the very dirt beneath that foot sundered. Rancor hit with the force of the spirits of Earth.

Calen reacted to the answer from Hildegarde, saying to Beldur, "I will fight next, if you wish to be the last," quieter now. While this is being said, he was already getting the warhammer ready, appearing reliant upon that alone. Careful examination of his person would how the undead male had a dagger hidden beneath the thin layer of mail worn, by his right hip, to provide a back up weapon in case his defenses were breached.

Beldur nods as he looks to Calen for a breif moment. His eyes turning back to Hildegarde and Dyzz's match. The knight errant seeming to relax a bit and study the pair. On his own person, besides the sword was a small dagger. "As you wish."

Hildegarde’s boot is indeed caught by the troblin’s bone club, yet her armour and her bones are not quite as feeble as opponents the troblin may have faced before. The Silver dragons were the toughest breed of her lot, no spirit or weapon would easily break her bones. Retracting her leg that was already becoming a dull ache, the Silver sharply swished the polearm: aiming lower and sweeping against the floor with the intent of sweeping the troblin off her feet; the halberd rising again before falling sharply with the axe-head aimed for the soft skin of her belly.

Dyzz caught the boot, but had expected results beyond what she received. When the halberd came to trip her, she was just a smidgen too slow in jumping the haft, and found herself tossed sideways with her own momentum. The axe head descended, and Dyzz twisted in the air, partially blocking the blow with the broadside of ravage. In spite of the sparks that flew, her stomach was grazed, enough to split open her belly. She staggered backwards, after leaping to her feet, a hand clutched to the not so profusely bleeding wound, as it closed its self before her guts could start spilling out. Dyzz was smiling. "You good! Dyzz likes you!" She bet she knew why that leg hadn't shattered, as well. Dyzz would be a moment, holding in her guts, and would be on the defensive if Hildegarde pressed the attack further.

Calen remained alert and observant to the fight, analysing everything in anticipation of his turn. Once Dyzz had conceded to Hildegarde, he's readying himself for combat now. Rather than move forward though, he just waited for the Captain to admit the first clash was concluded, ensuring that he'd not interfere with anything planned.

Beldur watched as Dyzz healed herself with some amazement. His eyes had watched the combat with the same analitical study, but not in anticipation. Preperation.

Hildegarde would give Dyzz room to recover, considering this was not intended to be a battle to the death. “You’re all right?” she asked with a little nod in the direction of her belly, noticing that it was already healing. How unusual. Once the troblin had confirmed that she was well, the knight would turn her attention Calen. “Come forth, then,” she smiled, halberd twirled once in her hand in preparation.

Dyzz would take a step back, to watch. Her hand would come away bloody, but her stomach would be completely healed, without even a trace of scarring. Dyzz was surprised Hildegarde could move the way she could, in that armor. It was impressive.

Calen gave no thought to Dyzz' healing, for he had no time to focus upon the troblin for now. Now that the path was clear for him to strike, the undead male is rushing forward, seemingly aiming to strike at Hildegarde's torso with the blunt edge of his warhammer in a very obvious way. Just a second before he'd have struck, this is ceased then and he's drawing back the weapon with grace, aiming his left foot at the leg which had been struck previously by the hybrid who'd fought first. While this tactic, meant to force the silver dragon into a purely defensive state, is carried out, Calen was also keeping himself ready to block any counter should there be the danger of losing a limb.

Beldur looks to Dyzz as he nods to her. His attention turning to Calen as he charged. "That's an interesting ability." He draws his sword in preperation to his turn as he slides it between his arm and the shield as he lifts the mythril shield onto his arm.*

Hildegarde has the advantage of having fought Calen before and witness how almost every strike of his was a feint of some kind. Indeed, if he had struck solely at the centre of her chest she would have been surprised. As Calen charged forward, the knight simply stepped to the side and slapped the shaft of the halberd against his back to set him off balance. With both hands now upon the halberd, the Silver levelled the spear-point tip of the weapon at Calen: intent on jerking the weapon forward should he move.

Dyzz would answer Beldur with a grin. "Is trolls blood, in Dyzz. Heal good." As it always had. Her eyes would be on Hildegarde, as the next fight started.

Calen did seem to be doing the same things he'd done in the last fight, even if that was on purpose this time. While the halberd found its mark, sending him staggering, the guard was already preparing a fresh counter while being forced toward Hildegarde through her efforts. The dagger kept hidden before is then wielded in a moment, thrown as a distraction. During the very brief window presented, he now abandoned the primary weapon held, reaching for the halberd so that he'd, however briefly, prevent the Captain from using the weapon she wielded so expertly.

Hildegarde’s body twisted ever so slightly in an effort to avoid the knife being flung at her, though she wasn’t fussed if the weapon struck or skimmed against her heavy plated mithril armour. As Calen grasped onto her halberd, however, she offers him a facial expression that can only be read as a ‘really?’ With a vicious snarl, the woman jerks her arms up but not so powerfully as to rip the weapon out of Calen’s reach, her jerk is to force Calen’s arms up as she then relinquishes the weapon and flingers her gauntleted fist towards Calen’s face. The knight, however, would not end her assault there as she kicked her booted foot out at the square of his gut.

Calen definitely did not just do that haphazardly, for he'd considered the repercussions of preventing Hildegarde from using the halberd. Such a consideration ensured he was braced for the close quarters strikes that came, ensuring his grip remained upon the spear-tipped weapon for the time being. Even prepared as he as, there was pain shown due to being struck twice in quick succession, breath he didn't need exhaled even with the buffering of his armour. Doubled over then just for a moment, his mental preparation proved beneficial as the warhammer was retrieved as well, the pair of weapons crossed in front of him to serve as a shield.. all while his right eye was left swelled shut from the force of that strike.

Hildegarde could not see any real benefit to holding both weapons, as one was considerably more heavy than the other and would require both hands to wield it efficiently. Yet Hilde had the upperhand, though Calen would not think it. Bringing her fist sharply to her chest, the knight activated the charm concealed in the coat of arms emblazoned upon the exquisite mithril: tugging the halberd towards her and straining against Calen’s grasp. Hilde has withdrawn the short-sword at this point, stepping in close as Calen would have to fight against the magical pull of her halberd; Oathkeeper darting in low to nick against his thigh before the knight sought to strike the lion-head pommel against the side of his head.

Calen hadn't counted on the weight difference until the point that he was actually holding it, which left him struggling to remain standing up given he held it in one hand. That became a moot point anyway, the moment he felt the halberd pulling him close to Hildegarde, surprise and the shortsword ensuring he relinquished the spear-edged weapon to its proper owner. Such a decision wasn't quick enough to prevent his unprotected left leg from being cut into however, ensuring the pommel would also connect while the undead male shifted his weight to alleviate the pain. Once the dizziness wore off, and taking into account the upper hand was Hildegarde's, he now said, "I concede," since all that would happen otherwise would be his body getting more and more damaged if he persisted.

Hildegarde’s hand grasped the halberd once it was relinquished back into her ownership, ceasing her onslaught upon the warrior once he yielded. “You did well,” she said, rolling her shoulders briefly and sheathing Oathkeeper once again before looking over at Beldur. “You like mithril?” she asked, nodding to his shield before twirling the halberd once again and holding it with both hands and taking up a ready stance. “Come forward, Beldur Havenwolf and face Hildegarde the Silver,” she offered him a broad smile; stretching the mottled flesh that scored the right side of her jaw. Calen lowered the warhammer as well at last, so it would be by his bad side as a support. Moving away so he as behind Beldur, "I strove only to prove I have been learning, trying to be a better fighter even if my strength doesn't change," humbly. With this, he'd then observe what was to come, all the better to ensure he could use the knowledge in his training.

Beldur shrugs his shoulders as he holds his shield up. His eyes watching Hildegarde as he prepared himself for her first attack. His feet placed in a basic, but powerful stance. His sword resting on the top of the shield pointed towards her in preperation as he moved forwards.

Hildegarde watched his approach with interest, it was an approach she approved of. “Father teach you that?” she asked him, though she didn’t particularly expect any sort of answer. His approach was a steady one and his defensive seemed quite solid, his shield concealed the majority of his body and she could attempt to swipe for his legs but he had already seen that. He had all this time to watch her and prepare for what she might do, so it was best to surprise this final opponent. Drawing in breath, the knight exhaled a powerful gust of concentrated frost and ice along the floor of his intended approach; right up to the toe of his boots. Certainly, he’d slip if he tread any further, but the knight wouldn’t stop there. With a jerk forward, the knight casts herself to the floor to slide along the path of ice she had just created: halberd held steadily until she reached her target, when she would swish it swiftly from side to side to knock him off balance and out of her way. Back on dry and non-slippery ground, the Silver would hop to her feet and point the spear tip point of the weapon in Beldur’s direction.

Beldur feels the cold air as he marched forwards. He stops and slams his shield down, but he wasn't fast enough to defend his leg as she surprised him with her slide. His plated boot didn't come up completely as the shaft nails the side of his knee. His surpise was greater than his pain as he falls. He pushes himself forwards as his counter attack tried to push his sword towards Hildegarde's shoulder. Aiming for the empty spots on her armor.

Hildegarde’s armour was exquisitely forged, with mithril pauldrons covered by the long coat she chose to wear in memory of her former liege lord. As the sword attempts to push towards her shoulder, the tip of her halberd is used to slap away the blade before the polearm is swished quickly towards his hip: axe-head intending to slice into his armour and touch his flesh or to at least scare him into submission.

Beldur growls as he saw that he missed his target. Her axe-head would bite through his armor. Just barely biting into his skin as falls to his side. His sword coming around to try and cut the axe-head off of her weapon.

Hildegarde’s halberd is forged from only the finest mithril. She was a well-supplied knight, after all. As Beldur focused on only trying to remove the axe-head of her weapon, the knight tugged on the weapon to pull him forcefully towards her; short-sword withdrawn and levelled at his inner thigh. “A cut here will make a man bleed to death,” she warned, “and a cut higher might make a man die in other ways.”

Beldur growls in pain as he was lifted. His sword seeming to have fallen from his grasp. His shield swings over to her head as his other hand tries to grab her helm. "And my father taught me that death, isn't the end, just a start of another path we must take."

Hildegarde is, admittedly, impressed by the lad’s tenacity! As the shield swung, the woman relinquished the halberd and rolled backwards to avoid the swing of the shield. Once again she thumped her fist against her chest to magically draw the halberd and warrior in turn towards her. “I’m already starting to like your father!” she replied with a broad grin. Yet rather than remain in the path of the oncoming halberd and warrior, the knight stepped around until she was at the head of the boy: booted foot falling down against his shield baring wrist as the tip of her short-sword pressed against the wrist of his free hand. “Do you yield?”

Beldur with Hildegarde's boot kicking his shield, he falls from her halbert. Grunting in pain as he pulls his knife. Feeling dizzy with the loss of blood as he pants. "If it didn't see stars, I wouldn't."

Hildegarde chortled at that remark, “You’re brave, but if you pull that knife on me, I’ll strike you and you’ll only see darkness. You might not wake up for a while,” she warned, taking a step back to relinquish him from her hold. “We’ll fetch a healer for you.”

Calen reacted again after the fight between Hildegarde and Beldur had ended, this time moving toward the other man. All that's said now is, "I can assist him in reaching the healer, Captain," offering nothing regarding the things he'd seen and heard.

Beldur growls as he holds the injury. He watches the others as he tries to keep from passing out.

Hildegarde shook her head at Calen, as a shaman of the Academy came thumping down the stairs. The shaman shoots a glance at the Steward, before attending to the obviously injured Beldur. “The Academy is fully equipped, as you can see,” she said calmly to Calen and Beldur alike.

Calen stepped back promptly then, nodding and saying, "As you wish," to Hildegarde. He would then, after requesting permission to depart, wait and make sure that if needed the required payment was turned over.

Beldur raises his arm as he lets the shaman work. His head watching the ceiling as he sighs. "I know I'm being healed but I'm going to be sore for a while, aren't I?"

Hildegarde laughed softly at his question, nodding her head in the affirmative. “You will be, yes,” she wouldn’t lie to him, “but that’s the life of any warrior or knight. Didn’t you get a good look at my face?” she said with evident amusement, “Prettiest knight in the realm.”

Beldur rolls his eyes as he sighs. "My line is that of knight errants. So I know what it involves. Don't have to like it though."

Hildegarde nodded in agreement, “Just because your line is full of knight errants does not mean you need also be the same, unless it is what you truly want,” she said a little more softly. “Frostmaw has made many a warrior; given them glory, fame, titles and the honour they crave. But it has broken many a man, too.” To Calen she speaks now, “Resume your patrol, Calen. I want a report, though, if anything of interest has cropped up.” With him now formally dismissed, the woman returned her attention to Beldur and the shaman who carefully worked to patch up his wound.

Calen answered Hildegarde by saying to her, "It will be done, if there has been any change." After that promise, he did turn and depart to the east, preparing to take the wyvern on account of his still healing leg preventing running.

Beldur nods as he sighs. The young knight pulling off his damaged armor with the shaman's aid. Tossing the coinbag to Hildegarde, he smiles as he nods. "Aye, I couldn't care less for fame, glory or titles. Honour and becoming a full knight is what I desire. To do that, I need to become stronger."

Hildegarde offered a little chuckle at that remark, “You need training,” she said. “I am a knight of Frostmaw. Captain of the Queensguard and Steward of Frostmaw,” she didn’t like to brag, “and I worked hard for those ranks and titles. If a knighthood is what you seek, Frostmaw could be where you earn it. I always welcome those willing to work.”

Beldur leans up with the shaman griping in his ear. Laying back down, the shaman gripes to herself as she finished her work.