RP:Through The Fire and The Flames

Part of the The White Hunt Arc

Summary: Orikahn is hunting in the woods of Frostmaw near the Old Camp that serves as the enclave for the refugee wood elves when he spies a strange and mysterious inferno. Aira and Krystan join Orikahn in his efforts to quell the flames, until confronted by hellhounds and a mysterious figure proclaiming that the "Winter Queen" had come to claim them all. Hildegarde, having been informed of the fire, rides out to the forest on the back of a dire reindeer and assists the trio in quelling the battle and rescuing whoever might still be alive.

Old Camp

Following a long snowfall, the clouds part and the moon finally shines across a brilliantly whitewashed landscape. The wilderness is wide, gleaming, and beautiful, but not all is well in the west. A billowing column of putrescent green smoke rises up from the northern edge of Frostmaw's woods, lit from below. There, out in the wilds, a forest fire is raging, and it has already begun to spread.

Orikahn is bounding through the woods, dressed in warm skins and carrying a bow and quiver at his back. The mighty feline gallops on all fours, leaping as best he can through the fresh snowfall, trying to maintain speed in the knee-high accumulation. A few sparse birds are flying away from the yet distant flames, but little other wildlife (or signs of wildlife) are anywhere to be seen. Kahn is panting, occasionally wincing, and he doesn't seem to be running at his usual speed either. Up ahead, as he draws near to the old camp, the light of the fire shines clearly through the trees, and the column of smoke begins to blot out the moonlight. Just beyond the next line of trees, he can see the flames, and he backpedals, not quite yet ready to throw himself into the spreading, tumultuous inferno.

As usual, Aira found herself perched in a tree out west in Frostmaw somewhere, working on hunting some game for the tavern. She had gotten up early, however, and she found herself snoozing. She smelt it before she heard or saw it, the smell of burning wood assaulting her senses and pulling her from the darkness of slumber. Copper eyes flew open and she stood on her branch, beginning to leap from tree to tree to try and get a better look. Platinum blonde locks whipped against her face as she reached a thinning in the treeline and saw the great fire that was spreading rather rapidly. This sent the runaway in motion, immediately dropping down from her perch and sprinting in the direction of the flames. She had discarded her game bag as she ran, throwing her blackwood bow over her body to sit with the quiver of arrows at her back which rattled with each stride she took. Thankfully, her long legs only propelled her faster and she found herself coming into an old camping area, sliding to a halt and sending snow flying as she saw the silhouette of the Prime Hunter before her. Her metallic gaze narrowed--he had slipped past her in the fort--and her hand twitched at the thought of shooting him with an arrow like she had promised. Luckily for Kahn, the fire took precedence at the moment and she quickly moved to his side, giving him the once of as if assessing his injuries.

Krystan is traveling with a small group of eleven refugees that were working on preparations for the trek back to Sage when the smoke came into view. At first almost all of the five people travelers seem bewildered by such a sight. It's not often fire rages so freely in the land of ice, but it only takes a few moments for the sellsword to understand the dire situation unfolding before him. It seems that yet again he is to be pulled into the thick of things as all within the group break out into a dead sprint to cover the ground needed to get them all to the old camp that many wood elves have made into a home. The thin frigid air of this mountain kingdom makes the man's lungs feel as if they were about to freeze inside his chest, but he pushes through anyways. This climate will take some getting used to, but for now he has bigger issues. So as his group reaches the camp, the sellsword's eyes fall upon Orikahn. Seeing the urgency in which the hunter he has heard of moves, the assassin knows the events unfolding are pressing indeed. So, as the elves he travels with go off to ensure their people are ok, Krystan makes his way over to the feline and says. "What can I do to help?"The powerful scent of burning wood grows stronger as the flames rises in the distance. Time is of the essence.

Keelim is walking through the frozen woodland, feeling overwhelmed by the vast trees and cold weather that dulled her senses. Snow coats the foxkin's fur in a white powder that leaves her shivering unhappily. The young girl had been searching for some food only to find herself lost in the forest once more, much to her distress. Weaving in and out of trees, Keelim picks up the scent of someone familiar but cannot quite determine who the person might be. Nonetheless, the fox trudges on in hope of some food and warmth. Minutes passed before the foxkin came to a patch in the forest where there was little snow and too much unnatural heat. Pricking up her ears and straining her silver eyes, she peers through some trees only to be alarmed by the sight of a strong fire burning dangerously close and spreading fast. Nearby, the foxkin notices some figures standing near the flames however the smoke disfigures Keelim's vision and leaves her unable to identify them. She crouches low and takes a few paces towards the small group; keeping a wary eye on the flames that coated the trees in a fierce amber blaze.

Orikahn is well clad, covered in furs and skins that aren't his own, and his injuries are hidden from sight. Wasting no time, he points up at the fire, and one can quickly see it is of no ordinary flame. It burns an emerald, eldritch green, twisting the boughs it touches. Instead of raining embers and ashes around them, rivulets and globs of inky black goo drip away from the burning branches, splattering down and staining the white snows beneath. The elven refugee camp itself is destroyed, a burning shambles consumed in the horrid flames, and much of it has been drug to the center (along with several uprooted trees) to make a towering bonfire. Some of the elves have fled; some weren't so lucky... "Bad juju!" The Prime hunter looks urgently to Aira, then to Krystan and his elves, "we have to-" Kahn's assessment couldn't be more correct, for he is cut off by a pouncing hellhound. The fell beast streaks in like a burning meteor, complete with blackened leathery skin, fiery breath, eyes like coals, and the smell of brimstone; it tackles Kahn from the side with a burst of sparks, knocking the cat spinning and yowling through the snow. Half a dozen more follow, bounding through the woods with gouts of fire and smoke trailing from their mouths, and behind them, spurning the pack onward, is a spectral rider. This phantom horseman wears a ragged cloak, and his eyes glow a brilliant green, bright enough to hide the rest of his face. On his body, he wears robes of lavish black and silver embroidery bedecked with diamonds and sapphires. His mount is a frostmare, withered and corrupted by evil magics, a prancing mummy illuminated from within by pulsing, azure beams. The rider carries a wreath of briars, and it burns with the same eldritch fire that clings to the trees. Powerful, invisible evils course through him, and to even look at the rider is enough to nauseate any kind, purehearted soul. With a wave of his arms, he directs the hounds, and though the language of his raspy tongue is long lost to time, it isn't difficult to guess his cruel command. "Kill!"

Aira grimaced as she followed Orikahn's pointed finger, confirming the worst that the fire was not natural but rather some dark magic, as the green flames lick high and dangerous, the black ooze staining the white ground--bad juju indeed. Aira turned to face the hunter as he went to address her but as the hell hound collided with Kahn, so does the feline collide with Aira. The high elf is thrown to the snow and rolled a few times before coming to a stop. A moment is taken to assess her weapon which seems to be fine and she is then crawling towards the hunter. "You okay, Kitty?" She asked quickly before several more creatures stalk after the first. As the spectral horseman appeared, Aira's almond shaped eyes widen to saucers. She stood immediately, pulling her bow from her body and reaching back to grab an arrow and knocking it into place. She would remain next to Kahn until he could rise. As the evil entity instructs his beasts, another immediately comes charging in the direction of the hunting pair and Aira opened fire, sending arrow after arrow at the hell hound, not even able to glance at how the others fared.

Krystan was in close enough proximity of the feline to clearly see the hellish beast that collides with him with such force it topples Frostmaw's prime hunter right into another elf. It is within these moments, when all hell breaks loose, that the sellsword erupts into action. His entire life has been about one thing, survival. And it seems that the rumors about this frozen kingdom are true, death lurks about every corner. And so as the new threat appears from the epicentre of the devilish flames, the former assassin goes into a defensive stance and prepares himself for the upcoming battle. Without hesitation he watches as the wraithen rider orders the hounds to attack, and in those moments Krystan brings forth an enchanted bola from his belt and with a few twirls of the weighted sphere on one end, he sends it forth to wrap about another fast approaching hound that is trying to flank the elf who stands guard over the feline. The chain wraps about the hellhounds front legs and muscular chest, the enchantment placed upon the spheres activated once the chain tightens about the beast. An incredible weight is suddenly added to each of those metallic spheres,causing each to weight more than enough to stop the advance of the hound and ensure it stays down. With a trust in his equipment and abilities, Krystan now turns to face the oncoming assault of another hellbeast as it burls towards him with supernatural malice fueling its muscular frame. But while the assassin is quick, the hellhound seems to be the quicker, as Krys seems unable to bring up a proper defense in time as the hound lunges forth to sink its elongated fangs into its next meal. But just as it nears the man a black mass tackles it midair. The large black wolf that was gifted to him by the witch, Lanara, enters the fray now, clamping down with its own powerful jaw upon the back of the hellhounds neck as it takes it to the ground. A vicious and feral battle begins between the two beasts, giving the assassin just enough time to draw forth his blades and ready himself as yet another hound makes its way towards him. In the distance the four elves whom he was traveling with earlier seem to have met with some of the infernal beasts as well. A battle has erupted within the remnants of this old camp that once served as refuge for the wood elves. In the distance, surrounded by those green flames, the wraithen rider watches as they all fight for their lives. Whatever malice drives such a creature cannot be allowed to reach Frostmaw, where Linn is already in terrible condition and even the Steward was worse for ware. But most of all Lanara was in the city. And Krystan would not allow this Hell to ever reach her. And so the killer returns, a warrior fueled by the desire to survive. His blades become a whirling storm of death as he reacts on pure instinct to drive his experienced hands. The hellhounds comes, animal instinct driving it forth to try and bullrush it's prey. The assassin waits, baiting it in before pivoting the last second as the beast lunges. Twisting his body around the assassin drives his sword into the beast's spine, using its own momentum to cause his blade to split the creature upon. The hound falls, but more come. This battle was only beginning.

Keelim hears the start of a battle up ahead and pricks her ears up whilst staring into the gathering mist. She sees figures colliding and clashing with one another, sometimes the silhouettes seem to blend into each other and create a strange beast with many tangled limbs. The fox keeps low to the ground and stalks forwards; closer to the battle with careful footsteps, wary of making a single noise in fear of being discovered. The loud cries and clash of bodies combined with the thickening fog should hide her presence although if anyone did notice her, she did not know. Now only a few feet away from the edge of the scene, Keelim narrows her eyes as she tries to make sense of the confusion. The fox spots Aira amongst the group and immediately her tail starts to twitch in agitation, concerned for her friend's welfare. The others, she does not recognise and does not know which side each is fighting on, only that it is an extremely intense battle that could be suicide to engage in without any preparation of some kind which the fox does not have. Whilst the battle rages on, the flames creep closer; turning the surrounding trees to twisted, blackened shapes in the sky. Where the flames touched, the earth in the vicinity turned dark and shrouded in shadows despite the open air, and smell of something rotting and acidic filled the area like a disease.

Orikahn kicks the hound off of him, returning the blow and sending the twisted beast yelping and twisting through an aerial arc, and he rolls over in time to meet Aira's eyes. "Don't 'kitty' me," the cat answers back, his own eyes widening in astonishment at the sight of the specter and his terrible pack, "just shoot!" Orikahn can't say much more, for the hound that had pounced him is coming back in for more, and the cat only has time to hook his claws into it's face, and with a flurry of fangs, the two are drawn into savage groundfighting, twisting around each other in a writhing tempest of snow, fur, and sparks. Whether or not the elf needed Kahn's prompting, she shoot indeed, and many of her whistling arrows find their mark, imbedding deep within the hellhound's flesh, giving it bristly appearance by the time it's drawn near enough to pounce. The fell dog leaps for the high elf, jaw open and blazing, intent on tearing out Aira's throat throat if it can. Another hellhound, apparently undaunted by Krystan's prowess, stalks in to catiously circle the blade-bearing assassin, growling and snarling, snorting smoke rings as it gauges and measures him, inviting him to single combat. Meanwhile, the rider's mount rears, kicking its front hooves high in the air, and the rider waves his burning wreath like a fan to stoke the forests flames. "Burn," he calls in common tongue, and the fire booms behind him, roaring through the trees like a furnace blast. Many of the elves still trapped in the camp get caught in the whipping, blazing wind and are knocked to the ground, their hair and clothes singed and sizzling as they are knocked into the snow. Kahn hears the specter's cry, and has only enough time to tuck his head close against the thrashing hellhound's chest, letting his foe's body shield him against the blast. By the time the wind passes, many of his fur garments are singed down to the leather. The hellhounds, of course, are all unharmed, and only seem invigorated in the wake of the fiery surge.

Krystan does not have the time to see how the others are doing, as the newest of the hellbeasts is already upon him. The pair circle about one another and the snarls, yelps and sounds of the battling wolf and hellhound close by drown out everything else for now. His animal companion seems to be able to hold its own, and given that the elf has felled another of the beasts with her bow, and Krys himself killed one, it seems the pack is now taking on a more intellectual approach to their attacks. These creatures are not as simple minded as they seemed earlier. Claws come in with vicious swipes, met by parries with his sword and slashes with his dagger. The hound is physically stronger, but the assassin is just fast enough for it to even out. The sellsword keeps his breathing steady, which is harder than usual due to his own recent venture into Frostmaw. The air is thinner, and the climate is harsh. It normally would take a few days to fully acclimate to the environment, but he doesn’t have that luxury. The hound comes back in again, and given his own current situation Krystan knows he has to be the one to press the assault. So he feints, and baits in the eager hound, leaving and opening the blood lusted beast couldn’t resist. Once it swipes in with a powerful slash yet again in an attempt to cleave flesh from bone, the assassin uses his superior reflexes and dexterity to drives his sword through the extended claw and pin in to the frozen ground, while quickly following up by thrusting his dagger with his left hand into the throat of the hound as it lunges forth with its powerful jaws. In the end the reach difference is what wins the assassin the day, though his victory is short lived, for the flames erupt by command of the wraithen rider, seeking to devour everything in its destructive path. With little time to escape, he too uses the body of the hound as a shield. But where he thinks he has been clever, he has set himself into a precarious situation. The flames do not harm the hounds, whom are aligned with such an element anyway, but they also revitalize and rejuvenate the ones left alive. Which includes the one that was dying, yet still clinged to life. The creatures thrashes out now as the flames rush past in a fiery explosion of force. And as they pass, the hound uses its newfound position atop the assassin to unleash another furious assault upon him. Krystan now fights for his life, his sword used to keep the beast at bay while he struggles to dodge its claws and powerful bites. The fate of the black wolf is unknown for now, as currently Krystan’s undivided attention is upon staying alive.

Orikahn roars in pain and fury as the hellhound he's been wrestling bites through his hood and connects with Orikahn's head beneath. Blood pours freely down his face and the thick, poofy fur of his hood begins catching fire. His reaction is instant. Hooking his claws into the hound's back, he kicks rapidly and repeatedly at the dog's belly until his claws have torn through his own boot's and into the hellhound, raking the beast open and scattering its steaming entrails across the snow. Once the hound has gone limp atop him, Kahn kicks it away and hurriedly rips his burning hood away, tearing it noisily off his vest and throwing it into the snow. His bite bleeds copiously, as head wounds tend to do, and he squints one eye shut against the bloodflow. The fire's expanding, and he must backpedal to get away from the spreading heat; it's a moment he uses to draw and knock his bow. Only then does he come across Keelim, nearly tripping over her, and in his shock, he rounds on the foxkin, sighting an arrow down at her. She doesn't *look* like one of the minions of darkness. "What's happening?" He demands of her, somehow expecting the onlooker to know, and rather than shoot her, he kneel's beside her, taking advantage of whatever little cover she's found to rest his arm, steady his aim, and fire an arrow straight into the rider's mount, piercing the center of its forehead. The undead mare rears, shudders, and begins crumbling beneath its master, falling to power. The rider leaps off to hover at roughly the same height as before, and raises its arms to announce in a shrill, commanding voice, "the Winter Queen has claimed you all!" Around them, the fires rage, spreading further and further.

Aira kept her barrage of arrows up, shooting at the hellish creature as it approached. The elf back pedaled as the hound drew closer but in the brief moment it took for her to reach back for another arrow to knock, the beast lunged, jaws wide intent on latching onto her throat. Caught off guard, the elf goes down, pinned to the hard earth by the massive paws. The runaway shoved her bow in the hellhound's mouth, pushing back with all her might as her legs kick out the best she can. She knew the bow would not be able to withstand much longer as a combination of the flames and strength would cause it to splinter and break, but for now it was the only option Aira had. From her position she could not see the fate of the others but she did manage to hear the yell from the evil entity, the call to burn. Using all her strength to keep the animal from ripping out her throat, all the high elf can do is shut her eyes and hope she doesn't get burned alive. When the boom of the surging fire passed, Aira is left with singed furs and blonde locks, but wholly uneffected. That is until a loud crack signals her bow breaking. To her credit, the hunter had the good sense to thrust the beast's head away as she let go of her martyred weapon, turning her head away as the hellhound's jaw connected with her shoulder as opposed to her neck. Warm, sticky blood immediately began to flow from the wound and a shrill scream escaped Aira's lips, a uncommon sound for the high elf. Somehow, despite the blinding pain, she wiggled her leg, managing to tent it enough so her uninjured hand could disappear down her boot. As soon as slender fingers connected with a hilt, the elf drew a dagger from her footwear and aimed it towards the hound, piercing it's own neck and forcing it to relinquish it's grip on her. Aira kicked and pushed with all the strength she had and managed to maneuver the beast enough to roll from underneath her attacker. She was covered in blood, her own commingled with the hellhound's. Despite her precarious position, Aira simply lay in the crimson stained snow, copper eyes lifted towards the heaves which were tainted with smoke and flickers of green flame. Somewhere she heard the call of a Winter Queen, forcing herself up on her elbow, and realizing, a little too late, she was rather close to the rider who seemed to have dismounted his corrupted steed.

Krystan is so enveloped by his own struggle that any proclamation about a Winter Queen is lost in the snarling and snapping of the hellhound. The man is on the brink of physical exhaustion, even in his peak conditioning, the weight of the beast and the constant fight to keep it from sinking its teeth into him has gone on far longer that the assassin would prefer. But in the final crucial moments, with the flames having rushed past, is the assassin saved yet again by the large black wolf. With a predatory cunning and a savage brutality that only apex hunters can truly ever grasp does the wolf clamp down upon the hellhound’s exposed neck, and with a savage twist snap. There is a wild look in the creature’s eyes, but recognition of the sellsword it has been bound to sets in and the wolf calms itself. Its fur is singed, wounds litter its body and it limps now very noticeably, but it has won the day. But with threats still about, all Krys can do is offer it a quick pet and a nod, before he too has to rise, wounded and bloody, to enter the fray once again. He has no bow, but he has a few ranged tricks, and for now he wishes to avoid melee combat with the hounds. The nearest one finds itself the target of a wicked dart, sent forth when the assassin flicks his left wrist to activate the crossbow-like mechanism strapped there. The dart finds an eye, and buries a poisoned dart deep into its skull. Krystan will never know if that was a killing blow, or the potent poison of the taipan snake took hold that much quicker when exposed so close to the brain. Either way, weary from combat, Krystan rallies by the other two, the feline and the elf, and he takes on a defensive posture as the wraithen rider makes his approach. With his strength slowly waning, his breath coming in heavy heaves and his own supplies running low, the assassin clenches his jaw and spit a thick glob of bloody saliva upon the snow. “I ain’t done yet.” And with sheer refusal to allow himself to accept defeat, the sellsword readies himself to continue on with the fight, the only thing on his mind being Linn laid up, needing a healer, and Lanara, his beloved. If this was to be the assassin’s day to meet his end, he’d drag this wraithen rider back into the pit of hell that surely awaits his own arrival without a moment’s hesitation. He calls back to the elf and feline. “I’ve enough in me to buy you time, the city needs to be warned. Go now, I’ll hold him off.”

Orikahn can get nothing useful out of the foxkin who, for the moment, seems paralyzed by fear. He knocks another arrow and joins in trying to neutralize the last of the hounds. As Aira had already discovered, the beasts seem fairly resilient to arrow blows, and after several shots imbed themselves ineffectually into the wretched beasts, Kahn sheathes his bow with a roar of frustration that echoes through the burning wood around them. "Enough!" Apparently the cat has had it, and he draws his flint dagger (more like a shortsword in anyone's but the cat's enormous hands) and dives back toward the fray. As Aira and Krystan claim their own kills, by dagger, dart and wolf, only a single arrow-laden hellhound remains, and it hurries back to the feet of its master, snarling and pawing at the snow. Krystan's words reach the cat, and he rebuts. "I'm not leaving this abomination alive, or undead, or whatever it is!" He draws his dager and points it at the approaching wraith, and with that, he takes a running leap, bounding past Aira, vaulting high in the air and raising his dagger, silhouetted as he leaps before the raging flames and the specter's brilliant form. The specter answers with a wave of his wreath, and Kahn seems to hang suspended in midair a moment before his dagger shatters into fragments, and his empty fists come down to strike the wraith in the chest instead. It glides backward laughing. "Fool puppet!" The specter chides the feline. "Run, run!"

Upon hearing the approach of Krystan and his valiant call of self sacrifice, Aira groaned as she sat up more completely. "Don't be foolish!" She called out, wiping her face with her palm only to smear the blood further. Metallic eyes narrowed as she made to get up but froze when Kahn came bounding past her, taking a great leap towards the figure. Aira used that moment as a distraction to the figure and propelled herself to stand, quickly weaving her way through the flames and debris of dead hellhounds in an attempt to get behind the creator of chaos. Just as she curved to move behind him, Kahn is frozen in his suspension, his own blade reduced to shattered pieces. Aira's mouth fell slightly open as she doubled up her own grip on the dagger at her side, her other arm laying limp against her ribs. As Kahn fell and his fists made contact with the assailant's chest and the specter simply glided backwards, Aira found herself taking several hasty steps backwards to avoid a collision of her own. She inclined her chin towards the other two in her party, silently asking what they should do.

Krystan hears him being called foolish moments before the feline leaps towards the undead to have his weapon shattered and his blow do little to no damage when it does land. The foe is beyond them, and with its power as tremendous as it is, and the benefits of undead making sure it never tires or feels no pain, the trio face a losing battle. They may have too much pride to admit it, but there is not victory to be had in their deaths here. No warning would come, only suspicion when they do not return. But in a land where death awaits around every corner, when would people learn the truth of their deaths? There that word is again, like he is considering it being an option. Shaking his head the assassin goes to pulling out one of his last tricks. From his side he pulls two knives that have a strange item attached to their hilts. In another hand he pulls out a smoke pellet, and launches it at the undead to conceal their movements. Rushing forward as the smoke billows up, Krystan says to Kahn. “Don’t be a fool.” Before shooting Aira the same look. With that he launches the throwing knives into the smoke cloud, only to hear the undead’s cackling laughter. “You’re blades will do nothing to me.” But in the moments before Krys threw them, he lit a fuse on each with some of the green flames that still burn on the corpse of a hellhound. Pushing the large feline back, two small explosions occur one after another. Black powder bombs. Small, meant more for sabotage than killing, but they will by time. Time enough for the sellsword to draw forth a small onyx figurine and say the words that summon forth the nightmare. A large horse from the abyss. The creature is large enough for all three to fit on, though it will be uncomfortable. But comfort is the farthest thing from Krystan’s mind. “The beast will outrun him, and get us back. Hurry, we –must- warn Frostmaw and the others, before this spreads any further!” He knew his words made sense, and truth be told, if they chose to stay and die, he’d let them. Lanara and Linn were his only ties to the Frozen Kingdom. Not these people. But he tries to get reason to sink in. “We cannot defeat it, and our deaths serve no purpose but this wicked things enjoyment! Come!” And with that the assassin leaps atop his hellish steed, and offers a hand to anyone of them who is willing to climb up. The smoke billows still, but begins to fade. And from within signs that the wraithen rider still stands can be seen. Showing even the explosions had little to no effect. Evidence still, that Krystan’s words are true. They need to flee, and while they can.

Hildegarde had been roused from her bed by panicked voices, some sort of mysterious and unnatural fire had been spotted out in the west. The west… but hadn’t the Prime Hunter himself said he was going out west this very day? What sort of ruler would Hildegarde be if she left her man alone to deal with whatever might well be going on out there? The woman had near enough flung herself from her bed – which she hadn’t even been long settled into! – and donned her armour, “A steed, now!” she roared from behind her chamber door as she buckled herself in place and buckled her sword-belt before grasping her halberd. The knight was out the door, her pace set to a brisk jog as she entered the courtyard and found her steed waiting. The dire reindeer: it could traverse the snow and ice more capably than any horse would do, it could bear her weight with ease and those antlers could certainly be useful in a tight situation. “Hyah!” the knight exclaimed, as soon as she was on the reindeer’s back; knees nudging his sides to urge him forward. Hooves galloping hard, the knight rode like the wind. Hi ho, Silver, away! Entering the scene, she does not waste her time in dismounting from the reindeer: she can spot a hellhound, a wraithen figure and familiar faces. Krystan she had only met once before in the tavern; Aira she had met in Orikahn’s place of rest… and the big cat himself: a man who was in her service. With the reindeer wheeling into the scene, the spear point of Hildegarde’s halberd is aimed low and with intent; the yelp of the hellish hound permeating the air as the metal cleanly pierces its torso and the knight flicks the weapon as if to cast the corpse aside. Wheeling around on the reindeer again – like those gallant knights so skilfully do – the Silver comes to stare at Orikahn and the Wraithen Rider. “Frostmaw!” she roared, nudging the sides of the reindeer again to urge him forward. If Kahn did not leap aside, he would find himself right in her path.

Orikahn lands at the injured hellhound's feet. It snarls. Kahn knows he only has a few seconds to size up his opponent and find a way to make the *right* first move. Steeling his nerves, the bloodied cat rears back taking in a deep breath for a roar, but instead finds himself releasing it in a gasp of surprised as the hellhound gets skewered and cast away on the end of a spear. He looks up, blinking the blood out of his eyes, almost doubting what he sees. "Hildegard!" The cat names the new arrival. "No time. Bad juju, look!" Krystan's hand is outstretched, but Orikahn shakes his head vehemently, even over the sound of the specter's laughing. He looks to Aira and pulls his bow off his back, throwing it to her. "The Silver!" The wraith's shrill, empty voice sounds, recognizing Frostmaw's steward, and it raises both hands high in the air, and with him, so too raise the fires, flashing brightly and sending a fresh wave of heat down around those gathered. It is intense, and without the benefit of the snow beneath them, it could quickly prove unbearable. "You should not have come!"

Aira quickly made her way back towards the group at large, mouth hidden in the crook of her arm to shield her breath from the smoke that Krystan conjured. As he called for Kahn and Aira to join him she frowned--they couldn't just -leave- like this! The elf turned her head about, metallic eyes flickering around the surrounding area as if an idea would just jump out and present itself. It was Kahn's booming voice that brought her attention back to the scene and Aira's pupils flared upon seeing the Silver, upon the back of a curious creature. The elf swiped at her blood covered face once more and extended her arms to catch the hunter's bow in her outstretched hands as it arched in her direction. She was not as precise with his bow, but she was more comfortable with it than a dagger. Stowing her blade within in boot once more, Aira choked down a scream of pain as she reached back to grasp an arrow from her quiver and knock it into place. She would sight the specter down the shaft of her arrow as Hildegarde shouted for her city and charged the undead being.

Krystan is at a loss for words as Hildegarde, Steward of Frostmaw, arrives atop one of the strangest beasts he has ever seen. But, is it too little too late? No matter their intentions, the trio are banged up. Bloodied and beaten, Kahn alone was nearly weaponless. The elf's bow had broken and now she uses someone elses. And Krystan has nearly exhausted every trick he could, only to have the undead monster rise from the smoke with a devilish grin like the explosions themselves did little else but to tickle him, even though such is impossible. This foe was tremendous, but fear was not something the assassin had in him. Even though he thinks all these people, all of whom he has just recently met, as in today, are all fools, he won't leave them behind. Lanara and Linn, and even the stubborn and hard Talyara. they mean something to him, and so, he won't leave the fate of their home to uncertainty. So, he dismounts the nightmare, and it disappears back into the small onyx figurine before he took, takes up a stance by the others. Hilde charges forth valiantly, like knights of fables. Kahn follows her in, and the elf unleashes a volley from the Master Hunter's powerful bow. And so, the assassin uses what little he has left too, throwing dagger after dagger as he moves about. With Hildegarde acting as a tank, rushing forth, and Kahn being the other warrior in the fray, Krystan takes on a ranged status in unison with Aira, providing as much damage as he can. Every trick he has, ever blade, shuriken and tool of the trade is unleashed in an impressive volley.

Hildegarde ignores the words of the wraithen rider, that she ought not to be there. Why shouldn’t she? This is her city, this is her dominion, where else ought she be? This is where Hildegarde belongs, in the field, defending her people and those who need a helping hand. Or in this instance, a helping halberd. The Silver cannot hear the warning nor the words of the wraithen rider over her roaring ‘Frostmaw!’ and the mighty galloping of her dire reindeer. These three may have been bloodied and beaten, but Hildegarde was most certainly not. With a volley of arrows fired by one woman and a flurry of shurikens and other untold knives, the knight proceeds forward: levelling her halberd so it will point directly ahead; elbow tucking into her body so that her arm will remain steady and strong. She had jousted before, she had unhorsed every competitor who had faced her that day. Jousting was a knightly sport and she was a knightly knight. So with her halberd expertly levelled, the knight’s reindeer speeds past the wraith as the spear tip of her halberd pierces through that wraithen face and pins it to a nearby tree. The wraith could have easily fled, but with Hildegarde’s sudden appearance it had elected not to. Curious, indeed. The knight’s halberd ‘twanged’ as it wiggled in the tree, still shaking from the sheer momentum of the strike and being left abandoned. The woman wheeled the reindeer around and looked between the trio, “Report!” she demanded, needing to know who was injured and how badly. Of course, in her determination to discover who was hurt, the knight failed to notice immediately the weakening of the eerie flames.

Orikahn only has enough time to duck out of the way as arrows, shurikens, and a halberd dash by. The specter is assaulted by all of the aforementioned, and by the time it is pinned to a tree, it is already beginning to crumple in upon itself. Amid its shuddering and shriveling, a faint, gasping message can be heard, a whisper on the wind, undefeated and serene. "The Winter Queen's victory is assured." The spectral body withers away to vapor and dissipates. "Your struggles are in vain." With that, the soft voice fades to nothingness, and it is as though a great weight is lifted from everyone's chest. Kahn takes a deep breath that he didn't even know he was lacking and looks around, blinking in bewilderment and relief, then snapping his hand out just in time to reflexively catch the briar wreath as it falls from its place suspended in midair. The wraith's clothes go slack, too, and hang limply pinned to the tree by arrows. Around them, the fires are dying down, though the rivulets of black goo will continue to drip for some time. "Orikahn, Prime Hunter of Frostmaw, alive and invigorated." He wipes the blood from his eyes on the back of his furry arm. "And overwhelmed."

Aira continued to shoot arrow after arrow at the wraith, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body with each shot she took. She may not have an official home here, but she was a hunter of Frostmaw, a part of Kahn's pack, and would not see it taken over by some hellish creature on a power trip. To some, her actions might seem foolish, but really, what did a runaway high elf from Rynvale have to lose? As Hildegarde drew closer to the specter Aira held her arrows to watch the progression, physically lowering her weapon as the Silver speared him through the face. The elf offered a sideways glance at the others, wondering if they found it as curious that the wraith did not bother to escape Hildegarde's weapon. The whispered warning from the disappearing specter does little more than send an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Her feelings are put on hold, however, as the Steward called for a report, an assessment of injuries. The flesh along Aira's left clavicle was a bloody, mangled mess from the hellhound bite. The fire from his mouth had burned the side of her throat and her left tapered ear. Copper eyes flicker towards the fires which seem to be dying out before turning her attention to Orikahn. Following his statement, the runaway spoke once of her own, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Aira, hunter of Frostmaw, bitten and burned, but alive."

Krystan is not of Frostmaw, or anywhere really. Before he was a killer for a Crime Lord in Cenril, a prized ender of lives, but such was his former life. Lanara changed all of that though. He was here in this kingdom because of Linn, the closest thing he had to a friend, and he was out here because he needed a job, and was offered some gold to help run supplies from the city to the camp. In the past three days, he has fought bandits, been attacked while mining and now was out here in the wilds and nearly killed trying to help people he doesn’t even know, all because he was trying to be a good man. The undead is defeated, but his warning rings like the threats other dead men in Cenril have often uttered in the underworld of the Port City he called home. There was more to it, and this was just a warning. Something was coming, and more than likely it was already here. It felt confident enough to openly send a message, and a brazen one at that, given the death and destruction. Then, after the Steward calls for an accountability, the sellsword watches as those under Frostmaw’s banner answer, and he just keeps to himself. Maybe this was some military thing, so he allows them to go about it. His wounds were not overly fatal, though he was beaten pretty bad, and his supplies were exhausted now. Now that things were settled, for now, he’d wait a moment before heading back. Afterall, he has no place in Frostmaw matters. He was a stranger in all of this, a strange helping others or the second time in two days back to back. Its been a hell of a week.

Hildegarde looks to Krystan from atop her reindeer, “And you? Are you hurt?” she asked of him, swiftly dismounting from her brave steed. “Kahn, we must return to the city at once. I had no idea Aira was a hunter of Frostmaw,” she said, offering the feline an almost pointed look as if to say ‘you didn’t tell me!’ But if she’s annoyed by it, it doesn’t show. Instead, she is quickly urging them to return to the fort. “If we return to the fort, we can make sense of what has just happened. We can eat, rest and recover.”

Orikahn also looks expectantly to Krystan. He had been eager to learn the capable stranger's identity, especially after all the skillful displays, but he's also seen enough to know there are some things that cannot be forced. "Yes, annointed and inducted her myself. I suppose," he looks over to the elf through the gradually clearing smoke, "I'll owe her a substantial paycheck after this, for tonight, and for other work." A nod of acknowledgement is thrown Aira's way before he wipes the blood from his brow again. He studies the wreath in his hand. It's probably the closest thing to a trophy he's going to obtain from the vanished specter. He would have preferred the head. Ah well. "Coming with, stranger?" The cat calls to the assassin. Orikahn himself certainly won't be one to turn down the hospitality of Frostmaw! He has a feeling he will enjoy this recovery a lot more than his last.

Just as the others did, Aira turned her copper eyes on the stranger who had stayed to fight with them and fought valiantly at that, though she would never admit it should he ask. As Hildegarde called to Kahn about not knowing of Aira's status within Frostmaw, she lofted a brow at the feline curiously. Was she not supposed to say anything? When he spoke of her hefty paycheck to come she merely chuckled and shook her head, strands of platinum blonde hair sticking to the blood smeared across her face. A few strides are taken with her long legs to close the gap between her and Kahn. The elf extends the bow back to its owner and nods her thanks. "I guess I not shoot you for leaving fort after all." She grinned then and waited for the others to make the trek back to the fort, more than ready for some food, healing, and rest.

Krystan is addressed first by the Steward, to which he replies. "Krystan, and I'm alright." He wasn't overly, he has taken some blows, and he has several slash marks about him that are barely covered by the burnt remains of his cloak. Blood, most of it not his own, stains his clothes. He looks as bad as it is, but he refuses to show weakness. He too can be stubborn. At the mention of healers and a fort and all of that, he waves his hand. "I need to get back to Lanara. She will tend to my wounds, though the offer is appreciated. If anything, I will go check on the elves, the flames have died but someone should check on them." he looks back to the destruction wrought by the hellish flames, and wonders if those he was traveling with made it through the attack. "You all have important matters to attend to. I'm a survivor, I can check up on things and send word back to whatever fort you need it." He would never say forts and official buildings made him nervous, he was a criminal for the majority of his life, after all.

Hildegarde nodded as Krystan mentioned the familiar name of Lanara. “A good friend of mine. I’m sure she will see to your wounds,” she said with certainty. “The majority of elves have already moved into the cityscape itself, to escape the winter and these increasing animal attacks. What few might have remained out here… Please, go on ahead to the fort and rest a little. I’ll look for survivors then join you.”

Orikahn is without a mount, and he has kicked the toes out of his boots. "We'll go ahead of you," he calls to the steward. Whatever she and Krystan decided to do, he had a good feeling that he and Aira would be enjoying the roaring fires, strong drink, and roasted meats of home before the others. And Orikahn is okay with that. He turns to begin the long trudge home, clutching the profane wreath tightly. The sculls at his hip rattle softly with each step, almost musically, as he moves his way southward.

Aira turned back to both Hildegarde and Krystan, bowing her head slightly, allowing the duo to do what they wished with the elves. She would walk ahead with Kahn, and for the first time in her life, be thankful for the comfort and safety that the fort offered.

Krystan starts to make his way towards the remains of the old camp, hoping to find survivors of the carnage unleashed for some unknown reason. Not because he represents Frostmaw, but because he wishes to help. Its a strange notion in of itself, but he does, and because of that he trudges on, ignoring his own pain to try to help anyone who made it through the assault of that servant of the Winter Queen.