RP:Winter Comes Knocking

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: Frostmaw comes to Larket in order to free the ambassador Hureig. Macon is offended.

Road to the Town Square

Hureig :: The portents began with vagabonds and travelers, with rumors of boots, blades, clogged roadways and justice meted out to any thief who dared to do their dastardly deeds on the long road to Larket. The numbers grew from tavern to tavern: twenty, thirty, a host! A battalion of battled hardened soldiers led by a Silver Giant. Within days, it was the hunters, the foragers, and the fishermen who stocked the local markets: Hundreds of Frostmaw's finest led by Hildegarde, her polearm's head held unwavering and true towards Larket. And it was on this day when the chained Hureig was set to carrying his boulder from one side of the square to the other that the rumors-turned-news were being passed between the guards. Scouts had heard the message and delivered it to their superiors: Hildegarde has come. Frantically they ran from street to street, from alley to alley, from the fort, to the walls, and back again. Messages were passed, and fear was made plain. They prepared their defenses, but the heaving Hureig hurled insults at all those guards who passed, "You wear armor when you should be wearing furs. Winter has come. Winter has come!"

Macon has been kept up to date on this force descending from the mountains ever since it had emerged from the snow. Regular updates of headcount and ETA have reached the former sheriff and so it is to no surprise that he is moving through the town square to meet the large group at Larket’s entrance. The guards overseeing Hureig’s forced labor make way for the small band Macon has brought along with him. He certainly has not brought out the full might of the kingdom’s military at the onset in this greeting party. Three Larketian Guardsmen tail him closely, one at each flank and one about five paces behind the man in full armor with a simple longsword at his hip. Just behind that group is an extremely elderly looking drow, carrying a great axe so large that he does not have the tiniest chance of wielding himself. Instead the decrepit dark elf is using it more as a walking staff than as a threat of violence. Hureig might recognize this drow as the same one accompanying Macon the day of his capture, but for him to have aged so much in such a short time is strange indeed. The Rage Stone itself is present, but hidden from view on the drow’s person. Not in its rightful place inside the socket in the blade of the axe he carries, it still manages to have its furious aura pour out into the square, tugging at the nerves of some of the guards overseeing the giant prisoner. The Death Knight ignores the captive giant’s boasting as he passes him and finally comes to a stop between Hureig and the group from Frostmaw, leaving enough distance for his prisoner to need to shout to be heard by himself or any of Hildegarde’s men.

Hildegarde’s entourage is no army by Frostmawian standards, but to a city of human men and women it certainly held the destructive force of a fully fledged army of men. Hildegarde’s Queensguard and a few additional men and women from other sub-forces within Frostmaw had diligently marched alongside their Queen to Larket with only one mission in mind: to free the ambassador that had been imprisoned. Perhaps it was because she came with a force or perhaps it was simply her way, but the Queen had no fancy regalia or anything of the sort. She was practical in her armour, practical in her adornments of nobility: a simple band of blue iron upon her head. Hildegarde’s Queensguard stood only a short distance behind her, fully armed and armoured from head to toe, only one giant stood out from the rest. Lisbeth stood nearest the Queen, her helm featuring a fancy white plume to denote her status as Captain, along with the banner of Frostmaw that she carried. Hureig’s shouts certainly did unsettle Hildegarde somewhat, for she longed to give him his freedom. But the matter of diplomacy and politics was now firmly in the way. The Queen stood in the town square and glanced around, seemingly unfazed by the gathered Larketian force and the death knight who seemed to head it. “Hail,” she called out to him, singling him out as the man to talk to. The drow was too far back, too hidden away to say he was the right authority for this. But the drow presence is noted nonetheless. “I see you have my man there,” she jerked her chin in the direction of Hureig.

Emrith is likely lost somewhere in the retinue accompanying Hildegarde to Larket. Amid frost giants, a single unimpressive elf is hardly anything to look at, and the spell-blade enhances this impression by keeping his accoutrements simple. He wears leather and ringmail, short swords scabbarded on his back and a cloak draped over his shoulders. When Hildegarde stops in the town square, Emrith is several paces back and to her right. His eyesight is keen, and his body stiffens as he sees the shape of what looks like an elderly drow. He reaches back over his shoulders to make sure his weapons are ready, then waits silently for whatever will transpire.

Hureig was somewhat heartened when he was not the only giant in the Square, and his verbal ribbing of the frightened lowlanders ended abruptly when he heard the Silver's assessment of the situation. His slow trudge from one side of the square to the other also ceased, and the boulder that was perched upon his bent back hit the ground in a thunderous rumble. There was little he could do now to assist the situation; negotiations now were between queens and would-be kings. But the boulder was lighter than the others, and if he put his back into the shot he had no doubt he could send it in a high enough arc to crush the bastardly Macon and that silently smug drow of his. He laughed a little too loud at the thought, his only explanation to any who looked his way was a quick, "The heat."

Macon raises a single gauntleted hand at The Queen of Frostmaw’s greeting. He puts on a cordial smile and calls out to her, “Welcome to Larket, Your Highness. We’ve been expecting you.” He spares a grey eyed glance back towards Hureig who has stopped the rather pointless work he was brought out here to do. There is a guard that looks ready to ‘coax’ the giant back into his labor, but a subtle shake of The Death Knight’s head towards the man sees any prisoner cruelty squashed before it can even begin. Turning back towards Hildegarde and the Frostmawian group the acting head of Larket speaks,“My name is Macon Jauzon and I do indeed have your ‘ambassador’.” He emphasizes that word as if he is giving the dragon a chance to deny that is what this spitting, impulsive, wild giant really is. “You are aware, I assume, of wha’ he has been imprisoned for? The man he freed has committed heinous crimes against our kingdom.” The mute drow behind Macon is certainly getting a lot of looks, but he seems either oblivious to or unconcerned with that fact.

Hildegarde goes along with the formalities. Larket is no friend of hers and Macon is a man she has heard only negative things of. He can call her ‘Highness’ and give her what niceties such afforded her. The Queen even goes so far as to give Macon a civil and polite little smile as he introduces himself after convincing a lackey not to ‘coax’ her ambassador into work. “I have heard rumours and half truths of the matter,” she conceded. “Though I must say that I am alarmed about this entire… fiasco. The great kingdom of Larket has been unable to capture a single supposed criminal? A man who has an alibi, at that, supported not just by the eyes of his lady but by the eyes of many. A man who brought Frostmaw’s trade and thoughts of friendship to Larket,” she reminds him, though her voice has remained conversational the entire time; her hand has even made small gestures from time to time as if she’s simply chatting away! “Hureig is my ambassador. A man who attempted to defend his friend from a misconduct of justice in this crooked kingdom, a man who knows what it is to be held unjustly.” Her tone has shifted ever so slightly, a wintery bite entering her voice. “I come here to welcome the release of Hureig, Macon Jauzon.”

Emrith has been apprised of most of the salient details, but he still feels a bit like a fish out of water in these proceedings. It is usually he who makes speeches, or draws first steel; being in a supporting role, it seems, is one the spell-blade has yet to grow accustomed to. He sidles forward, giving brief nods to the members of the queen's guards as he approaches her. Still remaining behind her - as such is proper, in elven etiquette at least - Emrith wishes to show his support without outwardly proclaiming himself another threat. He might be a courier, a messenger, however he is armed. Once he is close, Emrith leans forward toward the queen's ear, but rather than whisper words, he simply moves his lips as if doing so. The true communication is mind to mind, facilitated by the amulet he has been gifted as a member in good standing of the Knights of the Black Ice. He has no idea if this subterfuge is necessary, but not losing face, in the elf's opinion, takes precedence over haste.

Hureig embodied his entire experience of being jailed when he crossed his slightly smaller arms over his thinner chest. He had been worked hard with little food and even less sleep. His wrists and neck bore the marks of manacles and chains, and his pants, the fabric long since lost any determining features from the sweat, mud, and muck any prisoner would accrue, clung to the shackles still on his ankles. A little worn and even more wearier, he still wore a big, bright smile that was his trademark. "See that woman over there," He said to his nearest guard before hitching his head towards the parlay. "Why don't you go sing her the song you and your friends were singing yesterday. Something about giving a copper and getting a silver?" He laughed another roar of a laugh.

Macon ’s expression goes blank when the dragon questions Larket’s ability to police itself and his lips curl downward into an annoyed frown when she speaks on the great deeds of the fugitive Paladin. “Larket -had- captured that single man and he was set to be tried for the things he has done. If there truly is such evidence of his innocence the trial would have proved tha’. In my experience I have found tha’ guilty men flee.” The Death Knight inhales and exhales in a deep sigh while watching the elf approach the Queen and mouth something or other. The former council member continues, “I have heard some rumors myself… That it was not only Frostmaw’s ambassador involved in the freeing of the criminal, but Its Thane as well… others say tha’ they fled to your kingdom and are being harbored there now… but these are jus’ rumors. Yes? They have no place in a conversation between you an’ I. The facts are as so. This giant…” he points back towards the bellowing Hureig, “... Broke a man awaiting trial out of a Larket prison. Tha’ is a crime agains’ this kingdom whether you believe the Paladin is innocent or not. I can't imagine you’d appreciate something like tha’ happening up on the mountain.” He pauses and lets that sink in before continuing, “Still… I am willing to release him to you. With conditions.”

Hildegarde doesn’t make a move when Emrith approaches and makes his soundless contact, her eye is affixed to Macon and him only. “Oh, those others are more than welcome to come to Frostmaw and take a peek. The City of War has nothing to hide,” and that was true. Hildegarde did not harbour Josleen or Kelovath, she didn’t know where they hid either and that was for the best. No way for them to be caught. “But, if I recall correctly, was not my Thane harassed by a mob of people…?” While she does not say that this is an insult to Frostmaw, it is certainly implied and it would certainly mean that Larket had made the first aggression. ‘With conditions’ oddly earns a smile from the Silver Queen. “Please, do list them.”

Emrith can hardly contain his agitation now. While a pretense of respect is being shown, the frost-giant's condition is such that mistreatment is evident. Elves treat their prisoners with respect, tending to their needs and ensuring only that they cannot escape. Only in rare circumstances would an elf, in Emrith's estimation at least, resort to the abuse of their captives. He stifles his bad feelings, though, in the interest of not drawing too much more attention to himself. He wishes to speak, to call out the injustices he sees, to support the queen of Frostmaw in her play for her prisoner, but so far, the only choice he has is quiet support. Nevertheless, Emrith is readying himself to spring into action if things should turn bloody.

Hureig whistled the tune of the bawdy song to the sweating, quivering guard. They were far enough from the meeting that it would not be too much of a disturbance.

Macon is not aware of Josleen’s run in with the mob calling for Kelovath’s imprisonment and can offer no specific rebuttal to the accusation that his people treated the thane unfairly. He does however offer the wisdom “Larketians have been known to seem quite harsh to those from ‘out of town.’” As for the conditions the death Knight nods and begins to list them, “First upon release he must not return to Larket. Should he set foot in the kingdom again he will be apprehended once more for the crime he has committed. A new ambassador will be welcome, but this is more for his sake than anything else. The people of Larket do not take kindly to someone who freed the man accused of murdering so many of their brothers. Second, I expect Frostmaw’s cooperation in the recapture of the fugitive Kelovath. Any information that can lead to his capture, including his whereabouts must be shared immediately and should he venture into your kingdom he must be apprehended and delivered to me. And finally when the time comes that the Paladin is tried Frostmaw must respect the decision of our court and take no further action to circumvent Larketian justice.” He looks past Hildegarde towards the force she's brought along with her, and projects his voice, “These are my terms. Let it be clear that the release of the giant Hureig is not an exchange between Macon Jason and Hildegarde The Silver, but an act of goodwill between Larket and Frostmaw.”

Hildegarde had lapsed into thoughtful silence as Macon voiced his terms, but it was evident that the terms did not sit well with her or her people. “Do you know much of the history between Larket and Frostmaw, Macon?” she asked politely. “I assume you do not, because this is a history that Larket likes to ignore and forget. But Frostmaw does not forget and will never forget. My ambassador is here in an effort to heal the wounds Larket has caused Frostmaw. My ambassador, my gold, my trade and friendship was brought here because of a *good* man who fought for my city. Your kingdom swore to stand beside Frostmaw in friendship and in arms to fight alongside us many years ago. But Larket never came. Larket was too cowardly to come forth and fight with us!” she told him. “Your Duke Jonn of the Vibrance River, the then Sheriff of Larket, failed us and shamed this kingdom.” ‘Cravens!’ a giant shouts from the back of the guard, voicing Frostmawian opinion of the Larketians. “Goodwill, you say. Goodwill would treat a prisoner like a human, not some piece of chattel. My ambassador is skin and bones. He is wearied, bruised, he has been ill treated. Even us ‘barbarians of the north’ have better equitette,” she near spat the words. “Frostmaw wil not persecute its Thane. Kelovath is a hero to the Frostmawian people. If he sets foot in Frostmaw, you are welcome to come forth and just *try* to fetch him back. Release my man, Macon,” she tells him, her voice icy and commanding. “Goodwill is not something Larket can afford. Not with its miserable record.”

Emrith :: If ever there was a time to show solidarity with the queen of Frostmaw, it is now. Emrith steps forward to stand next to her, and though she overtops him by several inches and cuts a much more impressive figure, there is something implacable and deadly in the elf's demeanour. He speaks no word, but the quiet rasp of steel on leather is all the testimony he need make. Heleg and Nahr, his favoured shortsowrds, come one to each hand as Emrith relaxes into a languid-looking stance. He makes no move to attack, but the threat is clear in his bared blades. One way or another, Hureig is coming back to Frostmaw.

Hureig heard only one thing: release of the giant. He was already waddling in his chains to the line that divided crooked Larket and cold freedom. He was up near the invisible line when Hildegarde's acerbic condemnation of fools and cowards rent the air. He sighed softly; he was so close to the keys Macon had that would undo his restraints and freedom. But there were matters more important than oneself, and Frostmaw's honor was one of those to Giant. The sigh faded into the staccato cracks of vertebrae as he limbered up his neck.

Macon bristles within his armor. The Rage Stone held by the elderly drow behind him reacts to its owner's anger and pours out even more of that furious aura, likely not aiding sentiments inside The Silver’s party which has already started hurling insults into Larket and in at least one case drawn swords. “Listen, you s-...” a young guardsman in Hureig’s detail starts to shout out, but is quickly silenced by The Fury Knight before he can say anything of note, “Enough!” His voice booms, echoes even, through the square. Grey eyes are narrowed on The Queen of Frostmaw now, “I have served Larket long enough to know our history, your majesty.” He waves a hand at his side violently and dismissively, “But I am not The Duke of The Vibrance or Queen Jacklin, just as you are not The Freezing Queen you replaced. I offer you an opportunity to mend the strained relationship between our two kingdoms and you choose to protect a murderer instead. My terms are simple, Larket deserves justice for the paladin’s betrayal. I cannot surrender the man that freed him without that. The people will not stand for such a thing as Frostmaw stealing our right to protect ourselves.”

Hildegarde is well aware that she is no Satoshi and the intended barb does not wound her, but it needles her just slightly. It’s quite the reputation to live up to, after all. “If I was the Ice Queen who was my predecessor, you would be dead where you stand,” she told him cooly, her voice remarkably calm and steady. “She would not tolerate your wheedling words nor your insults.” The Silver paused for only a moment before proceeding. “Our two kingdoms, you say,” she takes a step forward. “You deal with a Queen, sir, and while you are busy here playing at king, you seem to forget who it is that you are dealing with.” A woman who had effectively conquered the City of War and was a renowned warrior herself. A conqueror. “Frostmaw does not steal your right to protect yourself, oh no, not at all. It is you who robs Larket of this right, by playing at king and failing to act at all. Your bumbling attempts to grasp at Kelovath only showcase your incompetence and all that Larket is lacking.” The barb is icy cold. “I will take Hureig now,” she gestures at the giant, her fingers making a small beckoning gesture at him. “I will take Hureig now and there will be no further issue between us,” she tells him, implying that if she cannot take Hureig, then winter will well and truly come to Larket.

Emrith makes a curt little gesture with Heleg, the icier of the shortswords, and something peculiar begins to happen. A faint whitish mist begins to issue from the blade's tip, ribbons at first, which quickly weave into a growing blanket. The mist is perfectly transparent, but it is considerably colder than the surrounding air. Emrith speaks one word now, a single flowing utterance in the elven tongue, and the mist rushes toward the other party. It will do no harm, cause no injury, but might be seen as particularly apt in the proclamation that winter has come to Larket.

Hureig did not have too hard of a decision to make: stay in the lowlands under a boy playing king and be treated as something lesser than a beast, or come to his Queen when she beckons him. It was not a hard decision at all. He stopped a step before Hildegarde and spoke with his head bowed, "As your Ambassador, I would like to report that a seed of a friendship between Frostmaw and the True Larket has been sown." He disappeared within the sea of friendly faces.

Macon stands tall and takes a single step forward into Hildegarde’s insults. “I know full well to whom I speak. A warmongering dragon tha’ brings an army to a city already under siege to cover for the fact she has no control over her thane or ambassadors. If you leave with my prisoner it will be an act of war as the first offense clearly should have been regarded. I am all that Larket has thanks to that Paladin you blindly protect and -I- will not let this slight go unpunished.”

Hildegarde smiled at Hureig as he announced the seeds of friendship had been sown with the true Larket, offering him a gentle dip of her head to acknowledge his words as he was simply too tall for her to reach out and touch his arm in comfort. Though the thoughts of bringing comfort were soon gone when Macon spoke, causing her to narrow her gaze slightly at the mention of a first offense. Larket had insulted Frostmaw time and time again; it had harassed and harangued her her Thane, arrested her ambassador and continued to dishonour its agreement with Frostmaw. War was a long time coming, it seemed. “You are all that Larket has,” she repeats gently. “Then I shall weep for Larket.” Gone was the strong Larket of the past. “We take our leave now, Macon. I recommend you prepare for winter,” she advised, turning just slightly to look at Emrith and perhaps communicate something to him and only him before Lisbeth lifts the standard of Frostmaw and begins the march out of Larket and back home.

Emrith remains behind, keeping an eye out for Hildegarde's back as she and her queen's guard retreat. He continues to issue more and more of that chilly mist, and surreptitiously begins to drop its temperature. Now it might be just the slightest bit uncomfortable to any but the most cold-adapted skin; Emrith himself is affected, but pretends not to be. He stands, swords at the ready, knowing that a full-on rush against him might result in his death, but willing to maintain his position as long as he can. Emrith is fleet of foot, and if he can buy the silver and her entourage long enough to get away, then he, too, can fade into the fog he has summoned, from there to return to Frostmaw to report treachery, if indeed treachery is afoot.