RP:Yule Be Sorry, Part 2

From HollowWiki

Part of the The Savage Queen Arc

Started at Part 1

Concluded at Part 3

Summary: The invader to the Yule Ball is revealed to be none other than the Lich causing the plague of problems in the western wilds, now come to claim the throne. The Savage Queen has more tricks up her sleeve than mere declaration and sics her band of minions, including a transformed Orikahn, onto the party-goers. In response, a pained Hildegarde protests and calls for warriors to defend Frostmaw against the usurper while beseeching those present to end her own life.

Fort Frostmaw Main Room

Phaedra walks straight over to Pilar, grabbing the two a drink each on her way. "Pilar.....You look sore lovely.....Drink this!" Phaedra placed some herbs into the drink. "This will help with the pain." Looking over pilar she knew the female was in pain, it was written all over her face.


Rainbow suddenly stops with the drinking, then finishes her glass and puts it back down. "... Of course. Can't have a normal party. Gotta have some... whatevertheheck."


Drileana narrows her eyes at Phaedra when she drags Savio back to her. The same man who just insisted on whispering into her ear. Needless to say, the dark elf is not pleased with this development. She stares at Savio for a moment, her movement continuing, although in a bit more languid fashion. In the interest of not totally emasculating this individual - a rare stroke of something resembling sympathy from Drileana - she doesn't dismiss him.


Hildegarde looks to Ashe, as if to check this was not some strange bardic trick... "What's going on?"


Xzavior hadn't noticed Artia turn to find Pilar, being more focused on the people dancing.

Savio bowing slightly to drileana savio heads over to Ynhaldei's Table

Ashe looks back to Hildegarde with a shrug and a step off the stage. "Not sure. But I know I'm inappropriately sober for the occasion."


Kreekitaka felt it was a good thing he had his claws in an attack position as something all of a sudden started going down! Unfortunately, having your claws in an attack position when something is going down tends to mean you react as if something is going down, which in this case meant throwing a punch by reflex. ...oops.


Ansel halts as the winners are announced. “Nice, Alvina!” He is smirking for Alvina, but as for the lobster man, he is just amused and claps anyway. As Hudson knocks Ansel. “Ouch?” He rubs his shoulder and then looks at the lobster man, he is trying to also hide his laughter, and he does this easily. He then knocks Hudson. “Dude, knock it off,” trying to get him to ease the laughter. Ansel then looks at Josleen and squints as her expression is fading. “Who is that?”


Linn caught the mantra before Lanara noticed him and tried to excuse herself, only to be met with a soft, pained look before he stepped forward to pull the witch into a hug. “It’s fine. We’ll be…” The familiar feminine voice booming throughout the room cut him off, causing him to suddenly release the hug and spin around, his body positioned to shield Lanara from whatever was going on. “Son of a…” he muttered out before his hands entered his pockets, retrieving a couple crystals. The one in his left hand was the intense violet he used to help save Talyara, though now a swirling sinister darkness rested within its center, while the one in his right was perfectly clear and nigh-invisible in the air. He knew that voice and didn’t like its presence at all as he stayed in the corner, watching out over the whole room. The crimson threads lit back to a bright red with readied magic, though no decorative glow followed the enchanter this time.


Orikahn arrives to the party clad in little more than a shadowy hood, his auroch hide cloak, his trusty quiver, and a loincloth. In one hand, the sabercat holds his bow. In the other, Kahn holds the severed head of a frost giant, his clawed fingers hooked into the eye sockets for an improvized carrying handle. Plainly, it belonged to one of the fort's guards, because behind him shuffles the guard's decapitated corpse. They step inside, trailing ample blood that mostly pools around the boots of the freshly reanimated giant. The upper half of Orikahn's face is obscured beneath his hood (with a strange green glow emanating from therein), but he is unmistakable nonetheless with his saber teeth, his black-and-coffee tiger stripes, his bushy striped tail, and his telltale physique: seven feet tall and three hundred pounds of sheer muscle. With his free hand, he reaches up to pull back his hood, revealing a startling alteration to the cat's features. His eyes are solid, glowing, featureless orbs, shining a brilliant emerald--all three of them. In the center of the cat's brow, he now bears a third eye, an arcane deformity. "Behold the might of the Savage Queen!" The feline bellows, and behind him, other fallen guards shamble into the hall, all of them in various states of mutilation, all of them bearing fatal wounds, many of them bearing arrows. Orikahn holds up the severed head, and the whole of them, Kahn and all of the fallen guards, announce in unison. "Bow down and prepare to welcome the might and presence of the Savage Queen!" The moment the words have finished leaving their lips, there is a flash and a tempestuous blast that sends all the candles and torches of the hall wavering, plunging the partygoers into brief darkness. Then, when the sickly green light returns, high in the air there floats a lone figure clad in plain, dark robes, and wearing a crown of dry brambles. She spreads her arms, and the booming voice fills the hall once more. "My beloved subjects."


Lanara spins around and immediately aims to settle her gaze on Josleen. Upon finding the blonde dancing with Ansel, she widens her eyes, as she knows the woman –had- to remember that voice. It was a voice that Lana wouldn’t forget, it was the voice of the dark imp from Xalious. But here? In Frostmaw of all places?! What would they do, now?! Slinking her dress up to her thighs, and giving several men a good glimpse of her shapely legs, she plucks a dagger from her garter and holds it tightly in her hand.


Hildegarde had been watching Ashe as he strolled away from the band to fetch some drinks. Something was most definitely wrong, something was afoot. That strange voice… It was familiar, but from where and when? It is only when Orikahn bursts through the door does the Steward realise now her mistake. The Dark Imp, The Savage Queen, had never truly died. Linn had been right all along and Hildegarde had stupidly believed the lich to be dead. But the phylactery had been destroyed! How could the lich still be standing? As Orikahn enters with the head of the giant, Mikael and his fellow giants draw their blades and assume a defensive stance. “Rally to your Lady!” Mikael bellows, only for Hildegarde to counter-bellow, “Hold the line!” she would not sacrifice people for her own life, after all. The knight even draws her own short-sword, watching with a combination of rage and sorrow as the undead giants wander into the hall that had just been busy with dancing and joy; now turned to sorrow and impending bloodshed. Typical Frostmaw fun some might say. The knight stares at the Savage Queen, “Frostmaw is unyielding. We kneel to none but the rightful Queen.”

Pilar decided to take the drink from the perfect stranger because sure, why not? She looked at Artia. "Yes, I am only tired, and I hurt a little." When Artia spoke to Xzavior, she said, "I-it is okay, your sister gave me this," and showed her the drink. Pilar had barely put the glass to her lips when Orikahn and his army of undead giants make their entrance. She dropped the glass and covered her mouth to stifle a scream.


Artia stood infront of Pilar shielding her if she had too. For now the witch would watch.


Kreekitaka turned around and drew the jawblade from its holster at his back. The weapon was a good three and a half feet long and thicker than a man's arm, and it was, essentially, a club. A long, straight, heavy club, that curved sharply at the very end in a way that was vaguely reminiscient of an orc-scimitar... except one whole edge, the inside part of the curve, was lined with a double row of shark's teeth grafted directly to the bone. The flat side was reinforced with a metal plate, and inside was an iron core--the weapon was even heavier than it looked, and Kree was one-handing the thing as if it were any old sword. He lifted it high above his head and clattered all his paddles, roaring a challenge to these invaders--now THIS was a party, he had his fight--and glanced back to find that little pinpoint of light. "Rainbow!" he bellowed. "SomeHHHTHing sufficienTAH!yee awesome!" Then, without even looking back, he surged towards the one with the green eyes, jawblade raised high. Should he get within range, he'd bring the giant weapon down teeth-first in a wide diagonal ripping motion, intending to both smash the man into unconsciousness and rip chunks of flesh from his body. The Kree don't screw around.



Ashe slammed his shot-glass down on the table, with a loud smack and a deep sigh, after Hildegarde announced her defiance to the invader. He'd neither rallied to her side nor joined the defenders in a defensive line but rather stayed where he was and finished his drink in the short time-frame he had to do so after Orikahn and his lich patron crashed the party. The bard turned, drawing a short sword and a silver rod from thin air with either hand. If it was magic, it wasn't particularly impressive magic. No flashes of light, no incantations or sounds. Just nothing one moment, and something in the next. He said nothing, but kept his eyes steadily locked onto the Savage Queen. He wasn't excited to exhilarated. But also not about to be put down like some footnote, either, apparently.


Phaedra 's gaze now turned to Hildegarde, watching closely as the intruders made their way towards her. Phaedra's fangs now obvious as she stood in front of her younger sister and the two who were in her company, her indigo hues now looking as if on fire as she would not let anyone harm her friends. But she hoped it wouldn't get that far. "Artia, Pilar stay behind me....." She was indeed protecting her sister and her friend and would do so till the end, if that's the way it had to be!


Lanara bites her lower lip as Linn stands before her, as she doesn’t want her sister’s boyfriend to get harmed while defending her, please, not another death! About to tap the male on the shoulder, as Orikahn’s appearance doesn’t frighten her, she pauses her hand in mid-air, as the frost giants appear, some maimed and others undead. This was turning into a night that the witch would never forget! Lana’s gaze shifts from the feline up to that of the Savage Queen, and the woman takes a few hesitant steps back. Sure, she was a force to be reckoned with and would likely throw down, if her life depended on it, though the witch was not at her best, this evening. Especially with nothing more than a mere dagger for protection, an injured wrist, and a broken heart. Perhaps it was best for her to sit this fight out? Willing to help in any other way that she could, she stands to the far left corner of the room and motions for those that don’t wish to stand up, to stand back, and near her area. That way there wouldn’t be as many casualties, and those that were defending Frostmaw, could do so without distraction. As Lana takes her place, she lightly brushes elbows with Josleen and Ansel, and gives the couple a faint nod, though her expression was sick with worry. “Any ideas?” She mutters, while watching as Hildegarde and the others face off against the evil-doers.


Larewen halted her approach toward Pilar the moment the burst of eldritch magic greened the room, turning to face the source of that familiar voice. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a chill running down her spine moments before Orikahn entered the hall. Her head turned to the side, sightless eyes missing the feline entirely and for the moment, the elf is spared the realization of who their latest living guest was. The smell of death, and the familiar prickle of dark magic assaulted the necromancer, and her upper lip curled into a snarl. She could not see The Dark Imp, anymore than she could see the undead giants or the feline, but she could feel their presence. Then, Orikahn bellowed and the elf's features twisted darkly. The expression reflected the anguish that had suddenly befallen the elf as her curiosity regarding the feline being unwelcome in Frostmaw came to fruition. A low growl, nearly beastial in nature, echoed in the depths of the necromancer's throat as she drew nearer to... well, she thought she was headed toward Hildegarde, but really, the elf's path had veered toward Orikahn and the lumbering, headless giant thing behind him. Her own magic began to tingle in her finger tips. The room was too small, too crowded, and Larewen was too blind to be throwing magic around recklessly.


Rainbow is already working by the time Kree brings up that he needs something 'sufficiently awesome'. Okay. She can do that. This -is- her job after all, even if she's woefully unequipped to handle it. The Dead had risen, and she without the tools to properly put them down again, at least in the way she'd liked. She had a couple of bells, but none that would work on more powerful Dead spirits, though these seemed relatively recently raised Hands, so she may very well have been able to turn them, had she Binder to hold them and Walker to force them back into Death. But today she's without either, so she plays support. She lifts off of her dragon, her own wings buzzing like a hornet as she gathers up magic, the shimmering glow around her intensifying into brilliant silver fires that gather in her hands and her eyes, spewing out of her mouth as she utters words that burn the throat that speaks them and the ears that hear them. She throws out her hands, and a bolt of silvery flame lashes out, howling like a demon, and strikes her erstwhile companion in the back. Rather than incinerating him, however, the rampant Free Magic soaks into his clothing and carapice, the Life energy contined within it causing rapid changes to his phisiology. Plates of carapice suddenly shoot out around his waist, forming a second kilt that reaches down around his comparatively fragile legs, though this one is much sturdier and covered in thick spikes. His upper body is similarly up-armored, plates thickening, shoulders becoming more pronounced, and the bones of his head and face curving outward, forming a flat helmet-like protrusion with a small slit for him to see out of. It would even extend to the Jawblade he wields, transforming it from a slightly curved club about four feet in length to a six-foot-long blade, nearly as long as Kree is tall, wickedly curved and sharpened. The silver fire settles into the armor and weapon as well, her particular brand of necromancy tuning them to attack not only the body of whatever it strikes, but the necromantic magic that animates it as well, to help him combat the Dead.


Xzavior was about to respond until the voice had made itself known and a wave of dark feeling magic washing over him, he jumped up reverting back into a naga he launched from his seat and summoned an ice staff. Looking back at the table he gave a fanged grin and said, "Well, this party went from zero to one hundred real quick. I'll be back." and speed to the side of the group of fighters that was forming. He was nervous, he hadn't had to fight like this in a long time, nor was he the best at it. But he'll be damned before he let anyone walk over him without giving them something to remember.


Linn drew forth with Hildegarde’s guards to put himself on the line, offering no expression at the fact that his hunch was right. That didn’t matter right now. He drew by Aira on his way forward, muttering to her as he passed by, “You want to shoot him? Shoot him. He’s not the kitty you knew before.” With that he had gone by, trusting the hunter with his own backside as he went to face the threat in front of him. Kreekitaka’s charge broke his part of his discipline though, knowing shock was worthless if it wasn’t followed through on. With the crab drawing the attention the enchanter slipped along the side of the room, the green light fortunately making the red glow of the threads over his outfit. Fortunately, he had a way to rip away the energy that animated the zombified giants, its specificity making up for his lack of extensive experience with it. He hung at the edge of the scene silently, beginning his own channeling to drop his own tricks and help in the fight.


Aira ’s metallic eyes flare at the sudden shouting from a commanding and cruel feminine voice. Her muscles further tensed as the festive lights emit a sickening green glow. Both of these interruptions are too familiar and the hunter knew exactly who was near. Immediately, Aira reached behind her and grasped an arrow, knocking it into place before weaving her way through the crowd, trying to find the source of the shouting, actually standing on a chair to get a better look over all the people. If -she- was here so must...Her thought is immediate cut short as Orikahn entered the fort holding a severed head and eventually revealing a third eye. Briefly, the hunter found herself comforted by the feline’s appearance before she remembered what he had done. She was conflicted as copper eyes shifted from Kahn to Hildegarde and back again. As Linn moved passed and uttered his words of encouragement to take down the Prime Hunter she swallowed hard. She supposed that tonight would be the night she finally decided with whom her loyalty lie.


Pilar watched in horror as some she knew and loved prepared to fight. She wanted to cry out, to beg them to stay where it was safe. But all she could manage was a tiny "No..." before fear overtook her and she began to weep. She hated herself in that moment.


Emelyan responded to the situation as he did with a seeming detached curiosity. He remained calm, rational. There were fighters aplenty, and his fires would hurt as many innocents as enemies. Therefore, the most logical course in aiding the defenders was thus… to make sure they had proper control of the battlefield. Undead giants could crash through a defensive line, and the defenders had their own share of shock troopers. In one fell swoop, he would provide cover from flanking for those leaping into the fray, and arrest the charge of the enemy, that the defensive lines protecting the party goers wouldn’t have a coordinated assault to deal with, but a bumbling mess of undead come not all at once, but in paltry waves, easily dispatched. A hand lifted, and his orange eyes blazed, as a huge ring of fire came into being high above, filling out into a pentagram, and spreading through with symbols of the elements and other archaic aspects of alchemy. The conduit, the energy… all in the fire. It sparked with life, and heat gathered, then dispersed, moisture swirled, and stone rose from the floor in the midst of the battlefield. Up came a barricade against the oncoming host, spiked and ominous, of stone and ice, as pillars raised between the giants to add further confusion and topple some, perhaps, and provide Kreek and others the means to maneuver within their dangerous situations more safely.


Leone has not been present in the great hall. The High Pristess is notably lacking in presence for most of the evening, her glossy, coal black hair and vivid jadite sights not amongst those of the revelers. There is a note, a singular scintillation upon the air that causes the atmosphere to quiver. The scent of hot iron and old blood prickles above the aroma of the feast's foodstuffs, the widespread odor weak at first. It culminates in a cloud, a singular, vertical cloud of pulsating light and crackling sound takes up a position just behind Hildegarde.


Josleen cowers out of the way of the line of fire, but cannot leave until she knows the outcome. Ansel pleads with her to go, but won't leave her.


Orikahn looks to the Lich for prompt, and the fallen Giants look with them, their empty stares raising to the floating figure before them. "Frostmaw is conquered this day," the booming voice thrums on, "and by right, you rulership shall pass into my hands." Plaintively, the floating lich holds her withered hands out before herself in a receiving gesture. Floating smoothly, she levitates down toward the steward. "Give up your sword, Hildegard, and I will make you great and mighty in the new order." Meanwhile, Kahn meets Kreekitaka's attack with an imperturbed glance, and he speaks clear, solelmn words of command that ripple through the air with more than mere weight of meaning. "Cease your struggle." It is a magical imperative, an arcane mandate that Orikahn speaks, and those who succumb to the magics will find themselves incapable to continuing their offense, perhaps lowering their guard, perhaps even dropping their weapons and implements entirely at the the cat's command. It is plain that the simple ranger has been gifted with strength and power from his goddess and queen, the Lich. Regardless of the effectiveness of Kahn's command, the first row of undead giants behind Orikahn rush forward and past the saber-toothed feline like linebackers, five of them sprinting to meet Kreekitaka's charge in an attempt to mob the charging crab full on and knock him to the ground. This ends anticlimactically. Emelyan's barrier surges up between them, between Kreekitaka and the giants. The charging giants batter up agains the wall of stone and ice with considerable force, but whether the wall actually breaks will depend on the crab-man's actions.


Hildegarde’s lip twitched at the words the Savage Queen had to offer her. “Over my dead body!” she roared furiously and in a rather un-ladylike manner. “I’ll give up my sword when you lay dead and defeated at my feet. Frostmaw is unyielding!” she repeated the phrase she had said and heard all too often. “I will never bend the knee to you,” she hissed, her blade ready and waiting as the undead giants begin to proceed towards them and the charging fashion designer. Yet fortunately, Emelyan has tactically intervened and prevented the initial wave of attackers from reaching the crab. “Form up!” the knight commanded, her and the giants edging forward towards Kreekitaka as if to offer him support in the battle should the giants break through the wall that Emelyan has constructed. As Hildegarde stands by the icy construct, she feels somewhat nauseated. “What foul magic does this Savage Serpent bewitch me with?” she questioned in a roar, feeling that painful twinge in her chest once again.

Ashe spoke up half-way through Orikahns command, lashing out with the silver rod in his left hand in much the same manner a teacher might when a child speaks out of turn. “You zip it!” he didn't actually silence Orikahn. The effect was more subtle. But also, quite likely, more crude. For someone able to perceive such things it was painfully clear what Ashe had done. In fact, it was childishly simple. The rod in his hand had cast a spell that wasn't even meant to form into anything at all. It was like literally throwing a wrench into clockwork or adding your own flailing needle to someone else's knitting. With the same disrupting (and possibly infuriating) results.


Kreekitaka felt the carapace in his body start to extend out and cover more vulnerable places, and harden in general, becoming more solid. The jawblade in his hand extended as well, he felt the weight shift—yes. Yes, this was indeed sufficiently awesome. And now the celebration would be consummated in GLORIOUS COMBAT. Ashe's assistance with disrupting the voice command meant the sound would mean almost nothing, and the undead giants that got in his way—well, they were about to—what—what—a wall!? Who puts a wall between the cavalry and the enemy! I mean, seriously! Kree flared his paddles and, feeling the new strength in his limbs from the power of Rainbow, freaking LAUNCHED himself up and over the wall, jawblade raised high, and swung it wide and low as he passed right by the giants' faces, intending to use the now-a-massive-sword jawblade to simultaneously decapitate and explode all of them into powder or however it was that this anti-zombie stuff on his weapon and armor work. Then he landed, and once again launched himself at Orikahn, jawblade raised for the same maneuver, quite a bit faster than he'd previously anticipated it being. “You cannoTAH! make me give up so easy!”


Barnabas Bones was in the southeast corner of the massive chamber buried beneath a considerable mass of sugar-cookies and other discarded caterings that the formerly merry event-goers had absently left over his catatonic form. A few empty rum bottles and a few that appeared to have contained egg-nog at one point in time roll out loudly in different directions across the stones of the floor as the drunken pirate stirred beneath the pile of garbage. It took the very foundation of the fort to rumble in order to rouse him, for it wasn't until Emelyan's barrier and the frost giant minions met that he awoke. Barnabas propped himself up awkwardly on an elbow and wiped a bloodshot eye as he looked across the room. What he saw was quite sobering: besides the magical wisps of unnatural energy and beings that electrified the room, there was a cadre of frost giants lowering their shoulders into some massive barrier that didn't look like it was in the architect's original blueprint for the castle. From his vantage, Barnabas could not see the hostages of the evil force and the giants. He could only see Orikahn and his besieging force as he rubbed the drunken stupor from his eyes. And then the uniquely obvious form of that man-sized crustacean went sailing into sight, and that made two acquaintances of the pirate. Albeit without a clear intention (for he had yet to discern friend from foe, let alone the context of the conflict), Barnabas hastened to his feet and drew his cutlass. He looked at the steel he'd spent so long grooming with a whet stone, and couldn't help but feel unnecessary and small.


Larewen furrowed her brow, once more halting as the smell of earth assaulted her nostrils. It was simply too dangerous to wander about so aimlessly in her state! The elf could be hear swearing, perhaps not so quietly, before exhaling coldly. Her fingers wiggled at her side and her magic surged, though not as strongly as it might normally have. There was cause for concern, but that was an answer that the elf did not have time to seek at present. Instead, the elf concentrated harder on tapping into her own mana, knowing full well the dangers it presented her. With the necromancer at the epicenter, a wave of dark magic was spewed forth through the room, dampening near Ashe and amplifying near Linn. It sought its likeness: the undead giants, the twisted feline, and the Lich, providing the necromancer with a vague sense of "sight" in the form of her magic. As Ashe moved nearer to Orikahn, thus weakening the affect of her magic, Larewen made certain to skirt the pair. As she moved forward, her dark, sightless eyes fixed upon the Lich, and for once with an accuracy not seen from the elder vampire in since the banquet. And then, that stare moved through the Lich, to fixate upon the Silver. "Hildegarde," came the single word from the necromancer's lips, the breath strained by the increased effort Ashe's nearness forced upon her to maintain her spell.


Rainbow had done all that she can with the limited resources available to her. That had been quite a LOT, but at this point she would be pretty useless until after the fight unless something changed... "... Stupid girl, you have bellmetal, you have magically enchanted wood, -do something about it!-" She berates herself, dropping to the ground and producing a vial of metal from inside a saddlebag attached to Priscilla. "Alright, girl, let's give them something to worry about." She'd rest a hand on Priscilla's snout for a moment before placing the vial on the ground along with a recently shaped and smoothed handle of enchanted wood garnered from the staff that had been shattered to make her little pixie-staff. As before, she'd begin to chant, silver fire building up around her, though this time it was chased by a stream of golden symbols that describe the act of binding, and resonate with a peculiar source, something distinctly -other-, that described the concept of holding, binding, controlling, a bell to bind the Dead to the will of the necromancer that wields it. It was the first of two that she'd make this day, given time, and it would come into shape over time, requiring much magic to construct.


Artia smirked to her sister, "We can protect Pilar." Artia raised Pilar's chin up and placed a kiss to her lips trying to distract her from the scene, pulling away she licked her lips. Smiling deeply into those brown eyes. "It will be okay." Turning Artia screamed , "Give them a what for!"


Phaedra watches as the scene begins to unfold somewhat, her fangs now obvious as she growls at the lich queen. Flames seemed to burn deep within those indigo hues, she again looked in Hildegarde's direction. Giving the woman a look of encouragement as she continued to watch the situation unfold, willing to step in if need be.


Xzavior watched the events unfold like a story come to life, a bit stunned by the fact that Kreekitaka would just run straight at the fair sized group of undead giants and a lich. In truth he had no idea what was going on, but it sure seemed that if this didn't end here, it would mean devastation for everything he had just gained. With that Xzavior shook off the feeling and found his way up the wall of ice, taking note to practice making one as strong as this himself, the staff he carried gaining a vicious looking blade on one end.


Linn had taken great care to guard himself against magical assaults, knowing what had happened last time with the lich’s involvement. Regardless the command caused him to falter for a second before he purged it from his mind and body, acclimating to fighting the dark magic as it began. He released the violet crystal in his left hand it hovered inches beyond his grasp before the darkness inside began to swirl, twist, and press against its confines, reality warping and colors inverting around the void of negative energy before he held it out. If he was uninterrupted a blast of that negative power would fly from the crystal and straight into the hunter from his position at the side that let him have an unobstructed view. The bolt would tear at the energy in and about him to send it straight to the dominion of Vakmatharas that he knew: pure oblivion. Against one of the merely animated giants it could obliterate all of their power and render them inert, though Orikahn likely (being much more than a mere minion it looked like) had enough binding him to this world to survive, if in a somewhat enfeebled state from the drain. If he had been gifted with any enchanted items it would pull at the power that infused them as well similarly. With the leading bolt thrown he would begin his own charge in, the damnable blue shield that broke the hunter’s garland waiting at a moment’s notice to deflect an incoming strike if needed. His goal was to take the void inside that crystal straight to Orikahn to rip his soul straight into nothingness with its full power. Ashe’s draw on magic would be ineffective this particular brand of trick, though the spellfilcher’s pull on the mana-crystal thread woven into his clothing was enough to disrupt much of its passive effects, as well as causing a rather uncharacteristic shortness of breath as his own energy began to bleed away for the man. Whatever use that the performer could find for the font of energy that had drawn so closely could no doubt be big, if he had the mind to notice just what he had gained access to.


Phaedra hears her sisters voice and turns to her, offering a wink and a smile. "Yes we will....indeed nothing shall harm either of you!" A growl escaped her lips as she returned her attention back to the situation at hand.


Aira :: As the wall moved up between the two battling parties, Aira found herself conveniently along the line in a poetic coincidence. The hunter had just begun to raise her bow when Orikahn spoke his words, causing her arms to tremble slightly as if they were fighting her own commands. A moment of stalemate continued to confuse the elf before her bow is finally lifted. Lifting a heeled foot, the hunter pushed herself up onto the table, the remainder of her arrows clattering in their quiver as she moved. Aira drew her bow string back and sighted at the Prime Hunter, a copper iris peering down the shaft of her arrow. “Snap out of it, Kahn…” she murmured to herself through clenched teeth, most likely inaudible to anyone over the noise. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, pounding in her ears as her breath quickened rapidly as if she had been running a race. What was she going to do? Every muscle in her body was screaming to let the arrow fly but Aira was frozen and continued to hold her bowstring taut.


Pilar , shaking, gripped Artia tightly. In her terror, she was useless, unable to move or even scream. The kiss hardly registered, only bringing about enough clarity of thought to make her realize the true depth of her feelings for the witch. Choking back a sob, she vowed that if they survived this night, she would confess. But that was a pretty big "if."


Emelyan felt that command, dampened though it may be, and gritted his teeth. He had a powerful will, but it was shaken into anger and recklessness easily at such provocations. No. He set his scowl on his face, and flung his mask away, standing beyond the backlines, a safe ‘caster’ distance. His tactical aid had helped, and the crustacean had had no issues leaping the barricades, though he seemed too far gone into his berserking to take any sort of tactical considerations, beyond targeting the head of the enemy. Fortunately, he had allies strengthening him with their magics, and someone was playing the magic of the area like a marionette. There was also the matter of that dark energy… Ah, there. The vampiress he’d briefly spoken with. Terrible power in that one. Sam was at his side, and he looked to his faithful companion. “Alright, boy. Show them your true colors.” The dog huffed, then started to shift, from his dobermanHildegardeshepherd muttness to something far more intimidating… bigger, bulkier, and lit aflame. Emelyan focused his efforts on smothering the fires of the hellhound, until Sam came to where he could provide support to Kreek in battle, leaping the barricades with vigor. He’d come to his defence against the undead, targeting the giants. He’d aim for a leg, to pull one down to the floor, and Emelyan would unleash his fires through Sam, letting off blazes of fire, carefully aimed towards their targets, to light the giants that may come to try and surround the hellhound, timing the flare ups to not only hurt, but ward off danger to Sam. He loved and trusted his canine companion, and that companion would now provide cover to those that targeted the source of this onslaught.


Barnabas might have been hesitant and loaded to the gunnels with dairy and alcohol, but he was bristling with anxiety for battle. Thus, Lanara's benevolent gesture is misconstrued. It was just as unwise to approach a drunken pirate brandishing a sword as it was to weave through the battle. Whatever she intended to say to the man, she wouldn't get the chance. The woman skirted his peripheral vision, and with his attention fixed upon the foray, Barnabas was surprised when he felt Lanara's nails penetrate the silk of his fancifully frilled shirt. 'Put' wouldn't have been fully pronounced before Barnabas' elbow would tuck in and his entire body would twist in preparation to cleave the sword from ceiling to floor. But a sudden compulsion overtook him before the pirate even knew who had tapped his shoulder, and his calloused hand released its grip on the cutlass. It would clatter to the floor between Lanara and him, and with a look of absolute and sudden fright, Barnabas took to flight. His escape would have been comical if not for the gravity of what he fled; holding his trousers secure with one hand and not so much as bothering to look at his dropped weapon, the drunken man dashed towards out of the great chamber with leaping strides.


Leone rains snow down over the assembled allies, the hot iron and old blood scent falling around the group that surround Hildegarde. The snow, if it should kiss the nose or cheek of any of the fighters assembled, will impart upon them a blessing. Fear will be dissapated, emboldening those who drive forward with the Steward, and pain will seem unexistant. Should any of the foes venture into the smattering of precipitation, they will quickly find themselves alight with holy fire.


Lanara widens her eyes as the male drops the weapon and literally flees from the room, causing her to shake her head in confusion. Tonight –clearly- wasn’t going as planned. It was Lana’s first ball and she didn’t even get to finish her cakelog or have an actual first dance. She had lost the best dressed contest, felt an aching in her chest upon reminiscing about Krystan’s death, and then all hell broke loose with the Savage Queen and a possessed feline. Oh, and she can’t forget the pants holding, cutlass wielding, pirate, that she had somehow scared off! Crossing her arms over her chest, she now stands alone. To her left is the ensuing battle, and all the way across the giant room, in the corner, are those that wish to cheer for a side or aid in healing. If the witch wants to get back there, she has to cross the room, again, and this time she wasn’t brave enough to do just that. Her moment of sheer adrenaline had left has, as quickly as Barnabus had dropped his weapon and ran for safety, and seeing as there wasn’t a good deed to be done right now, she merely stands there and watches.


Orikahn finds himself (and the horde of giants) looking up in surprise as Kreekitaka vaults over the wall, and the first line of attackers meet the magic (and mass!) of the crab man's massive sword. One giant is cleft in twain and falls in two halves, spilling copious blood and viscera. Another catches a grazing blow on the hip, and the the anti-necromantic magic therein cause the unliving animus to depart from his leg, and he falls where he stands, struggling and kicking his good leg uselessly. Behind Orikahn, the whole column of giants begin rushing, their uncoordinated shambling instantly galvanizing into a single, swift charge, all of them surging forward around the three-eyed sabercat as they rush the wall with the apparent intention of breaking through. The cat himself, meanwhile, beset by such an attacker, has time enough to gracefully sidestep the falling swordblow, and he snaps his gaze up toward Kreekitaka's face, if it could be called that. "KraaAAH!" With the cat's cry, there is a flash, and a searing beam flies forward from Kahn's forehead, aiming to strike Kreekitaka square in the eyes. Should it strike, it strikes with blinding light and crushing force alike, hopefully enough to shatter the crab's carapace and, with any luck, stun the massive brute. As Kahn stands in the midst of the charge, Linn's beam meets a giant instead of the sabercat, and it falls, tripping the one charging behind it and causing a gradual pile up. The other charging giants strike the wall, and when the do, the whole room shakes as the stone bursts outward into rubble and the undead horde rushes to overrun the fort's defenders. As for the lich, she she dulcetly shakes her head within her shadowy hood. Nearer and nearer she draws, hovering ever closer until, at last, she floats directly before Hildegarde. "Ah. Ah, be still, be still," the Savage Queen sweetly admonishes her, "think of your heart, your troubled heart. Make not these futile displays. Resist me not. It pains you, good steward, it *pains* you, yes?" The supreme undead softly touches where here own heart would be, then points to Hildegarde's left breast. "I dwell within you, dragon. I've placed myself there. Within your heart. You would slay yourself"


Artia looked over and saw Lanara. The witch ran over to her, grasping her hand. "Lanara, come with me..." She needed Pilar and Lanara at the same location. Both were at their first ball, neither had their first dance. Pilar hadn't got to have her dances, the friends and her hadn't got to have a drink together. If lanara moved with her, Artia would grab Pilar's hand and less them to be against a wall. Knocking a table over, she put them behind it. Looking at both of them, "Stay there, do not watch." Artia would be there line of defense of needed to be for the two girls. "Long live Hildegarde!!"


Pilar let out a pathetic cry, holding her arms out uselessly as Artia went to Lanara's side. When the witches returned, she would allow herself to be led to the wall. She would hide behind the table without any protest, hugging her knees to her chest as she trembled.



Hildegarde’s attention drifted away from the battle around her as the Savage Queen so benevolently hovered before her and spoke about her troubled heart. With every mention of her heart and pain, it gave a twinge and ached as if to further prove a point: the knight feeling so unwell as her body quivered from the strain of staying upright now. The pain was too much. Her breath felt as though it couldn’t stay long enough in her body. Everything was happening too quickly. The Lich was part of her? But they destroyed the phylactery, they destroyed the garland of skulls. Or perhaps… Yes. They had only destroyed one of two phylacteries. Hildegarde was the second, all along. Hidden in plain sight, safe and untouchable as none would ever assume that the knight, benevolent, compassionate, kind Hildegarde would be the host for such an evil spirit. “My troubled heart,” she repeated in a weary and sorrowful whisper, her eye downcast as she contemplated her dilemma. Live in subjugation or die in freedom. Without even a roar or a sound, the knight suddenly moved: her blade moving in an overhead arc to slash through the Savage Queen from head to toe; rending her in twain. The Lich would fall to the floor, laughing that eerie but so feminine laugh. She would repair and stitch back together, it was only a matter of time. “I must die.” The knight said softly. “I must die,” she said more loudly. “Someone… You must pierce my heart,” she is sad to say it, but the knight would rather die than see anyone else come to harm. “Please.”

Kreekitaka 's armor, magically enhanced as it was, was enough to tank the blow, but the force and light of it were enough to push him back. Kree slid back across the floor, towards the pile of giants--and then spun and lay into them, slashing left and right with his blade, huge cleaving sweeps intended to part all sorts of flesh. He may not have been able to get close to Orikahn this round, but darn if he couldn't take out his support. You have an army? We have a Kree.


Lanara tilts her head to the side as the Savage Queen approaches Hildegarde and says the most horrific and eye opening things. Hildegarde was part of the Savage Queen? What?! As Lana is ushered to stand against the wall with Artia and Pilar, her heart nearly jumps from her chest as Hilde collapses on the floor and asks someone to pierce her very own heart and end this madness. No way was she going to let her friend, the Steward of Frostmaw perish, let alone at the hands of someone dear to her. This was the –worst- and –only- ball she had ever been to, and she doubted that she would dare attempt to visit another. Balling her hands into fists, tears spring from her eyes, as she softly weeps against the wall. “Not… Hildegarde…” She murmurs, as she glances at the girls that she was placed between. The witch couldn’t handle another loss, not this soon.


Josleen had been trembling under Ansel’s protection behind a torn curtain and streamer in a corner of the ballroom. Retreating to safety would have been wise, but this lich is the villain behind the atrocities back home in Xalious and here in Frostmaw too. It is Josleen’s enemy as much as anyone else’s, even if the bard cannot fight to end The Savage Queen. More importantly, she had to see the result of this battle which risked the lives of so many of her friends. Leone’s holy snow blessed Josleen’s courage too, and stoked a fire in her heart more violent and bloodlusting than Bold texttypical of the nurse. When the lich reveals her final phylactery, Josleen can already predict Hildegarde’s next move. “No!” She shouts as she rips free from Ansel’s arms and skirts the skirmish like a battle medic determined to intercept the fallen before they fade for good. “Hildegarde!” Her voice booms through the chamber, amplified by her bardic gifts to a deafening roar. “Hilde don’t you dare!” When the dragon calls for someone to stab her heart, Josleen breaks into a run in her heels and gown. Her voice mimics Mikael’s and shouts, “No one touch the Steward!” She throws herself before Hildegarde’s heart as best she can, pushing onto the balls of her feet for height and grabbing the dragon roughly to attempt to move her away from the lich any way she can. (She can’t). “No!” she pleads, “Hilde, no! No! There must be another way!” Tears sting in her eyes in preemptive defeat, because she knows Hildegarde, and those like her, quick to be martyrs despite the pain it would bring to those they leave behind. Wet eyes glare over her shoulder at any who would dare stab the Steward. “Any who harm her are enemies of the throne!” she declares without the authority to do so, but friendship and love obey no such titles.


Ashe me shifted the grip on his short sword. Twisting it in his hand into a reverse hold and then, quick and business like, Marched across the hall towards Hildegarde. Having little to do beyond the wall there was little else for the minstrel to attend to. He was overtaken by Josleen, of course, who was actually dashing rather than briskly walking. On his way past Rainbow he muttered a dark “Better fix up those bells. You've a few days at best. Assuming we all live.”


Larewen dipped her head, pressing her lips into a thin line as she finally approached the Silver. She had hear Josleen run past Ashe in her desire to protect Hildegarde. So it was that it would be Josleen that stood between the necromancer, Ashe, and the dragon, and the elf's blind eyes were still fixed upon Hildegarde's. There was a deep sorrow reflected in them. When she spoke, it was to Josleen. "There is no other way, when it comes to these sorts of magics. The phylactery must be destroyed, Josleen. Please, stand aside. The world has hated me before; I will survive being loathed again easily enough." Her words were strained and carefully spoken as the elf lifted her right hand, darkness gathering in her palm.


Ansel is hovering over Josleen and hearing everything from behind the curtain. As Josleen begins to try to rip away from his arms. “Babe, calm down,” he tries to talk calmly to her lowly, there was no ‘low key’ for him anymore. Letting her go would be stupid right now, especially if the lich was this powerful. “Josleen, stop! Don’t!” She flees, she was too squirmy. “Josleen—“ he watches as the woman jolts towards the Steward and Ansel of course runs after her – her guard. Once she guards Hildegarde, Ansel notices the tears brimming within the woman's eyes. He halts in his steps and looks to be in shock from all the drama and the emotion. Abruptly, Ansel pivots around towards the crowd to guard Josleen. People would have to bust through two people to get to Hildegarde. “You heard the woman, keep back!” He was ready to defend anyone who came their direction.


Lanara does break break into sobs now, as she raises her hands to cover her tear-streaked face, and slides down the length of the wall. Hildegarde was going to die, and there wasn’t anything she could do to help the Steward. But it would be an honorable death, and that was all the warrior had ever wanted, to risk her life for those she loved. Still, it hurt like hell, for those that cared about the woman. Josleen’s threats and attempts to save the Steward are heard loud and clear, and she peeks through her fingers to see if any would actually dare to harm the woman she had come to call a friend. “Wait!” Lana calls out, as she darts from the wall and over to the table of food, quickly putting a slice of cakelog onto a plate. “If Hilde is to die… And if that is her last wish… At least let her depart this realm with a favored last meal.” Approaching the Steward, Lana places the plate in Hilde’s hand, and meets her gaze, tears streaming down her face.


Xzavior 's eyes grow wide as the lich made her way forward, unable to hear what she said over the sound of the fighting beneath him he only caught the tail end of the conversation. Hildegarde had the lich inside her?! After she split the lich in half he felt a twinge of satisfaction until he heard her ask to be killed. If that was the only answer it wouldn't be by his hand, leaping from the wall he attempted to encase the lich in hopes of keeping the two halves separate for as long as possible. As soon as he hit the ground he threw his spear into the eye nearest giant, whether he hit or missed he didn't know. Instantly summoning another he prepared for anything that might come his way.


Linn had gone too far into the fray to attend to Hildegarde or really pay attention to anything else around him, skirting in behind the giants towards Kahn nimbly and lightly without the weight of his armor or pack that he had grown so used to. He aimed to make his way onto the hunter’s back and drive the violet crystal in his hand straight into him, the veil of force instead shaping itself into a bright blue-white point that would allow it to penetrate straight through the auroch-hide cloak (bar any magical reinforcement protecting it) and carry the crystal into his flesh. If he wasn’t blocked or thrown off the void would flare up, beginning its aggressive consumption of the energy and life that animated and empowered the hunter. If anything happened to cause said crystal to shatter inside his body should that situation arise… the resulting release of the void would consume everything it could find connected to him and continue along lines of contact until it found no more life. With Ashe gone across to the other side of the room, the draining feeling left the enchanter as his work began to behave correctly again, though he’d still be in for a fight with the cat if his attack didn’t go as planned.


Aira maintained her standing position on her tabletop perch and watched the battle commence before her eyes. She continued to point her arrow at Kahn as thought after thought clanged around inside of her head. As the Lich approached Hildegarde and taunted the Steward, Aira slowly lowered her bow and loosened her grip on the string, yet still keeping the arrow knocked into place. In that moment, she knew where her allegiance lie. As Josleen ran full throttle at Hildegarde, Aira made similar movements in the opposite direction. Hopping from the table and landing on heeled feet gracefully, she wove her way through the fighters and to the wall, slamming her hand against the barrier. “Kahn!” she called out as loudly as she could. “Kahn I’m on your side!” She screamed as her copper eyes flared at her own declaration. As Linn moved around the wall and jumped on Orikahn, Aira was on the move again, following the enchanter’s path to skirt around the barrier, running towards the engaged pair. The hunter would pull her bowstring back once more and sight down the arrow, this time aiming for the enchanter. With the plinking noise of a released arrow, Aira shot it directly as Linn’s hand, the one holding the crystal in an attempt to thwart the attack on her pridemate.