RP:Yule Be Sorry, Part 3

Part of The Savage Queen Arc

Started at Part 1

Through Part 2

Summary: The combat continues while the call for the Steward's death is met with resistance, not only from the friends and comrades of Hildegarde, but from the Savage Queen as well. Only three intrepid souls step forward to fulfill the Silver's command: Larewen, Emelyan, and Leone, with the latter accomplishing the mean feat. The murder of the Steward brings an end to the Lich, and begins a period of mourning for Frostmaw - though it may be a brief period of mourning, if the High Priestess has anything to say about it.

Frostmaw Fort Main Room

Leone coalesces from the cloud of snow, the bantam blacksmith's form taking spontaneous shape within the flurry located directly behind the Steward. The picture of the smith is a snapshot: black-dyed mammoth fur atop her shoulders surges forward. One hand parts the front folds of her cloak. There is no glint of steel, no flash of silver from the farrier's position. There is simply a slick of black that paints the air with an upward thrusting motion. In the blink of an eye, the Council woman buries a matte black and grey, ceremonial blade of Aramoth deep into the back of the Silver. The attack is swift and calculated, the thin dagger inserted between the third and fourth ribs and at an upward angle, which was then twisted. The length of steel that retracted was several inches shorter than when it went in, the smith leaving the top point embedded in the heart of the dragon. Of course, thanks to the priestess's singular focus on Hildegarde and her ignorance of the onrushing Emelyan, this now puts her in peril; if the pyrokinetic does not halt, he will surely injure the holy woman.

Orikahn has his eyes on Emelyan. The caster's intentions are not lost on the hunter-turned-abomination. Keenly, collectedly, Orikahn draws his bow, drawing a line on the charging male. Beneath Kreekitaka's onslaught, the charging giants stand very little chance. So enchanted with Rainbow's magic, the crab is able to cut his ownXzavior's spear flies true piercing straight through the giant's eye as planned, but his attempts to keep the Lich apart may be somewhat more dubious. Even as the Lich's two halves are falling to the ground, before they've so much as touched the flor, dark tendrils are already beginning to exude from the two halves, grasping immediately onto one another and hurriedly pulling the severed body back toward being a single whole. Linn, meanwhile, has the advantage of complete surprise, for the cat is wholly focussed on his shot. In fact, it is not until Aira's arrow clinks against the crystal that Orikahn perks, looking up in time to realize Linn's proximity. It spares the cat, but matters hardly else, for at that moment Leone emerges and, in one swift motion, does the fateful deed. A terrible scream reverberates through the hall, and again the fort shakes down to its deepest foundations, rattling voilently. The lich, even as she had been stitching herself back together, reaches out a hand that wavers, then shrivels. Dark, writhing stains pour out from her as black ichor and long, white worms pour out of her robes. Her death throes are violent. Several of the mounted heads fall from the walls, and even a few stones are shaken loose from the vaulted ceiling, falling treacherously onto the battle below. Kahn's eyes go wide and his jaw drops, and Linn might recognize the cat's look of abject horror as Kahn falls to his knees, breath frozen in his lungs. The undead giants, likewise, seize up and fall into twitching contortions.

Hildegarde had been ready to protest to Josleen, Ansel, to all, even to that plateful of cakelog! But it was all too late. Leone’s divine speed and presence had ensured her knife had plunged through Hildegarde’s back, through the fabric of her dress and sparse leather and chainmail, piercing through flesh, angling through bones before reaching her heart. It was an odd sensation. Cold, foreign, alarming and alien. The knight’s sole eye widened from the sensation, her knee buckling as she sort of fell forward into Josleen. “Oh,” she breathed out, unable to hear the death throes of the lich as her own life began to flee from her, “oh… my sweet lady,” she breathed the words, offering the weakest of smiles to Josleen before all life ebbed away from her. Even the fall of a hero could be a quiet and horrible thing.

Pilar held onto Artia, convulsing with sobs. She hadn't known Hildegarde very well, but the death of anyone so noble was a death to be mourned. Indeed, she did feel as if she'd lost a dear friend, for Aira's betrayal cut her deep. How could she? Pilar did not know of the connection between Aira and Orikahn, or else she might have been more sympathetic. As it stood, all she knew was that someone she'd trusted had sided with the man who had sought to kill or enslave them all.

Lanara watches sadly as Aira’s arrow is unleashed at a rapid speed towards Linn, at the exact same moment that Hildegarde is stabbed in the back, by Leone. As Emelyan approaches the woman, with an outstretched blade, Lana screams and prays that he slows his advance in time. Aiming to rush forward, she stands behind Josleen as the Steward falls forward with a faint smile on her face, before passing away, in the nurse’s arms. Knowing that Jos would fall to pieces, Lana frowns and rests both hand on each of the woman’s slender shoulders, and aims to force Josleen into her arms. So Jos could comfort the dead, and Lana could comfort the nurse, as they both had suffered a great loss, recently. Tears stream over the elf’s cheeks, as she looks around the room and at what had transpired here tonight. “It’s going to be alright, Jos…”

Kreekitaka was getting into the thick of things now, and building momentum. Slash, step, slash, step, slash, step. Then, with an extremely Diablo-esque fallen-boss-monster scream, the lichthing falls apart, as do the giants. Too concerned with all the stuff going on around him and on the wrong side of the wall to see what's going on, Kree decides to search out more enemies--and Orikahn was on his knees as well--which meant... His eyes glanced up to the wall to spot that woman archer. Her bow was aimed, but not at Orikahn. Kree swiftly traced the path of where the arrow probably was with his eyes--oh, no. And simultaneously oh YES. So pleased to be able to continue fighting, Kreekitaka didn't even notice it was all over as he launched himself up and right at Aira, bringing his jawblade around for a massive, crushing horizontal slash, forgetting for the moment that it was a blade instead of a club.

Artia moved to be able to let Pilar hang on to her, feeling the fraIL vampire needed her more then Artia did her. Death was part of her every day life, and death didn't bother her much unless it was one of the friends she had made now. Running her fingers along Pilar's hair shush ingredients her softly. Her other arm open for Lanara to be embraced as well if she needed it.

Ashe twisted around. From the moment he saw Leone appear, yet also felt the approach of something else from another direction, he moved with near supernatural swiftness. He shifted a food backwards and turned, raising an arm as if to catch Emelyans superheated attack. And so he did. But not with much success or grace. With a loud, searing, a fleshy impact noise the blade sunk into Ashe's arm, punching through the brilliant color of his tattoo's and piercing his skin and flesh with an arcane and metallic chime before coming to a halt as if it had punched through thick and enchanted armor but ultimately been halted by the force and momentum it had spent to pierce it. Ashe, of course, cried out in immense pain and was knocked backwards against the side of the stage by the concussive force of the impact. Slamming listlessly against the construction. “Gods damned--- eeeeaaargh!” he cried out in a combination of fury and agony. “Why did I do that!?”

Josleen screams in horror and surprise as Leone — Leone! of all people — stabs Hildegarde in the back. Et tu, Leone? Her shrill cry echoes off the walls, its piercing ferality made even louder as the undead giants all collapse like marionettes whose strings have been cut. The din of battle gives way to the wail of mourning, with Josleen’s voice leading the cry. That’s what bards do; lead the emotional charge after the battle in victory and loss. And which is it today? A victory for Xalious and Frostmaw’s future, and a loss for the mountain range that loses its brightest star on this dark moonless night. She drops to her knees by Hildegarde’s shoulders. The dragon lies prone, and the bard tries to turn her over to cradles the steward’s head in her lap. Her thin arms simply cannot lift Hildegarde on their own. “Help me!” she shouts. Hot tears fall freely. Her face is red, lined, dimpled. Mascara runs; so does snot. Hildegarde’s blood pools and soaks into Josleen’s fancy dress.

Rainbow had just finished crafting her bell when... everything ends. Well. Okay. Kree's not done. Kree's never done. His rage cannot be contained. But the Hands died along with their maker, which was something, at least! Benefits of fighting people who are apparently not that great at necromancy. Anyway. ... "... Wow, everything's kinda wrecked..." Oh s***, we have wounded. Aaaand dead. hoboy. More work for her... well, at least she can probably bill the city for time and effort spent this time, so she's... reasonably certain that she'll get paid. Probably. Unless of course the person that would be petitioned for such was dead. Oh, also the bard's arm has seen better days. Best get on that... or rather, Rainbow would, except that she'd just done more magic than she'd expected to do all WEEK, meaning that at this point she could barely heal a cut, let alone someone's arm being sliced open and cauterized.

Josleen is stunned when Lanara embraces her and is too shattered to resist. She won't fight Lanara now, but the truth is that in times like these Josleen seeks those she already loves, who have always been good to her. She looks for Ansel. He's her emotional support system. Without being unduly rude she disentangles herself fromLanara to reach for Ansel.

Linn | Pilar’s scream was all Linn heard as he was already midair, the arrow loosed to intercept his hand. The arrow was true to its mark, if he followed the trajectory he should have. One of the falling chunks of rock falling from the ceiling came crashing down square on his back as all the crimson threads lit up with a massive burst of red light; the enchanter was dragged down from the impact out of the path of the arrow, and off of his path towards Kahn as he slammed into the ground with another burst of crimson light, the clear and violet crystals skittering out from his hands as the interfering stone rolled off to his side. Linn lay there where he fell, perfectly still. Any who approached and monitored him closely would find him, somehow, still breathing, still alive. Even his clothes were left unwrinkled from the blow, though the bright red threads that had coursed over his back were gone, sacrificing themselves for the enchanter with all of their power converted into the spell they were made for. In spite of suffering little physical damage save a growing bump on his head and a black eye from hitting the ground, he would remain unconscious for quite some time with the sudden, thorough draining of his magic that saved his life.

Lanara allows Josleen to break from the forced embrace and wraps her arms tightly around her own form. The untouched cakelog lay near the Steward, and the plate was nowhere to be seen. Bending at her knees she places a chaste kiss to the woman’s forehead, before rising to her feet, and tearfully looking at the carnage of the evening. Thinking she should attend to Linn, she turns to the male though see’s he’s somewhat engaged with Orikahn, and that Aira is engaged with Kree. Having no one to comfort her, and uncertain of who to mend first, she approaches the stranger that was in charge of the music. Ashe. Retrieving her shawl from her previous seat, she aims to use it as a makeshift tourniquet about the male’s arm, to halt blood flow, at least until he was transported to a healer.

Larewen watched as Hildegarde fell. Or rather, watched the necromantic magic connecting lich to the Silver disappeared. She heard Josleen struggling with trying to turn Hildegarde over and, leaning down, the elf slid her arms beneath the dragon and then turned her over, having the strength to do so solely through what she was. At the same time, her eyes lifted toward Leone, missing her face entirely, but expressing a sorrowful gratitude.

Emelyan was wrong. Snow swirled before him, as he sought to land that fateful blow, all attention upon the act, and the petite high priestess appeared before him to do the deed herself… just as he was upon the crux of the action. His knife pierced her back, or so he thought. But an arm had made its way into his path, somehow. So many obstacles, so suddenly! Walls of them appearing in an instant! His knife slid into the arm, and he yanked it back, stumbling. It did not come, wedged into armor, and magic, unheated in the spur of the moment. It had burned its way through, and remained now. Emelyan was still burning from the Holy Fire… for his intent to kill Hildegarde, his wounding of one of her defenders. His flesh was burning, and he fell away, staggering, tripping over something and ending up on the floor writhing, then going still… not unlike Sam had. He didn’t scream, from the pain. It was almost an eerie sight, his silent suffering.

Ansel heart almost stops as he hears the shriek from the woman behind him. There was no more defending. He looks over his shoulder as Hildegarde falls into Josleen, the crimson blood oozing out the Steward’s back. His mouth is gaped open and he is stunned. ‘Help me!’ Ansel turns to auto-pilot taking a few steps to kneel down. He cannot talk, the words were taken out of his mouth, however with Lanara there trying to soothe the woman, but Josleen breaks free. He does his best to kneel down next to Josleen and assist her anyway she can, but silence is all he can offer at the moment, not sure whether to take Lanara’s place in embracing the woman would be a good idea.

Lanara said to Ansel, "She needs you... You have to be her rock now, okay? Tend to Josleen."

Callamyre was so very late to the party. She had not even intended to show up, as she had much more important, bookish, science-y things to do, like sit around and stare at a guy while he slept. But something felt off, something felt -wrong-. Her steps carried her silently but hurriedly to where the yule ball was being held, but the state of the room now brought her to a halt in a tall giant-sized doorway. "Oh gods," she breathed, her throat thickening as she soaked in the scene before her. "Wh-- what?" The vampire could not, would not move from her location, her hazel eyes flashing gold, crimson tears staining her lower lashes. She dared not move any closer, affected as she was by the wellsprings of emotions bubbling up in all the attendees.

Xzavior was about to throw his second spear before being caught off guard by the ear splitting screech of the lich, covering one ear he looked back up the wall to see Hildegarde bleeding in the arms of Josleen. His eyes fell to the floor as the giants hit the ground almost simultaneously. Only looking up when Kree stormed towards Aira winding his sword. He hadn't seen what the archer had done only seeing the berserking hulk before her Xzavior quickly lifted a hand and tried to summon a large ice chunk to weigh down the sword, or at least slow his attack down.

Aira did not have time to see if her arrow had made contact with Linn for suddenly there was a rather large King of the Ball hurling himself at the hunter. As he moved to slash at her with his weapon she dropped to the ground and swiftly rolled out of the way, the jawblade thankfully missing anything vital but catching the back of her leg. With flesh broken open, crimson began to stain her golden gown as a small yelp of pain escaped her full lips. Hindered by her heels and fresh wound, Aira did not waste more time on Kreekitaka, but instead ran hard towards Orikahn who had fallen to his knees as the Savage Queen began to writher with the death of the Steward. Despite the rumbling of the fort and the falling of heavy stones, Aira’s trajectory remained on course and she made full contact with the feline, tackling him in his apparent weakened state. Kahn had taught her all she knew about hunting so it was no surprise when Aira knocked an arrow in place when she sat up and drew her bowstring back. What is surprising, giving her last statement, was that she aimed the arrow down at Kahn’s face, the third eye to be exact, attempting to hold him down with her knee (although, given his size and strength, he could toss Aira off him like a ragdoll). “One reason!” She would shout loudly if he didn’t. Tears brimmed those copper eyes, the full weight of Kahn’s betrayal lying heavily upon her heart. It would seem that her call for loyalty towards Kahn was some sort of attempt to garner his trust. However, with Leone’s attack on Hildegarde and the the final phylactery destroyed, it was not needed. Whoops? “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right now!”

Josleen can’t move Hildegarde’s body, but Mikael and frost giants are quick to relieve her of the task. Josleen buries her face in Ansel’s shoulder as they move Hildegarde’s corpse. She can’t bear to watch the dragon, who was once so full of life, now be moved like a ‘thing’. The giants move Hildegarde’s body onto a massive gurney to move her towards the medical wing to be treated not for wounds but for funeral rites. Josleen cries uncontrollably into Ansel’s shoulder, but when the body goes, so does she. Clinging to Ansel’s side she follows the giants and their fallen leader out of the ballroom.

Leone allows the Steward to slip from her grasp, the redhead's body falling to the floor. The farrier's head tilts upward, meeting the angle of Larewen's, without truly meeting her gaze. Guards pour in from the swirling snow field, fanning out throughout the room. Priests and healers, shamans and knights are amongst those who enter through the frozen portal. "Take all the wounded to the clinic," the farrier says numbly, the usual strains of her sand-and-silk timbre muted by sorrow, "And arrest the Hunter and his elfin companion." The plover heaves a sigh, one that stiffles a sob as she stubbornly refuses to look down upon the fallen Silver. "Encase the Steward in ice, and lay her in the War Room," the High Priestess goes on to instruct the guards, specifically two of the Frost Giants, before her voice lists upward in volume to address the room as a whole, "As the sole surviving Council Member of Frostmaw, the daily operations of the realm fall to me now. I make a vow to the people of Frostmaw and all who loved our Steward well: This vile creature took her heart. I will make her a new one, and our beloved Silver will live again."

Ashe twisted a little where he'd collapsed, working himself into seated position and muttered to no one in particular: “They say you get used to fire. That you numb away. They're filthy gods-damned liars.” he let out an agonized groan and looked down at his arm. The wound was cauterized already. Seared shut around the blade. The tattoo had withdrawn itself, the lines moving fluently, away from the blade. Save the two lines of color that the blade had pierced. They tugged and pulled but were unable to get loose. Ashe looked up to Lanara when she approached “I don't need any bandaging lady. It's not bleeding. Damn thing seared itself in there good. What I need is someone who can get it out without chopping my arm off.” he said the last part with some acid as he rose to his feet to face the sudden activity of guards and shamans, apparently not lending more than half an ear to the woman he'd just sacrificed his arm to protect.

Pilar drew strength from Artia's arms, and composed herself enough to look again. Across the way, she can see Linn unconscious beneath a boulder and Aira... holding Orikahn at arrow-point? She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Could it be? Was her friend's heart true after all? It didn't matter right now, as guards were heading towards her to take her away. She tried to stand on shaking legs, only for them to give out beneath her. She lets out another soft sob as Artia pulls her into her arms again.

Kreekitaka landed on the wall, blade held outward, suddenly encased in ice for no apparent reason. He casually swatted the blade against the wall below him, shattering the stone, then turned to find where his opponent had gone--she was now down attacking Orikahn. Who was a bad guy. Which meant she was actually a good guy? Which meant... wait... The confusion forced Kree so slow down and take actual stock of the situation, in which he noticed the tragic death scene happening over there. "..." Well. Now what?

Larewen heard the arrival of others, and turned from those that surrounded the fallen Silver. Before she began to make her departure however, the necromancer said, to Leone, "If there is any aid to be found in my craft, it is at your disposal. Before I was a necromancer, I was a sorceress. Not all the magicks I know are dark." Despite the sorrow that darkened her features, the necromancer's voice was surprisingly even. Fortunately, her blindness spared her everyone else's confusion.

Lanara lowers her shawl and sighs as Ashe seems to be in a foul mood, not that she blamed the male. Feeling useless, and a miserable mess from the night’s events, she half-turns away from the man and bites her lower lip. The elf was still quite a vision, even though her makeup was now smeared and tears were continuously streaming over her cheeks, though she felt worse than she ever imagined. Only a week ago, her lover had perished in Frostmaw, his death a mystery. And now she had lost Hildegarde, a friend. Josleen was inconsolable, Leone was making promises of reviving the Steward, Linn was unconscious, Aira was to be arrested, and so much more. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she suddenly feels cold, and merely glances around the room in horror. Eventually, she snaps back to reality and turns to Ashe, once more. “I am a witch, you know… I would be happy to repair your arm, should you find another than is capable of removing the blade from within.” The witch’s words were soft, as though she were afraid she would be rejected again.

Orikahn remains on his knees unresponsive, doesn't flinch when a falling stone strikes Linn down nor when Aira springs up to pin him. Even as he lays with her atop, ready to plant an arrow in his scull, the cat's face is twisted in utter, wretched agony, mouth agape, eyes unblinking as the emerald glow begins to fade, trailing upward and away from his face like opalescent lines of smoke. The third eye gradually closes. His natural two remain open, forward, and unseeing, slitted pupils gradually dilating to wide, glossy black orbs. Should someone check his vitals, there will be a faint breath and a pulse, but little more. Aira will have to wait for her answer. The rumblings have ceased, the undead are no longer twitching, and the lich is nothing more now than a bramble crown atop a puddle of steaming goo.

Linn was taken off to one of the healing rooms in the fort rather unceremoniously, the odd crystals he wielded left on the ground for later. It came as a small surprise to the medics that he was still alive seeing the rock by him and his overtly unarmored form, though that gave them reason to carry him off to see to him even sooner.

Ashe waves his bad arm around like it was a limp item to gesture around with. Even though that obviously hurt quite a lot. “Sure. If I get this thing out of me, I'll take whatever healing spell you feel like throwing my way. But first...” he worked himself onto his feet and walked over to the buffet table with a clear sense of purpose. Once he arrived, and it wasn't far, he picked two bottles of whatever strong alcohol he could find up by the neck in his one good hand and then turned to follow the shamans leading the wounded to the clinic. “Alright. That's one problem fixed. On to the next one.” he muttered and then waved to the now-acting leader of Frostmaw on his way to the clinic in a fit of self-inflicted irony. With one final comment to Lanara “I'll see you at the clinic, then.” and the noise of a ejected cork.