Post by Tormund Hammerbearer on Sept 13, 2013 1:29:51 GMT -5
May 15th
The door to the Frosty Hearth swung open, revealing the large figure of Tormund. His fellow barbarians let out a cheer as he entered, happy to see him return.
He returned their cheers and sat down at the table with them. A stein of mead was brought to him. The barbarians were younger lad, no older than 25. They were a happy and cheerful lot, swapping stories and feats. It brought some joy to the old man, seeing such youth.
It reminded him of when he first met Tryndamere. A fiery lad, picking fights whenever he could. Tormund took pride as he taught him and watched him grow into the man he was. He was like a son to him.
And he would not let his life be ruined. Someone had tried to sabotage their efforts to make peace with Sejuani and Tormund was going to find out who, even if he had to question every person living in Freljord.
A task that would be almost impossible for him, given his state, but he still had plenty of life left in his old bones for this one last adventure.
Post by The Cryophoenix on Oct 11, 2013 21:04:27 GMT -5
Anivia screamed a warning as the human city came into view, a sparkling gem in the twilight sun. The air above the glacial Freljord lands was thin, its frigid cold a welcome relief that warmth that still plagued her. Despite the length of her journey, she had taken little time to collect her thoughts, focusing her strength on pushing her diminutive form through the skies. A stiff wind followed her through the mountains, easing the strain of a difficult journey. Her own cry wrenched her from her semi-conscious daze, and she tilted her wings into a steep dive: there was no time to waste.
Suddenly, her vision swam before her. The city of ice and crystal began to crumble, a maw of the earth gaping beneath it. She looked on in horror as fire enveloped the city before her, the towering spires of the Avarosan’s testament to civilization swallowed up and melted into nothingness. A harsh wind born of fire and death swept over her, claiming her purchase on the air.
She tumbled toward the earth, any sense of direction lost in the chaos only to slam bodily into the roof of the Frosty Hearth. Despite its stout construction against the great weight of winter snows, the beams gave way beneath her as she crashed into the midsts of the tavern’s patrons. A cloud of wooden debris and an avalanche of fresh snowfall from the roof hid her from sight, burying both the Cryophoenix and those barbarians unfortunate enough to be in her path.
Post by Tormund Hammerbearer on Oct 12, 2013 4:56:19 GMT -5
"So there I was, staring down this fierce Ursine!" he told his fellow barbarians. "Bigger AND wider than me! Never thought I would see such a thing! Ha!"
Tormund had gotten caught up in their retelling of stories, regaling the young ones with his many feats. His name was fairly well known throughout the clans, his great strength and stature were his claim to fame.
"So I picked my hammer over my head and I..." his story was interrupted by the celling caving in, sending him and his boys into a pile of broken timbers and snow.
Tormund pulled himself from under the debris, some wood and snow wouldn't stop him, not even at this age, though he would certainly feel it tomorrow. He gave a loud laugh as he stood. "Well, I did some thing like that! Ha!" He helped his fellow barbarians out of the mess that had been created.
"Now, lets see what caused..." His voice trailed off as he saw the icy wing of Anvia. "Boys." he said as he turned to them, the humour in his voice absent. "Go to the palace immediately. Tell Queen Ashe that the Cyrophoenix is here."
They wasted no time, departing the inn immediately. The old barbarian gave a heavy sigh as he began to remove the debris to get Anvia out. He was certainly going to feel this now. As he dug, he wondered what had caused this. The Cyrophoenix was as powerful as she was ancient. First the sabotage at the Winter Claw's camp, now this. Something strange was certainly happening here.
He had never met Anivia in person, only seeing glimpses of her when she spoke with Ashe and Trynadmere. What do you say to such a being, infinitely older and wiser than you. These questions would have to wait. Right now, she needed help.
Post by The Cryophoenix on Oct 13, 2013 13:47:37 GMT -5
Anivia roused slowly as the barbarian’s laughter returned. The hardened warriors had easily extricated each other from the rubble, snow and splinters shifting around her as she tried to take stock of the situation. The town wasn’t destroyed, though the vision that had come over her was not entirely unlike the Void Prophet’s power - not a threat of the Void’s coming, but of the world’s rebellion: the destruction her failure might cause. Instead she lay in the midst of an Avarosan structure, struggling to shake off the dazed shock of impact.
All at once, the laughter ground to a halt at the mention of her title. She sighed heavily as the low murmurs of concerned barbarians mingling together into a dim drone. Not expecting help - for it was rare the man who would free the creature that crushed his home - she strained wearily against the heavy timbers that pinned her to the ground, lamenting for the first time the lack of physical strength her diminutive form held. The barbarians would see the icy wing twitch, then retract slightly as the mound of snow began to bulge upward.
Post by Tormund Hammerbearer on Oct 15, 2013 1:14:13 GMT -5
Tormund stumbled back as he began lifting heavy beams off of Anivia. She looked much smaller than he had remember, her normal majesty lost underneath the debris. Her great aura of coldness gave Tormund a chill that cling to his old bones.
The few remaining people in the inn were also struck with the same awe as the barbarian. Anivia commanded a great amount of respect from the people of Freljord. To see her this close and in such an unusual manner caused a great amount of confusion and curiosity.
Tormund found himself feeling the same, not knowing what to say to such a majestic and wise creature. He continued to move broken wood and snow off of her "Great Cyrophoenix, what has caused you to come here? Are you injured?" he asked, seeing if she was concious.
By then only one more beam remained, one that had pinned her wing. He grabbed it and tried to pull, but it seemed that it had frozen to the appendage. Seeing no other solution, Tormund placed a steady hand on the wing and one on the beam and tried to lift it off.
Post by The Cryophoenix on Oct 18, 2013 5:08:04 GMT -5
As the heavy beams began to shift around her, Anivia realized that despite the calamity that she had visited upon this structure, she had landed among friends amidst the Avarosans. With a beleaguered air, she remained still under the barbarian’s ministrations, attempting to assess the damage she had sustained in the fall. Digging through snow and ice was straightforward, but she had landed on her back, a great beam pinning her right wing beneath its weight. Wounded though her pride may be, she needed the help.
With a half-hearted shake of her head, Anivia cleared enough snow from her eyes to take in her situation. The barbarians had circled around the destruction she had unintentionally wrought, craning their necks for a glimpse of the disturbance to their evening. Certainly the Cryphoenix was no ordinary sight, even among the Avarosans. She let out a breath she hadn’t recognized as held, the light dimming from her eyes as she willed herself not to see the onlookers. Perhaps she was worth little more than that now, a spectacle - a child’s toy version of the League champion and self-proclaimed protector of the Freljord. The snow yet hid the frailty of her form, shielding her from their scorn so long as it piled around her. “I will survive. Thank you, for your aid. If I might ask, what is the name-”
Yet as Tormund laid a hand upon her wing her ruby eyes flared to life. She felt his warmth seeping into her body with impossible speed, moulding and corrupting everything in its path. Always the humans tried to lay claim to that which was not theirs: testing the powers of the magic they stole, probing the limits of their own world, and even reaching through to those free from such chaos. Whether they knew it or not, they were the cause. A faint humming reverberated through the air as the world called her to its purpose, and those sensitive to magic would begin to feel an unbearable tension.
Tormund would feel not the familiar cold of Freljordian ice under his touch, but a true cold unlike any winter wind he had experienced. Should he try to recoil, he would find his hand frozen to Anivia’s wing, his fingers unresponsive to his desire to move as the cold threatened to consume him entirely. Anivia was transfixed to the spot, her brow creased in a scowl as her intense gaze locked upon something well beyond the barbarian that only she could see.
Post by Tormund Hammerbearer on Oct 20, 2013 4:54:40 GMT -5
Tormund was about to answer her before a pain like no other shot thorough his arm. He yelled and pain and tried to pull away, only to realize his hand was frozen solid to the phoenix's wing.
It was an intense pain, one of the strongest he had felt in his life. An ice so cold that it burned like a roaring fire. Try as he might, he could not remove his hand from Anivia's wing.
"What the hell is going on?!" he asked, troubled by the turn of events. Aniva seemed very displeased about something. Had he cause this? Did his touch cause this? He continued to struggle to remove his hand. Even with his strength, he would not budge.
Post by Dungeon Master on Oct 27, 2013 1:22:27 GMT -5
“A damn elemental falls through the roof and I get stuck fetching the king?” The barbarian’s huffed breath condensed instantly in the frigid Freljordian air as he approached the palace. The fastest runner of the bunch, they said, having us around would just slow you down. Some honor to be reduced to a damn courier while they spoke with a league champion that represented all of the Freljord both in forms and politics. He slowed only briefly as the palace guards came into view. While Tryndamere left his palace open to visitors, the sun was beginning to set behind the great Freljordian mountains to the west. Any guard worth his salt would think twice allowing a grown man to sprint right past him.
He sighed with release as he recognized the man on the outer steps despite the armor he wore. “Orlin!” he shouted across the snow as he broke into a run once more, “I have urgent business with the king, but I’ll explain everything later.” He bolted up the stairs with what haste he could manage, footsteps ringing for all in the palace to hear. Yet as he reached the last turn to the King’s study, he hesitated. More than anything else, Tryndamere’s rage was legendary. To interrupt him unannounced… Well, I’d better hope he thinks it’s worthwhile. Queen Ashe was even more of a mystery. He knew she regarded the Cryophoenix as a friend, yet he had never met the blessed archer who brought the Barbarians to Rakelstake. He was unsure of how she might react to the news.
With a purposeful stride, he turned the corner calling out to the Royal Guard, “I must have an audience at once. It regards the Cryophoenix.”
Last Edit: Oct 27, 2013 1:23:13 GMT -5 by Dungeon Master
Post by The Barbarian King on Oct 29, 2013 4:39:25 GMT -5
Two guards stood on opposite sides of the threshold to the King. They wore the same set of uniform armor amongst all the guards; metal helms that covered most of the head save for the eyes and the mouth, a combination of leather, chain, and scale armor latched onto their bodies, and draping from their backs were deep blue cloaks, the bow and arrow of Avarosa embroidered with icy blue thread. Upon their left arms were wide, circular shields; sheathed on the side of one of the Guards' belts was a broadsword, upon the other's an axe.
Their heads turned to the sound of the voice, where they saw the young barbarian. The fact that he made it past the guards at the front would normally be reason enough to let him through, but ever since Tryndamere returned on horseback with the Queen, security had been tightened. Protocol stated that he should have had a guard with him for validation of his claims.
The guard nearest to him, the one with the broadsword, spoke first, turning to the youth.
"What of the Cryophenix?"
A simple question for a simple task; this would validate his words, the guard thought. He would watched his expression and how he talked, judging his sincerity.
Post by Dungeon Master on Oct 29, 2013 23:56:12 GMT -5
The young barbarian scowled. Was this some kind of test? Sure, he didn’t look like Avarosan royalty, but he had never heard of a citizen being stopped and questioned within the palace. “The damned thing fell through the ceiling and old Tormund himself asked that the Queen be told!” He seethed inwardly as his breathing leveled, a full sprint risking his own safety on the icy paths of Rakelstake just to be held up by some curious guards. At least he hadn’t been forced to traverse the treacherous lake on his way around the grand palace. His fists clenched as he held back insults, hoping they would remember their jobs soon.
Post by The Barbarian King on Oct 30, 2013 13:33:09 GMT -5
The guard's eyes widened in surprise.
"The Cryophenix is here?"
The guard turned his gaze to his counterpart, the other's head nodding silently. The guard who spoke turned on heel, the folds of his cloak moving in response and unison. He approached the door, knocking on it.
"Come in." Was spoken from behind the door. The guard opened the threshold, and was bathed the orange and yellow licks of flame from the King's hearth fire.
"There's someone here with news on the Cryophenix.
Though the young barbarian could not see it, his King's head had looked up from whatever previously occupied his attention.
"Where are they?"
"Out here, my King."
The sound of plate and scaled armor chinked in resounding thuds as footsteps moved towards the entrance. The Guard returned to his post, turning to the young man.
"Tell him what you told me."
Emerging from his royal cave, dressed and adorned in more casual clothing for the day was The Barbarian King. Pants, a tunic reaching just above his kneecaps, boots, a fur cloak, a braided gold circlet, and the great sword on his back were what the King wore. Tryndamere's eyes settled on the youth.
Post by Dungeon Master on Oct 31, 2013 5:46:02 GMT -5
At the sight of the king, the young man’s rage was quelled with a mixture of respect and fear. He knew his goal was to deliver his news to the king, but through his run he had never envisioned what it would really mean to hold an audience with the king. And now, it was the King who came out to him. Could the Phoenix really be so important to the Avarosan royalty? He averted his eyes, bowing uncertainly as he heard one should to a king. “My lord. Anivia is in Rakelstake. Saw her with my own eyes, I did.” He quickly lost the battle to mimic high valorian speech. “‘Fraid I don’t know the whole of it, but she came tumblin’ through the roof of the ‘Hearth and Mead.’ Would ah’ flattened the lot of us if it weren’t for all the snow we’ve been havin’. Old Tormund thought you ‘n the Queen would want to know right quick about it.” As he mentioned the queen, he remembered who he was talking to, lowering his eyes to the floor once more. “... er, my Lord.” He bit his lip, hoping the king would take the news well.
Post by The Barbarian King on Oct 31, 2013 22:00:09 GMT -5
With the young man's eyes averted, he would have only seen the boots of the King approach him, and then stop just in front of him. His visage loomed over the young barbarian. Did he say something wrong? Was he such an illiterate fool that the King would not tolerate his presence? Beads of sweat would start to form off of his brow, in worry, in fear. It was then that King Tryndamere clasped two, mighty hands onto his shoulders. In that moment, he forgot himself, and looked up to the King. He was... smiling?
Tryndamere indeed was smiling, in both amusement and acknowledgement.
"You did good son. You came to me with important news, and told it to me simply, and directly. I like that in a man. This world would be far simpler if people said what they meant."
Tryndamere's thoughts were a stew of moments where this was all but the case, but he did not show it. He turned to one of the guards.
"Go to the Queen and inform her I'll be at the Hearth and Mead, and that Anivia is there."
The guard nodded and begun to walk hastily to the Queen's room.
Tryndamere turned back to the young one.
"You are free to go, if you wish. I leave to see the Cryophenix."
Tryndamere walked past the sprinter, patting him on the shoulder one last time as he made his way outside. He inhaled the cold breath of the dying daylight. He knew Rakelstake like the back of his hand, knowing where he had to go and how best to get there. He started off with a jog, gradually breaking into a run as he made his way to the Tavern. His face became focused, not in running but in thought.
The Cryophenix here, crashing into a tavern? Something is not right.
He continued to run, silently thanking Tormund that he sent the young barbarian to tell him what had happened. His pace was fast, but not one to cause alarm like the last time he ran through Rakelstake.
Post by Dungeon Master on Nov 1, 2013 6:01:36 GMT -5
In large cities, word travels fast and wide, with no regard to the sensitivity or accuracy of the information it contains. Rakelstake was no different. Despite the raw chill of the Freljordian air under the setting sun, the city was beginning stir restlessly. As Tryndamere made his way through the frost-sheened streets, he would begin to take notice of small crowds speaking amongst themselves in harsh whispers. Some spoke of a great beast laying siege to the city itself, while whispered in fear of the Ice Witch coming at last to destroy those who dared desecrate her lands with their homes and pastures. A young man scrambled in the opposite direction, panic in his eyes betraying no recognition of Tryndamere as the king as he grasped both arms to steady himself. “The Cryophoenix has fallen, the city is next!”
Around the tavern itself, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. The press of bodies buzzed with confusion and curiosity. None were willing to barge into the tavern for fear of disturbing the powerful creature that was said to have been trapped within, yet to catch a glimpse of such an event was an opportunity that none could pass up. Tormund’s cry erupted from within
"What the hell is going on?!"
In an instant the building tension in the crowd snapped. Those who expected the worst turned tail to flee for their lives, while the ever curious pushed harder toward the tavern to see the mystery with their own eyes. Shouts of panic and anger flew into an uproar as terrified barbarians approached the situation the best way they know how: by throwing punches.
Post by The Barbarian King on Nov 7, 2013 1:58:42 GMT -5
Rakelstake was tearing itself apart. The appearance of one of the League's greatest and wisest champions crashing through the roof of the Frosty Hearth was a good reason to cause worry, but to incite panic and fighting as well... Tryndamere's people were not so secure in their safety after all. He knew that he wasn't the most capable leader, but to have everything devolve to such a state? It was a solid punch to his torso. Perhaps he truly wasn't fit to rule, to be King... or perhaps, he just needed to get angry. Yet if he did, what good would come of it? Rage and anger to fuel the flames of fear? It was not a good catalyst, and he knew this well from years of being full of wrath. It would have to be a tempered anger.
He stood amidst the crowd, as men and women ran past him and started to fight before his eyes. His aura of anger began to build, seething anger and fury bellowed from him like a forge. For a few moments it was unbearable, as his anger melted the snow he stood upon an emanated in waves before him. Raising his head to the sky, he let out a bellow.
"Silence!"
Both those in front and behind him would shield themselves from the nearly unbearable heat coming from the King; he achieved their attention. But this state was only temporary, for though he let his inner beast roar and howl, he still held the chain around its neck. His fury began to dissipate in the cold of the Freljord sunset, but not entirely. It wrapped around him like a cloak billowing in the wind, red steam from a naked body in the cold. He would hold his anger by the clutches of his warrior hands, and keep the beast down.
His eyes, now alight with an almost murderous red looked upon his people and all they were; fear, anger, panic, it was all there... and he would let them know exactly how he felt about it.
"You are all like chickens running around with your heads cut off. And what for? Because the Cryophenix crash landed? Pathetic. We are better than that, sons and daughters of the Freljord. We are better than that!"
The King's words resounded around him for all to hear.
"We have nothing to fear from the Cryophenix's arrival; she is a friend and ally to us. The walls of the Rakelstake are strong, and you are all well defended within them. This is not a battlefield, you are all safe.
Tryndamere let his words sink in, settle through the panic and worry. Yet as he did, his right hand reached to his hilt, grasping it with the intent of unsheathing it, but not doing so just yet.
"Now, clear a path to the Cryophenix, or I will cut you down where you stand."
His words were final, and uncontestable. They knew of the King's wrath, and none would dare tempt it any further than it had been roused. The fighting had come to a halt, and slowly the people in front of him cleared a way for the King. They still stood though, their interest in the events holding strong, but they were not throwing punches as they previously were. The King strode forward, tendrils of anger trailing behind him like a cape, cooling and deteriorating. He entered the broken tavern, and saw what the commotion was about. Old Tormund's hand was frozen to the Anivia's wing. Tormund was a little more frozen for ware, but Anivia... she seemed off. Not only was she smaller than Tryndamere remembered, but her gaze looked... affixed. She was staring at something, but what it was he didn't know; he doubted it was the wall. Anivia's wing was still pinned down by the large wooden beam, and now Tormund's hand was frozen... the King needed to act, but not drastically.
Tryndamere reached for the beam, intending to free Anivia so she may release Tormund.
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