Attack on Silvanost - Part 3
01 Newkolt 349 AC
The red dragon still in the street scrabbles to its feet. It spins to face Raven, opens its mouth with a roar and unleashes a massive cone of fire at the elven swordsman. Cobblestones glow bright orange from the extreme heat passing over them. Raven crosses his arms in front of his face to protect his eyes as the raging inferno engulfs him.
As fire consumes the street, Kysek moves along, silent and unseen to the far side of the dragon. He whispers, "Πέτρινο δέρμα" and his skin takes on the consistency of granite as he positions himself to strike.
Shadow will survey the skies looking for the next incoming flight of dragons. The drow sees a flight of six blue dragons closing on his location. The creatures fan out with two remaining in the center while the other four spread out to the left and right by a distance of a few blocks each. Lightning erupts from all of them, blasting buildings and pockets of defenders as they close in on the dark elf's location.
Dropping down behind a spire still smoldering despite Cedron and Ra'ziir's extinguishing efforts, Shadow lies in wait. He commands his summoned water elemental to help Raven. The sentient wave flows along the street, pausing just long enough for its cone of fire to subside before striking. It rises up and hammers the dragon's flank with a mighty fist. The wyrm doesn't even react to the blows, focusing instead on the elven swordsman running out of its fiery breath.
Raven races forward as the flames fade away, his armor only partially shielding him from the conflagration. He emerges from the fiery cone, his jacket and hair still burning and strikes with both blades, working high and low. His first strike slices the dragon's tongue from its mouth. The deluge of blood momentarily causes Raven to lose his footing and his second attack hits nothing but air. He pivots, striking twice against the dragon's chest before dropping to one knee and thrusting upwards with Thorgrim into the the bottom of the wyrm's throat. A gurgling hiss is all that escapes the dragon's mouth before it slips into the cold embrace of death.
"Is that what you meant?" Ra’ziir pauses, waiting for a reply from an unseen speaker. "You gave no explicit direction...." He lifts the talisman again, pointing it at another burning building and repeats the command.
Nothing happens. The Elfemental floats through the air, continuing his one-sided conversation, “Perhaps, but a true leader doesn’t require punitive action to motivate… rather, they inspire, through deed and action. However, it seems you desire only mindless puppets to do your bidding. Would it not be more advantageous to have some that can actually THINK through a problem to its ultimate resolution than to have to micromanage every step your followers take? I am no mindless puppet. If you desire my service, you’re more likely to get it through negotiation rather than simple brute force…”
The two blues that broke left suddenly change course and loose blasts of lightning at the black-robed bladesinger. Ra’ziir swoops, evading most of the first bolt but the second hits him squarely in the chest, blasting him through the third floor windows of a burning building where he crashes into someone's fiery bedroom.
Cedron’s eyes catch a glimpse of Romulus, or whatever is left of him. The minstrel-priest dashes towards the halfing, pulling forth a scroll from the folds of his cloak. He crouches beside the halfling and begins to read the words on the priceless, irreplaceable scrap of parchment. The divine magic, already cast and trapped within the ink, is released. The page bursts into a cold, blue flame and sinks into the cleric's hand, flows through his body and out of his other hand and into Romulus' burns. Charred flesh flakes away at the minstrel-priest's touch, revealing new pink skin beneath.
Romulus sighs in relief as the magic from Cedron’s scroll takes effect. "Thank you, my friend." The halfling archmage rises to his feet, his legs still shaky but functional and gauges the speed of the approaching blue wyrms. He focuses his magic and shouts, "Jussof xomvoph" right before they pass overhead.
His spell takes effect instantly, evaporating the water from the Blues' bodies in a pair of steam clouds. The first dragon sags under the effects of the spell, much more so than its companion.
That is when Shadow bursts from hiding. He slips around to the left of the lead dragon while directing his air elemental to strike the other dragon's rider.
Shadow's glowing purple claymore cuts through the air in a sweeping arc that slashes along the belly scales, sending a cascade of sparks raining down into the street. At the same time, he strikes with Swiftwind. The phoenix-blessed blade flares white as its pierces the wing muscles. Energy flows down the blade, a power meant to hurl foes away from the sword's wielder but the dragon is so massive that it is Shadow who is knocked back.
Spewer leaps. His suction cup toe-pads easily adhering to the the flying reptile. He crawls across its thick hide and onto its back. He scuttles toward the rider, a human in a hooded black robe with a blackened silver amulet. The rider has his fingers laced through the amulet's tarnished chain and is chanting. The only words Spewer can make out over the roar of wind, fire, and battle are "My Dark Queen, I beseech you..."
Having heard enough, Shadow's lizard familiar takes aim and hawks an caustic glob at the rider on the dragon's back. The spittle strikes the man in the face, cutting off the words of his prayer or spell or whatever. Acid begin mting through flesh and muscle. The man screams as half of his face melts away.
The elemental rushing the other rider buffets that robed figure but seems to be largely ineffective.
Ag'nesallynn shifts her weight, pushing debris and cracked lumber aside. The dragon's wings flare and she begins to flap them, trying to send fresh air down to those trapped in the rubble. She grits her teeth and snarls, "Arthur, get...out...."
Below, in what was once the basement of the heing house, Arthur’s breath becomes ragged, the taste of smoke and ash thick on his tongue. His body feels heavier with every step, the last warmth of the healing elixir long since gone, but he forces himself beneath the slab Ag’nesallynn strains to hold aloft. Inside, the air is choked with dust, shadows broken only by thin beams of moonlight and fire cutting through the wreckage.
“Stay with me,” he growls, shoving aside splintered boards and fallen stone until his hands find Lorraine. His grip is steady, though his arms tremble from exhaustion, as he hauls them toward the light. The moment they’re clear, he turns back into the ruin without a second’s pause—pain and fatigue be damned.
Grotto continues down the road in a hurried pace to Lorraine's. Upon getting there he stops in his tracks, shocked seeing Arthur and a dragon working the rubble looking for survivors.
"I guess this dragon is a friend!", Grotto thinks to himself.
Grotto takes the gem taken from the Winter King in which the air elemental resides. He crushes it on the ground and tells the elemental to topple the riders from the dragons and attempt to ground the dragons if possible. The miniature tornado takes to the air, streaking through the sky and back towards the center of town.
"Is that what you meant?" Ra’ziir pauses, waiting for a reply from an unseen speaker. "You gave no explicit direction...." He lifts the talisman again, pointing it at another burning building and repeats the command.
Nothing happens. The Elfemental floats through the air, continuing his one-sided conversation, “Perhaps, but a true leader doesn’t require punitive action to motivate… rather, they inspire, through deed and action. However, it seems you desire only mindless puppets to do your bidding. Would it not be more advantageous to have some that can actually THINK through a problem to its ultimate resolution than to have to micromanage every step your followers take? I am no mindless puppet. If you desire my service, you’re more likely to get it through negotiation rather than simple brute force…”
The two blues that broke left suddenly change course and loose blasts of lightning at the black-robed bladesinger. Ra’ziir swoops, evading most of the first bolt but the second hits him squarely in the chest, blasting him through the third floor windows of a burning building where he crashes into someone's fiery bedroom.
Cedron’s eyes catch a glimpse of Romulus, or whatever is left of him. The minstrel-priest dashes towards the halfing, pulling forth a scroll from the folds of his cloak. He crouches beside the halfling and begins to read the words on the priceless, irreplaceable scrap of parchment. The divine magic, already cast and trapped within the ink, is released. The page bursts into a cold, blue flame and sinks into the cleric's hand, flows through his body and out of his other hand and into Romulus' burns. Charred flesh flakes away at the minstrel-priest's touch, revealing new pink skin beneath.
Romulus sighs in relief as the magic from Cedron’s scroll takes effect. "Thank you, my friend." The halfling archmage rises to his feet, his legs still shaky but functional and gauges the speed of the approaching blue wyrms. He focuses his magic and shouts, "Jussof xomvoph" right before they pass overhead.
His spell takes effect instantly, evaporating the water from the Blues' bodies in a pair of steam clouds. The first dragon sags under the effects of the spell, much more so than its companion.
That is when Shadow bursts from hiding. He slips around to the left of the lead dragon while directing his air elemental to strike the other dragon's rider.
Shadow's glowing purple claymore cuts through the air in a sweeping arc that slashes along the belly scales, sending a cascade of sparks raining down into the street. At the same time, he strikes with Swiftwind. The phoenix-blessed blade flares white as its pierces the wing muscles. Energy flows down the blade, a power meant to hurl foes away from the sword's wielder but the dragon is so massive that it is Shadow who is knocked back.
Spewer leaps. His suction cup toe-pads easily adhering to the the flying reptile. He crawls across its thick hide and onto its back. He scuttles toward the rider, a human in a hooded black robe with a blackened silver amulet. The rider has his fingers laced through the amulet's tarnished chain and is chanting. The only words Spewer can make out over the roar of wind, fire, and battle are "My Dark Queen, I beseech you..."
Having heard enough, Shadow's lizard familiar takes aim and hawks an caustic glob at the rider on the dragon's back. The spittle strikes the man in the face, cutting off the words of his prayer or spell or whatever. Acid begin mting through flesh and muscle. The man screams as half of his face melts away.
The elemental rushing the other rider buffets that robed figure but seems to be largely ineffective.
Ag'nesallynn shifts her weight, pushing debris and cracked lumber aside. The dragon's wings flare and she begins to flap them, trying to send fresh air down to those trapped in the rubble. She grits her teeth and snarls, "Arthur, get...out...."
Below, in what was once the basement of the heing house, Arthur’s breath becomes ragged, the taste of smoke and ash thick on his tongue. His body feels heavier with every step, the last warmth of the healing elixir long since gone, but he forces himself beneath the slab Ag’nesallynn strains to hold aloft. Inside, the air is choked with dust, shadows broken only by thin beams of moonlight and fire cutting through the wreckage.
“Stay with me,” he growls, shoving aside splintered boards and fallen stone until his hands find Lorraine. His grip is steady, though his arms tremble from exhaustion, as he hauls them toward the light. The moment they’re clear, he turns back into the ruin without a second’s pause—pain and fatigue be damned.
Grotto continues down the road in a hurried pace to Lorraine's. Upon getting there he stops in his tracks, shocked seeing Arthur and a dragon working the rubble looking for survivors.
"I guess this dragon is a friend!", Grotto thinks to himself.
Grotto takes the gem taken from the Winter King in which the air elemental resides. He crushes it on the ground and tells the elemental to topple the riders from the dragons and attempt to ground the dragons if possible. The miniature tornado takes to the air, streaking through the sky and back towards the center of town.
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