Attack on Silvanost - Part 5

01 Newkolt 349 AC

Kysek takes a line that would bring him directly under one of the returning greens and hunkers down behind a mostly intact chimney, knowing that dragons would be able to see through his invisibility and waits for the approaching Greens to come within reach.

Shadow watches the blues peel off and the greens tear into the building Raven ran into. He points his finger and tracks them for second before beginning the incantation to produce a small bead glowing like an ember. With a final shout of "Φωτιά Μπάλα," he releases his magic and a massive fireball erupts between this next wave of dragons. Orange and red flames wash over green scales. Both dragons, already weakened by Ra’ziir's spell of dehydration roar as their emerald hides are blackened and burned by the magical fire.

Then Kysek strikes. Rising from the rooftop as the fireball fades away, he lunges at the belly of the trailing wyrm. The turbulence from the dragon flying so close to the rooftops prevents Kysek from getting a clear shot with Blackflame so reaches out with his free hand and shouts, "Цоне оф Цолд!" A cone of absolute cold erupts from his fingers at nearly point blank range. The blast coats the dragon's charred scales with a rime of ice, eliciting another cry of pain from the wyrm.

Raven, thanks to his Ring of Freedom of Movement, is not pinned but he is blocked in on all sides. He takes a moment to orient himself, to determine which wall overlooks the street below, and draws Nightwatcher. He plunges the adamantite blade through the wall to carve a hole in several places and begins kicking at center to make an opening to escape through.

Ra’ziir calls on the Bladesong again, combining his movements with magic to cast a spell of Haste. He climbs throigh the air, rolling over and dropping onto the back of the lead green, landing right behind its rider. The rider, an armored human bearing a silver, five-headed dragon pendant lets out a surprised gasp that is cut off when the eldritch knight's arm slips around his throat, cutting off his air supply. Searing pain, like molten lead poured into his eye sockets, shreds the gold elf's consciousness, causing his vision to swim. He manages to maintain his hold and rolls backwards off of the dragon, hauling his prize with him.

Cedron searches for more wounded party members within range. With Kysek, Shadow, and Ra'ziir aloft, Romulus at least able to stand under his own power, and Raven trapped inside a partially collapsed building, he turns his attention to the fires that are rapidly spreading fires and pulls the rod of flame extinguishing from the folds of his cloak once more and unleashes its power on the building where Tephysea and her son are trapped.

As soon as Ra'ziir has dropped clear of the flying dragon, Romulus shouts, "Djeop mohjvpoph!" A bolt of lightning leaps from his hand to strike the lead dragon before arcing into the second beast but both shrug off the attack. They crane their necks and exhale a torrent of yellowish-green gas that engulfs the street, blanketing it in deadly fog. Fog that crawls along the ground, flowing through open doorways and shattered walls, poisoning and burning those seeking shelter from the dragons above. The Witching Cloak flares outward, swallowing Cedron, pulling its own wearer into its folds as the cloud rushes past him. Romulus sees the cloud coming and races back inside. He leaps, trying to make it into the top of a sales counter but is too slow and he is overrun by the poisonous, corrosive gas. The wyrms beat their wings harder, climbing further into the sky and turning to following the blue dragons out of the city.

Arthur reaches out, catching Grotto’s wrist with a steady but gentle grip. Pulling him in close he puts his hand on his shoulder his smoke-streaked face is weary, his voice low but carrying the kind of conviction that steadies rather than commands.

“Grotto… I know your pain. I feel the same weight with every life lost. But if you let anger carry you now, we’ll lose more than we can save. Your gift—your heart—it’s needed here, more than any blade or oath of vengeance. One soul at a time, my friend. That’s how we honor them. And when the moment comes to strike back, we’ll face it together. But not before we’ve done all we can for the living.”

He gives the dwarf’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then kneels beside a wounded elf, tearing a strip from his cloak to bind a gash along their arm. His movements are careful but swift, showing by example that compassion is as vital as courage.

As Arthur rises, his gaze shifts through the haze to Ag’nesallynn. The look isn’t cold, but carries the quiet ache of someone who feels both gratitude and hurt. His words are softer than the battlefield around them, meant for her alone. He reaches into his pouch and places a vial in her hand.

“Drink, and when this is over… you and I need to talk." His voice drops to a whisper, "My feelings for you have not changed."

He doesn’t press, he smiles at her, turning back toward the wounded, but the weight of the words lingers in the air, as gentle as it is undeniable.

Grotto darts from person to person to gauge their injuries.

"So many are beyond saving!" Grotto says to Arthur as he pours a bit of undiluted alchemical liquid in their mouth. Grotto holds their hand as they pass into their next life so they don't die alone in the street. As he becomes the angel of death to many of the most severely stricken elves, his sadness turns to anger.

"Ten enemies will die for each one of them who I help to pass!" Grotto promises as he weaves through the throngs of the wounded and dying with Arthur. "Mark my words, Arthur none will be left standing!"