The Great Ones The Great Ones Beneath

[Zathria At'Arel]

As the clash of blades against shields subsided, the dark elven warrior's eyes were drawn to the cracks in the earth that resulted from the gargantuan creature. The destruction it had caused was still difficult to fathom, but her eyes were quickly drawn further to something within the crack. Deep below, it might have been more difficult to see for most, but for a drow who was used to seeing nothing but black, it was perfectly comfortable.

A man was making his way through the underground. Though she didn't know who he was, he was no drow, and furthermore, he was far too close to the creature and too deep to be from the city.

The soldier's senses within her flared, and she made her choice quickly. There wasn't a moment to lose or the man might be lost. Turning, she selected three of her best scouts to join her and quickly began a descent into the crevices to intercept Zachariah. Whatever was going on here, she had a feeling he had answers, whether he wanted to give them or not.

 

[Velathina T'sarran]

Velathina was moving to follow Zathria At'Arel as she descended into the crevices, her senses screaming in warning at the sight of the tall human; too Calm, too Unmoved by the terror that had engulfed the survivors in the ruins. The armor he wore was old and ornate, and he was deep - deeper than any human should be. Whistling sharply she jerked her head to the side and called two of the mages to her side and set off with Zathria's scouts to confront the Thing that didn't belong.

 

[Zachariah]

​

So, he is awake too.

Zachariah made his way out of the rubble his Queen had left behind. He didn’t even recognise this city. When they had fallen and gone into Sleep, when she had been in the throws of pain as she birthed her egg, there had been nothing here for miles around. It was why they had chosen the spot in the first place.

In a bag on his back he carried her egg even though it nearly dwarfed him. People screamed and ran past him, tripping over themselves in order to get away from his Goddess. Zach’s lips curled in disgust.

Let me rid the vermin from your path, My Queen, he was eager after years of nothing to hear his blade sing once more. To feel men fall as the steel forged in dragons fire cleaved through their bodies. Only a few seemed to hold themselves in reverence but the rest ran screaming.

Fools. Did they not know who stood before them?

I will make the streets run with their blood for you for even daring to build a city here, you can feed your child on their bodies, I will-

His eyes rested on the soldiers who had stepped out to block his path.

For the first time in millennia, Zachariah smiled.

 

[Neha]

The roar came to a natural end and Neha cocked her head to listen. He was quite the way away if she was any kind of a judge. Her wings folded back against her side and suddenly she shook herself. The movement caused another tremor in itself but it was a sight to behold. Starting at the tip of her snout her scales suddenly rippled like a dark lake that glittered and shone in the rising moon.

Her General’s mind touched hers and Neha cast her eyes towards the ground in search of the man who carried the most important thing in the world.

Yes. He is awake too.

And he would seek them out soon enough. For now, Neha was hungry. To meet her gaze was like staring into the heart of a volcano but several pathetic humans dared to do it. Some bowed. Her nostrils flared and she lowered her head to the Drow clinging to the toothpick of a weapon. As her snout came to rest almost on the ground so that she might see this creature better, Neha snorted. The winds would buffet the poor wretch but the toothpick might help her.

You are not of those who worship me, a voice older, far older than anyone would have heard before ripped through the minds of those in the city. Neha wondered whether such people were even alive anymore. Had her name truly faded from living memory? She would make them all remember. Her lips pulled back to reveal rows upon rows of teeth that were far taller than the wretch in front of her when she was standing. Those who were not under the protection of her Love were there to be eaten or enslaved.

That had been the deal.

Neha had been about to satisfy her old hunger when her eyes caught the glint of golden scales and her head snapped up, her tail lashing in an … amused movement which destroyed the rest of the wall within which sat the main front gates.

Sepheron, still she spoke in the minds of the whole city. Nobody has had the pleasure of cleaving your scales from your hide yet? Neha sneered, though there was an odd touch of… warmth to her tone. To see something familiar was actually an odd comfort. Not that she would have dreamed to have ever had such a thing upon seeing these particular eyes.

What year is it? What city is this?

 

[Alexios Marxan]

Why. The. Fuck. Was. It. Moving?

Honestly at this point Alexios was clinging on for dear life half because he knew falling wasn't an option and half because he really wanted to fuck up this dragon's day. The scale-bound bastard had royally screwed with him and Alexios was not about to take that lying down, even if this dragon turned out to be a bloody God!

Fuck the Gods.

Fuck this climbing.

And especially fuck this dragon!

And it seemed that someone else had the same thought that he did because some person he could barely see launched himself at the dragon like a gods-damned comet. Which was... oh gods that was a lot of fire.

That was REALLY a lot of fire.

And here he was, likely the only thing attached to the fucking dragon that was somewhat flammable.

"STUPID BASTARD FUCKER GONNA DICK ME OVER!"

He was still deaf after all.

"YEAH FUCK THE DRAGON BUT WHAT ABOUT ME EH?! NO ONE EVER THINKS ABOUT OL' ALEXIOS WHEN MOUNTAINS START RISING AND FIRE FALLS FROM THE FUCKING SKY."

Climbing quickly, he rushed across the back of the dragon's neck. He groaned in pain with every movement but he would be damned if he was going to die just because someone decided he wanted to fly into the jaws of the dragon. Hunkering down underneath one of the massive cropping of a raised scale, Alexios took a shaky breath.

He was going to freaking kill himself at this rate but whatever - he would not go quietly into the night like some kind of pathetic waste of skin. Gritting his teeth, he called upon the fire and built it around him into a sphere. His own flames swirled around him, the flames from the other attacker washing over his sphere before being added to the flames he controlled by the momentum alone.

Once he was out of danger himself he growled as he spun and twisted the flames, condensing them into a white-hot point that he then rammed straight down into the dragon's skin, exposed by the upward scale. It could barely be called "exposed" with how tough it was but he pushed all of his borrowed flames into a lance the width of his fist right down into it with every ounce of force he could muster.

Here he was stuck like a flea on the back of this giant, fire-breathing, dog but if he was a flea then the dragon was going to feel his bite. The goal was to use a concentrated burn to strike deep into the back of it's neck, where it was naturally hard to reach.

Why?

Because fuck this dragon, that's why.

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. She watched as the dragon lowered her head to look at the drow. The hand on the hilt of her blade twitched every so lightly, but she refused to let fear govern her. The snort from the dragon alone caused her to skid back several feet, but she forcefully held herself up with her blade buried into the ground.

Rows of teeth taller than her flashed before her and Vyx yanked her blade out. Grimacing beneath her helmet, she prepared to cut into the dragon’s mouth as she was eaten, intending to go down fighting. However, that was when another voice rumbled behind her, and it was enough to even distract the dragon queen.

A second dragon had swept in, the winds knocking Vyx clear back from where she stood. She knew better than to press her luck, and she spun to give silent signals to her people to prepare for battle. The black and gold dragon fit the details from rumors and legends long forgotten about a serpent in the Underrealm. Vyx had never believed it until she heard the dragon queen utter the name.

Sepheron.

The drow commander ran past the dragon queen’s legs while she was distracted, quickly moving in to stand next to Zathria. She and Velathina stood across a towering...human? The man was heavily armored and carrying a massive bag. He slaughtered his way through droves of orcs, humans and elves alike.

Vyx’aria would take advantage of the two dragons dealing with one another and focus on the champion of the goddess. It was clear they were not of this world and had no interests in the affairs of humans and elves. However, whatever the man carried looked to be of great interest with how much care he afforded it.

She gave a set of hand signals to Zathria before drawing her blade, carved from the rarest and toughest materials found in the Underealm. Vyx dashed towards the armored man, swinging her blade in to engage him in combat in concert with the other drow.

Vyx knew it would take many of them to take on this single man.

Zathria At'Arel Velathina T'sarran Zachariah Sepheron

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria slipped adeptly down and came to the path of the tall warrior. Who he was or what he was doing, she still couldn't be sure, but he had an absolutely massive pack on his back and it seemed... oblong. She didn't know what dragon eggs looked like, but if she had to guess, something that large gave birth to an egg that could dwarf a man.

She came to a stop in front of the warrior, hands gripping the hilts of the two sabers, their jet black metal not even reflecting the slightest amount of light as she unwaveringly stared down the warrior. Her own armor was jet black, nearly a reflection of his own, and she didn't seem to waver. She was no stranger to evils or wicked creatures summoned to the world, but she couldn't help noting the nefarious feeling that seeped out of him as he smiled from behind his helmet.

I'll be taking that off your hands, she said in an even tone. She didn't imagine he would give it up willingly, and she didn't know what powers he had, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.

A voice seemed to tear through her mind and while she tried not to show it, it unnerved her to her core. But then it steeled her resolve. Whatever they were up against, the only chance they had against it now was to claim what it prized most. Do or die were the only options before her now.

A moment later, she could feel as much as see Vyx'aria beside her. The two had been fighting side by side for years and sparring against one another for even longer. They knew how to work in perfect unison almost without speaking.

As Vyx'aria threw herself forward at the black clad figure, Zathria charged in as well. She swung wide so as to approach from the opposite side as the commander and force the man to fight on two fronts as one of her blades flashed forward, striking low to try to sever the critical muscles at the back of the thigh where his armor was likely to be weakest. Velathina T'sarran Zachariah Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel

 

[Xunari Auceus]

Holy scale-bound Goddess it was talking and she was not prepared for that.

Honestly she had kind of expected to have to watch as her runes tried and failed to keep her from experiencing a quick, firery, death. This was... Xunari wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but it was definitely a thing.

Immediate death wasn't off the table of course because the dragon, Goddess, was by far too large for her personal taste in conversation partners. She preferred them of a size that meant they couldn't accidentally murder her with an ill-timed step.

She moved a little closer to Vyx.

"... I don't think she's accepting converts."

Leaving the two dragons to stare each other down like star-crossed lovers or whatever, she followed after Vyx. Why? She wasn't really sure but she refused to let herself be a footnote in this moment.

This slice of history.

Drawing her dagger in her right hand, she held her runic shield in front of her with her left arm. She wasn't going to be someone who could do a lot of damage to the big man but she wasn't going to be a weakling either. Time to see if she could tank what he could put out. Her shield, with it's runic array designed to protect harder and further than the metal of the shield itself, would earn it's keep her today she would bet.

As she stood behind the other drow she began to drag her foot into the ash in front of her. She kept her eyes on the enemy and her allies as she traced lines into the ground with her right foot. The runic array was designed to sap the energy of whoever was caught in it's ten meter radius. It just needed something of a focus...

She cut her left hand with her dagger, dripping blood into the runic array she had created so that it would work to sap the energy of all those who did not share her blood. Namely? Non-Drow. Her people wouldn't feel it's weight but the others would - including the enemy when she activated it.

"On your signal." She told her allies quietly, "They're circling the Drain and they don't even know it."

Was it subtle to a Drow soldier that she was admitting she had a drain stamina rune set up? No. But that was because Drow tended to know what runes could do and how to respond to her more cryptic words.

Zathria At'Arel Velathina T'sarran Zachariah Sepheron Neha Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel

 

[Sepheron]

​

Neha spoke back to him, a voice that he hadn't heard in hundreds of years. She had been awoken and it was really her return. Sepheron lifted his head and stretched his neck to its full length, the moonlight making his gold-encrusted face glint brightly as he stared right back at her. A deep chuckle emanated from him at her question with its own touch of amusement, his deep voice echoing telepathically like hers, As if I would allow a creature to get close enough to do such a thing. Sepheron's fascination with gold wasn't a secret as it was clearly etched over half his body and quite valuable. But the golden dragon let out his own sneer at the thought of a fool brave enough to even attempt to skin him.

We both have been asleep for some time, the year is unknown to me. Sepheron had collected his wealth and he had intended to rest with it peacefully for centuries to come with time having passed him by as well. When she asked what city that she currently resided on, he whipped his head to the destruction that she wrought so easily. For what hadn't been destroyed initially, fires started to ravage the other sections to finish the process. Even through the destruction, memories from long ago of the city started to resurface to his mind. Bhathairk, one of the surface creature's strongholds. Before he had retreated to the Underrealm to finally rest, he had soared over this land enough times to recount the name.

Sepheron unwrapped his tail from the crag he resided on before he jumped and landed onto the ground below, slight cracks forming under his weight as dust clouds piled around his legs and belly before dissipating. There was some distance still between the two massive creatures of old. The dragon had his own questions and he raised his head to peer up at her, Why have you finally returned? She had woken him as she had cracked the earth and he wondered what had possibly done that for her.

The dragon a moment after took a deep inhale, the scent of the surface returning to him in full force. However, his head would tilt suddenly at an angle as he caught something and Neha would be able to see his eye squint in response as well. Even despite the distance that stretched between them, Sepheron could sense his presence too. It's not just you.

 

[Zeri Rekani]

He roared at her to wake.

Zeri started. Her face terribly paled as she choked on the vomit clogged in her throat.

Her sole eye free of the blood-curtain looked up, its sclera as well stained through with harrowing tributaries of red. Saw through the veil of that selfsame redness inside her eye the face of a dragon.

And horror washed over her. Horror, closely matched by a vicious hatred.

Before seeing if it had worked, he scooped up the small orc and continued to run for the walls.

Zeri's head lulled to one side in his grasp and a deep fit of coughing brought on by the plagued Ash bought her a small reprieve from death. A torrent of vomit was ejected from her mouth and from her throat at last and it splattered to the ground moving behind her.

She looked up again.

Saw that face.

But recognized it.

Horror and hatred faded.

And both were replaced by swelling hope as she truly saw Szesh then. A weak smile offered to him.

You are not of those who worship me, a voice older, far older than anyone would have heard before ripped through the minds of those in the city.

Zeri pinched her eyes shut--she did not hear the rest of that terrible voice. Her breaths were short and rapid, the pain in her chest immense above all others as the extremes of stress and injury conspired maliciously.

She was on the verge of cardiac arrest.

Szesh

 

[Masaru]

"Fine but I want to be a dracolich or a shadow dragon." Masaru said as much to get him to stop talking as anything, "And if you die I get your hat."

Masaru pushed off and began his ascent with every intention of taking them back toward Amol-Kalit. He had priorities beyond his curiosity, and this was something he would need to warn his hatchlings, mate, and friends of immediately. But...he felt compelled to speak to the Elder Dragon. It meant him no harm, it had woken and taken no agressive action toward him directly. There was no reason he would start attacking now without provocation. Masaru was barely a hatchling himself by comparison to Draig the dragon god.

Masaru angled toward the behemoth without even thinking about the Lich and company on his back.

"Elder," he said telepathically at the huge beast, "I am Masaru The Bright Star. You must have questions."

Masaru held position a comfortable distance away his scaled body sending the smell of fresh rain into the arid atmosphere.


Méchanteau

 

[Velathina T'sarran]

Velathina circled around the man with the cumbersome pack, the unsettling smirk on his face that would have chilled a lesser being merely raising her hackles, the Drow sorceress bearing her teeth in a snarl as she circled around to the side, the mages accompanying her spreading out in a triangle formation with her at the head. She reached to her hip and unfurled the war whip at her side, the heavy chitin and Underrealm metal handle fitting her palm as she rolled her wrist and let the long weapon of leather and metal unfurl at her side and met Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel and Zathria At'Arel's eyes as she twisted her body in time with their rush forward and whipped her arm in a sharp crack of displaced air, the whip flying out to lash at the armored strangers back and legs from behind in an attempt to prevent him from retreating in the face of her sister Drows' onslaught and distract him by targeting the oblong parcel across his back. (Zachariah)

 

[Kara Orin]

The tunnels by the Moondials would be dark. Cold. It offered stale air to those that would delve into it. The carvings on the wall depicted a dragon causing tremendous chaos. To cities, to farms, and more. Deeper in the tunnels would be a door that could be opened.

What the ancient people of the Forbidden City left as far as traps or surprises remained unknown…

As Masaru approached Drakormir and introduced himself, it would best for him to tell Drakormir what it is He feels in the east. He is starved of magic and can sense a great amount in that direction.

Drakormir continued to move east. Away from the Forbidden City and the scar it created.

From Drakormir’s perspective, He saw a ball of raging fire rush toward Him. And then Maho’s fire impacted the colossal dragon on the left shoulder. Celestia quickly followed up with an attack of her sword. A bright light reflected off half the dragon’s body and the sand dunes nearby.

Then Drakormir stopped.

Any clouds built up by the fiery spell dissipated. The area that Maho’s spell struck was colored black with apparent scorch marks except for the scales Celestia’s sword hit. Instead of being blackened, those scales remained just as white as the rest of his skin.

A low rumble formed from Drakormir’s mouth. Not a roar, but something like the sound of an earthquake without the ground shaking. The air carried all the quaking.

Drakomir turned his head slightly so that one eye gazed upon Maho and Celestia.

Could Masaru tell Him who they were? Who are the people approaching behind them? What do they want?

The Empire’s forces approached. The attack by Maho and Celestia got His attention. He seemed to sit still – waiting for some answer from the most helpful Masaru.

Except for one thing. On the ground, it would look like the dragon brushed the tip of His tail upon His neck. Almost like a brief scratch. From Alexios’s perspective, that tail would be rushing straight for him.

---

With the dragon in sight, many of the Elbion expedition were having second thoughts. None of the Maesters could give an answer to what Drakormir is or wanted. None of them could answer why a pyromancer attacked the dragon.

Though, Maester Awano could see the Empire’s own expedition rushing for Drakormir.

“Look, there are those that have already ridden forth to confront this thing,” Awano said to students and other mages still unsure. Awano himself was shaking.

“No one will be blamed for leaving,” Awano continued, “But if that’s Amol-Khalit forces and this dragon destroys it, who’s to say Elbion isn’t next?”

“Those that are continuing, let’s ride to meet them,” Awano said as he got back on his horse.

Kara would silently follow.

 

[Zachariah]

The towering figure of black laughed.

It was the type of laugh that came from deep within the diaphragm and made a person shake with the force of it. He barely seemed to feel the weight of the egg as he drew his own blade and stopped his advance. He held the weapon almost casually as if he didn't actually intend to ever use it but had drawn it as a courtesy to make them feel as though they were actually enough of a threat.

"Such a warm welcome after years of being buried beneath your loud city," his voice was surprisingly rich and carried an odd lilt to it. His version of the Common Tongue was not quite right but rather an older version. As these... elves? Launched themselves at him he gave another bark of a laugh and then suddenly his blade was a blur of movement. Despite a millennia beneath the ground, Zachariah moved with the fluidity of water. The armour moved like a second skin, rippling and shining much like his mistresses scales did in the moonlight. His blade caught one strike, battered another way as though they were nothing more than fleas.

As they hit the metal a song akin to a roar would ring out and unless their weapons were wrought with the runes of old or forged in the fire of a dragon they would find their weapons cracked and splintered as if they were nothing more than ice.

A ball of ethereal green fire suddenly appeared in his hand. The heat of even such a small flame was incredible and would have been enough to make people sweat who came too close, blister if they tried to push further.

"Bow to My Queen and you will face a quick death for your attempt on the Prince's life."

 

[Neha]

Her laugh shook the ground and her tail swept suddenly in an arc sending men and women screaming into the air. She barely registered their existence.

You always were the arrogant fool, her laughter subsided into a chuckle and with a sudden downward sweep of her wings she rose out of the crater that had once been a mountain. The force of the wind she created sent the city's residences to their knees or their backs with the sudden pressure. Neha only went a short way to land instead over the fissures of heat. People's screams were cut short as she landed and crushed them beneath her talons. One man who had somehow avoided her crushing weight tried to crawl away towards the cover of a crumbled house but the slow movement drew her eye. With deliberate care she hooked one talon through the odd fabric humans wore and then threw him - still screaming - into her gaping maws.

It was time, Neha could no more explain her return than that though she doubted she would be inclined to waste anymore time on the matter either. She was back and that was all that mattered. And things had clearly fallen into disarray since she had been gone. There was, however, an odd shift to her mood as she thought of her response to his last statement of fact.

No, I am not alone. He calls. Will you answer?

 

[Alexios Marxan]

... shade.

Being deafened earlier by the damned dragon, the two things that alerted him to it's plans were rather simple. One was that there was shade for the first time she he arrive at this fucking desert and that didn't really make sense because it was a damned, fucking, desert.

There wasn't anything around that could cause there to be some shade. Except, you know, more dragon.

The second thing was that he could feel the dragon moving beneath his feet. Sure the tail was... quite a long way away but it was still like feeling someone moving their foot because you had your hand on their thigh.

Except the thigh was the dragon's scaley-ass neck and the foot was a giant tail that, to some degree, managed to block out the fucking sun.

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NOPE!"

He had the strangest urge to run UP the dragon's neck completely parallel to the arrival of the tail. But he squashed that idea in an instant because it was, actually, incredibly fucking dumb.

Instead he ran off to the side, running across the dragon's neck. Considering how small he was compared to the dragon he was banking on the idea that he couldn't feel him running along his skin but rather was only trying to swat him like a particularly annoying fly because of the fire enema he tried to give him earlier.

Well lesson learned - try not to five the dragon a flea-bite when you forget it has a fucking tail.

He ran away from the site of the swatting but the air displaced hit him anyway, sending him rolling down the side of the dragon's neck. Screaming incoherently the entire time, enough that his throat was starting to get sore, he stuck his dagger out, scraping against the near imperious skin of the dragon to try and slow his fall before he had nothing beneath him but air, more air and then suddenly sand.

Thankfully there was a line in the dragon's skin that his dagger kind of caught on, leaving Alexios dangling precariously off the side of the dragon's neck now. He looked down and swallowed thickly.

"I REALLY WANT TO GO HOME NOW."

 

[Lazule]

Violence.

The primeval trunk by which all other forms of influence stemmed. Once invoked, all paid due deference to it, for the time of discourse and civility had thus passed. And once this ancient contract had been entered into by those arraigned in their irreconcilable circumstance then there was but one resolution: the use of raw force until one party's will triumphed over the other. To this end there was no more clear a denouement to the conflict than death.

And so it was with Monsters and their predations upon Arethil. They whose hearts were tainted by Cruelty and whose trade was naught but violence--mindless or otherwise. So too was it for they who hunted Monsters, a voluntary willingness to enter into this selfsame trade and dispense what would be cruelties to any other creature, a degradation of one's sanctity of personhood in the service of righteousness and this such that those innocent did not have to.

This was Lazule's purpose.

To enter into this ancient contract alongside those wicked. And destroy them.

To be a Slayer of Monsters.

To enact righteous violence.

And so, in his wanderings back to the familiar ground of Bhathairk, where before another Monster had been dutifully slain, he saw the rising clouds of dust and Ash and smoke. And soon he saw the Monster responsible.

No laborious discernment of its cruelty was necessary. The choice, easy. His fate, sealed.

He spoke a mantra bestowed upon him by Father: "Those idle allow evil to prosper. Righteousness lies solely in action. Holy even are the meek who stand defiant before the wicked. In victory or in death, I shall have no remorse."

And Lazule ran across the open span of grassland before the Gates of Bhathairk--Gates that had once again been destroyed by the wicked. With great strides of his armored legs and vigorous pumps of his arms he closed the distance, leaving the light of the morning and the blue of the sky behind as he neared the canopy of that same dust and Ash and smoke.

He thought only of getting within three kilometers. Of getting in range.

"Slay the monsters. Give no mercy. For they know none."

In his right hand a Javelin of Light manifested and crackled with a vicious humming.

"Hunt. Kill. Pray."

Lazule slid to a stop in the dirt, having learned and become accustomed to the unorthodox prongs of his armored feet. He stood now just shy of the ruined Gates. And he held his left hand out straight--the "L" shape of his thumb and fingers used as a reticle--and cocked his right in preparation to hurl the Javelin. He aimed as the unholy Beast plucked an innocent man from the city and satiated Its hunger for flesh and cruelty.

"They must all be destroyed."

That man would be avenged. As would all of Bhathairk.

When Lazule ripped the massive scalp from the head of the Beast and hung it for the world to see.

"In this purpose so clear I find only joy."

With a mighty heave Lazule launched his Javelin and it whistled sharply as it sailed--a golden encapsulation of radiant light streaking through the smothering haze of wanton destruction at the flashing speed of one kilometer a second--and it flew straight for the gargantuan head of Neha.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Neha

 

[Xunari Auceus]

Well it looked like things really weren't going to go as expected - already the spikey enemy ( Zachariah ) had proven beyond a shadow of a reasonable doubt that runes made things better. She had no proof that runes would have helped those weapons stand up any better but it was hardly as though they could have hurt!

Her rune to drain non-drow of energy was set up and ready to go, ready to start draining the spikey bugger of his will and ability to dight. Despite that, she knew that it was unlikely to be enough.

As the spikey humanoid was giving them a monologue she continued to hurriedly draw upon the ground as it did so. There was blood and death all around them, fuel enough for even the most powerful of runes she could use. The only trouble was that the more powerful ones required her to have a lot more time.

So brunt force would need to do.

She finished drawing up another rune with the blood of the fallen as the man demanded that they bow in order to die quickly. Placing her hand on the rune, it glowed light purple as she activated it.

"You talk too much."

Activating the rune trap, a dozen tendrils of red energy would lash out at the warrior, intent on wrapping around his main-weapon hand. It wouldn't crush or maim or anything like that so much as it would attach itself to him and tether him to one spot. At the same time she activated the trap she had already made, to sap non-drow of energy within the area.

She just hoped for two things; One was that it worked. The second was that someone else had an idea about what to do next because she was running out of things she could do on such short notice.

Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel Velathina T'sarran Zathria At'Arel Sepheron

 

[Medja]

The Vizier of Stars looked up to the sight of Maho's reckless kamikaze attack on the draconic titan, the light of the strike glowing bright even from this distance. Confusion and dread filled her mind; such a maneuver, powerful as it was, could not and did not cause anything but superficial damage to Dracormir. Like him or not, Maho would have been a vital asset to the Empire's forces in the fight that was to come. Now he was likely little more than a soot stain on the calcified plates of his target.

Gerra's call to arms snapped Medja back into the moment. This was the first time she could recall that the Emperor had specifically called for her to fight alongside him. It was true that she had long been seeking a reason to truly cut loose, to unleash all of her magical might, but now...now she doubted that she could even scratch the gargantuan before her. Every one of Aramekh's artifacts combined would probably do little more than scratch the monster. Yet still, the Imperial army marched on, and Medja would not abandon her people here.

Unfortunately the Sun and Stars would be the only Viziers to heed Gerra's call this day. The Earth had gone to investigate a recently activated portal stone, the Waters was with her people, and the Moon had been predisposed with diplomatic matters when last Medja had checked in on her. Would she and Ashuanar be enough? They would have to be.

Medja sailed past much of the army and onto Ashuanar's summon, that arachnid war beast that should have dwarfed anything the Empire was to face. If she was going to finish this desperate charge she was going to do it on the mightiest mount available alongside the person she trusted most.

"We likely go to our deaths this day, dear Sun." The sorceress hollered to her fellow vizier above the din of cavalry and footsoldiers. "Do we have a plan?"

Even as she asked, the wheels in her own mind were churning, seeking an answer to this puzzle, searching for a weak point on Dracormir. Simultaneously, she began to coalesce magic within the Fists of Aramekh; if there were ever a time to unleash their true potential, it was now.

 

[Méchanteau]

Amassing armies, crazed spellslingers, a god-beast of prodigious size... and to think that Méchanteau had attempted sleep this very day! Perhaps his little stunt had been successful and this ever-escalating chaos was the spill of memories, tall tales, and crazed flights of fancy that had once populated his weary little skull. Alone with his thrall he was left to wonder, was any of this real? Was he real? Gods, he hoped so...

Closure came with Masaru's words, a wish to be turned into a dracolich or a shadow dragon after his inevitable mauling at the behemoth's paws. Normally the captain would have scoffed, raising competition was a mark of the typical idiot grave-turner, but the request had struck so innocent and sincere that Méchanteau felt a most embarrassing and filling sense of... well, it was as if he wanted to protect the damn thing! 'Tis as pirate wisdom says: keep your fighting dog out of sight or you might take pity on the bastard. And then? You'll jump into the pit and be torn by the other dogs and their owners. Méchanteau had jumped into beast pits for less - petty dares and the occasional lost doubloon - but never had he bet on a critter many sizes smaller than its rival. And that wasn't pirate wisdom, it was just wisdom! The sort he lacked and overcompensated with daring.

Méchanteau disappeared as his fingers touched Alhazrit's pommel. Invisible and swift as the wind, his path could be made out from where the air, thick with ash, blew just a bit wilder and clearer. When the lich appeared he did so only some distance away from the great dragon's eye. "Peekaboo." he tipped his hat, or would have had he not forgotten it. He hid the embarrassment with a hand flourish. Much too slow, even if his intent was not to startle the creature, he approached with hovering steps as if he walked on land "Well, aren't you a big boy?" he said, placing a death-still hand just over the dragon's eyelid, only mildly disgusted by the sheer size of the scales - they were more like plaques "Who's a good boy?" he patted, repeating those cursed, cursed words in as many languages he could remember. First the human tongues, as those were as plenty as they were drab, then the elven and their more musical branches, orkish in many and rich dialects, the more nuanced ogre grunts, goblin whistle-and-clicks and click-and-whistles, some types of kivren wailing, even the giant pidgin the Thundermen used... All repeated slowly and loud. He hoped to at least stand out to the dragon as one of the two creatures in sight that hadn't actively tried to kill it. But by Tabin's grace, what if this thing did die? Méchanteau could have it butchered into an entire armada, the Fleet of Twelve Hundred and More! Between that and not dying, it'd be an absolute win either way.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

It was tremendous.

Unfathomable.

Terrible.

And out upon the plains before the ruins of Bhathairk, he stood, his eyes upon the colossal beast that had arisen from the depths of Arethil. He looked up, and up, and up...

How could such a creature exist...?

​

He moved across the plain, the ground crunching hard underneath.

His breath was steady with the rhythm of his stride.

Darkness clouded the sky, and before him and all around, the land wept ash and smoke.

His mind was clear, and quiet. Beyond and above stood the instrument of this havoc, shrouding the world under the canopy of its great wings. But he dismissed the things that most others would dwell upon in despair and instead remembered all that which he knew to be true: all things had an end. And this thing, should the gods will it, would meet its end here.

As he drew nearer to the remains of the city, he felt a familiar presence.

Without a skip in his step, his eyes shot to his left - and there he saw another, one even more devout than him.

Friend.

Lazule...

As one who knew the Slayer could only expect, Erën saw him - charging headlong into the face of almost certain doom, driven by little else than the unapologetic need to destroy that which destroys, or... And at the thought, a wry smile crept across his face, and his eyes turned forward again. He tore at the brooch of his cloak and alleviated himself of its obstruction, leaving it to flail to the ground behind him. And now, he was nearly upon the city.

Ahead of him, Lazule slid to a stop. Erën guessed his strategy. Brute force.

So be it.

And so it was, as Lazule summoned forth the Javelin and prepared to strike. And he loosed it.

And with its departure did Erën sprint past Lazule, an aura of blue taking shape around him in wisps with his first step past. He reached for his sword, and the aura turned to crackling light. With his second step past the sword started free, shimmering and trembling with magic. And the third step brought him also to a sliding stop, the sword's point aiming after Lazule's javelin. From it, a beam of energy in the likeness of lightning sprang forth to follow up the slayer's initial volley, moving at a near matched speed, just a breath behind.

Lazule | Neha ​

 

[Masaru]

Masaru could sense the wishes of the Elder dragon, feelings and urges washed through him that he knew could not have originated with himself. It was an odd sensation but he had felt similar, albeit lesser, forms of communication during his wide and many travels.

"It is the year 370 by current calendar but 3 and a half millennia since I began counting years. Those people are the armies of Amol-Kalit." He thought at the titanic beast, "A larger kingdom, quite powerful for the lesser species. Their leader is just as gluttonous and ccovetous as my red cousins, though his self importance is said to be greater...No I've not met him myself but the legend of himself that he spreads is widely known in these parts. The others are his servants of one form or another.

"Beyond his lands are Vel Anir to the south east, a repressed city, they detest religion or even thought other than what their houses approve, and their battle mages are formidable. To the east by northeast is Elbion, I studied Evocation and Illusion there before I moved on. I know little of the current state of affairs there."

Masaru beat his wings in time with the singing he felt more than heard now. A part of him urging him far away and back to The Spine where he belonged.

"There are many useless among the species of this world but there are many with greatness and promise among them, if you give them the opportunities to show it." He said though he hadn't been asked that. He had a sinking feeling that the humanoids and beast races were going to need all the chances they could get.

He continued to place himself at a distance in front of the great beast and frowned as his tail shot at the foolish Imperialist. He only hoped this world would survive if they all acted this way.



Méchanteau
Gerra
Kara Orin

 

[Tereth Adathar]

Tereth felt utterly foolish for even charging at a creature so large, and his path to the Imperial convoy seemed to be cut off moments later as it slammed it's massive feet into the earth. Crevices and tunnels began to open and more people seemed to be gathered the closer he came to the beast. Some were refugees fleeing, others were warriors charging toward the battle, and then still there were assorted adventurers.

A flash of light lit the air brightly as something seemed to detonate near the dragon. A powerful magic that somehow managed to not even faze the creature. Tereth's mind churned through ways to assist in this battle, but his sword - enchanted or not - seemed completely and totally inadequate. Another dragon made its way out to the new one, and suddenly Tereth was left to wonder how many of the creatures were going to appear and which of those that already lived here might become immediate enemies.

It was then that his eye caught sight of people gathering at a crevice opened by the creature. He rode his horse swiftly to where others were gathered, gazing down a moment before looking at the men there. Soldiers of some sort, by the looks of it.

We may be able to find an answer to this menace down there, he said, looking at the men gathered. The etchings of the dragons were obvious, and there wasn't much time to waste.

Tereth climbed down whether the others followed or not, pulling the sword from its sheathe. If one looked closely enough, they may be able to see the light catch off the blade and an almost blue color would momentarily light the enchanted runes down the blade. It was a sword designed for killing monsters and creatures of magic that he might hunt. It may not work against dragons, but it made him feel better than being empty handed.

The air in the tunnels was stiff and stale. The fresh air rushing in for above did little to lessen the impact of the must that now infiltrated his nose. Darkness began to swallow him and he tapped one of the runic tattoos on his chest, uttering a quiet word as his vision began to magically cut through the darkness with better clarity. This was... familiar. Like hunting a ghoul in a crypt or a rotfiend in its lair. Yes, this was where Tereth belonged.

He looked at the etchings in the walls, seeing the death and destruction caused in the past, and he wondered if that same fate awaited the world now.

He took careful steps down, a feeling of unease settling over him as he pressed on toward a door at the far end. He began to press it open with the pommel of his sword, standing to the side and opening it slowly in an attempt to glimpse whatever might have been inside. The ground still shook above from the footfalls of the dragon, but he knew that couldn't be his primary concern now.

White Swallow

 

[Szesh]

​

Neha’s voice tore through his mind as wind threw him forwards. He rolled, clutching the small bundle close, and continued running. He was not of those that worshipped Dron. Throughout history some death cults had existed, but they were rare. Draconians by and large reviled him, along with a healthy dose of fear.

The voice was different than he had expected, and strangely enough, his scar did not burn more intensely at its presence. Perhaps it had reached its limit, for it seared along with the rest of him.

He had to get to the portal stone. With the deathbringer at his back, consuming more of Bhathairk with every second, there was nothing left for them here. Only Draco could defeat his brother, but he had long ago left the mortal plane. The activation of the stone beneath the god’s eyes could not have been a clearer sign. Surely, he was guiding them to an escape, a way to fight back. Surely, he would recognize that his servants would heed his call.

A second gust of wind roared towards them. He could hear it arrive from behind, heralded by the utter destruction of the shockwave. The city walls loomed before him, cracked and near to breaking, and he jumped, opening his wings wide. They caught the airburst, but it was beyond his power to control. His wings were wrenched upwards, the fractured finger bending painfully aside. He spun through the air, holding Zeri close to his chest against the inevitable impact. Flapping feably, they hit the ground beyond the wall.

With three solid thuds, Szesh bounced and rolled down the rocky hillside, finally sliding to a stop. He lay there, panting, unable to feel if the girl was still breathing. With a cough of more black ash and blood, he craned his neck to look at her, just as a flash of light streaked across the sky. Lightning or dragonfire, it had not struck them, and so it would not distract.

| Zeri Rekani |​

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia watched in awe as a fireball streaked not from the dragon, but towards it. She searched her memories as the angel streaked alongside it, trying to think if she had ever even heard of such a being. Her admiration turned to ash as black as the falling dust when she saw the fireball make contact, and saw the great titan barely take notice.

The Empire, however, did not seem to be deterred. Gerra himself shouted a war cry and the hoardes that had taken the desert rushed headlong towards their doom. It was foolish, beyond foolish, but so very admirable. Even she, who had only recently come to know the new kingdom, could feel the heart in their charge.

She could not stand back. The will of the Unknowable One was never certain, but he would not intend his children to stand idly by and perish without reprisal. The desert belonged to the Abtati, and the Empire had only just begun to help them reclaim it. Besides, if she did not act, her mission to ascend within this nascent nation would die before the dragon even looked at her. If they did survive this, however slight that chance may be, the only question anyone would ask from then on would be "where were you?" When she looked the Emperor in the eye and asked for a seat at the table, "what did you do" would be his first concern.

At the moment, she wasn't sure what she would do, but she knew one thing: she needed power. At once, she dismounted, approaching an abtati soldier. "[Hail, brother,]" she spoke in their native tongue. He turned, saw her immediately as the priestess she was, and lowered his head in a low bow, replying in kind.

"[You do not look well,]" she said, "[You should rest,"] and before he could answer her hand was cupped around the back of his head, as a mother might gaze at her son. Kiia's gaze was not kind, and the man stiffened, gurgled, and fell to his knees. His face turned gaunt, his skin wrinkling, darkening, and finally cracking. His hair went white, and his eyes clouded over in a silent, deathly horror as she pulled every ounce of lifeforce from his body. No one saw him die, their eyes were trained on the creature on the horizon.

"[Abtatu thanks you for your sacrifice,]" she said softly, and let him fall. Soldiers would not win this battle, cunning would, and she would do more with his life than he could have ever hoped.

She remounted, and kicked her horse into a gallop, following after the brave and mighty. With her hand held before her face, she raised two fingers, and called on her elven bloodline to part the clouds of sand that were thrown up before her. Brimming with life, she would make her presence known or die trying.

Or, more likely, both.