The Great Ones The Great Ones Beneath

[Zier Xya Zythos]

Shit. Choices.

Yet this choice is easier than the Stay or Flee one. When she looked at Awano with rage, Zier felt an odd inclination to jump in her corner and let her go. After all, he's the one operating this little chase. This feeling was motivated only by his teenage, rebellious nature with an adults like ruining fun mentality. Such a mindset could be tolerable if he's trying-- or helping someone else-- sneak out of their house for typical, juvenile behavior. However, this time, he'll need to disregard his immature tendencies and act accordingly. Which means

'Sorry..." He trailed off for moment. He does not know her name. "But the maesters probably have us outranked in this situation." He hates it but it's true. "Zarko," He will reiterate one last time since the Gnomes ego seems too big for his own good, and eclipse the dragons size, "Don't try to top your previous display of... Power again." He means that loosely. Perhaps humoring him will keep him in line, and not possibly annoy the others. Zier doesn't want to come off as patronizing him, but he finds that wildcards can present a lot of danger to themselves as well as the group, and he's speaking from experience being somewhat of a wildcard himself. "Just gotta protect everyone. That means staying quiet,"

Not involving yourself with the empire in the distance-

"and keeping watch." With that, He shifted his position to get comfortable, and prepared to leave. As for Kara, well, He would gladly break her out of her house against her parents wishes if there isn't a dragon involved.

 

[Gerra]

Abruptly, Maho sputtered to life, his wounds knit, or at least mostly, but he looked in no condition to fight - his clothes no more than mere rags.

Gerra looked to Kiia, "Thank you, priestess. Please keep him safe."

Before he runs off and attempts to immolate himself again.

Gerra's attention returned to Medja. "Do it, take the blood. Work your spell."

 

[Maho 'Jerik' Sparhawk]

No... wait... I can...

The arm he had just summoned back into animation fell once again to be one with the dunes, falling apart as if it had never existed in the first place.

He could feel the pull his soul had on Arethil progressively becoming weaker and weaker, his mind becoming foggy, his eyes blurring over. It was as if he could see every past deed in those short seconds. From the moment he wrote his name on that contract, and signed it with his blood, he knew it was leading to this. He knew the price he'd paid for power.

And what did it buy him?

Nothing.

His eyes widened with fear and longing, as he looked towards Gerra who'd walked away from him. He tried to say something, anything, but he was stifled. Gripped by something he couldn't explain. An emptiness deep within his heart. A hollowness that rung like the feet that shook the earth.

I can sign another deal...

I can sacrifice more...

I'll do anything...

Please...

Please...

Please...

And in a grasped moment, all fear left his face. All signs of doubt, regret, anger, joy, was devoid in his cold expression. The screams that plagued him, the memories that haunted him. The pain in his body that reminded him of everything he'd done. All the lives he'd taken. All the sins that rested on his shoulders. All gone.

He stared up at the lifeless sky, eyes greyed over.

But soon, that light was replaced by darkness.

For in the corners of his mind, as his spirit wander, a phrase struck him tenfold more than the feet of the beast's. Not the words of his beloved Alina, nor the speech of his lost friends.

No.

Your spirit is Mine Now, Maho Sparhawk. Forever.

​

The price a man pays for Power.

The light one takes away to Live.

_________________________________________________
​

(OOC)
Thanks for the Threads.
- Fred.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia sighed in relief as Maho reformed his arm, and were circumstances not so dire she would have marveled at the skull required to articulate such a thing from sand. She bowed her head at Gerra’s words. Maho’s charge had been valiant, but he needed rest now.

The arm fell, his words weakened. Kiia turned back to the man with a look of concern. She could sense the life leaving him again.

“No,” she breathed, placing her hands on him again. She pushed more life into him, but it was as if a dam had broken. No matter how quickly she healed, the vitality drained away twice as fast. She could feel the emptiness taking hold.

No... that wasn’t it. It wasn’t emptiness, something was there. Something... different. She probed at it, testing. At once she drew her hands back with a sharp gasp, and she looked at the dying man in horror. Whatever power lurked within was dark, strong, and unquestionably evil.

The light faded, all of her efforts wasted. She hung her head, closing his eyes with a gentle swipe of her hand.

“Emperor,” she called to Gerra, feeling a nervous knot in her throat. “I am sorry... I could not keep him. His life just... drained away.” She knew he would not be pleased, knew full well he could blame her if he chose. She had failed to save his friend. Did her quest end here?

Should she mention the darkness? Did Gerra know? Now was not the time, she decided. When the cataclysm was over, if it ended, then she would speak to him.

 

[Tenrof]

"The beast is far too swift to catch. Even aided with magic, it will not be so simple a target."

With such a vast wingspan and its current speed, it was not an issue of days to reach the mage-city, but hours. Perhaps even minutes, at the current pace. Warning the city ahead would have been feasible, had he taken action to not raise Kouri, but alert Focraig'Diin to the threat. Alas it was not so. An unexpected event.

"I recommend gathering with the forces of the Desert City and alerting them of your finds. Your companion cannot hope to face the dragon alone, even if the weapon carries such properties."

A spear that drained blood? A curious contraption, but with physical and magical limits. Unless the magic that powered it grew stronger with its source of consumption, and even then against a wyrm of such size Tenrof had his doubts. No matter. He would muse on those thoughts more when the dragon was grounded. If there was more than one...

Well, that would constitute as an emergency. And emergencies called for contingencies. Two dragon titans or more running amok was sufficient for this mortal world. He had just the one entity for the occasion.

He digressed.

"As for your companion, aid will come."

 

[Gerra]

"Medja, you-"

There was a soft thud from behind Gerra that stopped him in his tracks. He froze, overcome by a sudden sense of dread. Kiia's words fell on deaf words as the emperor turned and looked down at the body of his friend, stretched out upon the sand. Eyes once filled by hope, anger, and everything else that it meant to be alive now stared sightlessly up into the sky. Nevermore to feel sorrow. Nevermore to feel joy.

An emptiness seeped into Gerra's chest. A terrible ache.

"No," he rasped.

He released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Maho, who had been with him from the beginning. Maho, who he had loved like a brother. Dead?

"No."

Black spots danced in his vision. His fingers curled around the haft of the spear in his hands until it hurt. His chest rose and fell, breath sawing in and out, faster and faster with his rising panic, dread, and rage.

Eyes that stood wide and brimmed with coalescing fury turned toward Kiia.

"You."

The word left his lips like a damnation.

His teeth clenched. His nostrils flared. Smoke curled from them. Embers floated from his red hair. Bulging veins along his neck began to glow. Tongues of fire leapt up from his shoulders and arms, spreading to coat him in living flame that crackled with the fires of his fury.

"What have you done?" sparks spit from his lips and the air around him became oppressively hot, like standing before an open forge.

"I held him. He was alive."

His words boomed, harsh and brittle, the shattering of the earth's crust above a caldera.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

They were less words than an animalistic bellow of pain and madness as the world around Gerra tunneled red with hate.

In a blink, the half-giant crossed the distance between himself and the elf and drove the spear toward her belly, sinews bulging with hideous might, mouth open in a soundless snarl.

 

[Celestia]

Celestia could hardly see anything as she flew, rejuvenated from the mage’s healing earlier. She had caught the tail end of Tereth’s comments about blood before she took to the air. She was significantly smaller than the dragon, and she couldn’t see it any longer, but she could see the trail of destruction left behind.

Small villages and cities were completely devastated, and she swept low to fly over them. She saw some movement in one of the villages and she quickly descended. Celestia needed to rest her wings before continuing on her journey. She had overestimated her abilities to swiftly follow the dragon and exhaustion was creeping up once more.

The Avariel landed on the ground and could see people strewn all over the place, many sporting severe burns. Celestia folded her wings and rushed over to try and aid those in need. She came across a man that looked as if he were in charge.

“Listen! You must warn others! Dragon coming for everyone!” She shouted desperately in the best common tongue she could muster, not fluent with the language. She tried to communicate as best she could for the villages to warn others on the dragon’s path to evacuate at once.

Her plan was to heal whoever she could before taking off on the journey after the dragon again. Celestia desperately tried to ask if there were any quicker ways to follow the dragon. She, of course, had no idea about the college, only that the dragon was going towards a place of magic. Even the spear she had with her pulsated with strength as she drew closer.

 

[Medja]

Everything was happening so fast now. Kiia had healed Maho but the man had still perished, his lifeless form falling to the earth. It seemed that no spells would account for the absence of the god he had made a pact with; she wasn't sure what he had done to break that pact, but his soul was now forfeit. Medja had never liked the man, but she was well aware of Gerra's connection to him.

As the half-giant's words fell short, Medja knew what was coming. That indomitable rage, raw and unbridled. He would exact his vengeance upon the nearest thing he held accountable, which was unfortunately Kiia. Medja didn't know the woman other than by Nymeasha's mention, but she knew that she wasn't to blame for Sparhawk's passing. But could she hold back the fury of a demigod? To stop him was to bring his rage down upon her own head.

That was when she realized that the Emperor still held the bloodied spear, however. Their key to destroying Drakormir. Medja's eyes went wide. If Gerra plunged the head of that spear into Kiia, its bounty would be ruined. That couldn't happen. Gerra would be damning untold thousands with a single act of wrath. Yet he lunged forward all the same.

"Gerra, NO!" Medja shouted after him and, without thinking, thrust her hand forward as well. In her heart she knew that a stone barrier would not be enough, and that slamming the spear into much of anything right now would likely destroy what made it precious. Instead, she instinctually employed a technique she had used on his lookalike, and more recently upon the Mchawi princess in their spar. Instantly, before the God-Emperor could plunge the spear into Kiia's gut, small stones pressed attached themselves to Gerra's arm like a second skin attempted to wrench the demigod back.

Medja's teeth gritted as she realized what she'd started. It was too late to turn back now...so be it. The fingers on her free hand rose and began to dance, and more stones moved at her bidding. They clamped around the shaft of the spear above Gerra's fist and snapped it apart, then pulled the still bloodied spear head to her. She snatched it up, hands shaking.

"I know you loved him, Gerra! I know what he meant to you! But I will NOT let you damn the world for the sake of petty revenge!" She plead urgently to her Emperor, desperate to abate his anger. "The priestess is not at fault. Take your vengeance upon the true culprit!"

She held the spear tip aloft, the desperation in her eyes clear.
"Help me kill the dragon!"

 

[Tereth Adathar]

Tereth was already climbing onto his horse, looking to the horizon where both Celestia and the dragon had disappeared to. He listened to the shadowman's words, his voice already becoming a strain on the monster hunter's ears.

He looked over to the soldiers gathered in the distance. He could see their leader in a stride marked by violence, bellowing, and trying to kill someone from his retinue. It wasn't an inviting sight for the monster hunter.

They'll follow the dragon on their own, he said. It was too great a threat to ignore once the nations had seen it. And I don't fancy them detaining me out of suspicion or rage, he thought to himself silently. If the man in charge opted to turn all his soldiers on the monster hunter, Tereth would have little path for recourse.

I hope you're right, he said in response to Tenrof's comments about help coming.

I ride even if I cannot keep pace with the beast, he said. Will you ride with me? If not, may our paths cross under better circumstances, he said, and began to ride. The earth seemed to shake behind him as he rode away from the shadowman's actions, but Tereth couldn't turn back.

 

[Zarko]

"Hmm...what's that?" Zarko turned absentmindedly, "Oh yes, the dragon."

The gears in his head were turning. Manipulating events on a grand scale was after all the hallmark of a truly great wizard. He feigned a grimace of consternation.

"My heart longs to go with you," the gnome sniffled loudly at Zier, "But of course you're right. A hero's duty is to protect the weak. You have my word the expedition will be safe."

He stroked his perfectly groomed beard as if in thought.

"Besides, a dragon god against the Magnificent? Merlyn's Beard, there would be nothing left of Elbion after such a titanic struggle!"

Retreating to a safe distance, the hedge wizard waved goodbye at the departing mages.

"Have fun storming the College!" he called after them, sidling up alongside Awano's chosen and squeezing their hand as if in reassurance.

A wave of magical charm coursed through his fingertips, "Maester Noa, something tells me this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Now it was time to rob the ancient city blind.

 

[Tenrof]

"No need. I am more swift on foot than on horseback."

The next moment, he blurred. It was a simple enough principle of movement for the shadow. He could align his path, and so long as it was linear, a straight path without any turns nor bends, he could move quickly enough to catch up. This was less a physical skill and more of imposing his actions upon the World. He would think, will it, and the reality itself would comply with his actions. A powerful skill, but so far even with the mental blocks removed, this was the extent. Any faster and the system holding the Aegis together would malfunction.

Moving like the swiftest gale, he was a black streak blurring across the desert sands in pursuit of the dragon, the human on horseback on the shadow's trail. His feet were off a few inches off the earth, throwing up trails of sand in his wake, as he focused on the destruction this dragon left in its path.

"I shall go on ahead. I may be able to intercept the dragon's path, and divert him."

The sands gave way to green, revealing woodlands and the Seret Mountains, and he stopped to leap once more, soaring the skies like a black grasshopper leaving the human in the dust.

He noticed the winged human as he passed one burning settlement, but still focused on the dragon ahead, he swept past and maintained his chase.

Even so, his current speed could only bring him to the tail end of the wyrm, as it swayed in the wind in-flight. Soaring so high the body was half-covered by clouds, yet its tail, longer than an entire mountain range, scraped land on occasion. Tenrof only had to wait for an opportune moment...

'There.'

He leapt.

And the tail slammed into him with all the force of a battering ram, almost breaking his focus, and nearly enough to experience the flood of sensation and conceptual overload. He still held on like an annoying tick, powering through the mental pressure to claw his way up the appendage inch by painstaking inch. He would claw until he reached the beast's head, and if possible, knock it off course, physically.

 

[Gerra]

Eyes set wide with wroth turned upon Medja and the gaze was terrifying to behold.

The flames surrounding Gerra's figure had begun to char away his robes and turned the chain mail beneath them a cherry red. The haft of the spear in his hand caught fire, then crumpled into ash as the fires of his fury heightened in intensity at the defiance of his vizier.

The pebbles and sand ensconcing his arm turned to glass and he shattered it with a blow of his fist.

She would defy me.

She would defy a god?

The half-giant's hands shook with rage. The sound of rushing blood thundered in his head.

Then she will reap a god's wrath.

Rings set upon his fingers began to glow as he drew upon the power of Amon-Thun's creations. The Ten Rings of Amon-Thun. The Abtati divided the soul into eight parts and Amon had made a ring to fit with each and every. They flashed out their radiance as Gerra called upon them, winking like steel in the sun.

With the diamond ring of Akhu, his will made manifest, he reached out and ripped the spearhead from her grasp with nothing more than his mind, then he sought to flip it around and send it shrieking into Medja's body, blood of the behemoth still upon it.

With the amethyst of Abu, he sought to warp her emotions and instill in her the abject and frozen terror she should have for him. The fear of an emperor's might. The fear of a god's anger.

Face set in a rictus sneer, his gaze flicked to Kiia and he sought to finish what he started. A tendril of crimson energy leapt from the ruby of Sekhem, as he sought to drain away her life force.

Wither. As Maho withered.

Suffer as he suffered.

Die as he died.

 

[Medja]

...but the god would not be swayed.​

Medja tried to fight back, tried to defend herself, tried to do anything. To no avail. Abu would not let her. So she watched in abject terror as the very key to Amol-Kalit's salvation was plunged into her own chest, unable to combat at as she would have. Searing pain took her and she coughed up blood and fell to her knees. One hand gripped what little remained of the spear that jutted from her chest, the other fell flat to the desert sand. She wouldn't die here, not yet...but the pain was excruciating nonetheless.

Even with her heart pierced and gasping for air, she could channel the Siphon. Any nearby would see what she was doing, but she didn't care. Living was more important than saving face right now. She dug her fingers into the ground and elaborate designs burned their way into the sand all around her. The light of the land around her faded and died as she absorbed it into herself. This piece of Arethil would never heal.

Yet, in spite of the fact that she had used Siphon Alhaya many times before, something felt...different. Not wrong, just more...revivifying than ever before. She looked to the wound on her chest and realized that not only had it healed, it had severed the head of the spear inside of her own chest; she only held a bit of destroyed wood in her hand now. Vibrant green energy crackled around her, pulsing out from her chest. Drakormir's blood had merged with her own, empowered her Siphon and her body. She felt new life as she never had before. The energy arced all about her, draining the land for all it was worth. At last, she gasped.

Siphon Alhaya had done its disturbing work. A ring around Medja some fifty feet in diameter was dead, drained of all life and color for the sake of her own survival. It was much more land than the Siphon had ever caused her to kill before, perhaps a byproduct of the empowered spell. Her body was whole again, but her mind was now fractured.

Though she did not yet know the full extent of the consequences of merging with Drakormir's blood, she believed that any chance of Amol-Kalit triumphing over the dragon was now gone, burned away by Gerra's temper tantrum. Perhaps now she could rise and fight the God-Emperor on equal terms, knock some sense into his thick skull and spare Kiia a fate she did not deserve. She could, but...she didn't care. What was the point? Hope was lost. Her options now were to stay, serve, and die along her comrades...or leave, hide, and wait for...what? For a new civilization to appear after Drakormir had had his way with the land and returned to his slumber? She didn't know.

So Medja remained where she was, collapsed to her knees in the dead sand, surrounded by proof of her sins. What would Ashuanar think? What would the poor man even do? She didn't know. She didn't care. She simply stared at the ground, hair hiding her face. Disillusioned. Lost.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia had been prepared for Gerra to be angry. She had seen grief many times, sometimes it was violent, but she had underestimated his rage. The fire that took him was terrifying, and she saw for the first time why they called him the God Emperor. Suddenly his professions of divinity were backed up tenfold, and he stood over her as a towering furnace of hate.

"I tried," she responded weakly. She had rarely ever felt fear such as this, rarely ever lost control of any situation. She prided herself on knowing people, understanding their needs and, occasionally, twisting those needs to suit her own. But this... this was new.

She tried to stand but the loose sand betrayed her, and she fell back, scrambling away from her advancing doom. "I gave him everything, but-" She held up a hand in a futile defense from the spear, but no blow came. She could see Gerra held captive by the stones, watched him turn to his Vizier, his anger only growing.

She sat on the sands, her breath ragged. So much was happening, and she was not safe yet. When he turned back to her, she had only seconds to react. The red tendril lashed out just as she leapt to the side, but it wrapped around her leg. The pain was incredible, and it drew at her very essence. She knew, better than anyone, what was happening to her. She felt the life energy, the very force over which she claimed mastery, being pulled away.

It was horrific. Was this karmic justice? Forced to feel her own power used against her? Her leg started to wither, the skin growing wrinkled and brittle, the muscles beginning to waste. She reached out for something, anything to stave off her fate, but there was nothing. Medja's siphon had drained the land of its life, and there was nothing left for her to take.

In that moment, the Priestess did not exist. There was only a terrified Abtati woman who did not want to die. She turned her attention to Gerra, focusing all of her efforts on that singular, burning point, and pulled.

It was much more difficult from afar, but she could feel the wisping threads of his life as they flowed from him. She grabbed them, pulling as hard and as fast as she could. She could not match the power of the ring, but she could hold it off. It was like frantically filling a bucket with a gaping hole. She would lose eventually... but she had to try.

Medja just... knelt. She had intervened before, why had she stopped? Kiia's eyes pleaded with her.

Help me

Her time was running out.

Help me

She could no longer feel her leg.

One way...

She reached out to the woman with her other hand, panic overruling her judgement.

...or another.

She pulled at the sorceress' life.

 

[Kara Orin]

As Medja kneeled, a gentle song would grace her mind.

 

[Ashuanar]

It is never only the things that happen to us, that make us,

It is more the choices we make because of them.

​

Sad eyes looked down upon the man, watching as fear and anquish took hold, and life listed away. Jerik, Maho... kindred spirit. Ashuanar had always felt an affinity for him, an understanding that though their paths may have been far, far different... that pain, that grief - following after from times passed and deeds done. Uncertain whether to rejoice, or regret. And looking down at him now, though he would dare never say, he felt even in death that pain chased after him still, on into the next life.

And he bowed his head quietly, and whispered his farewell.

May peace follow you too,
and one day find you.
​

But the quiet of the moment was broken, and Gerra's own pain fell upon his ears. And as his fury began to take shape, at first, he looked away, taking a few steps before turning his eyes back. He grieved for Kiia, for the wrath that was now to fall upon her. But, he struggled - none of this felt right.

And then he would do the unthinkable: in his righteous anger did he fail in honouring their faith, and the righteousness was removed.

He hurled the spear - their best hope - frivolously. And it was stayed and the blood retrieved by Medja's magic.

Medja...
​

And even with her desperate plea did he disregard them again.

Shock overcame him, and in a moment most vital he failed to react - and Medja, the Stars that chased the Sun, bled.

His breath left him.

His fist clenched.

And his eyes focused on Gerra, thrashing and striking with his holy might.

His lungs filled.

His eyes fell to Maho.

A man.

His eyes turned to Kiia.

Abtati. Faithful.

Forsaken.
​

His eyes turned back to Medja, who had just now started to heal - and there was a subtle relief. But it was shortlived. That which had been done, and was being done, could not be undone. But... he held hope...

He still believed.


"Hasuras na-Gerra!

my lord!"
​

In tandem with his voice, hollering in protest, the scorpion stirred...

Akrep

Since it's return with the pyromancer, the colossal had loomed passively overhead, seemingly unaffected by the events transpiring just before its tall gaze.

And then it felt...

...pain...

...rage...

Hurt.

And where Ashuanar's shout was paltry next to the god-Emperor's, Akrep's shrieking hiss would compete.

It postured itself angrily, spreading its legs and rearing it's tail. But it was directed... not at those ahead of it. Instead, it would seem, it only acted out that which Ashuanar reserved within, and threatened to have boil over.

Believer

​

The world's trembling under Akrep's weight was nothing to him. It's movements were it's own, but bound to him. It could not do other than as he allowed. And he did allow his fury to splash through - perhaps, to a demi-god, Akrep would garner more attention.

But Ashuanar was no fool, and he trusted the beast not to be their salvation should Gerra turn on them all.

Instead he only hoped that he could reach him.

"My lord," he repeated, calmer, "these are your people!"

He started forward, removing his headwrap and displaying long, brown hair regrown, scars - nearly healed over.

His countenance, riddled with utter sadness.

"Is this what you would have done, my lord?"

He gestured to Maho's body, "the blood of the faithful, and dear friends, spilled for his sake?

For his name?"

The Empire​

 

[Gerra]

These are your people.

The emperor stopped, his fingers curled, on the verge of obliterating both priestess and vizier in a deluge of fire.

The red surrounding his vision lessened and he turned, saw Ashuanar, faithful Ashuanar, looking at him in horror. Gerra stared at the warrior, then looked back at his handiwork. Medja kneeled in the sand, covered in her own blood. The priestess lay writhing, one leg half-withered from the effects of the ring's spell.

The flames covering Gerra's body went out, leaving only curling wisps of smoke.

What have I done?

The sight of their bodies next to Maho was more than he could bear.

I have become my father then, well and truly.

Gerra backed away, stumbled over a rise in the sand, and almost fell. Then he called upon the ring of Bah. His shape shifted in a blur, becoming a great, golden eagle which took to flight in a spray of sand, rising high above the desert in a few beats of his wings.

There was only one thing left to do.

Only one way to make penance for what he had done.

He would find the dragon.

And he would do what he must.

Soaring swiftly, he flew out in the direction of Elbion.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia collapsed as the ring’s spell ceased, stopping her weak pull on Gerra and Medja’s life force. Gerra has not seemed to notice, and Medja, so far away, had likely felt little of its effects.

She lay in the sand humbled, feeling as low as the grains that swirled around her disfigured limb. She had thought herself so clever, so shrewd for finding her way into Gerra’s attention, so supremely lucky to have stumbled upon the Emperor’s friend in need of assistance. What had she expected? That she would save the day and be rewarded with a palace of her own?

She grit her teeth. She should be smarter than that. She was smarter than that. It was her pride that had betrayed her. She was powerful amongst the people, but to these idols? A demigod and his inner court? She was nothing.

The pain in her left leg was immense. Even if there had been power here to draw from, she did not know if she could heal it. The magic that had harmed her was ancient, and it was not as simple as a broken bone or torn flesh.

At least the dragon had left. She was useless in her current state. Other heroes would need to fight this battle, she was done.

 

[Lythrani Undraeth]

​

Around them, chaos reigned supreme.

Earth churned and cracked as if torn apart by gods, birthing rivers of lava and flame that flowed forth into the world. The city fell, consumed by the earth it sat upon as thousands of souls let out their last breath in ear-splitting agony.

The air turned dark as smog and smoke dominated the sky, turning all to midnight. The moons and stars, shining and bright in the night-sky, succumbed to blackest night as the world fell beneath them. If fire did not singe thy skin, then smog burned your lungs.

The land beneath, shelter to the drow, crumbled and collapsed on itself as it pushed its children upward. Tunnels that had lasted centuries turned to rubble and dead-ends, while the city above remained ash.

Above all were beings that could not truly be compared to mortals, earth-shattering behemoths that broke the land and scorched the air with ease. Born from destruction, she molded the cityscape of Bhathairk to her whims as her worshipper demanded

Around them, chaos reigned.

In chaos, however, one could also find order.

A deadly precision, from the twist of a dagger to the perfect illusion, could be as valued a weapon as unbridled destruction. The delicate elegance of a dancer was as dangerous as the brutality of a hunter, and none were as precise and as elegant as Lythrani Undraeth, spymaster of the drow.

Lythrani emerged from the rubble of Bhathairk as flames wreathed her surroundings. With her, she carried an unearthly calm and grace as the world crumbled around her. Her cloak floated behind her as light molded itself into a sword in her grip.

Her gaze was drawn to Zachariah, watching as his god bombarded him in flame. Watched as he armor he wore heated to a scalding temperature and watched as the egg fell onto the ground behind him. The egg was a valuable asset, of course. The dragon desired it as much as they did, however, making it a complicated one to truly acquire. Without quickly being reduced to ash, that is.

She set her gaze on the egg and waved her hand. The egg was enveloped in illusory shadow and rock, hiding it from sight. Alongside the illusion was another, that of an unharmed and unbroken replica that continued to roll away. In the ear of Zathria, a message was spun, audible for her alone: The egg is where your eyes saw it last, hidden by my magic. Retrieve it and it will remain hidden, quickly. With a slight modification of the spell, only Zathria would be able to see the true egg instead of the illusion.

As for Zachariah, she knew what to do with him. Voices suddenly bombarded his senses, bearing the voice of Neha. It was maddening, each phrase another condemnation for his failure and uselessness. Worthless. A fool, to endanger her child.

If he succumbed to his injuries, they would be the last words he hears. Were he to live, then perhaps they would be enough to break him. To Lythrani, there was little difference.

 

[Lazule]

The cloth streamers that hung from Lazule's armor were incinerated. The stone blackened. The metal glowing orange-hot. The crystals shimmering. He felt the alien heat seeping through to the Unknown Warrior's body beneath, and at the same time that familiar warmth of the Life Fire--himself--within the Warrior's chest.

But the Golden Dragon had ceased Its fiery breath. Actually caught Lazule's magic in Its monstrous maw and snapped it as if it were a thing corporeal and the magic dissipated with a fizzle instead of an explosion.

Vapid words from the fiend. Its emergence from the ground, towering over this body as the Amalgamation had towered over Lena's body before. There in the distance the approach of the Black Dragon from the air. And worst of all, Erën was gone. Disappeared as if burned to ash and the ash scattered to nothing.

Lazule, surrounded entirely by devastation before the ruined Gates of Bhathairk and with only the charred dead around him and two colossal foes before him and the air choked with their tangible sins, felt for the first time in his short life what it truly was to be alone.

But he could not stop. He had to act. To fight. To give his all. It was demanded.

Wisps of steam rising from the stone and metal of his armor, Lazule looked up at the Golden Dragon lording Its size over him. Watched It take flight and braced and stood his ground as the wind ripped around him and his Shield and in the reflection of his helm's visor the Golden Dragon hovering airborne and the growing image of the Black Dragon as It closed.

A memory. A brilliant new insight. Spurred from the Unknown Warrior, this Templar whose name eluded Lazule yet whose body he inhabited. An overwhelming feel of fighting against a Beast of great size. Wielding a weapon likewise of great size.

Shield of Light before him attached to his left arm, in Lazule's outstretched right hand a radiant Lance forged from pure Light began to manifest. A full eight feet in length, the twin tips of the Lance touched the dirt briefly. Lazule raised it slightly and even this small movement seemed to slice the very air about it with a quivering vhmmmmm.

Surprised, Lazule nevertheless readied himself, standing with Shield forward and Lance back. Watched the approach of the Black Dragon.

He recited another Mantra: "Believe in Humanity. Believe that the righteous shall triumph over the wicked. You are a Slayer of Monsters, and Hope is the Slayer of Cruelty."

Underneath his armor, the skin of the Unknown Warrior's body had begun to blister with redness.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Sepheron Neha

 

[Szesh]

​

Between the wind and the ringing in his ears it was difficult for Szesh to hear the small voice in his arms. At first, he didn’t believe he had heard it at all, then he felt her stir. He looked down, seeing more color in Zeri’s face, seeing her eye open, but still far from safe. His relief at her survival was… more than expected. Of course, an injured person was easier to explain than a dead body, should they be confronted at any point. He knew that wasn’t the reason, but he chose to answer her questions rather than dwell on it.

​

”Yes,” he said plainly. He could not comfort her, for she was correct. Everything that had happened, as terrible and nightmarish as it was, had been real. Long ago he would have clung to the hope that it was all a terrible vision, but experience taught him to abandon that hope. The world was a cruel place, and life was not fair.

”It is real.” The sooner she accepted this, the better off she would be.

His plans had changed only slightly, his priority was still the portal stone, but Zeri’s safety had returned to the forefront of his thoughts. Her body was darkened with bruises, and he noticed his own arms had turned a dark, sooty gray. Everything ached, but that must be the shock. The itching that had begun, though, that was strange.

The portal stone in the Steppes grew ever closer. The fierce winds generated by Neha had, mercifully, aided their journey, propelling them faster than would have been possible alone. Still, it would be some time before they reached it. He hoped he could stay aloft until they did, but his eye remained open for settlements.

| Zeri Rekani |​

 

[Kara Orin]

The Elbion Expedition

Zier made his choice. One that anyone, even Kara, understood. Still, Kara’s heart sank.

Nothing will change.

“I know you want to help,” Maester Awano said with a somber look, “And the best way you can do that is to help Maester Noa. There might be clues to defeating the dragon here…”

Awano and Sitim boarded Zier’s transports to head to Elbion.

“Stay safe,” Awano told the mages being left behind. Then looking to Zarko, Awano said “Especially you.”

During the journey, Awano would tell Zier, “This is an incredible gift. I’ll help maintain your magic…”

The Maester would then channel a spell in an attempt to supply Zier with enough magic to make the journey without collapsing.

Meanwhile, Zarko quickly began buttering up to Maester Noa – a human woman of a few decades in age.

Rather than dismiss Zarko, Noa replied with, “Well, this wouldn’t be the weirdest time to make a new friend…”

Looking to the Forbidden City, Noa told Zarko and the other mages of the Elbion expedition, “There may be something in the fissures. Something kept the dragon buried. Let’s go!”

---

A Devastated Village

Celestia warned the Village Elder about the dragon that already ravaged their village with literally no thought of it.

But as soon as the Village Elder saw Celestia begin to heal people, the Village Elder prostrated before Celestia.

“Praise be! An angel!” the Village Elder screamed.

Unfortunately though, once the Village Elder realized what Celestia was trying to say there was little he could do to help. They would need to report the dragon to Elbion, which it already flew off to. And they could only offer horses to aid in Celestia’s journey – which they were very willing to do due to her healing those injured by Drakormir.

---

The Empire's Forces

Kara did not follow the Elbion expedition. She stood in place. Fingertips on her temple.

The sound of chaos from the Empire’s forces reached Kara’s ears.

The Fallen Vizier must be dead.

Turning toward the Imperials, Kara saw the moment that Gerra took to the skies with the power of Bah.

Nothing will change.

Without purpose, Kara wandered toward the Imperials as her comrades ventured off to explore. She saw the faces of the common soldiers. Shock of what transpired still consumed their faces. No only because of the sight of the dragon, Not only because of the sandstorm that nearly killed them.

They just witnessed the death of a Vizier. The grief-stricken rage of their God-Emperor. The Vizier of Stars draining those unfortunate enough to be near her to live. A priestess wounded by those she served.

“THE CHOSEN ONE IS ANGRY?!” a soldier near Kara thought aloud.

“Stars' still alive?” another questioned, “The spear got her heart?”

Another added, “Didn’t that have the dragon’s blood on it?”

Upon hearing that, Kara eyes lifted. They widened as she saw Medja kneeling in the sand.

---

Medja Is One Of Them

Medja fortunately lived. She was still mortal. Death remained an easy possibility for her.

Fire would course through her veins for some time. Or feel as if.

A symphony played just for her.

This is what the First felt, when he too took in His blood.

Though it was in a way less likely to lead to death.

If Medja tried to listen, she would be able to feel Drakormir off to the east. And even further, something else raged.

It is interesting another joined the bloodline this way. Medja would know this.

There is power in Medja’s blood, now. She would know this.

And there is power for her from Drakormir. She would know this, and His name.

---

A Request For Help

After some moment, a girl kneeled before Ashuanar and Medja. She obviously was not the Sand Elves that journeyed with Gerra. She wore the garments of the College of Elbion.

The girl, Kara, said only, “I request… I beg of you for help… to save Elbion.”

---

Drakormir's Flight

Alexios’s time in crafting a dragonskin knife would be interrupted. Once more, Alexios would be of no fault in his own for Drakormir to suddenly twist and turn.

Tenrof attempted to latch onto the dragon’s tail. Drakormir responded with violent whips of his appendage. And if Tenrof insisted on climbing further, the dragon would swat with its tail as it did to Alexios before. If Tenrof climbed far enough, then Alexios would be endangered.

The reason for this was simple: after Celestia’s attack earlier, Drakormir would not ignore anything trying to approach Him. Especially His head.

Alexios was fortunate to not be moving so much – and therefore, evaded Drakormir’s attention for now. Were Alexios to begin moving – as he would soon be able to – then Drakormir would seek to get rid of the stowaway.

The nightmarish wind racing around Alexios slowed down. Drakormir would take a sudden dive toward the ground. The titanic beast slammed His arms and legs into the earth. The ground quaked with the impact.

The reason for Drakormir’s sudden stop would be clear. In the not too far distance before the dragon would be Elbion.

The Empire Elbion College​

 

[Tereth Adathar]

Tereth pulled back the reins of his horse and slowed as the violence continued to unfold. He was about to pull the fae dust from his satchel to speed the horse when he noted something. Besides the large man flying off into the distance, people began to leave.

Left in their wake was a single woman. She was on the ground, clearly injured, and he looked down at the vial in his hand. He should go and help Celestia. Help figure out a way to destroy the creature that destroyed the world. Help find a way to use that spear. He should have. But he also knew that Celestia would have told him to stay and help. She was hopelessly kind hearted.

He glanced down at the vial and then patted the healing elixir flask in his satchel. He swore quietly and shook his head, riding toward Kiia Sidra and pulling his horse to a stop as he climbed down.

You need help, he said, his tone making it unclear whether it was a question or statement.

Just looking at the leg, he half expected she would need it amputated, but he wasn't a healer by specialty, either. His elixirs and simple healing spells were useful for open wounds, but putting life energy back into a drained limb? Probably not so much.

We can get you back to a healer, he said. He knew the fae dust would let his horse run quickly enough and with enough stamina to get them to a healer who may be able to do something to help her.

 

[Zeri Rekani]

It is real.

Zeri closed her eye and her bottom lip trembled and she knew it to be true. Ma was dead. Maybe Rodon and Gurrash and Pa too. Her home utterly destroyed. And there was nothing she could do about any of it.

All her favorite tales of heroism and warriors of legend and adventure rang hollow in her ears. Even what she had witnessed firsthand when the Amalgamation had come seemed to count for nothing. What good had it done? What good had Jirou and the Armored Thirteen and Caliane done? Only now for Bhathairk to fall so easily, for their heroism to be rendered so readily in vain?

The tales. The stories. All those great heroes of old. Was this what it all amounted to? A charred and blackened stain upon Arethil where once the Great Orcish Stronghold proudly stood?

All the fabled legends of a bygone time that Zeri looked up to. Those she had witnessed with the Amalgamation. Their heroism existed solely in the past. Where it mattered the least. For there were none of their kind when Bhathairk needed them the most.

Zeri cried and coughed and cried some more. Silent, save for those pitiful coughs.

And slowly, over the course of Szesh's flight, she began to pull herself up and out of the pit of despair that threatened to claim her forever. She thought of the one thing she could do, the one thing that was within her power.

"Szesh..." she said.

She opened her eye. Looked up to him.

"You are not like that dragon."

She wrapped her thin and meek arms around one of Szesh's own. Pressed her forehead against his scales. Hugged him as best she could while he carried her.

Her voice, quiet and quivering, "You are kind."

The one thing that was within her power: to show a friend heartfelt gratitude.

Szesh

 

[Celestia]

Celestia could only smile sadly at the village chief.

“No, keep your horses and get your people to safety,” She sighed upon realizing that nothing would hasten her journey. She glanced over at the spear for a long moment before looking back over at the village chief. Her eyes lingered on the headdress he wore, one that resembled a hawk’s head.

“By….by chance may I wear that?” She knew she would receive a perplexed look in turn, “I would like to use it to trick the beast. I want to be nothing more than an errant bird in his eyes. It is the only way I can get close.”

Regardless of what the chief answered with, Celestia quickly sprang up into the air once more. She had no intention of making any other stops.

As she drew closer, she could faintly begin to make out the outline of the beast over the horizon.

Kara Orin