Days in the Life of a Half-Dragon

[Drache]

211/6/26

Gray mists coiled coolly through the quiet forest leaving a dusting of shining dew in its wake. The sky above was lightening, high clouds already tinged with pink. It wouldn't be long until the sun crept over the horizon and burned all the mist away, but down beneath the trees the world was still, and quiet, and damp, and cool and gray.

The herd of deer drifted wraithlike through the trees, their oval ears twisting all around as their dark, moist eyes looked for dangers in the mist. Their path took them quickly and nimbly through the damp tree trunks, cloven hooves pattering faintly on a rich bed of loam beneath them. Soon they were moving into an area with more space between the trees that allowed the undergrowth to take hold. Spreading out, they turned to the soft greenery and began to feed, their heads snapping up at intervals to share the duty of protecting the herd.

But the danger was already there, prowling silently through the shadows, her reptilian eyes gleaming with deadly single-minded purpose. In the half-gloom, her hide was dull and dark. Only fire and sunlight could make it really shine. Her talons dug deep into the leafy soil, carrying her forward at a low crouch. For a long time she played the watcher, scrutinizing the herd carefully and anticipating their moods and movements. She had to plan this carefully or she would go hungry. Her breath came shallowly as she waited for the right target to show himself, her fangs bared slightly. And then she saw him. A young buck whose muscles twitched with pain whenever he set down his right front leg. The slight hopping gait was like a flashing beacon to one such as Drache.

She waited for him to move into a good position. When he did, the chase was on the instant. The shroud of covertness flew from her as surely as the shadows she had hidden herself within. The upright reptile sped through the trees, the power in her two legs making up for the longer stride of her prey. No longer silent, the herd scattered, shifting leaves and swirling mists the only signs of their frantic passing.

Drache raced on with the seamless flowing grace of a top predator on the move, losing sight of her prey. But rather than being discouraged, she simply changed direction sharply and streaked through the gray forest, wings tight to her back, tail carried straight out behind her. She burst through a thin wall of brush and leaped, her wings opening in a fluid motion. The crumbling edge of the steep-sided creek bed passed below her, and the sky opened up over the dry waterway. The buck was there, charging noisily down the shallow ravine, and Drache's mouth opened with a hiss and a thrill of satisfaction surged through her, almost a meal in itself. The animal had stumbled into the sharp alley in his panicked flight, but in his lameness he couldn't make it up the other side. It was a one out of two chance he would head upstream, and this time the half-dragon's intuition had lead her right.

With a hoarse, terrified bray of fear, the young buck wrenched to the side to dodge, his eyes filling with a vision of rapidly descending death. And it was here that his slight limp proved to be his undoing. Unable to navigate the treacherous water-smoothed stones, his injured leg gave out and he came crashing to the ground in a hail of stirred rocks on hooves and antlers. The kiss of wicked talons on his flesh promised that he would never rise again. With a triumphant scream, the half-dragon came down on top of the doomed ungulate, her wide wings curving around to mantle her meal as though there may yet be others nearby who might try to steal it away. Pinning the struggling body to the ground, she reached for his antlers and snatched his head back so she could meet his white throat with her fanged maw.

The pair froze for what seemed an eternity to both, and the deer's life spurted hotly down the dragon's throat. The gore dribbled down her jaws, caking on her hot scales and staining the plain bandeau that bound her humanoid bust. As his heart pumped it's last, the red blood followed the course of the abandoned stream. When her prey finally relaxed, given unto death, the half-breed tilted her head upwards and trumpeted a clarion call tinged with orange flames. The dawn burst over the horizon and added it's fire to the scene.

Later, when most of the carcass had been consumed to feed the fire that was Drache, she picked up the bloody rolled-up hide and tucked her wide dagger into the sheath on her thigh. Some things couldn't be accomplished with raking claws. She left the remains to the scavengers and drifted away through the trees on foot to find a place to clean off. Satiated, she didn't bother trying to conceal her passing, finding more understanding with the forest creatures who gazed back at her with caution than she ever would with either dragon-kin or fleshlings.

She eventually came to the shore of Silver Lake and peeled out of the bandeau, gingerly rinsing the blood from it and trying to stay as dry as possible. Wherever the water touched her pebbled skin started to steam. The wide black leather strap she wrapped around her hips and groin in some semblance of modesty joined the wet bandeau as she draped it over a convenient tree branch. The fresh deerskin was rinsed too and stretched across the shoreline to dry in the rising sun.

Now nude, she strolled along the rocky shore towards a patch of sand she had seen from the sky, intent on using it to scrub herself clean. But as she got closer, her eyes narrowed and her posture changed to reflect wariness. Her nostrils flared and her mouth opened slightly to reveal her blood-stained teeth, her breath hissing in between them to sample the strange air. She scented something that crept across her senses like static cobwebs. It smelled like sick fire and sounded like a faint discordant howl. Something terrible had happened here and she was drawn to the twisted memories of blundered magic like a moth to flame. It completely distracted her from the blood crusted on her scales.

Prowling across the sand towards the wheel of tainted ground, she dredged a ring of four-toed foot-prints, pacing back and forth, longing to investigate further. When she finally crossed the boundary she could feel her blood reverberating, echoing the surge that had caused such a mark on the earth. The stifle of chaos made her twitch, and she stumbled around like a drunk making soft mewling noises and clacking her teeth together sharply. After weaving back and forth around the spot a few times, she collapsed, slumping to the bed of spherical grains of sand and lying still.

After a moment she rolled on her back and started lashing back and forth, sand flying from the broad sweeps of her tail and wings. Like a cat in a field of catnip, she dug her talons into the sand and scooted around, rubbing her sides and belly along the ground with powerful thrusts. She looked a complete fool, long trenches stretching behind her as she wiggled forward to bury her face in the sand and then shake it free, only to do it again a moment later.

And then suddenly it was too much. Too much! She heaved to her feet and shook, spraying sand everywhere, and then bolted, her whole body twitchy and jittery as she scurried back up the beach.

[Drache]

211/6/28

Drache drifted lazily over the southernmost shore of the Silver Lake, wings locked and completely at the mercy of the fickle wind. She occasionally tucked her wings in such a way that allowed her to roll on her back and spiral down before opening them again with a snap and rising again on the next convenient thermal. The base of the mountains offered a majestic view to her left, and she knew there were only a few hours left before the setting sun disappeared beyond the peaks. Delighting in the golden warmth, she considered making the long flight up to the jagged crags and watched the light seep out of the landscape beyond in the hours to come. When you ruled the skies like Drache did, flights of fancy could be reality when you wanted them to be.

The pine forests creeping up the slopes below passed below her like a perpetual wave of green, interspersed with the occasional rocky outcrop or pale meadow. Without warning, a sense came over her that made her focus more sharply on the landscape below. She couldn’t really say if it was a scent on the breeze like slow decay in a place that never saw the sunlight, or perhaps a sound like wind thrumming gently over a yawn in the earth. But some sense brought to mind deep dark places in the earth where a gal could dig down, secret away a hoard, and raise a wyrmling in reasonable safety. It was a sense that tempted with a lure of secrecy and mystery down in slick-walled caverns where sightless creatures lurked and the only light came from the phosphorescent glow of lichen or the red haze of molten rock.

She banked left and turned around, searching almost frantically for some clue. All she could see were trees, trees, and rocks. In those moments she probably spied out every elk, wolf, and badger within a mile, but the source of the beckoning sensation eluded her. After nearly a half-dozen passes, tantalized by the teasing notion, she finally spied something that had her heart thudding with excitement. A sharp line in the shadow of a stand of trees hinted at an artificial structure. She marked her position in relation to the lake and the mountain peaks and then tucked her wings, diving down into the greenery.

There was a drawn-out rustling and crunching as the limbs of pines scraped her hide when she passed by. But soon enough her talons were sinking deep into a bed of brown needles, and she paused warily, listening through the flapping of disturbed blackbirds and peering into the relative gloom towards the building up ahead. She prowled forward, noting the signs of animals’ passing, the direction of the wind as it wound through the trees, the faint traces of lingering magical power that seemed to get slightly stronger as she emerged into an area that had once been cleared, but was being slowly reclaimed by the forest. The building looked to be in a fairly sad state of disrepair, but as her pupils widened to adjust to the light she realized that the misshapen outline was simply due to a massive overgrowth of glossy ivy. She stalked around the perimeter, taking it in. At one point it must have been some sort of look-out or guard tower, though the view from its roof was now blocked by the trees nearby. The land rose sharply behind it, almost a sheer wall until it leveled off again about sixty feet up. The tower was only three stories with a battlement on top and narrow windows with all the glass long broken. The were two door-ways, one facing northeast towards the sloping ground and the lake beyond, and one facing the rock face. The actual doors were missing, one was gone completely and the other was half-buried in pieces near the wall. Even from here she could smell the dust and slow rot of wood within. She crept up to the second doorway and peeked in, making out the hulking shapes of ruined furniture in the dim light. But something else was drawing her, something about there being a second doorway...

She looked down at the ground. Under a thin layer of forest detritus were the remains of a gravel path heading directly into the brush-lined rock wall. She followed it, excitement mounting. A breath of cool, moist air rose up out of the gloom and she forced her way hastily through the bushes. The last of them gave way and she nearly stumbled onto a bare, stone floor that sloped downwards. The tunnel yawned before her into the pitch darkness beyond and after a moment’s hesitation, the half-dragon started forward.

[Drache]

211/7/4

The half-dragon perched on a smooth, nearly flat upthrust of rock in the center of a large cavern. The magical fire burning fuel-less on the stoney floor in front of her was casting interesting shadows on the glimmering walls. Every surface glittered with oranges and browns and whites, waves of colour frozen forever solid. Well, maybe not forever. What once was could still be, and who knew when the mountains might roar to life and send the super-heated lifeblood of the earth flowing again? This was the sort of far-thinking the half-breed enjoyed, though she knew that even she would not be around that long.

She sat almost motionless, as though she had become at one with the stone beneath her, eyes roving lazily over the nooks and crannies she had already inspected in detail. The ceiling was high, and several large stalactites hung down, their skyward-pointing mates squatting in mirrored lumps all over the room. The floor was not even. Water had cut through here at several heights over the millennia, creating multiple flat levels in a more-or-less diagonal swath across the length of the cavern. The rock where she sat was a different composite then the rest, a darker plinth resistant to the erosive forces that had once swept around it. The entire area was dry now, but the scent of water drifted past occasionally, billowing up from the tunnel in the southwest of the oval chamber. There were other scents too. Mineral smells, the trails of animals, both from the surface and from deep places where light could never reach. There was the far off dripping of water and the low moan of wind caressing the odd exit to the world of light and sky. It was cool in here, but Drache knew that would not last.

There was a special kind of magic in a dragon choosing a lair. Something in the blood gave her the ability to shape the dark recesses to her liking. Tunnels could be sealed, opened, or altered to suit her needs. Water could be encouraged, or banished, forced to flow a different path. She would systematically alter the place to satisfaction until it had an ambiance that matched her perfectly. Not nearly as picky as her full-sized kin, these changes would be fewer than might be expected, but it would be done.

At present she was viewing the open space as she would like it, with all her belongings moved in and the renovations made. She was mentally arranging the treasures of her hoard, organizing her library, and deciding what kind of furniture would look best. She was planning for her unborn daughter, who would live here for decades to come until she was old enough to strike out on her own.

Drache had explored many of the narrow crevices and lava tubes that stretched into the darkness around this cavern, and held a mental map of smaller chambers that would do nicely for storing goods, housing guests or servants (should she ever need any, one couldn't hurt by planning ahead!) or even setting up a workshop. She couldn't have asked for a better set-up.

Except for The Feeling. There had been people in these caves before. She had been warned before she ever set talons inside them. And the signs were there all right. Old refuse, tool marks where the occasional steps had been carved out of the living rock, the occasional row of torch brackets rusting away, the decaying stubs of old torches lying beneath them. There was also the lingering stench of magic, much of it vile and twisted. Fanatical fleshlings had a knack for taking even normal spells and convoluting them to suit their own ends. Drache had seen that kind of thing before, many times. The lingering taint was there, similar to that odd spot on the sand down near the lake, but different too. Every once in a while she thought she could sense something fresher, newer, still roiling putridly away, but it was fleeting and hard to track. Other signs of habitation were old, and while it would take her decades to search every tunnel snaking down into the deep, she finally decided that this place was Hers.

There was a sort of ritual about this kind of thing. She got to her awkwardly-shaped feet and paced in a circle, her breath coming in increasingly deepening pants. Smoke billowed from the nostrils on her short snout, her posture aggressive and commanding. Her wings snapped out, and then folded back in, only to snap out again. Her tail lashed through the air. She moved systematically to each entrance to this chamber and with a beastly scream, sent searing tongues of flame into the darkness. She dragged her claws sharply across the stone, gouging it deeply in a unique pattern. It was repeated over and over until she finally moved back to the center of the wide space and unleashed a furious barrage of fire and sound. It was a high clarion call. It was a claim, a challenge, a warning, and an invite all rolled into the ferocious instinctive language of dragons.

[Drache]

211/7/11

Drache prowled across the main cavern of her lair, her adroit footsteps clinking gently in the layer of coins spread expansively across the floor. Most were gold, but there were many silver and copper, and a decent amount of platinum as well. The circular gleamings reflected the stamps of mostly foreign currency, some of it centuries old and never before seen on the world.

The natural obsidian plinth in the center of the cave offered Drache a peerless view of her hoard, and by the drape of luxuriant cloth providing a comfortable place to rest there, it was clear she enjoyed the site often.

Along the glimmering stone walls rested wooden chests, many of them open to reveal countless gemstones in every colour, other of their lids closed with treasures arranged on top. The torches around the walls caused an endless sparkle of light to shift across the natural stone ceiling.

There were pendants and necklaces, plugs and earrings, tiaras and circlets, bangles and bracelets, brooches and pins and rings. They came in every setting imaginable and were set with gems in every cut. Narrow tables draped with velvet or satin housed huge loose gems next to jewelry that had obviously been custom-fitted to the dragoness.

She also had armour and weapons. There were swords of all kinds and
daggers and a huge elegant bow made from black wood. She had suits of armour and a large shield, and gilt dragon barding. Much of it was extremely ornate and studded with jewels and all of it was hung or displayed. Off by themselves hung a curved ornate falchion sword cast from a metal that gleamed pearly white, a large warhorn next to it. Both were engraved with an official-looking seal.

The collection was stunning and slightly intimidating, displaying not only the wealth Drache had personally collected over the years, but the legacy of her sire as well. Her hoard was much more massive than even this, but the rest of it comprised of other kinds of treasures. Tapestries and bolts of rare cloth and paintings and statues, much of it featuring dragons, decorated the space between the gold and gems. Strangely lacking were all the books, but they had their own special place in another cavern.

She even had musical instruments, though not many. A huge masterwork
piano glittered blackly in an out-of-the-way alcove, the yellow patina of its ivory keys betraying its age. A large candle rested on top of it, though no wax marred its surface.

Drache moved along one of the rows of tables, her clawed fingertips lovingly caressing her loot, her snout turned up in a wistfully smug smile. With a few deft adjustments she cleared a space and reached into one of the pouches at her belt, withdrawing a set of golden horn covers on a chain dangling with sapphires. She set them down on a piece of green silk brocade, arranging them carefully.

She admired them thoroughly, and then her demeanor became more businesslike. She opened a chest and withdrew a small bar of gleaming platinum and tucked it in her belt. Tail swishing, she moved across the room and selected a palmful of smooth purple opalite stones. With a flip of her wings, she stalked purposefully to one of the high narrow fissures in the natural wall and moved down into the darkness to her workshop.

[Vanidor]

It was deeper into the catacomb like depths of the complex that the stirrings of energy would pulsate from. It was dirty. Dank. If one could smell magic, it would stink of a cesspit. But it was powerful. Painfully so. Perhaps the Half-Dragon would notice, but some of the darker creatures of her domain were moving. Crossing from one end to the other, as if to be closer to this great darkness that was forming in the depths of the earth.

They took care, of course, to alter their paths to not criss-cross the perimeter of Drache's holdings, but there could only be so much leeway. They had too, now and again, make their presence known to the Drake. But there was something else. These things. The Creepers in the Darkness, Creatures of Shadow or oozes that formed naturally and dangerously were dying as well. Reaching a certain point, their remains closing off side passageways and corridors. Choking them shut with their mass.

The corpses would be inert. And untouched, for that matter. Anything the beasts had stolen or captured from unwary travelers would still be tucked away in the hidden nooks and crannies of their bodies. Gold and silver. Precious gems. But their essence. Their very souls had been ripped from their bodies... And sucked down into the darkness of the cavern complex.

Where in the depths, chanting could be heard. Along with the faint crackle of fire, and the stench of brimstone...

[Drache]

Ranging through the twisting crevices deep into the earth was no easy trek, but the half-dragon whose talons carried her down steep rocky slopes and up sheer outcrops at the edges of vast underground rifts relished the exertion and thrill of uncovering the secrets in the inky unknown. Her Darkvision and Blindsense allowed her to delve into the permanent night just as confidently as she soared the summer skies far, far above. When it came to the slinking and scuttling creatures that crept and oozed in the darkness, she was just as deadly a foe as usual.

Not that she was on a mission of destruction. It was cool down here, and at times her scales steamed lightly when she brushed a wall slick with mineral rich water. The magic of her lair didn't extent terribly far from her central cavern, but at her passing many of the creatures of the darkness would become more wary. No, Drache was simply exploring. Searching for anything and everything that might pose a threat, marking her territory, and keeping an incredibly detailed mental map of where she had already been. She occasionally came face-to-face with immense insects or swollen-bodied worms, sightless ebon-furred cats and slimy plants that coiled to ensnare her with the speed to rival her own. These confrontations ended swiftly, dragonfire and Drache's snarling ferocity bringing noise and light to a world usually absent of both. She found signs of fleshlings occasionally, mostly the delicate tread of the dark elves who could penetrate these depths even more keenly than she, but they appeared to be few and far-between.

She ate breakfast, or was it lunch?, in a small alcove illuminated in soft green and blue by a phosphorescent lichen clinging to the walls. The light played off her scales and made her eyes glitter in the dark. The natural beauty of the place was not lost on the half-dragon and she took care to stay her heat and flame and wicked claws and leave the glowing plants undisturbed. It was here that the faint trace of vile decay wafted to her keen nostrils.

It wasn't unusual to come across dead things. The underdarkness was a thriving ecosystem in itself and living things all died off eventually. She set off into the gloom to track down the source of the sour putrescence. She knew the scent would draw all manner of scavengers and in this place, the carrion-eaters were far more formidable than buzzards and wolves on the surface.

It took hours of sliding through tight fissures and leaping across deep chasms, but she eventually came to the bloated body. She was not familiar with the species, and approached the immense carcass warily. Other creatures had been here before her, lurking about the abundant meal. But they appeared to have temporarily retreated into the darkness at her arrival without putting one fangmark on the body. She could sense them there, just beyond the range of her black-and-white sight, pacing and leering, turning on themselves in frustration as they waited for her to move on.

Unable to determine an obvious cause of death, she would have been content to assume the creature had reached it's natural lifespan and simply collapsed. That it had not been touched was odd to her, but she had no ability to sense the way it's essence had been claimed. The issue slipped even further from her mind as she discovered a scattering of treasure that had spilled from the beast's clutches. It was only when she had scraped every last coin from the decaying flesh that an arcane tingle crept down her spine. It was brief, fleeting, untraceable. But it unnerved her slightly and she decided to head back to her lair, taking a slightly different route.

She would have been content to write the issue off as a fluke and ignore it, until she found the second such downed leviathan hours later in a different tunnel.

[Vanidor]

08/04/211

Weeks had passed since the greatest of the beasts had been felled by dark power. Their very life essence torn from their bodies the way a butcher would yank intestine from the husk of a pig. The things that wormed their strange way into the deep and dank interior of the cavern complex had lessened, as if the original pull of the spell had run its course...

That, or as if more than enough life force had been siphoned for whatever purpose was in the making there in the depths. There was a palpable air now, there in the darker layers of Drache's chosen lair. Something had been done that belied the natural order of things. Something had been... Born. Or perhaps reborn, there in the shadows. The strange chanting that had, perhaps, filtered through the echoing rock had finished. Naught but a whisper remained of the presence of others, yet..

Yet. There was something in the deep. Waiting to be discovered and reawakened.

[Drache]

The chasm in front of her was narrow but deep and long, yawning to the left and right far further than she could sense. Her tail draped unconcernedly over the edge, but it didn't flick back and forth in idle thought as it might if she were lounging on the top of her tower on on a thick tree branch. Down here, with darkness all around, the merest breath of a sound, the slightest tremor in the air from idle motions could be as bright and noisy and obvious as a thunderstorm. And Drache knew, as she'd known for several weeks, that in addition to the normal dangers of the underdark, something was wrong.

So she perched on the precipice, knowing that the heat of her draconic body glowed brightly to creatures nearby with their infravision. They crept close at times. She knew that they were there even when she couldn't see or hear them. Even the largest were wise enough to give her a wide berth here, where the warm fingers of the presence of her territory were still palpable. It was how it should be, but still. Something was wrong.

In the midst of everything else going on in the half-dragon's life, she had grown accustomed to the brief wafts of vile taint that coiled untraceably from the depths. It was much easier to seal off her tunnels or set them with both magical and mundane traps and turn her attention to her concerns on the surface rather than put a lot of energy into seeking out the source of the disturbance. She wasn't sure if there was any connection to the undead she kept running across in the forest but well, one thing at a time.

It was the sudden absence of all trace that finally drew her attention to the issue at her back door and she had come to observe for a while, but she knew better than to count it as a blessing. And now she had something else to contend with, for creeping expertly along the ledge opposite the yawning chasm, not even a whisper of their adroit foot-steps to mark their passage over the naked rock. Drow!

[Vanidor]

The trio moved as silently as they could through the depths of the cavern complex, knowing now that something other than them had claimed the deeps for their own. Oh, they knew of the Drow, though were certainly unafraid. Their God hated the drow with an unsettling passion that burned in their blood as well and made them cocky. However, the roaring their master had heard earlier in the month had not been made by those dark-skinned throats. And so they were cautious.

At least as cautious as a mortal could be, when moving through the subduing darkness of the upper levels of the Underdark such as they were. Brother Joam in the front had a lantern, for when they were out of the deep and into the main caves, along with a spear just in case. Slayne bore a hatchet, with fingers outstretched to touch along the side-wall where their markings had been made to guide them into the dark, when they did not have the Priest to follow. Faizal, in the rear carried his sabre like it was a trophy, for it was somewhat a relic (not this particular blade, but sabre's in general) to their order. He had been overjoyed when the Priest had given it to him. He was the trio's true protector, had anything untoward come to claim them in the dark.

But here, now, they were stepping out of the deeper darkness and into the territory claimed by the Drake. They knew they'd have to move fast, but there was much space to travel, and only so fast they could move. Joam would throw wide the sides of the lantern, and the shuffling cultists would hurry for the light above...

[Drache]

The dragoness did not move as the trio passed. She did not launch herself in a flurry of billowing fire and lashing claws. She did not strike with razor fangs and rock the stone walls with the crack of powerful magic. Instead, she remained perched on the edge of the rift and waited, learning in her stillness that her initial assumption had been incorrect. There were signs here and there of the passing of Drow, but she knew enough about the deep elves to know that they didn't need the help of a lantern to move through the darkness. How easy would it be to rend and char flesh and leave these three as corpses for the blind scavengers, just for the crime of daring to traipse through her tunnels?

Not one of them smelled like dragonkin, which may have incited her to attack immediately. She may have even let them go if not for the whiff of foulness that had been creeping from the depths. The coincidence of its cessation was too much for her to ignore. An angry draconic voice in the back for her mind growled hatefully in her native tongue, "Go on. Kill them! They are nothing but weak fleshling trespassers!" She'd been fighting the voice from her dreams for weeks now and always managed to overcome it, but this time she agreed too much with the spirit's sentiments.

Once they had passed, the gleam of the lantern shifting off the raw stone walls, Drache uncoiled and crept after them with wings tight to her back. She tailed them easily, sliding through the darkness with the advantage of knowing the lay of the caverns around them and the natural abilities of her form. She kept far behind them, letting them round one corner ahead of her at a time. The only sounds she made during her passing were the faint clicks and scrapes of her talons on the stone, drowned out by the shuffling feet ahead of her.

It was when the trio passed into a tunnel that sloped downwards that the half-dragon made her move. There was a scrape like that of a large creature launching itself through the still air behind them. The hot lash of Drache's spell caused Brother Joam's lantern to explode violently, pelting the man with incendiary debris, leaving him blinded and burned, his clothes aflame. The excruciating flash of light died rapidly, leaving only the reddish embers littering the stone floor and the gleam from Brother Joam's clothes. Smoke and the stench of burning flesh filled the small tunnel.

She hit Faizal from behind with the force of a great cat, four sets of talons burying into the man's clothes and flesh as her maw snaked towards his head with lethal precision, a savage growl tearing from her throat.

[Vanidor]

Brother Slayne had raised his hatchet high as the lantern detonated besides Joam's face. He saw in that split instant the destruction wrought upon the other cultist, who clutched at his face and fell without a cry. The heat and the fire were too much to bear, and his mind had seemingly shut off without and fight. He spun then, to ask Faizal about this madness when the Drake struck for true.

He saw just in time for the man to start forward, then suddenly cough a gout of blood as something snagged him from behind. Faizal brought up the sabre in his hands as something tore into his throat. The gurgling scream he raised cut short as the weapon fell, and he too would sag in the grip of the beast that had caught them. Slayne took a step backwards, feeling moisture drizzle down the inside of his leg at the sight of his two companions being brutally murdered.

Still, with a crazed laugh, he would raise his hatchet and lunge forward, trying to bury the thing into Faizal's killer. It was an angry thing, that weapon. Poorly made, but kept sharp non-the-less. In expertly wielded, but often there was strength in anger. That is what his god taught, was it not? Strength in Anger... "For the Cardinal you Hellion beast! Back to the Abyss!"

[Drache]

Drache let the now-dead man drop with a heavy thump, the fleshling blood hot on her tongue, more of it pooling across the rough stone floor with each passing second. She didn't make a habit of slaughtering others of sentient races, dismissing accusations of being a man-eater by saying that fleshlings tasted bad. But in moments like this when she was protecting her territory and herself, not to mention her unborn, from trespassers, it tasted like triumph.

With a slow partial-unfurling of wings and the weaving of her tail behind her, she stepped over Faizal's body towards Slayne. The stink of urine assaulted her nostrils and she grimaced derisively. A flick of her red gaze told her that Brother Joam had failed to survive the burst of flame, his corpse smouldering on the ground behind the sole remaining cultist.

The dragoness waited almost patiently for the attack to come, stepping forward at the last minute to meet the Slayne's hasty charge. One clawed hand shot up to catch the descending weapon by the handle, the other curled into a fist to slam into his chest, effectively clotheslining him. She relieved the man of his crude hatchet and planted a heavy taloned foot on his chest, glaring down at him.

"The Abysss, indeed!" she snarled with a hiss. "Sssuch an insssult would make me more than happy to kill you, human! I come not from -that- domain. Who are you, and what are you doing in my territory? Ssspeak or you shall join your fellows!"

The nicked edge of Slayne's own hatchet pressed into his neck as the dragoness turned it against him, her eyes gleaming red.

[Vanidor]

Slayne tilted his head back, eyes peering at the cooling body of Brother Joam once again. He sniggered softly despite the blade that was now angled against his nervously working adams apple. Lips were licked as the beast made her questions known to him. Slayne just laid there, arms out stretched as he lay in a puddle of his own urine. He gazed next at the brilliantly gleaming eyes of the one who had attacked them.

"Your... your eyes hold the power. The Cardinal will reward you if you join His ca-cause. Your strength can be added to His." The man smiled a wicked smile, ignoring the feel of steel biting into the soft flesh of his neck. "The... the Patriarch will reward you well!" Crazy talk, this man. He cackled again, then stopped. Oh yes, hatchet. So. An twisted smile instead. It was better than having an axe in the throat.

[Drache]

"I didn't asssk you about my eyes!" the half-drake spat with a vile hiss, eager to simply finish this one off as well and be done with it. A raging heat rolled off of her body as though she may burst into flame at any moment, and her glowing gaze wavered in the gloom as smoke spouted from her nostrils. Only the looming presence of a far greater threat than these three hapless humans kept her at bay. "But I am always up for a reward," her talons flexed a little, still pressing firmly into Slayne's chest though the prickle of the hatchet's keen edge eased away a bit. She didn't want to open a smile in his throat before he'd finished talking, after all.

Her horns tilted slightly to the side, and her gaze flicked up and down the narrow tunnel, double-checking that they were still alone before glaring back down at him. More intruders weren't the only thing she watched for. She was ready to cut and run, past experiences with cultists imparting on her caution of their strange spells and abilities gifted by their otherworldy patrons. Her tone softened with interest. "Tell me about thisss Cardinal and thisss Patriarch and their cause. The longer you talk, the longer you live."

[Vanidor]

"The enemies of Myrken will be destroyed. Cleansed b..b.. mmngh! By righteous anger and the purity of Fl... flame." Slayne's eyes were partially glazed over now. And his words were erratic. He sniggered once more, licking his bloodied lips. The hatchet had moved slightly. "All that is evil will know the burning touch of the Cardinal. All that move in th... the Shadow! Will Burn! Burn!"

Something snapped inside Brother Slayne's mind here. It was almost audible, though it showed more as a stiffening of his body there in her grasp. Whatever force had taken control was not enough to force aside paw and claw, but it was enough to force arms upwards and -grab- at the half-drake. To force the torso upwards, despite a sickening crunch of bone and sinew. Slayne would bite down on Drache. It certainly would not be enough to even penetrate her scales, not in the slightest. At best, there would be a mouth-shaped marring. In either case, the man laughed a gurgling laugh as he bit, blood seeping from the back of his throat as he did so.