A Storm of Flame and Ash

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

When word reached him about what was happening Seth had been outside, leaning casually against one of the Dagger's walls. As the messenger explained to him what was happening, the tall elf only nodded absently, a hint of boredom upon his angular expression. A dragon, well that explained those bursts of flame he had been seeing off in the distance. Now came the question, did he feel like lifting a hand to help? Oh yes, there was still something definately off with Seth.

Should he help? Was there really any benefit for him in helping? Maybe he felt like being a lazy bastard and doing nothing but lounge about? Then again this lounging about buisness was pretty dull. Also, he did like a good fight and fighting a dragon would be anything but boring. As these thoughts danced through Seth's head he allowed his left hand to rest absently on Twilight Heart's pommel. The connection he had with the longsword let him know that the sword was more than willing to do battle with a dragon.

Finally, after that moment of pondering, Seth pushed himself away from the Dagger's wall, "Very well then, I've got nothing better to do," murmuring more to himself than to the messenger that had lingered with an anxious look upon their face.

A half-smirk played across his lips as he strode, in an unhurried manner, towards where he was needed, "Been awhile since I played with a dragon..," once more murmuring to himself. He had to wonder if this one was anything like the dragons he had encountered in the past. Oh well, he'd find out soon enough. Unless, of course, the beast was either dealt with before he got there, or slaughtered everything and left before he got there.

[Reinstadler]

The dragon stared down at the scene below with beady, impatient eyes. Its prey had acted with abandon. Burel had shown himself when there was a surprisingly sturdy wall to hide behind and no reason to leave the safety it offered. He had stood his ground in the face of a rain of fire. He had even willingly fallen for the creature's cunning attack, trying to save the flaming princess instead of just avoiding her. Throughout this, he remained mostly unscathed. In another such monster, the ensuing frustration might lead to foolishness. Here, it created a certain respect, if not outright regard, for the Duke. In another creature, it might lead to a more direct attack, a tearing with claws, a burst of flame at point blank range, an attempt to bite THROUGH its prey. These actions would take the dragon within Burel's range. These attacks would be almost impossible to defend against, but so should have been all that had occurred up until now.

So then, after circling three times, the dragon would begin to withdraw. Massive wings pushed it away from Darkenhold and towards the closest range of woods. For a moment, all went still, with the inhabitants of the stronghold wondering if, in fact, Burel's resolve had been enough to drive the creature away.

No more than half a minute after the beast's depature, the silence was shattered by a ripping and tearing sound, the sound of the ground itself being torn asunder. It was the only warning the Duke would receive before a seventy foot long uprooted oak tree would come spiraling violently through the air towards his most recent position.

[Dulcie]

For all the efforts that her rescuer had tried to make it was really far far too late for the ball of pink flesh and silk. He would have managed to bring her to the ground safely enough that was for certain, but dragon fire burns hot and true and the poor thing was lost before her form had ever truly hit the ground. What was left now barely resembled a human being and truly this would be a difficult thing to explain to the royal family. Such a task would surely take great diplomacy.

[Vanidor]

There were many things about the Duke that would, perhaps, surprise others who did not know him. The fact that he had lived through a blazing inferno was one of them. The fact that he'd had the audacity (and perhaps lack of sense) to step outside of perfectly good walls in order to face something that most folk would go out of their way to ignore was another. Put this together, and some might have thought that he'd just stand there, draw his sword, and cleave the missile of oak in two with the keen edge, do some sort of foppish pose, and then stand there with his hands on his hips looking impatient.

The bad part was that he considered it for a moment. But then that would be completely bad form, wouldn't it. Showing off more than needing too. Perhaps it would have been a good, objective point made to some of those who were watching from the distance. Burel would just be showing how hard it really was to kill the Duke of Thessilane. A dragon-hurled tree-spear couldn't even do it! But no. That would just be silly.

So instead the Duke would watch the flight of the tree for a moment, blink (it was in that instant that he considered being a heroic ass), and then leap to the side and away. One could hope that the tree would either spear directly into the earth he had been until recently planted, embed itself like an arrow, and remain. That or hit and twirl and tumble on in the path it had been thrown. His hope though, was that at least the thing wouldn't splinter and shatter and send bits of wood and torn asunder earth out and around. There were only so many things a man could avoid, you know.

Oh. And perhaps the flung wood would avoid the smoldering remains of the charbroiled princess. Burel didn't know who she was. But really, one deserved better than to be bit, set on fire, flung.... and then have a tree land to smush them into pulp.

[Glenn]

Within the walls of Myrkentown, the word went out. Constables were marshalled. Knights were summoned. The militia was activated. Most of these men would man the walls and prepare for the worst. Well water was gathered and prepared. The Remedium was put at full alert. The town would be not caught unawares tonight.

That meant little for Darkenhold, however. Oh, those who were particularly brave, or foolish, who wanted to witness or battle the dragon, or who simply had a personal stake in Darkenhold were notified. Few were expected to lend direct assistance. Myrken was hardy, but its citizens knew when it was time to buckle down and guard all that was worth protecting. Relief efforts would come, but they would come with the morning, in the aftermath of whatever occurred.

It meant that it was a frustrated, even upset Glenn Burnie who rode back to his home, ahead of the Constables, separate from Niall or Bloodmoon or whoever else might answer the call. He had hoped to obtain more in the way of assistance. Perhaps he would have been better off manning the walls of the fortress or acceding to his teacher's inevitable request. No, that may have given Ariane Emory more peace of mind, but at least he had done something. At least he had tried. Now he rode hard back into the midst of it all.

[Jirai]

When Niall left the walls of Myrken, she did not do so in the company of the Constables. The scarred child had no intention of arriving at the scene amidst the sure-to-be-noticed fools. Truth be told, Niall wasn't entirely sure what she was intending to do. The girl had a healthy respect for dragons, but wasn't entirely sure how a dragon here would measure up to one from her homeland. Curiosity drove her to find out.

So the girl circled around, aiming to arrive at some distance from the group of Constables.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

Likely the tall elf would be nearly the last to arrive on the scene seeing as he continued to stroll towards the firey, violent, dragon filled action at a rather casual pace. During his little 'stroll' he pondered over how best to join the fray. While Seth had faced dragons before, he had yet to face one in Myrkenwood or the surrounding lands. Who knew just how different they might be from the ones he had experience with.

At the very least this dragon appeared to be fire based, well from what Seth could see. Of course that could mean very little for all he knew. Could this particular dragon wield magic? Was it resitant to magic? For now he would assume it had such abilities amongst others. That would be the best way to approach this. Should it lack them, well, he would be pleasantly surprised! With or without such things though, the creature would definately be a formidable foe.

[Reinstadler]

Fire had scoured Myrkentown and its inhabitants. It had ended the lives of bureaucrat and merchant alike; it had swept over townsfolk and foreigners without regard for their background. These puny little creatures could do nothing but rebuild and pray that they might be spared upon the dragon's return. And that is how it ought to be. That was the natural order of things. That these insects now seemed to be fighting back was an affront, but perhaps one to be expected.

That this man, the dragon's very target, its PREY, stood in the face of fire and survived, that he had survived the soft flaming projectile tossed at him, that he had survived cunning and sheer power.. that was unexpected. That was frustrating. That should not be. That WOULD not be. The dragon should withdraw now. It had succeeded so well by striking quickly and not lingering, but its prey was right before it. Despite a very justified arrogance, it was no fool, but then it had failed in three consecutive attacks. For a creature who could not even imagine failure, that stung like nothing else.

Still, the would-be victim had to be respected. He had survived this long. That was why the dragon hadn't swooped down and finished this with its claws as of yet. A little more frustration, though... But no, not yet. For now, a middle ground, something satisfying and effective but that wouldn't expose it completely.

Another tree was wrenched from the ground. Another tree was set aflame. This time, however, nothing was left to chance. The dragon did not throw it, but held it within its claws, flying towards Burel once again, this time, swinging it down towards him as if it was a giant, flaming club.

[Vanidor]

Burel was, amongst other things, a showman. Doing things that he should not be for maximum flashy effect. This day had, so far, been one of those moments. Who could deny the courage (and perhaps insanity) of the Duke to boldly come out and face down this draconic scourge with naught more than the sword at his side and his famous stubbornness. Who could deny the fact that he was a harder man to kill than some would think. Light above, he'd lasted so far with only light burns to his hands and the clothing he wore. And a little hair. That part depressed him the most, for Burel was rather fond of his hair.

But in anycase, smoldering hair aside, there was a flaming club hurtling through the air for his head. And, well, the rest of him as well if he didn't get out of the way quick enough. Which he really wouldn't do.

Instead he watched the thing, amazed at how, in a fight or other high stress situations, one could perceptively notice how time seemed to slow down. Kerrak had called it fight time. Battle sense? Something of that nature. Things really didn't slow down, of course, just your senses were in tune with the world about you. Your focus was intent upon staying alive, and hopefully, being able to keep that promise to yourself true. So here he was, watching the club slowly hurtle down for the top of his head...

Near to the last moment he'd take a short hop backwards and then LEAP up onto the flaming tree. Left hand had snaked out to draw his knife and embed it into the wood and lift him upwards. It was a gamble, that much was sure. It scorched his feet and singed more of his precious locks. But there was one thing that was certain. After hauling himself onto the club, using that left arm and powerful legs, he leapt for the drakes face, sword whipping from it's metallic scabbard, and ready to jam it into something soft. Like a nostril. Or perhaps an eye. Whichever was closer when he reached the top of his insane rise.

[Cinnabar]

A desperate ride later, and the sound of hooves thunders along the road approaching Darkenhold. Smoke is already visible from a distance, rising in plumes from among the estate's trees. Cinnabar reassures himself that the blaze cannot yet have gripped the fastness of Darkenhold, its stout walls built to resist such an attack, every facet of its construction fixed upon the idea that it should be an impenetrable redoubt, able to shrug off the fiercest of assaults.

The Governor was well aware of the procedures and directives that had been issued to the Constabulary, the instructions to focus on damage limitation, on limiting the spread of fire and evacuating attacked areas of town. Given the capabilities of the town's protectors - brave, valiant men and women defending their homes and families, but no more than that - these instructions made sense. They lacked the skill and weaponry to truly threaten such a beast, and so they could only strive to make attacking Myrkentown difficult in the hopes that it would be dissuaded. To take the battle to the dragon made no sense, and could only lead to the deaths of those who tried.

This was the official reasoning, at least. An impartial assessment of what could be won or lost from such an effort, weighed in the balance.

It was a different reasoning that saw Cinnabar Calomel riding headlong towards the fight, a reasoning based more on loyalty and friendship, on repaying the efforts of those who had come to Myrken's defence countless times before now. Dismounting hastily at the main gate, the mount unlikely to be of much use in whatever struggles were to follow. Instead he steps cautiously past the gates, grey eyes widening at the battle that plays out before Darkenhold's sturdy walls.

A quiet oath at the gaudy flash of crimson in the midst of it, and as the Duke flings himself at the beast Calomel's strides are lengthening to a run, his blade singing clear of its scabbard as he goes.

For what good it'll do.

[Glenn]

There were various indirect routes into Darkenhold. The Governor did not know of them. It was a point of trust and a conflict of interest that Glenn Burnie did. Set a young man full of curiosity and lacking in inhibition upon the halls of a place so full of secrets and the end result is rather inevitable. He found what (and who) lurked underneath Darkenhold. He confronted Quincy Randall about it, yet he never went to the Governor. Nor did he come to regret that decision. Not yet at least.

So it was that as Calomel arrived from one direction, Burnie arrived from another. So it was that as the Governor threw himself into the breach, towards the beast itself, the mapmaker found his way back through those hidden tunnels into the fortress itself. He knew his limitations. Fighting the beast head on? Even after years of training, he would only get in the way. He had left to get help. Hopefully it had followed close behind him.

Now he would weave his way through passages and up stairs to a point not far from where the princess had been snatched only a short time before. He would not gawk, however. No, there was a crossbow in hand and with it, he would do what he could. Here in Myrken, every desperate little bit mattered.

[Seth_Bloodmoon]

The tall elf's casual stroll towards the firey confrontation between man and dragon eventually turned into a brisk jog. The change of pace wasn't due to any real concern he felt for those that might be injured, no. Before certain events that had transpired in the realm of dreams it surely would have been. Now though, it was more or less due to the fact he'd simply grown bored with the idea of taking his sweet old time. Truly if he moved too slowly he would miss out on all of the action.

Long legged strides carried Seth ever closer to Drakenhold even as Glenn and Cinnabar arrived from different route. As the Duke decided to launch himself at the firey nuisance in the air. Soon enough he, too, was on the scene though not throwing himself immediately into the breach as the Governor had. Even were he quite himself he probably wouldn't have immediately rushed into the fray.

However, Seth did pull Twilight Heart free of its sheath. An instant later and he was quietly uttering words of magic softly, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Tiny arcs of lightning began to dance over the naked steel of his sword, building up in intensity with each passing moment. Soon enough that crackling energy became a near blinding cascade of energy that completely engulfed the weapon's blade.

Once it reached that point, and depending whether unwanted, hostile attention was cast his way by the dragon, Seth then leveled his sword in the beast's general direction. Left unharrassed he would then unleash the elemental fury that caressed Twilight Heart. The lightning would arc through the air with malicious intent towards the dragon, aimed for its rather large body. Thus he would be truly commited to the fight taking place.

[Jirai]

This... was an interesting sight to see. Unlike Seth, Niall took no steps to commit herself to any sort of fight - not that she was hiding, of course. It would be a bit of a challenge to remain unnoticed with how brightly her tattoos were glowing. The child practically looked like a blue torch, the light bright enough even to shine through her clothing. Dragons were dangerous, and her body reacted to that.

For now, though, she would just stand and watch.

[Reinstadler]

The dragon was no fool. It was large. It was dangerous, but it could fall to superior numbers, especially if those numbers were made up of something more than weakling fleshbag humans. That the dragon's main target had survived this long gave it pause. It was why it had kept its distance, attacking only at its leisure. Even a guarded attack, one that kept an entire tree's length between dragon and duke had been turned against the creature, blinding it all but rage and hatred... and that was for the attempt alone. When Burel's sword was embedded crookedly into the beast's nostrel, it's roar could be heard for miles. It was hardly a roar of pain but of pure, unbridled fury.

Suffice to say, the dragon did not sulk for long. A moment after the sword struck true, it pulled back, opening its massive jaws at the same moment. With deceptive speed, it tried to close those jaws upon the duke, not to bite through him but to hold him still. After all this, the dragon wished to toy with its prey.

All the while, however, other attacks had begun anew. Arrows from above. Another swordsman charging in, one that smelled wrong, and then the electricity from the other side. All would come together at the same moment, even as the Dragon's jaws would attempt to close upon the Duke.

[Vanidor]

There was a crackle to the air that caused the hair upon the back of the Duke's neck to raise in warning. But there was little to do other than hold fast to the blade that was stuck into the beast before him. Hold tight to that handle even as he felt the drakes massive maw widen and he felt the moist heat of the dragons breath.

He pulled then, upon that tenuous grip he had, trying to haul himself up further upon that scaly face. If there was one particular way that the Duke did NOT want to die, it was by being it in half and then roasted. Not that he really wanted to die to begin with, so there it was. So he would strain to do so, though not quite enough of the way to free himself from danger.

His lower leg then, this was caught between the vicing jaws of the dragon, wedged between teeth and gums and saliva. But he held still to the sword that was buried in the face of the creature. This was well and good, perhaps. But then... Then there was that energy in the air that caused his hackles to rise, and his hair to play in the air.

He would still be holding tight when the lightening would come to say hello.