A Storm of Flame and Ash

[Reinstadler]

The lightning changed everything. Myrken was not supposed to have magical defenses. Darkenhold was not supposed to have magical defenses. That was why this was the perfect place to attack the Duke. The dragon was powerful with tough hide and frightening speed, but it was not immune to such power. Up until now it had been smart in how it attacked Burel. Even when it became angry and made a mistake, there was little to worry about. He was a particularly resilient human, yes, but all that would mean would be an eventual stalemate. Now, though? Now, everything changed.

First came the distraction. The newcomer swordsman, the Governor, though the dragon may not have known that. The scent had been wrong at first. Now, though, it was distinct. Unquestionably so. The Dragon knew exactly what he was. Of course it did! And it had turned its eyes towards him and his blade warily, even as it struggled with the Duke's accursed foot.

Were it not for that, perhaps the dragon, with all its speed and power, could have tried to deflect or avoid the lightning blow. As it was, there was no hope. Pain wrenched the beast, and in that moment, its jaws clamped down with massive instinctual force. Were Burel's foot still there, it may have been taken right off. Either way, the dragon was violently flailing now, the sword moving about its skull. At that very moment, the arrows flying down from Darkenhold began to stick, began to pierce the creature's hide. It was as if the strength of the hide had been powered by the dragon's own resolve and with that shattered by the unholy lightning and the torturous pain that went along with it, the creature now, finally, became truly vulnerable.

[Jirai]

The tide seems to have turned, and it would only be now that the scarred girl would make a move. Never get involved in a fight until you know you can win it - that was her motto.

She shifted slightly, one hand raised to trace runes in the air, shouting in her own harsh language as she built the spell, a swift tracing sent in the direction of the arrows flying from Darkenhold. She aimed to affect both those in the air and those that had already struck home, her spell causing them to enlarge quite painfully, to drive deeper into the dragon's flesh, seeking vital areas.

[Vanidor]

His clothing smoldered from the discharge of electricity, the lapels alight with flame from the heat of the attack. It was almost eerie how the fires seemed to wreath his hands but burn them not, how flame licked at his face with a lovers caress but refrained from scarring him. He could feel the heat though now, which meant that his earring was nearing it's limit. Could he but look to the side, he'd see the thing turning darker by the moment. It was time to end this, even if it means a fall to the ground. But then again, he'd survived such before, hadn't he?

He hauled upwards on the sword embedded into the snout of the drake, twisting his foot at the same time (and being rewarded with a painfully loud crack as the ankle broke). One hand grappled to one of the dragons nostrils, the Duke facing down the creature from here upon the beasts face. His mismatched eyes held no true fury now, but there was still anger there, for this beast had dared to assault him and those he had decided to add to his aegis (whether they wanted it or not!). He tugged again, wedging his left knee into the dragon's nose.

"You dare, dragon. You dare, and you lose. For the death of innocents without cause. Time to return your soul to your ancestors." Burel whipped the sword up and out of the dragon's face, a slurry of blood following in its path. He narrowed his eyes, placed his right foot down on the beasts maw. "May we die in honour." With pain lacing through his left leg now, the broken ankle protesting this sudden use, Burel launched himself forward along the things face. He would land, as long as the drake did not shift much anyway, right before the creatures eyes, his sword upraised and ready to strike. His once pristine coat had burst aflame, now revealing the finely wrought links of chain underneath.

"And now. The end." He would plunge the sword straight down between the creature's eyes, his intent and goal to pierce the skull and spear into the drake's brain. In either case, he'd hold on tightly to that sword once the deed was done.

[Glenn]

The arrows, enlarged and enhanced, struck the dragon, it's form weakened, its aura of fear lessened, its invulnerability dashed. A claw went up to swat at Burel, only to find itself pinned down by the volley from above. That none of the arrows struck the Duke himself was something of a miracle. Most likely, no one in Darkenhold wished to risk Ariane Emory's wrath over such an act, mistake or otherwise.

Another swipe was attempted, but this time, the arrows sank into the viscera and muscle at the beast's other shoulder. There was a roar of anger and rage as Burel, with all of his mortal arrogance, narrated the end of this encounter. The beast was barely upright now, could barely move. It was all it could do to let out a roar of anger and indignity, rage at the natural order of things being so overturned, a deathcry, perhaps even a death-curse, before Burel struck true.

That roar became a dying whimper as the dragon collapsed. Even that small noise was quickly and soundly overcome by the sounds of cheers coming from the fortress. This wyrm would trouble Myrken Wood no more.