Two L15 PCs versus an ancient red dragon
Dec 5, 2016 23:59:08 GMT
joatmoniac and lasersniper like this
Post by pixelscapes on Dec 5, 2016 23:59:08 GMT
This is as good a story as any for a first post...
This ancient red dragon, Flammaharinn, was affiliated with the Cult of the Dragon. My party had caught wind that this dragon's girlfriend's brother, Filvendil, had been taken by Thayan slavers. The PCs rescued the elf Filvendil and summoned Flammaharinn to my homebrew city to discuss an exchange.
Now, my homebrew city has a history of trading with dragons, both chromatic and metallic ones. So outside that city, there's a huge stone platform inscribed in Iokharic: "TRADE AND PROSPER, ATTACK AND PERISH." To drive that point home, the platform has a set of ballistae around it. The city ALSO has a mercury dragon stationed on each of the three corners of the city.
We had all _thought_ this would be strictly a RP scene, so we were running it as play-by-post in between live sessions.
The short OOC summary of how that went
The dragon acted super smug and eventually got his elf back in exchange for information, which turned out to be a gloating prediction of doom. As he left, the dragon backwinged in a way that injured the PCs... and they attacked him in response... and thanks to the PC's well-coordinated set of feats, skills, and all around badassery, these two PCs ended up killing this ancient red dragon.
They had some help from the ballistae, but they did the vast majority of the damage themselves. Just, wow. This red was in the open and focused on trying to get away, and couldn't. It was awesome. They burned him down so fast, the mercury dragons didn't even get a chance to help. (Which is great -- I didn't want to take victory away from them with NPCs!)
As I recall they used a wonderfully effective combination of the barbarian's flying, the paladin's Misty Step and Dimension Door. The worst part was, the barbarian's Sentinel feat allowed her to repeatedly crash-land the dragon every time he attacked the paladin. Naturally they also succeeded on all the saves I made them roll to to stay on this dragon for any length of time, heh.
As noted, this was a play-by-post, so when combat broke out we ran it in Roll20 for the mechanical piece and then posted descriptions of the actual actions. Therefore, if you have time for a longer story, you can also read that version. I left out the initial negotiations so we can get to the juicy violence sooner!
The much longer IC version of how that went
"Your elf," Varin says to the dragon, voice raised. "Fed, rested, and healthy. A great deal more than could be said in his prior arrangement." He looks at Filvendil. "And with a working tongue," he adds, in a tone that might not be certain how much of an improvement that really was.
He looks back to Flammaharinn. "You have heard Lorna. We have satisfied our side of the deal. Now we learn, Herald, about a 'key piece of information'."
Filvendil is relieved to see the red dragon, smiles eagerly. (OOC note to readers: He's from Murghôm and since Flammaharinn is his sister's 'friend', he seems wholly unafraid. He also doesn't believe the party's ridiculous stories about the Cult trying to summon Tiamat.)
He tells Lorna and Varin, "Thanks again, for the rescue and healing. I thought I was done for. And thanks for finding Flammaharinn."
Assuming he's free to do so, he'll scuttle on over to Flammaharinn's foreleg.
Flammaharinn had finished munching through that ox lunch earlier. Though he was eager for the elf's return all along, now the dragon essentially ignores Filvendil, fixing his attention on Lorna and Varin.
The colossal red dragon seems all too pleased as he steps forward to say, voice huge, "Indeed, I welcome the opportunity to tell you this. You seem to believe yourselves to be delaying Tiamat's return, perhaps even preventing Her arrival. You will find all your questions answered by this fact..."
And here Flammaharin raises his gloating voice to make sure the Dragon Guard at the ballistae can hear it as well, "Tiamat's coming is _inevitable_. Our Queen can, and assuredly will, claw her way out of the Well whenever She chooses to do so. We merely prepare her a suitable welcome."
The dragon's grin is all firey glow behind his teeth, and then he reaches to collect (wide-eyed) Filvendil.
"You lie!" Varin snarls, gauntlet gripping his sword hilt tightly, ready to draw. "We've slain Her consort, put Her Wyrmspeakers to the sword, and smashed her Dragon Masks!"
Varin's reaction seems to be just what the dragon is looking for. That gloating grin somehow widens further as the dragon claims, "You've merely wasted time you could have better spent preparing for your end."
"And how exactly do you picture your life when she returns?" Lorna says in an icy voice, once again speaking to the red in draconic.
"If you support this then all you have accomplished will have been wasted, and you will be the greatest of fools. You will never again see your shadow sail across the landscape, for hers will be bigger. Your fire will never light the sky, for hers will be brighter. And your roar will be but the wail of a feeble hatchling, for her noisome breath will fill their air. So unless the welcome you have planned is a five bladed scythe for her foul heads, I wish you the best of luck in the paltry, soiled, and weakened ignominy that your existence will surly become."
While Lorna speaks, Varin glances back at the Dragon Guard lieutenant, making eye contact. He looks back to the dragon, opening his connection to Celestia.
By now, Filvendil finally looks suitably horrified in the dragon's claw, if anyone happens to look his way. Better late than never.
Lorna's words seem to spoil the moment for the dragon, and that rictus grin lapses into a snarl. "I should have known your tiny little brains couldn't comprehend true power." He prepares to take off.
Varin braces himself as the dragon prepares to take wing, fingers flexing. All he has to do is pull his sword free of it's sheath to send a battery of steel and hardened wood into the exposed flank of the dragon. His link to Celestia pulses, ready to propel him onto the beast, to drive his crystalline sword into its skull.
It would be just. The savage creature had taken Filvendil and told them only lies in return.
But what if it was true? The thought stabs into his gut, holding his blade.
The question is rendered moot as Flamaharinn takes off and sends a shock wave of air at them, strong enough to kill most people. They're not most people, though.
"Son of a...!," Whatever is left of Varin's scream disappears into the ethereal as he vanishes, reappearing on the back of the great beast's neck. He scrambles at the massive scales, finally finding purchase, and swings his legs around the neck. The dragon swivels his head to get a look, and Varin slams his shield into the side of its skull in response. He ducks low as he catches the whistle of the first volley of ballista fire, reaching for his sword.
"Your legacy will be nothing but your own ashes you cinder-brained, stump-winged, dull-toothed sloth eater!" Lorna roars after him, her hands cupped around her mouth so that her voice carries as far as possible.
The shock wave of Flammaharinn's aggressive wingbeats are enough to knock Lorna over, despite her best effort. Filvendil yelps aloud in panic as the dragon backwings about 40 feet away.
Taking the dragon's aggressive action against the Vanguard as their cue, someone in the Dragon Guard ranks sounds a horn, alerting Laeteli.
Others fire ballistae that have been waiting for the entire hour. With the dragon's sudden movement, several miss -- but half do hit, one of the massive bolts striking the base of one wing, and the dragon roars in pain.
"Oh that is just rude!" Lorna hollers as she picks herself up off the ground. Not even bothering to stand first, Lorna launches herself off the ground and flies up to the dragon.
"Varin, fancy meeting you here," she grunts as she lands behind him. She attempts a couple of strikes, but trying to coordinate with the dragon's movements and not hitting its other passengers she cant quite land a blow."
Flammaharinn snarls at the unwelcome passengers, whipping his tail upward to try and knock Varin off. It would seem the dragon is, indeed, quite accurate with that powerful tail -- it slams solidly into the Captain.
But the dragon is not done yet. As he races further up into the sky, he can't easily bite or claw either of them, so Flammaharinn lashes that tail again to try and catch Lorna next.
Filvendil hollers, belatedly, "Look out!" but it's not any real help....
Somewhere further away than some might wish, Laeteli had already taken off at a clip when the horn sounded. At full speed, she's headed this way, but she isn't close yet.
Taking advantage of Flammaharinn's distraction as he tail-whips at Varin, Lorna plunges Adaxis right into one of the muscles at the base of the dragon's wing.
Shrieking out flame, Flammaharinn plunges toward the sand below, along with the two Vanguard heroes and one hapless elven farmer.
Since Lorna and Varin were on top, they aren't likely to get crushed -- ironically, especially if Flammaharinn succeeded in knocking Varin away. But everyone's falling, landing with an enormous slam and a gout of sandy dust.
The sudden plummet takes Varin by surprise and his grip is weakened right when the tail smacks into him. He curses as he's swept away, bracing for impact.
Varin piles into the side of a dune, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. He rises, sand streaming from his armor, and is about to channel Celestia to rejoin the battle when the dragon crashes into the ground next to him. He grins behind his helm, spitting out sand, then rushes back into the fight.
"By the light of the Gods, you will die today, Herald!" He feels the oath bind him just as he reaches the scrambling mountain of scale and muscle.
Channeling as much of Celestia's might into his blade as he can hold, he plunges it into the creature's belly. He rips it out savagely, only to drive it in again.
The dragon rises and Varin steps back, ready for the counter-attack. He hopes the ballista battery still has a clean shot, but he can't afford to look.
Unfortunately, the ballistae don't have clean shots considering the dragon is prone behind that dune -- but the lieutenant in charge is no dummy, and his teams are well trained. Even as they fall, he calls out the order, "Hold, hold until he rises!"
Flammaharinn flails, still down as Varin does an exceedingly good job of attempting to gut the dragon. The writhing dragon grinds poor Filvendil's body deeper into the sand in the process.
Flammaharinn shoots Varin a murderously hateful glare, but he knows he will have a better chance of hitting the woman who downed him since she's still down as well -- so he smacks at Lorna with his tail again and again, landing another devastating hit despite his disadvantage.
As the tail draws back Lorna strikes out, slashing it. She then spins and drives her sword Adaxis into the red dragon's side.
"You know as dragons go, you are the WORST ride I've ever had," she sneers as she yanks her sword free of the hide and muscle, and then runs around the dragon to stand next to Varin.
This hasn't been going as well as Flammaharinn expected, not at all. By now he imagined he'd be winging away toward Murghôm. The red dragon casts a quick look to dead Filvendil and then shakily rises to his feet, ready to...
... to get shot by the ballistae, is what happens. Bolts roar overhead and two hit the dragon. Again, one is a particularly devastating hit. Some team back there must be particularly good.
Roaring in rage, the dragon takes off to fly again. He dearly wants to wheel around and bathe all these insolent monkeys in flame... but they've proven to be more annoying than he expected, and his number one priority is escape at top speed. He wheels around to take off into the air, giving Lorna and Varin both a chance to attack as he goes.
Lorna lunges for the fleeing red but apparently he'd been anticipating her move, and she is unable to land the hit.
Varin is ready for a counter-attack, but he's not surprised when the dragon flexes his wings to flee. Dropping his guard he closes the gap before the beast can take to the air, radiant sword slicing through scale and muscle along its massive flank.
He roars in approval as the two bolts, as long as he is tall, slam home as the dragon crests the dune.
That painful holy energy is all the encouragement Flammaharinn needs to continue fleeing. Mighty wings spread, though his shoulder and belly are dripping a red even brighter than his age-darkened scales. He flies at full speed across the sand, angling steadily upward.... and, unfortunately, he'll end up outside of easy ballista range.
But now one of the city's three mercury dragons, Laeteli, flashes onto the scene. She skims just north of the ballistae, her gleaming scales sending a dazzle of light across the sand as she matches the other dragon's speed wingbeat for wingbeat. She can't catch up unless he slows somehow -- but she can help make sure he doesn't decide to come back.
The other two mercury dragons, siblings Nystarix and Ptharnix, are also angling this way from the other two corners of the city... it'll likely take them far too long to arrive, but they can serve as backup if they get the opportunity.
Lorna is about to fly up there again, and she offers to carry Varin up with her.
The goliath roar echoes in Varin's helm and it's a moment before he can make out Lorna's intention.
He shakes his head. "Go, I'll catch up! Go!" He emphasizes the point with a shove of his shield, then turns from her.
A few paces away is the bloody corpse of Filvendil. He grabs the pouch of diamond dust he had taken from Xonthal's stores.
"Torm giveth, and He bloody well takes, too," he grumbles, dumping a pile of the fine grains into his gauntlet.
Channeling divine energy, the pile shimmers and smokes as it burns away, even as Varin's spirit pushes into the place between.
This is no time for the wonder and curiosity he normally feels, and he launches himself down the faint path of the elf's crossing.
Diamond burning at an alarming rate from his reckless passage he quickly finds his quarry.
He laughs, the noise spinning the elf around. The look of confusion and horror on his face is almost worth the price. Varin grabs his arm, then hoists him onto his shoulder, ignoring any protests.
"Death is no escape from justice," he intones before launching back along the path.
Shoving the elf's spirit back into his body, Varin returns to his own body.
And promptly wrenches his helmet off and vomits into the sand, his body and link to Celestia rebelling from the reckless journey.
Meanwhile, Lorna flies up to land on the red dragon again.
One of those ballista teams must be particularly good. Despite the extreme range, one last bolt still hits the dragon to devastating effect, punching right through a wing to embed awkwardly into the dragon's side.
Flammaharinn howls in enraged pain, dipping as he tries to work that wing around the godsdamned bolt. This actually makes it that much easier for Lorna to stick her landing on the dragon's back.
The red then realizes: whaaaat, that damnable woman is back on his back again?! He is incredulous, immediately attempting another tail slam. It connects, but isn't nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped... for a woman without armor, she seems suspiciously difficult to crush or knock off.
From the direction of the Dragon Guard emplacement far, far behind, a lone arrow zips up at the dragon... but doesn't hit. The sound as it whizzes by is easy to miss in the fracas, no doubt.
"Every time!" Lorna growls as she braces herself against the pain of fire searing her skin. "Every time I actually talk them into patience, into being open to the possibilities of you lot having half a ****ing brain," carefully she positions herself upright an astride, her legs gripping tightly so that she can leverage the full strength of her arms, "you prove them right! You Are NOT," she stabs once, "HELPING!"
Lorna's second attack strikes hard, and she buries her blade hilt-deep into the dragon's neck.
It would seem the red dragon is tired of these unwelcome pests. Instead of trying to claw or bite Lorna, this time Flammaharinn decides to take the easy route -- he breathes out a horrifyingly intense gout of flame and since he's immune, he just flies right through it, bathing his body and Lorna in the raging inferno. There's no way she can dodge that, unfortunately for her.
The screech of rage and the fireball remind Varin of his duty, and his oath. Rising to his feet, helm forgotten in the sand next to a groaning Filvendil, Varin tugs at his fraying connection to Celestia. A few more seconds and they'll be out of range. He jumps.
And crashes down on rolling scales, the scent of sulfur and brimstone filling his nostrils again, wind rushing through his hair. He lands farther down the dragon's back this time, bracing a foot against the base of Flamaharinn's wing.
He reaches for his sword, and grasps air. "Bloody hell!" He screams, realizing he left it beside the elf's body. Desperate for a weapon, he pulls free Bahamut's Talon and holds on to his perch, looking for a weak point in the dragon's ancient hide.
And the paladin is back too? Flammaharinn snarls, "You two just don't know when to stop!" and tries tail-whipping Varin, too... which, actually, misses. Even better, that gives Lorna just the opportunity she needs.
With another mighty roar of agony as Lorna sinks Adaxis home, the dragon loses control of his flight and crashes again. It's a much higher fall this time, however. WHAM.
Flammaharinn can't afford even a moment of hesitation, but he's very disoriented now. How could this have gone so, so wrong in such a short time? Sand kicked up from the impact streams from his wings as he tries to raise them, but his slashed muscles are protesting.
Even through the haze, the red spots the incoming mercury dragon and realizes that Varin and Lorna are _still_ alive, somehow. Flammaharinn tries to struggle back up to his feet, but he just can't do it.
Unable to retreat and likely sensing his doom, the red can only try to take revenge. He's able to lift his swaying neck, at least, towering it over the two prone Vanguard heroes. Despite his injuries, his horned head cuts a horrifyingly imposing silhouette against the sun -- a black shadow with burning eyes, teeth lit only by the licking flames in the back of his throat.
Laeteli is still far enough away that she doesn't get the full brunt of the red dragon's frightful intimidation. She still rears her head back in horror as she sees what's about to unfold.
As Lorna shakes the stars from her head and sees the scrambling, desperate ancient red right next to them, she suddenly decides that perhaps shields do have their benefits. Maybe she'll admit as much to Varin if the both live through this.
Also, she's supremely kicking herself for not taking her emergency healing potion out of her jacket and stuffing it into her pants pocket.
Varin opens his eyes, squinting against the desert sun. He's pretty certain it's not supposed to spin like that. The groan he hears could be him or Lorna, he's not sure. Ears ringing, shield arm throbbing, he tries to sit up, looking for the dragon.
It's not hard to find him, the mountainous dragon rising from the sand beside them.
The draconian eyes, like a lizard's, dart this way and that, narrowing as they fix on Lorna's prone form. Varin only has a moment to react, rolling in the sand and thrusting his shield out. The force of the bite drives the steel into Lorna, fangs screeching against the holy steel. Varin can't stop the flames, however, pouring around the edges of his shield, and his heart sinks as Lorna falls unconscious.
Unclamping his jaw from the shield, the red glares down at Varin. "You... YOU! This is a far better death than you deserve!" Flammaharinn roars, his breath haggard and still throwing sparks.
The red lashes out, intent on finishing this armored nuisance off.
****. Varin rolls again, dodging the massive claws as they slam into the sand. The dragon pounds the dune over and over. Despite Varin's valiant effort, claws as long and sharp as broadswords rake him, including one that rends him from ear to nose. He grits his teeth against the pain, trying not to black out.
Flammaharinn raises his claws high one last time to try and slash at Varin again... but, the dragon is suddenly overcome with weakness from all this effort, and he has to plant his foot back in the sand just to steady himself instead.
Finally catching up thanks to the Vanguard's interferences, Laeteli knows from long dragon-fighting experience that she can't overcome Flammaharinn's wing attack if he gets up and tries that next, so she undershoots and lands on the opposite side of Flammaharinn instead, hoping she can cut him off. She screeches, heralding her approach.
Flammaharinn panics, rousing himself enough to take to the air in another wing attack that drives both Varin and Lorna deeper into the sand. He still can't get far, though... because he had to rise first, he makes it only a short distance away.
Varin stumbles up from the dune, sand cascading from his armor, sticking to the blood coating his neck and breastplate. His link to Celestia is failing, but he draws upon it anyway. A stab of pain echoes through his mind, a pain he ignores as he prepares to jump back onto the dragon. On its snout this time, to drive Bahamut's Talon into its the beast's eye, searching for its brain. His Vow of Enmity sings in his blood at the thought of such righteous savagery.
The sight of Lorna stops him cold. Unconscious and bleeding out into the sand, he realizes she might not make it.
Grunting in pain, he bends down and lifts her to her feet. Divine energy pours into her through his gauntlets, draining his reserves and more, until his link to Celestia finally collapses.
As her eyes flutter open, he shoves her towards the fleeing dragon. "Go," he mumbles through the blood and pain. "Bring me back his bloody head!"
Stumbling back from Lorna as she takes flight, he turns just in time to see the mercury dragon screech past. He'd never seen a dragon so beautiful. He falls to his knees, watching, waiting.
Belatedly seeing that Varin was healing Lorna, Flammaharinn growls out, "No, no, NO!" That long, deadly accurate tail of his whips out yet again and bashes Varin back down into the sand, unconscious.
Already out of the fight, kneeling on the sand, Varin knows he can't stop the oncoming blow. He laughs at the dragon's spite before the world goes dark.
Just before Lorna can reach the red... an arrow from appears suddenly, streaking past Laeteli from the direction of the platform, to thunk directly into Flammaharinn's neck. It's a small wound for such a mighty creature, but the red snarls his offense all the same.
When Varin revives Lorna she gasps for breath, and there's a flash of feral savagery in her eyes as she snaps her teeth and draws back her claws, whirling around to find an enemy at which to strike. But then Varin's shove and pained grunt as the red's tail collide with his battered body clear her head, and her gaze snaps to the dragon trying once more to flee her fury.
"COWARD!" she roars in draconic. The look of predator zeroing in on its prey, equal parts anticipation and glee, overtakes her expression as she once more summons her rage to the surface. Grabbing Adaxis from the sands she lunges into the air, angling her ascent around the dragon's face as she slices along its jugular leaving a stream of red behind her.
Using the dragon's own horn as leverage she swings herself around to land on its head. "I will bury your blood and flames in the sand!" she snarls as she drives her blade into its head.
Lorna's attacks on Flammaharinn are very nearly fatal and he's bleeding heavily from that neck slice. Any second now...
Knowing he's done for, Flammaharinn is intent on making sure he takes at least one of these opponents with him. With that idea doggedly fixed in his mind, the red dragon breathes a great gush of fire one last time, hoping to finish off the paladin. Flames pour from the dragon's mouth as well as from the gaping, gushing neck wound.
"No!" Lorna screams as she watches the flames race toward Varin. In a desperate attempt to curtail the attack she once more drives her blade into the red dragon's skull. Her blow is enough to take the ancient's life, but she's too late to divert the last attack.
Varin regains consciousness just in time for his entire world turns to heat and pain. He tries to scream, but can only inhale flames. It feels like an eternity, but eventually the flames disappear. The sounds of the titanic struggle continue, the ground reverberating with blows, but it all seems very far off. His mind can only focus latches on the rapid, rasping breaths of his charred lungs, and another sound - a gentle tinkling. Glass, he realizes, the super-heated sand cooling rapidly.
He can't feel any pain. A mercy, he decides, even as he knows what that means. Out here, there's no one to save him.
He knows he should be thinking of duty, of his vows, but it is Zelina and Meriel who occupy his final thoughts. A single tear rolls down his charred face and he closes his eyes, waiting for the final mercy of death.
As the dragon crashes once more to the ground Lorna grips her sword tightly, hoping to stay atop the head and avoid being crushed. It works in as much as she doesn't fall under him, but the impact and her fatigue send her tumbling anyways, catching her arm on Adaxis' edge on her way down and cutting into her flesh.
Struck down at last, Flammaharinn has no last words -- the glowing coals of his eyes dim as they roll back in his head, and he collapses heavily down to the sand once more.
Laeteli swoops over to the downed red dragon, being careful to avoid Lorna. She may have been too late to do more than run interference, but at least she can make sure Flammaharinn is well and truly dead.
"Go to your friend," she tells Lorna breathlessly.
Laeteli's words are wasted, and Lorna doesn't even process them as she scrabbles to her feet and runs full tilt at her fallen companion. "No," she snaps as she see's Varin's unmoving form. "No no no godsbedamned **** **** piss and dragon's breath!"
Sliding down to her knees, Lorna looks Varin over and then rummages through his armor searching for a potion. "You and your stupid, ridiculous armor," she mutters as she tugs pieces and finds nothing. "****ing Torm never around when you need him. Bahamut!" she screams in a commanding tone as she turns her face up the sky. "You need to fix this, we're not done yet!"
A deep, ragged breath later and Lorna's hands begins to glow. She pulls Varin up by his breastplate with one hand and draws the other back. "Do you hear me Varin? YOU'RE NOT DONE YET!"
In tandem with her last words she slaps him across the face, leaving lines of red from her talons. But the glow that had been upon her settles into his wounds, and she see his chest rise.
"Oh!" she gasps in relief. "Oh thank..." He labored breathing suddenly stills, and her eyes widen. "Uh oh," she says in a small voice before falling unconscious.
Somewhere else entirely, Varin's eyes open. He's on a path, one that feels vaguely familiar. He tries to concentrate on his foggy memories, but catches only flashes of violence. He shudders and looks around, trying to forget. There is only the path and its insistent pull forward. Rising from the ink-black horizon is a towering mountain, a gleaming beacon in the night sky. Why would he want to go anywhere else?
Varin doesn't know how long he walks, but eventually the tranquility is disturbed. Rustling leaves to his right draw his attention to an untamed wilderness emerging from the darkness. Another path leads into its depths. Vines snake out of the darkness, looping around him, tugging, attempting to pull him towards it. He regards the wild road dubiously.
Struggling free of the vines, cursing, he continues. For a time the path to the mountain is again peaceful. A chirping noise soon shatters the calm. Varin frowns as a golden bird flutters around him. Then another.
He swats at them, irritated, trying to knock one of the annoying creatures out of the air. A distant roar rumbles in the distance, getting closer. He looks around, panicked, but doesn't think to look up until it's too late. A flash of silver and white is all Varin catches before he's swept from the path, stomach lurching as he's hurled backwards in a cage of claw and scale.
Varin's eyes open, squinting against the sun. The smell of brimstone, sulfur, and burnt flesh fills his nose. He hurts, badly, but his lungs gather the air. He's been healed, he realizes. His face stings, a different pain.
Fluttering fabric brushes against him, irritating. He turns his head and sees Lorna laying in the sand beside him. Her chest rises and falls.
Beyond Lorna is the still body of Flammaharinn, the smaller mercury stalking around the mountain of rent scales and gaping wounds, a small river of blood running down the dune. The mercury looks over at the pair of them, a toothy grin crossing her face as she sees him looking back. She kicks the ancient chromatic's corpse and goes back to circling it.
Varin smiles despite the pain and closes his eyes, waiting for the Dragon Guard to find them.
(And as a last little reward for anyone who's read this far, here's a screenshot. That may look like a lot of ballistae, but as you can see above, only a few shots actually hit.)
This ancient red dragon, Flammaharinn, was affiliated with the Cult of the Dragon. My party had caught wind that this dragon's girlfriend's brother, Filvendil, had been taken by Thayan slavers. The PCs rescued the elf Filvendil and summoned Flammaharinn to my homebrew city to discuss an exchange.
Now, my homebrew city has a history of trading with dragons, both chromatic and metallic ones. So outside that city, there's a huge stone platform inscribed in Iokharic: "TRADE AND PROSPER, ATTACK AND PERISH." To drive that point home, the platform has a set of ballistae around it. The city ALSO has a mercury dragon stationed on each of the three corners of the city.
We had all _thought_ this would be strictly a RP scene, so we were running it as play-by-post in between live sessions.
The short OOC summary of how that went
The dragon acted super smug and eventually got his elf back in exchange for information, which turned out to be a gloating prediction of doom. As he left, the dragon backwinged in a way that injured the PCs... and they attacked him in response... and thanks to the PC's well-coordinated set of feats, skills, and all around badassery, these two PCs ended up killing this ancient red dragon.
They had some help from the ballistae, but they did the vast majority of the damage themselves. Just, wow. This red was in the open and focused on trying to get away, and couldn't. It was awesome. They burned him down so fast, the mercury dragons didn't even get a chance to help. (Which is great -- I didn't want to take victory away from them with NPCs!)
As I recall they used a wonderfully effective combination of the barbarian's flying, the paladin's Misty Step and Dimension Door. The worst part was, the barbarian's Sentinel feat allowed her to repeatedly crash-land the dragon every time he attacked the paladin. Naturally they also succeeded on all the saves I made them roll to to stay on this dragon for any length of time, heh.
As noted, this was a play-by-post, so when combat broke out we ran it in Roll20 for the mechanical piece and then posted descriptions of the actual actions. Therefore, if you have time for a longer story, you can also read that version. I left out the initial negotiations so we can get to the juicy violence sooner!
The much longer IC version of how that went
"Your elf," Varin says to the dragon, voice raised. "Fed, rested, and healthy. A great deal more than could be said in his prior arrangement." He looks at Filvendil. "And with a working tongue," he adds, in a tone that might not be certain how much of an improvement that really was.
He looks back to Flammaharinn. "You have heard Lorna. We have satisfied our side of the deal. Now we learn, Herald, about a 'key piece of information'."
Filvendil is relieved to see the red dragon, smiles eagerly. (OOC note to readers: He's from Murghôm and since Flammaharinn is his sister's 'friend', he seems wholly unafraid. He also doesn't believe the party's ridiculous stories about the Cult trying to summon Tiamat.)
He tells Lorna and Varin, "Thanks again, for the rescue and healing. I thought I was done for. And thanks for finding Flammaharinn."
Assuming he's free to do so, he'll scuttle on over to Flammaharinn's foreleg.
Flammaharinn had finished munching through that ox lunch earlier. Though he was eager for the elf's return all along, now the dragon essentially ignores Filvendil, fixing his attention on Lorna and Varin.
The colossal red dragon seems all too pleased as he steps forward to say, voice huge, "Indeed, I welcome the opportunity to tell you this. You seem to believe yourselves to be delaying Tiamat's return, perhaps even preventing Her arrival. You will find all your questions answered by this fact..."
And here Flammaharin raises his gloating voice to make sure the Dragon Guard at the ballistae can hear it as well, "Tiamat's coming is _inevitable_. Our Queen can, and assuredly will, claw her way out of the Well whenever She chooses to do so. We merely prepare her a suitable welcome."
The dragon's grin is all firey glow behind his teeth, and then he reaches to collect (wide-eyed) Filvendil.
"You lie!" Varin snarls, gauntlet gripping his sword hilt tightly, ready to draw. "We've slain Her consort, put Her Wyrmspeakers to the sword, and smashed her Dragon Masks!"
Varin's reaction seems to be just what the dragon is looking for. That gloating grin somehow widens further as the dragon claims, "You've merely wasted time you could have better spent preparing for your end."
"And how exactly do you picture your life when she returns?" Lorna says in an icy voice, once again speaking to the red in draconic.
"If you support this then all you have accomplished will have been wasted, and you will be the greatest of fools. You will never again see your shadow sail across the landscape, for hers will be bigger. Your fire will never light the sky, for hers will be brighter. And your roar will be but the wail of a feeble hatchling, for her noisome breath will fill their air. So unless the welcome you have planned is a five bladed scythe for her foul heads, I wish you the best of luck in the paltry, soiled, and weakened ignominy that your existence will surly become."
While Lorna speaks, Varin glances back at the Dragon Guard lieutenant, making eye contact. He looks back to the dragon, opening his connection to Celestia.
By now, Filvendil finally looks suitably horrified in the dragon's claw, if anyone happens to look his way. Better late than never.
Lorna's words seem to spoil the moment for the dragon, and that rictus grin lapses into a snarl. "I should have known your tiny little brains couldn't comprehend true power." He prepares to take off.
Varin braces himself as the dragon prepares to take wing, fingers flexing. All he has to do is pull his sword free of it's sheath to send a battery of steel and hardened wood into the exposed flank of the dragon. His link to Celestia pulses, ready to propel him onto the beast, to drive his crystalline sword into its skull.
It would be just. The savage creature had taken Filvendil and told them only lies in return.
But what if it was true? The thought stabs into his gut, holding his blade.
The question is rendered moot as Flamaharinn takes off and sends a shock wave of air at them, strong enough to kill most people. They're not most people, though.
"Son of a...!," Whatever is left of Varin's scream disappears into the ethereal as he vanishes, reappearing on the back of the great beast's neck. He scrambles at the massive scales, finally finding purchase, and swings his legs around the neck. The dragon swivels his head to get a look, and Varin slams his shield into the side of its skull in response. He ducks low as he catches the whistle of the first volley of ballista fire, reaching for his sword.
"Your legacy will be nothing but your own ashes you cinder-brained, stump-winged, dull-toothed sloth eater!" Lorna roars after him, her hands cupped around her mouth so that her voice carries as far as possible.
The shock wave of Flammaharinn's aggressive wingbeats are enough to knock Lorna over, despite her best effort. Filvendil yelps aloud in panic as the dragon backwings about 40 feet away.
Taking the dragon's aggressive action against the Vanguard as their cue, someone in the Dragon Guard ranks sounds a horn, alerting Laeteli.
Others fire ballistae that have been waiting for the entire hour. With the dragon's sudden movement, several miss -- but half do hit, one of the massive bolts striking the base of one wing, and the dragon roars in pain.
"Oh that is just rude!" Lorna hollers as she picks herself up off the ground. Not even bothering to stand first, Lorna launches herself off the ground and flies up to the dragon.
"Varin, fancy meeting you here," she grunts as she lands behind him. She attempts a couple of strikes, but trying to coordinate with the dragon's movements and not hitting its other passengers she cant quite land a blow."
Flammaharinn snarls at the unwelcome passengers, whipping his tail upward to try and knock Varin off. It would seem the dragon is, indeed, quite accurate with that powerful tail -- it slams solidly into the Captain.
But the dragon is not done yet. As he races further up into the sky, he can't easily bite or claw either of them, so Flammaharinn lashes that tail again to try and catch Lorna next.
Filvendil hollers, belatedly, "Look out!" but it's not any real help....
Somewhere further away than some might wish, Laeteli had already taken off at a clip when the horn sounded. At full speed, she's headed this way, but she isn't close yet.
Taking advantage of Flammaharinn's distraction as he tail-whips at Varin, Lorna plunges Adaxis right into one of the muscles at the base of the dragon's wing.
Shrieking out flame, Flammaharinn plunges toward the sand below, along with the two Vanguard heroes and one hapless elven farmer.
Since Lorna and Varin were on top, they aren't likely to get crushed -- ironically, especially if Flammaharinn succeeded in knocking Varin away. But everyone's falling, landing with an enormous slam and a gout of sandy dust.
The sudden plummet takes Varin by surprise and his grip is weakened right when the tail smacks into him. He curses as he's swept away, bracing for impact.
Varin piles into the side of a dune, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. He rises, sand streaming from his armor, and is about to channel Celestia to rejoin the battle when the dragon crashes into the ground next to him. He grins behind his helm, spitting out sand, then rushes back into the fight.
"By the light of the Gods, you will die today, Herald!" He feels the oath bind him just as he reaches the scrambling mountain of scale and muscle.
Channeling as much of Celestia's might into his blade as he can hold, he plunges it into the creature's belly. He rips it out savagely, only to drive it in again.
The dragon rises and Varin steps back, ready for the counter-attack. He hopes the ballista battery still has a clean shot, but he can't afford to look.
Unfortunately, the ballistae don't have clean shots considering the dragon is prone behind that dune -- but the lieutenant in charge is no dummy, and his teams are well trained. Even as they fall, he calls out the order, "Hold, hold until he rises!"
Flammaharinn flails, still down as Varin does an exceedingly good job of attempting to gut the dragon. The writhing dragon grinds poor Filvendil's body deeper into the sand in the process.
Flammaharinn shoots Varin a murderously hateful glare, but he knows he will have a better chance of hitting the woman who downed him since she's still down as well -- so he smacks at Lorna with his tail again and again, landing another devastating hit despite his disadvantage.
As the tail draws back Lorna strikes out, slashing it. She then spins and drives her sword Adaxis into the red dragon's side.
"You know as dragons go, you are the WORST ride I've ever had," she sneers as she yanks her sword free of the hide and muscle, and then runs around the dragon to stand next to Varin.
This hasn't been going as well as Flammaharinn expected, not at all. By now he imagined he'd be winging away toward Murghôm. The red dragon casts a quick look to dead Filvendil and then shakily rises to his feet, ready to...
... to get shot by the ballistae, is what happens. Bolts roar overhead and two hit the dragon. Again, one is a particularly devastating hit. Some team back there must be particularly good.
Roaring in rage, the dragon takes off to fly again. He dearly wants to wheel around and bathe all these insolent monkeys in flame... but they've proven to be more annoying than he expected, and his number one priority is escape at top speed. He wheels around to take off into the air, giving Lorna and Varin both a chance to attack as he goes.
Lorna lunges for the fleeing red but apparently he'd been anticipating her move, and she is unable to land the hit.
Varin is ready for a counter-attack, but he's not surprised when the dragon flexes his wings to flee. Dropping his guard he closes the gap before the beast can take to the air, radiant sword slicing through scale and muscle along its massive flank.
He roars in approval as the two bolts, as long as he is tall, slam home as the dragon crests the dune.
That painful holy energy is all the encouragement Flammaharinn needs to continue fleeing. Mighty wings spread, though his shoulder and belly are dripping a red even brighter than his age-darkened scales. He flies at full speed across the sand, angling steadily upward.... and, unfortunately, he'll end up outside of easy ballista range.
But now one of the city's three mercury dragons, Laeteli, flashes onto the scene. She skims just north of the ballistae, her gleaming scales sending a dazzle of light across the sand as she matches the other dragon's speed wingbeat for wingbeat. She can't catch up unless he slows somehow -- but she can help make sure he doesn't decide to come back.
The other two mercury dragons, siblings Nystarix and Ptharnix, are also angling this way from the other two corners of the city... it'll likely take them far too long to arrive, but they can serve as backup if they get the opportunity.
Lorna is about to fly up there again, and she offers to carry Varin up with her.
The goliath roar echoes in Varin's helm and it's a moment before he can make out Lorna's intention.
He shakes his head. "Go, I'll catch up! Go!" He emphasizes the point with a shove of his shield, then turns from her.
A few paces away is the bloody corpse of Filvendil. He grabs the pouch of diamond dust he had taken from Xonthal's stores.
"Torm giveth, and He bloody well takes, too," he grumbles, dumping a pile of the fine grains into his gauntlet.
Channeling divine energy, the pile shimmers and smokes as it burns away, even as Varin's spirit pushes into the place between.
This is no time for the wonder and curiosity he normally feels, and he launches himself down the faint path of the elf's crossing.
Diamond burning at an alarming rate from his reckless passage he quickly finds his quarry.
He laughs, the noise spinning the elf around. The look of confusion and horror on his face is almost worth the price. Varin grabs his arm, then hoists him onto his shoulder, ignoring any protests.
"Death is no escape from justice," he intones before launching back along the path.
Shoving the elf's spirit back into his body, Varin returns to his own body.
And promptly wrenches his helmet off and vomits into the sand, his body and link to Celestia rebelling from the reckless journey.
Meanwhile, Lorna flies up to land on the red dragon again.
One of those ballista teams must be particularly good. Despite the extreme range, one last bolt still hits the dragon to devastating effect, punching right through a wing to embed awkwardly into the dragon's side.
Flammaharinn howls in enraged pain, dipping as he tries to work that wing around the godsdamned bolt. This actually makes it that much easier for Lorna to stick her landing on the dragon's back.
The red then realizes: whaaaat, that damnable woman is back on his back again?! He is incredulous, immediately attempting another tail slam. It connects, but isn't nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped... for a woman without armor, she seems suspiciously difficult to crush or knock off.
From the direction of the Dragon Guard emplacement far, far behind, a lone arrow zips up at the dragon... but doesn't hit. The sound as it whizzes by is easy to miss in the fracas, no doubt.
"Every time!" Lorna growls as she braces herself against the pain of fire searing her skin. "Every time I actually talk them into patience, into being open to the possibilities of you lot having half a ****ing brain," carefully she positions herself upright an astride, her legs gripping tightly so that she can leverage the full strength of her arms, "you prove them right! You Are NOT," she stabs once, "HELPING!"
Lorna's second attack strikes hard, and she buries her blade hilt-deep into the dragon's neck.
It would seem the red dragon is tired of these unwelcome pests. Instead of trying to claw or bite Lorna, this time Flammaharinn decides to take the easy route -- he breathes out a horrifyingly intense gout of flame and since he's immune, he just flies right through it, bathing his body and Lorna in the raging inferno. There's no way she can dodge that, unfortunately for her.
The screech of rage and the fireball remind Varin of his duty, and his oath. Rising to his feet, helm forgotten in the sand next to a groaning Filvendil, Varin tugs at his fraying connection to Celestia. A few more seconds and they'll be out of range. He jumps.
And crashes down on rolling scales, the scent of sulfur and brimstone filling his nostrils again, wind rushing through his hair. He lands farther down the dragon's back this time, bracing a foot against the base of Flamaharinn's wing.
He reaches for his sword, and grasps air. "Bloody hell!" He screams, realizing he left it beside the elf's body. Desperate for a weapon, he pulls free Bahamut's Talon and holds on to his perch, looking for a weak point in the dragon's ancient hide.
And the paladin is back too? Flammaharinn snarls, "You two just don't know when to stop!" and tries tail-whipping Varin, too... which, actually, misses. Even better, that gives Lorna just the opportunity she needs.
With another mighty roar of agony as Lorna sinks Adaxis home, the dragon loses control of his flight and crashes again. It's a much higher fall this time, however. WHAM.
Flammaharinn can't afford even a moment of hesitation, but he's very disoriented now. How could this have gone so, so wrong in such a short time? Sand kicked up from the impact streams from his wings as he tries to raise them, but his slashed muscles are protesting.
Even through the haze, the red spots the incoming mercury dragon and realizes that Varin and Lorna are _still_ alive, somehow. Flammaharinn tries to struggle back up to his feet, but he just can't do it.
Unable to retreat and likely sensing his doom, the red can only try to take revenge. He's able to lift his swaying neck, at least, towering it over the two prone Vanguard heroes. Despite his injuries, his horned head cuts a horrifyingly imposing silhouette against the sun -- a black shadow with burning eyes, teeth lit only by the licking flames in the back of his throat.
Laeteli is still far enough away that she doesn't get the full brunt of the red dragon's frightful intimidation. She still rears her head back in horror as she sees what's about to unfold.
As Lorna shakes the stars from her head and sees the scrambling, desperate ancient red right next to them, she suddenly decides that perhaps shields do have their benefits. Maybe she'll admit as much to Varin if the both live through this.
Also, she's supremely kicking herself for not taking her emergency healing potion out of her jacket and stuffing it into her pants pocket.
Varin opens his eyes, squinting against the desert sun. He's pretty certain it's not supposed to spin like that. The groan he hears could be him or Lorna, he's not sure. Ears ringing, shield arm throbbing, he tries to sit up, looking for the dragon.
It's not hard to find him, the mountainous dragon rising from the sand beside them.
The draconian eyes, like a lizard's, dart this way and that, narrowing as they fix on Lorna's prone form. Varin only has a moment to react, rolling in the sand and thrusting his shield out. The force of the bite drives the steel into Lorna, fangs screeching against the holy steel. Varin can't stop the flames, however, pouring around the edges of his shield, and his heart sinks as Lorna falls unconscious.
Unclamping his jaw from the shield, the red glares down at Varin. "You... YOU! This is a far better death than you deserve!" Flammaharinn roars, his breath haggard and still throwing sparks.
The red lashes out, intent on finishing this armored nuisance off.
****. Varin rolls again, dodging the massive claws as they slam into the sand. The dragon pounds the dune over and over. Despite Varin's valiant effort, claws as long and sharp as broadswords rake him, including one that rends him from ear to nose. He grits his teeth against the pain, trying not to black out.
Flammaharinn raises his claws high one last time to try and slash at Varin again... but, the dragon is suddenly overcome with weakness from all this effort, and he has to plant his foot back in the sand just to steady himself instead.
Finally catching up thanks to the Vanguard's interferences, Laeteli knows from long dragon-fighting experience that she can't overcome Flammaharinn's wing attack if he gets up and tries that next, so she undershoots and lands on the opposite side of Flammaharinn instead, hoping she can cut him off. She screeches, heralding her approach.
Flammaharinn panics, rousing himself enough to take to the air in another wing attack that drives both Varin and Lorna deeper into the sand. He still can't get far, though... because he had to rise first, he makes it only a short distance away.
Varin stumbles up from the dune, sand cascading from his armor, sticking to the blood coating his neck and breastplate. His link to Celestia is failing, but he draws upon it anyway. A stab of pain echoes through his mind, a pain he ignores as he prepares to jump back onto the dragon. On its snout this time, to drive Bahamut's Talon into its the beast's eye, searching for its brain. His Vow of Enmity sings in his blood at the thought of such righteous savagery.
The sight of Lorna stops him cold. Unconscious and bleeding out into the sand, he realizes she might not make it.
Grunting in pain, he bends down and lifts her to her feet. Divine energy pours into her through his gauntlets, draining his reserves and more, until his link to Celestia finally collapses.
As her eyes flutter open, he shoves her towards the fleeing dragon. "Go," he mumbles through the blood and pain. "Bring me back his bloody head!"
Stumbling back from Lorna as she takes flight, he turns just in time to see the mercury dragon screech past. He'd never seen a dragon so beautiful. He falls to his knees, watching, waiting.
Belatedly seeing that Varin was healing Lorna, Flammaharinn growls out, "No, no, NO!" That long, deadly accurate tail of his whips out yet again and bashes Varin back down into the sand, unconscious.
Already out of the fight, kneeling on the sand, Varin knows he can't stop the oncoming blow. He laughs at the dragon's spite before the world goes dark.
Just before Lorna can reach the red... an arrow from appears suddenly, streaking past Laeteli from the direction of the platform, to thunk directly into Flammaharinn's neck. It's a small wound for such a mighty creature, but the red snarls his offense all the same.
When Varin revives Lorna she gasps for breath, and there's a flash of feral savagery in her eyes as she snaps her teeth and draws back her claws, whirling around to find an enemy at which to strike. But then Varin's shove and pained grunt as the red's tail collide with his battered body clear her head, and her gaze snaps to the dragon trying once more to flee her fury.
"COWARD!" she roars in draconic. The look of predator zeroing in on its prey, equal parts anticipation and glee, overtakes her expression as she once more summons her rage to the surface. Grabbing Adaxis from the sands she lunges into the air, angling her ascent around the dragon's face as she slices along its jugular leaving a stream of red behind her.
Using the dragon's own horn as leverage she swings herself around to land on its head. "I will bury your blood and flames in the sand!" she snarls as she drives her blade into its head.
Lorna's attacks on Flammaharinn are very nearly fatal and he's bleeding heavily from that neck slice. Any second now...
Knowing he's done for, Flammaharinn is intent on making sure he takes at least one of these opponents with him. With that idea doggedly fixed in his mind, the red dragon breathes a great gush of fire one last time, hoping to finish off the paladin. Flames pour from the dragon's mouth as well as from the gaping, gushing neck wound.
"No!" Lorna screams as she watches the flames race toward Varin. In a desperate attempt to curtail the attack she once more drives her blade into the red dragon's skull. Her blow is enough to take the ancient's life, but she's too late to divert the last attack.
Varin regains consciousness just in time for his entire world turns to heat and pain. He tries to scream, but can only inhale flames. It feels like an eternity, but eventually the flames disappear. The sounds of the titanic struggle continue, the ground reverberating with blows, but it all seems very far off. His mind can only focus latches on the rapid, rasping breaths of his charred lungs, and another sound - a gentle tinkling. Glass, he realizes, the super-heated sand cooling rapidly.
He can't feel any pain. A mercy, he decides, even as he knows what that means. Out here, there's no one to save him.
He knows he should be thinking of duty, of his vows, but it is Zelina and Meriel who occupy his final thoughts. A single tear rolls down his charred face and he closes his eyes, waiting for the final mercy of death.
As the dragon crashes once more to the ground Lorna grips her sword tightly, hoping to stay atop the head and avoid being crushed. It works in as much as she doesn't fall under him, but the impact and her fatigue send her tumbling anyways, catching her arm on Adaxis' edge on her way down and cutting into her flesh.
Struck down at last, Flammaharinn has no last words -- the glowing coals of his eyes dim as they roll back in his head, and he collapses heavily down to the sand once more.
Laeteli swoops over to the downed red dragon, being careful to avoid Lorna. She may have been too late to do more than run interference, but at least she can make sure Flammaharinn is well and truly dead.
"Go to your friend," she tells Lorna breathlessly.
Laeteli's words are wasted, and Lorna doesn't even process them as she scrabbles to her feet and runs full tilt at her fallen companion. "No," she snaps as she see's Varin's unmoving form. "No no no godsbedamned **** **** piss and dragon's breath!"
Sliding down to her knees, Lorna looks Varin over and then rummages through his armor searching for a potion. "You and your stupid, ridiculous armor," she mutters as she tugs pieces and finds nothing. "****ing Torm never around when you need him. Bahamut!" she screams in a commanding tone as she turns her face up the sky. "You need to fix this, we're not done yet!"
A deep, ragged breath later and Lorna's hands begins to glow. She pulls Varin up by his breastplate with one hand and draws the other back. "Do you hear me Varin? YOU'RE NOT DONE YET!"
In tandem with her last words she slaps him across the face, leaving lines of red from her talons. But the glow that had been upon her settles into his wounds, and she see his chest rise.
"Oh!" she gasps in relief. "Oh thank..." He labored breathing suddenly stills, and her eyes widen. "Uh oh," she says in a small voice before falling unconscious.
Somewhere else entirely, Varin's eyes open. He's on a path, one that feels vaguely familiar. He tries to concentrate on his foggy memories, but catches only flashes of violence. He shudders and looks around, trying to forget. There is only the path and its insistent pull forward. Rising from the ink-black horizon is a towering mountain, a gleaming beacon in the night sky. Why would he want to go anywhere else?
Varin doesn't know how long he walks, but eventually the tranquility is disturbed. Rustling leaves to his right draw his attention to an untamed wilderness emerging from the darkness. Another path leads into its depths. Vines snake out of the darkness, looping around him, tugging, attempting to pull him towards it. He regards the wild road dubiously.
Struggling free of the vines, cursing, he continues. For a time the path to the mountain is again peaceful. A chirping noise soon shatters the calm. Varin frowns as a golden bird flutters around him. Then another.
He swats at them, irritated, trying to knock one of the annoying creatures out of the air. A distant roar rumbles in the distance, getting closer. He looks around, panicked, but doesn't think to look up until it's too late. A flash of silver and white is all Varin catches before he's swept from the path, stomach lurching as he's hurled backwards in a cage of claw and scale.
Varin's eyes open, squinting against the sun. The smell of brimstone, sulfur, and burnt flesh fills his nose. He hurts, badly, but his lungs gather the air. He's been healed, he realizes. His face stings, a different pain.
Fluttering fabric brushes against him, irritating. He turns his head and sees Lorna laying in the sand beside him. Her chest rises and falls.
Beyond Lorna is the still body of Flammaharinn, the smaller mercury stalking around the mountain of rent scales and gaping wounds, a small river of blood running down the dune. The mercury looks over at the pair of them, a toothy grin crossing her face as she sees him looking back. She kicks the ancient chromatic's corpse and goes back to circling it.
Varin smiles despite the pain and closes his eyes, waiting for the Dragon Guard to find them.
(And as a last little reward for anyone who's read this far, here's a screenshot. That may look like a lot of ballistae, but as you can see above, only a few shots actually hit.)
