An Unwelcome Marauder

Outside the city of Drache lies a number of cities, towns and provinces of varying size and populace. Most of the people living outside Drache are natives who speak Arangothian and observe the native customs and rituals. Click here for a list Arangoth's locales, and here to view a map.
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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Defined » Mon Nov 11, 2013 9:05 pm

With the men and horses scattered, Andrea did a wingover to examine the battle raging between them, and to see the frost Wurm losing, which was good..though a shame she wasn't doing as much as she liked. Andrea hovered a moment to think...and then she saw the storm gathering..and this was no natural weather pattern.Magic.

Andrea lifts her injured body, forcing it do something that is quite stupid, even if it was theoretically safe. Griffons had an extraordinary resistance to magic,and although Behoxa may be powerful, he was tired, wounded and sluggish..and besides, this was a gathering spell rather than the full casting. Still, she'd never put this fully to the test, but hey no time like the present? Right? Taking one last look at everyone beneath she growled, and prayed that her heritage would protect her.

Andrea flew directly into the heart of the storm

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by metalslime » Fri Nov 15, 2013 6:13 pm

There was little Hawke could do about the weather in this instance. He looked up at the building magic, then cursed. The half elf zipped across toward where his staff had fallen, just flying a few feet above the ground, before he scooped up the staff with an outstretched hand. He immediately switched in midair, then flew back toward the cover of that still-extant Wall of Force. It wouldn't last forever, but for now it might allow him to collect his thoughts.

He skidded to a halt, dropping to land in the shadow of the barrier. With his Staff of Lightning held in his hands, he watched and waited, taking a mental inventory of his remaining resources for now.

OOC Sorry, this thing totally didn't show the last post updated for me.

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Selestia » Mon Nov 18, 2013 8:46 am

A little barrier, a large boulder...it really doesn't matter what was out there for cover. There isn't a damn thing large enough to protect the red bulk, leaving her with very few options. Tucking her wings tight to her body to protect them from further damage, her head dips enough that the harsher winds that brought with them debris and sightlessness would be buffered by the ridges over her eyes that had narrowed down to glittering green slits.

The longer the fight goes on, the more of an upperhand the hoarfrost will get, no matter how much damage was done to him while under the blood witch's power. Like all things, they would both tire eventually, but 'eventually' to a dragon was a far cry from 'eventually' to a human. But strategy was on her side; Behoxa was enraged, which would hopefully making him a little sloppier, a little tunnel-visioned. She ducks, putting on a burst of speed to practically slither around the icewyrm, circling around, keeping a little distance since he was so preoccupied with his spell, leaping with extended wings to gain a little ground on an extended ledge on the side of a mountain; not too far away, but enough that humans would think she was retreating, but Behoxa would have to turn to make a choice about where to pick his battle.

Talons dig hard into the stone, sending small pebbles down the mountainside as she plants herself firmly on the ledge; it was not high up, but enough to make her higher than the other dragon, a more aerial view, without having the disadvantage of exposing fragile wings with extended flight. A low rumble starts in her chest as she hisses at Behoxa, the words completely lost on anyone other than the two of them, but the tone would indicate she may or may not have mentioned his mother and an improbable anatomical contortion with a salamander. Or something to the like. Arching her neck to pull her head back until her chin was flush to her chest, the rumble continues as a fiery glow seeps between the large breast scales, the air shimmering around the red dragon as snow and ice melts into puddles beneath her, even a little steam closest to her body.

She says something else, the movement of her jaw making little dribbles of liquid fire fall hissing to the ground. Then, the red dragon does what everyone hears about in all the fairytales and the stories of errant knights...just a whole lot scarier. The fire she breathes is nearly liquid, a napalm, that she aims right at the icewrym; the move was more endgame than anything else thus far, as she had to get distance to get time instead of being a red-scaled not-so-portable flame thrower.
"Hell hath no fury like a dragon sworn."

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Karras » Sun Nov 24, 2013 12:01 am

The summoning of the elements is building, the storm that the great ice dragon manifested upon those icy slopes was beyond compare, a typhoon like this wasn't normally seen but out in the further northern reaches beyond the Rhondis desert. The winds howl mercilessly as the black clouds become a dark funnel, the sort that is the bane of every seaman and coastal town, a black storm of death that worked it's way, it's eye near non-existent, as the air became covered in darkness. Snow pelts men and beast alike, may of the charging dwarves bowled over from their courageous charge... other men lose their courage in this storm and cry out.

The winds against one such as a griffon will have been unforgiving, flying straight into the heart of the storm for Andrea would have been as crazed as flying into any dark storm - unrelenting forces of wind, frost and snow will assualt her body from all sides -- how her resistance to magic will prevail against this would be a testament to others of her kin.

But this storm has only been the lead up to what the few mages about knew what was coming... and why some of them thrown up their magical wards and barriers defensively -- a storm burst or lightning strike, only with Behoxa's power, it was much near ten fold of what any human mage could accomplish. There's a momentary dimming of light to near darkness, a beat, then for a fraction of a second, a blinding light erupts into the sky. The strike visible for hundreds of miles, as easily far as Drache. The white and blue streak cuts through the air like a sword and impacts upon the ground with a ear-splitting boom. The concussion of the resulting thunder sends men and dwarves flying, the tendrils of the lightning spreading about like cobwebs. The griffon would have received the brunt of the initial strike, but like all lightning bolts, this one searches for the ground.

The shockwave kicks up enough dust, a massive semicircle of snow, rock and mud, and lying at the diameter of this circular pit a number of slain bodies can be seen, the lightning making no distinction between man, dwarf or war horse. It was a powerful strike, and it had all but drained the ancient ice dragon's reserves.

When the dragonfire comes, the air is still thick with the storm and blowing winds. A thunderous 'whump' resounds about the mountains as the searing flame engulfs the ice wyrm in a huge burning orange plasma, the winds hurtling the flames upwards into a funnel, the rest exploding in a massive fireball of searing heat. Her breath had been effective in hitting the ice wyrm, and through the heat and flames it cries, a pitiful, screeching wail of agony.

There were men and dwarves near the dragon too, however, and once released, much like the lightning, fire makes no distinction to that which it burns. There would be a few noticeable souls flailing about in the orange heat, others gasping, as the heat had sucked up all the air that remained after the lightning strike. How much collateral damage the red dragon had brought upon on those batting the ice wyrm might not be immediately known, it was perhaps not many souls, but there would be some who would not have been so lucky to escape behind Hawke's impenetrable shield in time to escape the raging inferno.

When the flames finally begin to die down, coals and embers burning driftwood, the mud and clay melted into a harsh sheen of glass, the smoke dissipated to reveal Behoxa, black and charred, blood and steam pouring out of his wounds, a some great moving, breathing volcano of ice. Violet eyes are dim, teeth blackened, but th e rage is still there. He makes a wild, desperate snap of teeth towards the men unlucky enough to still be in reach, claws raking and slashing towards them. He was weakened and down, but not out.

Meanwhile, the great siege ballista made it's tell-tale clackety-clackety clack of the gears and cogs being turned back on large round windlasses, and with a clunk, the great taut string, sheening of some enchanted material, lies taut on the tree-sized bolt that sits upon the weapon. A snap is heard akin to the sound of a branch breaking, and the massive bolt streaks downward towards the ice wyrm at speed, and buries itself in one of Behoxa's great wings, boring it to the ground like a steel bolt driving into stone. The ice wyrm roars In pain, trying to free himself from this newly found entrapment, but the great bolt has buried itself deep into the ground -- for now, the dragon is immobile, near fatally wounded, and it's not going anywhere.



((OOC: Sorry guys, hectic work week. Will try get some more in this week!))

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Defined » Mon Nov 25, 2013 10:41 am

'Only the greatest mages can hope to pierce the resistances of a Griffon'

A scholar would find this printed in any text concerning her race, and it was true. The dryads gift for serving as their protectors. However in Andrea's case there would be two major caveats. Firstly, Behoxa /was/ a great mage, ancient and powerful and secondly, perhaps more importantly Andrea wasn't a Full Blooded griffon, merely a halfcast, so her resistance wasn't as great...

Andrea let out a strangled screech as the storm drove through her, and she fell down, unconcious for a moment..and for the second time in as many days she fell to the ground with a *Thump*, Groaning...She was battered, torn, somewhat burned (She had a vague smell of fried chicken, though it would be unwise to comment on it)...but Alive. This would be her final contribution to the fight, all she wanted to do at this point was sleep....

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by metalslime » Mon Nov 25, 2013 1:23 pm

Cowering behind that Wall of Force, Hawke braced himself against the coming impact. Fire and lightning lit the sky in their interplay, but that wall simply shimmered as the force that composed it withstood the blast. It wouldn't last terribly long, but the wall would certainly provide shelter for the remainder of what looked to be the final stages of this battle. He thrust that staff back through a series of loops along his back, effectively holding the staff of lightning there, just as he slung his shield down and braced it on his left arm. The half elf floated out from behind that wall, and began to advance toward the dread figures before him. He still had his own spell protections up from earlier, and though they could not bear the full brunt of an attack, he had confidence they would save him. Still flying, still protected from cold, still shimmering with the field of spell-formed armoring, he began to zip toward the wounded beast through the air.

As he flew, he reached his free hand up, and traced a simple circle in the air. As the circle completed, a shimmering, spectral warhammer appeared in his hand. Heaving with all of his might, Hawke flung the spiritual hammer at the wyrm, letting the full force of his will strengthen and guide the hurled weapon in mid air, rather than the pure muscle put behind the initial throw.

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Selestia » Sun Dec 01, 2013 7:11 pm

The air was full of the smell of burnt and cooking flesh of different kinds; it did not create an appetizing odor for anyone who could notice the scent at the time, and the air was full of the groans and screams of the injured and the dying, not a pleasant sound to appeal to observant ears. How many had died in that final onslaught of dragon fire? She did not pay attention to the 'minor' details, as it were...maybe later she would choke on the remorse if she was not branded a murdering beast and had the army set upon her in return. It would be another reason to hide, or another reason to refuse to sleep.

But as it is, she is careful somewhat when she gamely leaps off the little cliff to make what is hopefully a final descent on Behoxa. Parts of her scales gleam with the heat, hissing and steaming in the wet cold, and the mud from melted ice and snow was equally as hot, squelching beneath her claws. Ichor flows freely from various wounds, and one wing refuses to fully draw up against her side, twitching at the pivotal joint--all minor injuries compared to that of the hoarfrost's, but they are draining, taxing the strength she has remaining.

Words escape her in that guttural, musical language that only Behoxa would truly understand. "We end this now." Remorse? Sorrow? Cold anger? It was hard to discern a dragon's tone of voice, especially when their blood ran hotwith battle lust. When he screams as the bolt buries itself in his wing, effectively pinning him, she lunges with a snarl, long teeth bared for his throat, claws of her front legs curling slightly, talons readied to dig into charred scales and flesh; she'll take his heart the old-fashioned way if that is what is necessary.

(Sorry for the delay. Thanksgiving holiday and I've been ill.)
Last edited by Selestia on Sun Dec 01, 2013 7:12 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Hell hath no fury like a dragon sworn."

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Karras » Mon Dec 02, 2013 4:56 am

The ancient dragon had summoned the last few reserves of his magic in order to strike down his biggest foe, the younger red dragon of fire, and hoping in doing so, if the blow would not have killed her outright, would have stunned her long enough for him to work his vengeance on the smaller men and dwarves, a much easier task if the fire-breather was out the fight.

Instead, fate had frowned upon him with the advent of a half-bred griffon -- the lightning had hit her first then struck the ground -- it had dealt great damage to those about him, but his intended target had been missed entirely, and he had little in the use to fight and survive with save for the claws of his limbs, the sword-length teeth of his jaws and what was left of his cold breath.

Behoxa was flailing now, wild, screaming, roaring, a cornered animal that had lost all sense of calm. Were it not for his rage and infamy, some might have felt pity, but there was none of that now, not with so many lost and so much death and destruction wrought upon this mountainside.

In vile rage he gathers a short breath and levels his spite towards those operating the ballista, this time in the form of a cold breath of ice shards, razor sharp, each large than a hefty stone. It falls upon the group with a harsh crunnnch, the ice so cold that the great steel lathe of the ballista becomes brittle, shattering into pieces. Most of dwarves and men operating it disperse in time, but a couple of dwarves aren't as lucky, knocked down in the snowstorm.

In desperation he pulls and strains at the bolt, roaring hand hissing, tearing his wing off at it's point right down the middle, the open wound coursing blood and ichor that ran down his scaly underside, a bright red against his dark, muddied cobalt scales. Dwarves and men had begun to surround him again, swords, axes, warhammers and even cudgels strike where and when they could, the lashing tail smashing aside the unwary caught within it's slashes and strikes upon the ground. A few of the guards, striking at foreclaws and neck, are snatched up within the beasts enormous jaws with an audible snap, their blood trickling out through black teeth.

They are the last of the vanquished, however, for Hawke's powerful magic hammer delivers a striking blow to the dragon's head, and he reels, just as a ranger's arrow buries true within his great serpentine neck. Small but effective, Behoxa writhes and chokes, weak, his life all but drained.

When the red dragon leaps, men and dwarves scatter alike where they can. Roaring defiance and little else, there is little strength left in Selestia's older adversary as he falls, flailing, biting, each kick snap and rake feeble and weak. She would already see the light dimming in his eyes, fading, there little left in him save for the icy hatred he bore. He spoke to her equally in turn in her own tongue, his own words harsh and gurgled, the dragon choking on his own blood:

"When seasons pass and men forget, so shall they seeketh thee. Thence comest thine own end."

There was little left in Behoxa now. To some, his death might be considered a mercy.
Last edited by Karras on Mon Dec 02, 2013 4:59 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by Defined » Thu Dec 05, 2013 1:39 pm

Sadly, Andrea could do little right now. She was spent, on the ground, alive and unbroken...but unable to move, for now..Andrea thinks she'll sleep. Everyone else can deal with the problem, she was tired...with the battle raging above, the only thing that Andrea wanted to do was close her eyes and drift away....



((OOC Note: Sorry, Been run off my feet lately))

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Re: An Unwelcome Marauder

Post by metalslime » Fri Dec 06, 2013 1:53 pm

His spells and prayers both all but exhausted, Hawke can do little more to hasten that creature's death besides direct that Spiritual Hammer again. After recoiling off of the great beast's skull, it floats in the air as if wielded by some spectral hand. Hawke slows his approach, his shield raised, footsteps digging in at each step. While the others recovered from carnage all about him, he just maintained concentration on that mystical weapon. The spiritual hammer dives down again toward the beast, seeking to strike where it may, small compared to the great bulk of the wyrm, but driven by the half elf's will.

And death he would seek for the beast. He wasn't doing this for simple altruism. Even if no hoard was produced, the thing's hide and parts were valuable in and of themselves. Visions of a shield and supple armor made from the creature's hide already danced in his head, flexible enough to cast in, still tough enough to protect.

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