You are summoned to the Scar, the blasted, cratered area near the edge of the Refuge where the Sky Shell and the Earthen Shield meet at ground level. Each is independent of the other and they sometimes do not meet just right, leaving a crack for the Undead to exploit. You arrive to see a detachment of Troll and Minotaur shock troops suiting up alongside a more standard, but still huge, force of the Queen Ant's Soldier troops. You even spot several Knights coordinating the mass of Soldiers. This one was going to be bad.
A massive emerald green dragon hovers overhead near the Sky Shell doing something magical that makes your skin tingle.
Lungarfiliax is just as majestic as the first time you saw him. Light floats off him like a mist and his horns form a crown that inspires awe in even your darker side.
He requires your participation in a... mobile strike force... you feel. The dragon rarely spoke, relying instead on a kind of telepathic impression to communicate. He doesn't ask either. You feel that your woods will be safe, that they, this Strike Force, will need you and your versatility. You cannot refuse.
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you saw in your mind, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you are to meet, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you saw in your mind, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
As one of the few celestials that made it to Sanctuary before it was cut off you are always in demand for any number of things. Most of the monsters here see you as good luck and the other half want to quietly kill you. Were it not for the power of Lungatfiliax's mandates against such things over the populace some of them may have succeeded. As it is, you're not surprised when the two of you are called to the Scar. You are surprised when you notice who authorized this "Mobile, Precision Task Force". LungatFiliax himself!
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you saw in your mind, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
One day, you are given a summons signed by the Master himself, Lungarfiliax! Your assistance is required near the Scar! You're not sure how. I mean, you're pretty effective against undead, but even your holy fire can only do so much. Still, the Great One has called!
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you saw in your mind, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
War.
Again.
You are called.
It takes a while to find someone you trust to watch your Cub. Every step is one too far away from your treasured one, but you know this is how it must be. To protect the little ones, you must go. You must. Must. The stone sinks some more.
You arrive at the Scar some time later and find the contact you saw in your mind, Lungarfiliax's liason and representative called Merge, under a huge treant.
So you wait under a huge treant as the Great Wyrm Green dragon Folimarpanthariaxan (my word what a name) attempts to stabilize this portion of the Sky Shell against the Cabal. One by one your new crew arrives. A Unicorn that looks like it's been infected with Shadow Dragon DNA somehow, a Jackalwere, a Fire Drake that looks every inch the arrogant opportunist of his kin, a Hound Archon and his blink dog, a Dove that looks like it's burning in holy fire, and a winter wolf.
Your orders? Make sure this breach is sealed as quickly as possible (which wasn't your job, really) and support the line troops (Ants, you note with a hint of worry) in any way you can.
|
Fenrir looks around, trying to make sense of the orders given him.
"I'm... leaving? My unit? Now?" he asks, gesturing around at him. Trolls and Minotaurs line up in unit formation, while a mixed group of mutts, his unit, readies weapons. The inevitable calm before a battle hangs heavy in the air now, as if the collection of the monster's combined fears gathers like fog. He whispers to the messenger. "Is this really the time?"
"Yep! Now's the time! And don't be late, or Merge will be licking your fur off the ground!" And with that, the tiny sprite messenger flits away.
He sets off at a jog. He's not far from where he needs to be; but still, Fenrir hustles. He knows he can't be late.
He observes the surroundings as he runs; the way the knights angrily yell at one Hydra, or how a badger... yep, a badger, quickly and frantically cleans a weapon. A few monsters glower angrily at him as he runs; those he ignores. He's trying his best to distract himself, lose himself in the moment; he knows the more he thinks about these orders, the less focused he'll be when the times comes. All questions will be answered shortly. He just needs to be patient.
Finally, he spots the Treant that he's supposed to be at. He runs up to the figure that appears there; axe at his side, he stands up as straight as he can.
"Fenrir, reporting for duty, sir,[/b]" he says.
Ardwellyn was cleaning and sharpening his blade when the contact came. Putting away his maintenance kit, he sheathed his blade and then walked to a window, opened it, then flew out, pausing just long enough to close the window before taking off like a shot towards the meeting point.
As he flew, the ground below him speeded by, although he saw troops of monstrous humanoids training with magical beasts.
Clearly he thought to himself This situation might make for a lasting peace on this world.
Ardwellyn slowed as he approached the meeting spot and slowly hovered to the ground, making sure that he was visible to all in the area.
Alpha gets up and shakes out of habit.
He has not felt the snow of the forests in some time, but old habits die hard and so he shakes as if to free himself of the snows of memory.
Forest, the cub Alpha was watching over, had grown a lot since their arrival. He was still young, however, and Alpha had only just found a few other worgs, both plain and winter, to trust him to.
Alpha turned and sniffed at the wind, before taking once last look at his tiny pack and heading off towards the Scar. As he ran, he felt the dirt and rocks and grimaced. He longed for the winter. For the snow and cold.
Those white icy woodlands were no longer safe.
So he ran, too aware of how his white coat stood out, the same one that had once kept him hidden. Branches snapped and other creatures made way, for once Alpha hit his top speed, to be in his way would be like getting hit with 450lbs of winter fury.
He could see the trees thin, and he broke out into the crater, slowing his pace gradually until he was at a comfortable trot, his long coat moving up and down with the motion.
Once he saw the Treant, he slowed again to a walk, passing Trolls and Minotaurs suiting up for the inevitable battle for the Sanctuary. The Trolls were comforting, somewhat. Anything that Alpha needed to look up to see was something worth being wary of, and these creatures stood at least 4 times his height. He had encountered Ice Trolls before, they were shorter though, but not by much.
Alpha focused on the task at hand. All this nostalgia risked making him forget his purpose.
"When do we fight." Alpha had been forced into talking Common much more often than he would've preferred these past years, but that hadn't meant he had needed to like it. He sometimes had a hard time taking in what others were saying, battle plans and strategies.
When he had been with the others, his pack, his own kind, words weren't needed. Everyone knew what to do, how to read signals and signs and situations.
They were as one, the Pack. Now there was only Alpha.
In these times, there was never a scarcity of wounded, it was endless. Yho Yho didn't mind at all, though, he now had purpose! His naturally carefree soul never seemed too bothered by the carnage anymore, it drank up the renewed life from all the healing he passed out among the ranks. The one thing those hurt in battle could count on, was a song while you were getting "stitched up."
He almost regrets introducing himself as the Avatar of Sarenrae herself-he wasn't even trying to be boastful...simply honest. The added attention it brought was somewhat unnerving.
♫"They expect results now!"♫ He would tell himself.
Every once in awhile, the pressure would get enough to where he even perspired a tick-just enough to where one could hear a slight sizzling *Tzzzt! if they happen to listen well at the right time.
Some of the very few that caught it soon found out that jokingly asking if he was "shorting" out, would be met with an unimpressed look. He learned to take it in stride, though. He also learned to keep to distance heals on the troops vulnerable to fire.
♫"Channel only on the Trees, Trolls, and Colds!"♫
Suddenly, on a rather slow day, medically-speaking, the image of Lungarfiliax appeared in his mind,
"Small one..."he really did not like that! Not to the point of sincere hateful thoughts, but the Yhohm would flare up just a bit every time he would hear those words come from the great dragon (which was so visually ascetic that it was probably at least half the reason why Lungarfiliax continued to do it in the first place!)"...to the Scar! Report to the Gray-gold at once!"
The Scar? He was being called to The Scar? He knew the way. When there was enough of a lull in his duties to where he would get so restless that "The Sadness" would start creeping back inside, Yho Yho would steal away to the most remote outskirts of The Scar. Sometimes even, a stray fiend would make it that far past the ranks to where Yho Yho could help dispatch it. Being his own "chicken soup for the soul," nothing compared to the righteous indignation that fills a yhohm in the presence of evil-so much so that those few who witnessed the resulting tenacity, never seemed to ask if he ever gets any bigger. Still, out of that particular arena itself, and actually being summoned to The Scar, the task sounded monstrous!
It was farther in than he ever traveled, but, yes, he knew the way...and so he flew.
Arriving, he was sure to keep a respectful distance from the treant,
♫"I have come!"♫
*Tzzzt!
Frist sighed. Thinking was hard. Planning was harder. He could do it. He just didn't like to. Kill? Easy. Burn? Even easier! But to truly think his way to his goal...any goal...gave him intense migraines.
Just then his big Green cousin Lungarfiliax, or as Frist came to call him in his head 'Uncle Lungfish,' touched his mind with dragon magic.
"It's time dolt. Get your wings moving and meet the others at the Scar! Burn the enemy away and earn your keep!"
Nodding in deference automatically at the magical touch, Frist hops and shambles over to the entrance of his small cave in the cliff-face. He brushes his 'Roomie' with a wing by accident and winces, hoping to all the draconic deities that might listen that he didn't wake the sleeping Wyvern. The annoying drake had abyssal blood in his veins and was always teasing Frist about his degenerate nature. The last thing he needed at this moment was to hear the near-dragon's snide voice and raucous laughter before battle.
Sneering in contempt at his own thoughts, Frist takes flight quickly from the dark cave's mouth, ignoring the demon-blooded Wyvern's sudden stirrings. He talks out loud to himself, his own voice a cold comfort to his scarred heart as he flies out into light of the morning sun.
"Maybe I will finally make a name for myself today! If not today...then there will always be another battle in this world of never-ending war. Right?"
Already knowing the answer to the question, he spreads his wings to catch a familiar updraft and quickly turns towards the Scar. A short time later he easily sees the giant Treant and his cousin's representative keeping close near the plant-creature's trunk.
As the great green dragon flew off, Mar was left with a familiar sense of awe. As many times as he'd interacted with their leader, it never grew less exciting. There was a sense of danger about the dragon, even though Mar knew him to be their Protector. Lungarfiliax was power incarnate, even the least-knowledgeable among them could tell. Mar had interacted with a few Greens before the darkness had come, years ago, though none as uniquely powerful as Lungarfiliax.
Clearing his mind, Mar looked around his forest domain and silently wished it farewell. He'd feel better knowing who would watch over it in his absence, or even how long he was to be away, but he trusted that Lungarfiliax had made, or delegated the making of, proper plans for its care-taking.
Mar took to the sky, quickly rising above the tallest trees and orienting himself towards the scar. Running was comforting to him, but flying was undoubtedly faster. And when Lungarfiliax called, one did not delay.
A time later, Mar set down in the Scar, not far from the Treant he'd seen in the vision from Lungarfiliax. He trotted the last few dozen yards on foot, his wings neatly and quietly folded on his back, and the claws in his forelegs retracted. His head held high, he looked every bit the picture of a proud Unicorn, with "only" his glowing red eyes and the jet black color of his fur and horn betraying him. Smoke streamed off of the horn's tip, as it sometimes did, drifting away and dissolving into nothing.
"Mar; Shadehorn," he announced, arriving among others who, he presumed, were to be part of the same task force. "And who would be 'Merge?' I understand there is work to be done."
Caraid had been napping while his 'grandfather' Ardwellyn sharpened his sword - something of a daily ritual for the two, ever since the battle which had ended the lives of Caraid's pack and lead to Ardwellyn's desperate summoning onto the material plane.
He was quietly enjoying a vision of running across an open plain, prey before him, when the mental voice of the great dragon dispelled peace and sleep at once.
Following his grandfather from the room Caraid bounded easily through the air, still enjoying this new ability to run across the sky as easily as the earth.
As the treant appears Caraid takes a few moments to look around and survey his surroundings before leaping through space and appearing beside Ardwellyn under the tree and offering a short report.
The creature you meet under the Treant looks like a cross between a gold dragon and a human. They are standing under the tree at ease observing the troop buildup and greeting the newcomers.
When all have gathered Merge addresses you all. Greetings. Thankyou for not defying Lungarfiliax's orders. That would have been must unfortunate.
You have all been assigned to me. We are to be a tool in the service of Lungarfiliax and his Commanders. Our task is to take care of things that "pose an imminent danger to the integrity of the Sanctuary." Broad orders, to be sure, but I suspect we will be ordered around soon enough. For now, know that I am one of Lungarfiliax's emissaries and am able to receive his orders at any time. I am, in effect, your commanding officer.
Our Great Protector has seen fit to throw us into the fire instead of the frying pan with this one, so all I can do is ask that you watch each other's backs out there. We're likely to get tossed into the thick of it.
Frist snorts and shakes his wings.
"I don't know what a 'frying pan' is, but I assure you I can handle the fire!"
With that said, he spits a wad of golden-hot oozing phlegm that catches some sickly yellow grass on fire nearby and curls up like a cat about to nap.
"Wake me when there are orders from Uncle Lungfis...our great commander."
The treant nearby makes a noise like a Willow tree being shredded by a land shark, and stomps the flames out with a massive foot, shaking the ground!
"Very well. I will endeavor to carry out your orders to the best of my ability." says Ardwellyn.
"It will be an honor to protect our Sanctuary," Mar says, pawing at the ground beneath him as he looks around to the members of the group, "I look forward to knowing you all."
Turning back to Merge, he asks, "Do we have a mission already?"
There is significantly less tension than you'd expect before a battle. The Ants line up perfectly with their Knight commanders and simply wait. There is no nervous shifting, no pre-battle rituals, no fervent, whispered prayers. The only noise comes from the Minotaurs and Trolls who seem to be starting some kind of betting pool.
The great Green above you just hovers, but the waves of energy washing over you and the spikes of tingle that ripple over your skin are evidence that something is resisting, and in a big way.
Suddenly, a massive artillery barrage impacts the Sky Shell! Waves of flame, bolts of purple lightning, rippling rainbows of brilliant, broad spectrum prismatic assaults and plain old boulders batter the Sky Shell! The Green staggers under the strain and looses significant altitude before recovering, but it was enough. The Sky Shell lifts just a few dozen feet. Undead pour through the breach, charging over the scar like the horde of mindless cannon fodder they are! They are answered with a flight of massive bolts from the oversized crossbows carried by the Minotaurs and high arcing javelins from the Trolls. Many are cut down, but many just isn't enough when you're fighting the Cabal. The Ants advance in unison to meet the tide.
Eyes up! Orders Merge. We're on the lookout for the big ones! If you can fly, do it. I want to know the location of any individual or unit that might be a threat to a Minotaur!
Mar flinches at the initial blast, and observes with a keen eye. Concerned at the dragon's brief-but-consequential lapse, he follows Merge's order without delay, unfurling his wings and taking to the sky with a loud whinny to perform the necessary reconnaissance.
"Ballista, second line!" he calls down.
"And Cyclops, left of center!"
Hissing in excitement, Frist leaps up eagerly and takes to the air. looking around with all his dragon honed senses for targets.
"Finally!"
"Now we hunt!"
Alpha hears from above about the cyclops from the air as the Undead advance upon them. He barrels forward towards the Cyclops that had been point out, adrenaline causing his muscles to swell and pupils dilate.
This was what he lived for the most. The pack was safe, but that was out of duty and instinct. This was about hate and the hunt.
Caraid doesn't fly, so much as flicker into the sky - suddenly well over 100ft up in the air, almost touching the sky shell itself.
He scans the ground below keenly before descending rapidly and letting out his information in a series of staccato barks.
"Cyclops in the second wave, center-left - could be trouble. Mobile ballistae behind the first wave too."
Merge gives tree order once the sighting is confirmed, Everyone, move to intercept the Cyclops! Fliers, stay airborne until ground forces engage. Keep our flanks secure! Cyclops are knows to have retained their magical abilities into undeath, so watch that first hit as it will probably hit hard, bait it out if you can.
Frist immediately turns towards the Undead Cyclops, his heart in his throat. Those giants could easily make any dragon into a tailor's pincushion if they knew what they were doing!
Pushing himself, he flies by the Giants unleashing the deadliest fireball that he can muster from his gut at his maximum range (180 feet)!
"HHHKKKPPPHFFTHAAAA!!"
The golden lozenge flies towards the enemy, exploding precisely where he intended in a red-gold fireball of death!
A flame drake can, as a standard action, breathe a ball of flame that explodes like a fireball. This attack has a range of 180 feet and deals 5d6 points of fire damage (DC 16 Reflex half) to all creatures within a 20-foot-radius spread. Once a flame drake has used its fireball breath, it cannot do so again for 1d6 rounds. The save DC is Constitution-based.
*Speed Surge (Ex)Three times per day as a swift action, a flame drake may draw on its draconic heritage for a boost of strength and speed to take an additional move action in that round.
|
|
Fenrir stands amazed as Merge lays out the plan. He looks around at the mixed unit.
I've been re-assigned? To this pack? Hmmm. If they say so. Hopefully, when all Hell breaks loose, I won't be the first to die.
He runs towards the sounds of battle.
As Merge directs the group towards the Cyclops, Fenrir heads out. However, he's suspicious, and doesn't want to get hit by the first attack, as Merge had said. So he gets in close, but on his toes, ready to dodge.
Having had the target pointed out, Ardwellyn concentrates for a moment...and appears next to him with blade drawn.
Continuing to follow orders, Mar holds his position in the sky until the ground forces have all engaged, even though he'd rather be goring the enemies on the initial attack.
Head on a swivel, he keeps scanning the undead forces and formations, making sure that the living don't get surprised by the dead-- it had happened before...
Caraid watches Ardwellyn for the cue to move, summoning the new spark of magic inside himself to protect him as he does so.
The Dogs of War (Caraid, Ardwellyn, Alpha, and Fenrir) race into the fray with their new team mates flying over head. They vault and dodge over corpses of ants and undead as they near the line. Just as they're about to contact the area with the Cyclops a Knight ant comes out of nowhere. It lowers it's great head and charges through the fray, using its tremendous strength and girth in it's skull to clear a path like a train's Cowcatcher. Zombies and Skeletons go flying before it and ants pour in, crating a very fragile and very vulnerable salient in the front. It stops just a few feet shy of the Cyclops, giving you the path you need!
Flyers: You see this happen and immediately recognize that the ants providing cover to the rear are going to be under tremendous pressure to hold the retreat route. They will need assistance to avoid leaving your ground team stranded and surrounded!
Dogs: You are within charge distance of the target. It is huge, rotting, and dangerous with several ant bodies already laying at it's feet and a hungry look in it's single, massive eye.
Caraid lets out a ringing bark, bolstering the Dogs of War with celestial aid.
Not totally in its presence, the sight of the Cyclops shakes Yho Yho up slightly. The flapping of his wings becomes slightly more graceful, the birthmark on his breast shimmers a bit brighter than the rest of him, and he sings for a manifestation of the divine weapon of Sarenrae to his side,
♫"Sose!"♫
A scimitar of divine force appears and floats in his personal space.
Though a bit "chilled," he flies forward with his allies.
Flyers: You see this happen and immediately recognize that the ants providing cover to the rear are going to be under tremendous pressure to hold the retreat route. They will need assistance to avoid leaving your ground team stranded and surrounded!
You need to do a certain number of HP worth of damage or produce a few crowd control effects to hold off the horde while the groud team deals with the main target. Without this help they will surely be buried under the undead tide!
As the Knight charges the enemy a streak of red followed by a brilliant flash of flame! Frist successfully clears the area and even manages to scorch the Cyclops a bit!
Mar was good at a lot of things, some subtle, some less so. This particular moment, he was sure, required the latter and not the former.
Tucking his wings after one final flap, he aims himself at a target on the retreat route, his horn out in front on him, and drops from the sky like a missile.
|
|
As Fenrir races towards his target, he exults in the rush he gets; the joy in running with a pack again, the excitement as loud barks echo in the air, the thrill of a hunt.
This I have not felt in a long while. he thinks.
As he enters range of the Cyclops, he remembers Merge's words. He carefully edges closer, baiting the Cyclops into attacking.
In most cases, you may expect such an attendance of fiends to cause a being so small to shrivel and cower away-in the presence of evil, yhohms aren't most cases. Now fully in the near vicinity of the undead, something about Yho Yho changes. The burning embers that are his eyes flare up and his chest puffs up with righteous indignation. What normally comes out as his vocal communication no longer rings melodically-it now resembles more like a banshee's scream,
♫"YOU...there is no place for you in this world! There is no place for you in all of existence! You must all be destroyed!"♫
However, Yho Yho spies a group of mobile ballista on its way, and balks at advancing for the time being. He flutters gracefully,
♫"Qada agirê!"♫
A flaming sphere appears next to one of the ballista, and he moves it into its space.
For his part, Ardwellyn bellows "FOR THE GODS!" before swinging his blade at the Cyclops.
The Cyclops deftly dodges all three of Ardwellyn's attacks. His eye focuses on the celestial, goes out of focus for a moment, then strikes with a huge ax!
The Archon just barely manages to get his weapon up in time to avoid a lethal strike, but the ax still slices across his shoulder and wounds him.
Yho Yho's fireball neatly distracts one ballista crew and starts burning through the tension cord.
Behind the Cyclops fight, Mar makes his entrance! He falls from the sky like a bolt of black lighting! His horn impales a zombie as his hooves take out two skeletons, and that's just the landing!
Wanting to power into the masses below biting and smashing, Frist snarls as he holds back. His breath attacks are too important right now to risk physical blows at the moment. For now, Frist focuses on recharging his deadly breath and looking for his next target: Large packed groups of enemies near his new cohorts, or an individually strong one that threatens the defense directly.
Caraid uses his remaining actions to flicker into the cyclops and provide a flank - hopefully for Ardwellyn. :)