Balthus was not happy. he was never much good at waiting. Always the hunter, always the stalker, his best defense was either a good offense or getting out of the way.
He checked his magical quiver, brimming with arrows, one more time. He made sure he had an extra bowstring and the one on his bow was in good order.
Earlier that morning, he had prepared spells that would help him to either shoot arrows or resist fire.
He was as ready as he was going to be.
And he hated waiting.
The day after your return is a flurry of activity, intense bordering on panicked. Fortunately, Balthus' work with the guard, Jetta's stolid armigers, and Amund's experienced contacts from Korvosa help to sow order amid the chaos; Perry's wisdom and Anthuria's optimism help to bolster morale, and Mairen has established herself as one of the guard's leaders, her steely calm inspiring the same in her charges. The ballista is hastily constructed atop one of the watchtowers, Soldier Torrens hastily drilling a couple of guards in its use. Oakbrow spends the day walking the fort's grounds, working with Perry and Anthuria to determine how best to use their magics to prevent damage and bolster the defenders. Katsa works frantically inside her cart, carefully coating an owlbear feather in alchemical silvering agent and imbuing it with a charm of flight.
The entire fort prepares for the predicted onslaught, eyes constantly flitting to the sky and ears cocked for a horn of warning from afar. But the first day brings no harbinger of doom from above, no apparition of wings and teeth and flame. Everyone settles into their places to wait out the night. Double guards wait on each watchtower listening for horn blasts, and Soldier Torrens joins their vigil sleepless at his siege engine. Most of the civilians are getting a few hours of fitful sleep in bedrolls on the church's floor and pews, the wood roof replaced with a stone one stretched from the walls with Perry and Oakbrow's stone-shaping spells. The night passes, the dark lightening to a smoky grey, then a deep, burning red...
...and just as the few sleepers begin to stir in the early light, a noise shatters the quiet of the still waking forest, and in the distance, four black silhouettes grow larger against the dawn's fire.
H-rooooooh! H-rooooooh! H-rooooooh!
Whispers turn to cries; cries turn to a tumult. But with your warning and preparations in place, the madness begins to morph into method as everyone rushes to their places. Oakbrow and Apar begin to chant over the collected buckets, jugs, cauldrons, and washtubs, creating small downpours that fill the collected vessels; once most of the buckets are filled, the aged druid takes his place at the keep, preparing to call upon wind, water, or creatures of the sky as the fight requires. Balthus barks out orders, and ranks of archers martial in three of the towers as the ballista crew begin to winch a spear-sized bolt into place.
In keeping with the plans of the previous day, the five of you race to the church, where Percival will remain to defend it against fire. Percival's rapid-fire prayer mingles with Anthuria's arcane declamation, and a familiar rush of energy and glow of divine favor suffuses everyone. Balthus heads to the center of the keep to get an open view of the sky and call out instruction, calling upon his magic as he goes to improve the impact of his arrows. Katsa rushes to Amund and thumps him firmly in the back, planting her silvered feather between his shoulders; their eyes meet and she gives him a nod while handing him a small carved charm in the shape of an anchor, ink still drying in its crevices. As ethereal, silvery wings begin to emerge from Amund's armor, Percival begins another prayer and touches Jetta's shoulder; with an uncertain step, she rises into the sky, getting her feet beneath her to run through the air. Katsa calls out another incantation and begins to rise into the sky herself; even Enrico joins the fray, preparing to relay Balthus' direction to the archers while standing invisible between the base of two of the towers.
Nice post! Jetta, do you want to be enlarged?
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The morning was quiet, yet tense, as Percival was amidst his morning prayers.
Somewhere mid-litany, he paused.
"Land, gold, and title," he breathed. Before him was the spot (where just a few days ago), he spoke to the dead dwarf. The deathly rattle of the rose-king and the lizardfolk scout echoed in his mind, and he slowly closed his holy book--where it spoke of defending small-leveled communities against the dangers of the wild--and before that, about the proper conduct of a priest of Abadar.
"Why am I acting like this?" he asked himself. At the edge of his sight, he saw Enrico running back and forth to prepare for the day's defenses, his normally-reserved face flush with excitement.
"For land, gold and title..." Percival asked himself, before he was roused from his revere by the scouts' horns. He stood up as the fort scrambled from sleep as organized, and he witnessed the people fall into their positions orderly after a brief moment of confusion.
"Land I need not. Title I have..." He strode to his position, where his allies would stand, and looked towards the quickly-approaching figures, seemingly lost in thought.
"Land I need not. Title I have..." He strode to his position, where his allies would stand, and looked towards the quickly-approaching figures, seemingly lost in thought.
Jetta shoves Perry with her shield—not too roughly—and shouts, "Focus, Uncle! We need you!"
After receiving various enchantments from her allies, Jetta is fearsome sight: a veritable giant coated in plates of black steel, wielding a halberd the size of a tree trunk. With great lumbering steps, she defies gravity and starts heaving her massive bulk up in the air at a speed that belies her size.
Anthuria woke this morning with a strange sense of calm. Never before had she faced such threats (or known such fear), but she has defied her own expectations by receiving the situation with a settled, centered mind. And although the horns of warning cause her stomach to roll and her throat to constrict, she stands proudly with her companions, praying to any gods that will listen, and wondering if she'll ever see her mother again.
What is one supposed to say at times like this? She struggles to remember a scrap of something inspirational from one the many plays she's read over the years, but suddenly they all seem silly.
As Jetta's imposing form takes flight, she calls up after her. "You're going to, ah, do great!"
Four! Of coarse it is four. Here I thought two would be the problem. And fire will not help. Hearing Jetta he looks over. You are with us correct? This is your last chance to go back inside.
Quietly waiting as magic fly's around. That jittery feeling sets in again. As does various other sensations. Choosing not to focus on them or the fact that he has never flown before. Tightening his grip on his Guisarme and the token Amund lifts himself into the sky.
The 'falcon spell' always made Balthus smile just thinking of what others saw when they looked at him. Feathers sprouted from the side of his head and his nose became more angular. Whenever he had a chance to look at his eyes, he noticed them turned into the eyes of birds of prey. He bet he could screech pretty convincingly if he tried.
He breathed in and held his breath, waiting for the dragons to come closer...
Percival and Anthuria go to work, magically enhancing their companions abilities. With enchantments running through their blood, Jetta and Amund take to the air, setting themselves above the keep with grim determination in their eyes as the others rush to their land-bound posts. For a moment that seems a lifetime, a silence takes hold, the deep breath before the plunge...
...and then a bone-shattering shriek rends the morning air as the creatures close the yards between themselves and the fort. The shadows fall into formation, one leading the way, but they do not seem interested in meeting Jetta and Amund, standing impassive over the fort's walls. Instead, as they approach, one creature gives a few mighty flaps of its wings and surges forward and upward in a burst of strength, loosing a gout of flame from its open mouth almost two hundred feet above the courtyard. And as it comes into closer relief, every heart surges with fear - for the wide, leathery wings and surge of elemental breath certainly tick the characteristics of "dragon" in all minds.
And the beast's cautious distance does nothing to lessen the flame's potency. The burst misses Balthus' knot of archers, but the Boar's Bones and the northern watchtower aren't so lucky - Oakbrow moves quickly to conjure a burst of water over the watchtower and stop the burning thatch from seriously injuring anyone inside or weakening the walls, but flame licks along the inn's edge as the bucket brigades spring into action. The other creatures follow further behind, buoyed into the air on the heat of the newly-emerging flames. At Balthus' signal, the archers let loose a volley of arrows - most of the arrows go wide, but three manage to find their way into vulnerable points, and the beast screeches in pain and tumbles down thirty feet before righting itself, taken off-guard by the onslaught. Unfortunately, though, the beast falls as the ballista bolt is let loose, and the bolt sails harmlessly over the thrashing wings.
An uneducated Balthus shook his head, Dragons. Just I like I said.
He then started ordering his archers, his voice a higher tone than usual, "Get the dragon that's closest. The one you already hit."
He then let go of three arrows in quick succession. The twang of the bow loud in his ears.
The ranger smiled. Come closer, little dragon. I got something for you..."
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critical confirmation?
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Standard Action: Percival was spurred into attention with Jetta's push, and he nods, putting two fingers upright, sweeping them over his allies, holding on his doubts for a later time.
"I hereby bless thee. Protect this new hold," he said.
Move Action: Draw and load his light crossbow.
Swift Action: Percival swept his cloak around him for easier access to his quiver.
Balthus' shot strikes the creature directly at the joint between wing and trunk - not only does the shot start a river of blood flowing from its side, but the beat of its wings is once again interrupted by the wound, bringing it another twenty feet closer to where Jetta and Amund sit waiting.
The stink of smoke and the sound of shouts and screams assault Anthuria's senses as she stands near Lord Arizian. The heat from the fire barely registers to her thanks to his prayer. Now if only prayers could smite dragons. she thinks. At least, they look like dragons.
"I'll be right back!" she screams, "I need to get closer!" Burning wind beats against her face and sends her garments billowing as she runs toward the Boar's Bones. The site of the now-familiar building in flames tears at her heart, and she just knows the vegetable garden will be ruined.
Shielding her eyes from the smoke and ash, she spots the wounded dragon sinking toward the earth. She remembers something that Balthus had said, something about focusing their attacks, and so she chooses that one. She knows she is making an easy target of herself, but really, what chance do any of them stand against such monsters?
Arriving just within range , she clenches her fists tightly, then releases them in a flash of emerald energy. A series of bolts fly through the air, striking the dragon.
Forcing himself to rise higher. The creatures growing closer while the ground moves further away
Jetta cannot help but to feel a twinge of fear as the dragons unleash their incinerating breaths upon the fort: something primal, buried deep under all her rigorous training. The Hellknight deals with the emotion as she had been taught to, quickly and instinctively compartmentalising it away for later introspection. Determinedly, she keeps trudging upwards towards the enemy as if hustling up a steep hill.
"Hey, you!" she shouts at the closest enemy, trying to taunt it. "Let's see if your tail comes off, you overgrown newt!"
Bolstered by his hit, the ranger's confidence rises as he sees Anthuria also injure the fiery lizard.
He yells out to whoever is listening, "Let's bring that one down and maybe that will scare off the other ones."
He searches for Perry, "Perry, where's that icy crossbow of yours? Now's a good time to put it to good use."
Percival bolsters his allies' prowess with one final blessing as Jetta and Amund make their way into the air, struggling to grow accustomed to the strange sensation of wings and of walking on thin air. Anthuria opts to join Balthus in providing support at range from the ground; both her bursts of energy and Balthus' lead arrow find their marks, and the beast tumbles yet further under the onslaught. Buoyed by his success, Balthus signals for another volley of arrows - but between the chaos of the beast's fall and a sudden plume of smoke as the inn's shingled roof begins to catch, pinpointing it proves almost impossible, and all their arrows fall back to the ground.
Righting itself clumsily with a roar of pain and frustration, the falling beast snarls out a few words in the same sibilant language the dragonfolk had used. It's saying to go back to the rock! Katsa calls out from her vantage point in the sky. Desperately, she rises further into the air, beginning a chant in rich, rolling Varisian and bringing forth a card from her deck. Kriket, požičať voskových figúr svoju rýchlosť! The card flies forward with a flick of her wrist, limned in a faint gold light...
...and as the card taps the falling dragon's thrashing wing, the glow spreads and takes the shape of the wing, staying for just a moment before it begins to flow in thick rivulets toward the ground far below. For a moment, the beast stares in puzzlement at the spectacle - and then another moment, and another. Even as it begins to plummet toward the ground, it stares at the image of melting wax enveloping its wings, unmoving though it speeds toward destruction. Jetta and Amund both swing at the beast as it rushes past, but taken off guard, their blades go wide - but it turns out the beast's torpor is deep enough that it cannot right itself, and it lands on the ground with a sickening thud, unmoving.
The other three dragons above let out a vicious cry and loose plumes of flame before winging off to the east. One burst dissipates to nothingness against the new stone roof of the church; another engulfs the stables (though Oakbrow moves quickly to put that one out as the animals within screech). But the final burst of fire lands on the smoldering inn, and it proves too much for the already-drying timbers to bear. With a whoosh, the tavern bursts into an inferno, and the bucket brigade stops in silence, eyes wide with shock as they take in the magnitude of the situation. One tiny figure pushes to the front...and crumples to his knees, watching helpless as months of labor go up in smoke.
Balthus lined up another shot at the fleeing dragons but the smoke above and screaming from below made him reconsider.
He started barking orders, "Jetta, Amund! Make sure the one that fell is not getting up and flying away."
He turned to the others, "Let's put those fires out!"
With his mutt in tow, he started running to where the fires were worse.
Jetta looks on in surprise as the dragons make their retreat, her anticipation dissolving into a peculiar mixture of disappointment and relief. Hearing Balthus' voice cut through the din of the fires, she quickly snaps back into action. She starts descending towards the fallen enemy in circles, almost as if running down a spiral staircase. Once down by the body, she prods at it with her halberd.
The Hellknight—still the size of a giant—turns to look down at Amund and tilts her head. "Is it dead? I was hoping we could've interrogated one..."
Anthuria ducks behind the corner of an adjacent building as the dragon crashes heavily toward the earth. The force of impact is phenomenal, nearly knocking her to her knees and causing her teeth to rattle in her skull. On shaking legs she emerges from her hiding place, her clothes, skin, and hair now caked in ash.
"Not the Boar's Bones! Oh! Orrend will have a fit!" She races after Balthus to help with the fire.
Glancing over at Jetta. That thing inst going to move and we still can fly. I want to know where they are going.
Without waiting for a reply Amund begins to pull himself higher and higher.
Percival rushes toward the downed drake, hoping to find it still within saving...but one look at the broken, unmoving form on the ground dashes his hopes at a simple interview. The creature had arrived hale and hearty - but between arrows, arcane energy, and the force of the fall, it no longer remains so. Everyone not fighting desperately to contain the fire at the inn rushes to stand at guard against (or ogle over) the still form on the ground...
...everyone, that is, except Amund. Instead of following Jetta to the ground, he rushes upwards, flying as fast as his wings and the rush of energy from Anthuria's spell will carry him. He ends up higher even than the drakes had been circling, his eyes following the faint trail of smoke left behind, desperately hoping for a sign of their destination. And his effort is rewarded - for across the river to the east, he sees one of the shadows descend, alighting atop a tall stone pillar rising above the canopy line.
Seeing the beasts descend Amund mimics them and rapidly plummets to the have his feet touch the ground just before his temporary wings vanish. If anything is still burning that is his main priority.
As soon as there is a lull Amund would move to find Balthus and if any of his companions are near they get to hear it too. He would try and avoid speaking loud enough that anyone could hear him though. You have been working with the scouts so maybe you or they know. From what I saw they went east and landed near a tall rock reaches well above the canopy.
As soon as there is a lull Amund would move to find Balthus and if any of his companions are near they get to hear it too. He would try and avoid speaking loud enough that anyone could hear him though. You have been working with the scouts so maybe you or they know. From what I saw they went east and landed near a tall rock reaches well above the canopy.
The ranger patted Amund in the back, "Good job, boy. Kind of crazy going off by yourself but I like it!"
Balthus thought for a second, "And I know just what you are describing. The stone pillar is one of the area's more prominent landmarks - Pointer Rock. I think it's named that because the larger plateau at the pillar's base gives the impression of a hand with a finger extended toward the sky."
Completely oblivious to the plans to interrogate the dead dragon, he turned to his companions, "We know where they are. Let's get ready."
Sighing and mumbling, Man not a boy.
Nodding to Balthus, I am glad it worked and I timed it right. Lets go.
Running a hand roughly though his hair, While that is true if we wait they will be gone and more likely to return to strike the Fort again.
With the immediate danger past, the fort's residents discover there's still plenty to do. Oakbrow conjures another burst of water over the smoking remains of the Boar's Bones to quell the final flames, and the rest of the buckets empty over it, though it's clear the structure is beyond saving. Those hiding inside the church begin to peek outside apprehensively at the cessation of noise outside; once they confirm the skies are clear, they begin to spill out in threes and fours, congregating on the lawn and square outside as though nervous about straying too far from the sanctuary of the church.
Hearing Percival's suggestion, Orrend ambles over, the ghost of a smile on his face. Well, well, well...first it was the Boar's Bones, now it looks like the next'll be the Dragon's Bones. I'm moving up in the world, huh? He laughs at the jest, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes; as Jetta moves towards the beast's sinewy neck, the halfling makes his way to the assembled emerging from the church, doing his best to organize some sort of mass mealtime effort.
Just as Jetta raises her halberd to fulfill Percival's suggestion, however, the priest holds up a hand to stop her as his eyes close in prayer. Soon, the prayer in his heart escapes his lips, a rolling, rhythmic chant, and once again the drake's mouth begins to work slightly in time with Percival's breaths (as Amund and Balthus hurriedly reassure onlookers that the movement doesn't signal the creature's return to life). As the chant finishes with a deep bass note, the rumble of the drake's growl joins it.
We know you preyed upon the fey, Percival intones, but why? What purpose did their flesh serve? At the question, the motionless dragon snarls menacingly...then answers, the tone of its voice dragging its heels uselessly. Their power brings life, their cruelty vigor. My mas- my master's command. He woke us - we sustain him.
At confirmation of Jetta's suspicion of another individual guiding their actions, Percival presses for more information. But why have we fallen under your wrath - was it some possession of the rose king you thought us to have? At this, an eerie, breathy chuckle escapes from the beast's lips. We would have taken the little king's toys if we wanted them - no, we came because our master wanted you gone. The Vale is his! You stole the rose faeries from him - and now you must pay for what you took.
But who is this master of yours - why is he here, what does he want? Percival finishes, desperate to gain as much information from the exchange as possible before Pharasma severs the connection. And, though the creature tries to resist the question, he once again buckles under the compulsion. His magics freed us, the creature answers cryptically. from cages of flesh made stone. Now we are his, to do as he bids. He is...Lord...of this place... As the words continue, they seem to grow thicker and heavier; as the last words emerge, they trail off, sinking beneath an unseen quagmire.
Quietly mumbling, Well sh!t. Seeing that the spell has ended and they are not leaving imediatly Amund moves to go check on the cubs quickly. Once there he would return to helping around the fort.
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Percival released his hand from Jetta's armored shoulder, leaving her to continue her grisly work.
He turned to Orrend, and silently placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder (bending slightly in the progress).
Heading to his meditative spot, he noticed Enrico look over the crowd from afar.
"First dragon kill," he said to the aged butler. "How was it compared to yours?"
"I've seen bigger," said the older man with a thin smile.
"Humph," returned Percival, moving to his meditation spot.
"Sir. What do you think he meant by cages of flesh made stone?" asked the butler.
"Surely a transmutation of some sort--Enrico, where did you store the sugar?"
The old man looked to the ruins that was the Boar's Bones, and then back at the lord-priest.
"Gods damn it..."
Balthus thought that dragons would be smarter than to follow a wizard but maybe this was a powerful wizard. And the Vale is his.
He scoffed, "Well, it looks like we have ourselves a wizard to catch."
He looked for Oakgrove, "Have you heard of any wizards in the Vale"
Then turned to his companions, "The suggestions of illusions is a good one. Maybe these dragons will think twice before attacking if they see that the fort is prepared."
The ranger then gets busy trying to help the people out. He expects to have a long day and talk to his scouts once more. They still needed to be out there looking for possible attacks; their warning had been essential to the fort's defense.
"Have you heard of any wizards in the Vale"
The old druid racks his brains for several moments at Balthus's question. Wizards, wizards...no, I can't say I have. It's clear the prospect irritates him. No one who's come to greet me, and I haven't seen sign of anyone. Someone who's taken up residence recently, perhaps? It'd have to be far from here, and for no one to have told me, it's got to be somewhere on the Vale's fringes - otherwise I'd have heard something.
Continuing to marshal his thoughts into order, his eyes suddenly light slightly. There's something, though... In my younger days, I was more given over to flying from time to time - a horridly dizzying thing now. But I remember seeing some old ruins off to the east once, far up in the mountains, and the strangest feeling coming off of them. If I was feeling it merely wearing a bird's shape, it could be that true beasts avoid the place entirely. This mystery figure could show up unannounced, if that be the case.
Jetta sets to work, quickly and efficiently dismembering the drake's corpse. With the aid of her armigers, she starts setting up a grisly warning to its kin: the battered head is impaled on the head of a long pole, and the tattered wings are nailed on a cross-beam running across it. Next to the first, three other crosses are erected. The rest of the body is left at a tanner for processing, and the Hellknights return to their patrols, making sure that no one is exploiting the chaos for their own profit.
"So it wasn't the book!" Anthuria says with relief and the tiniest bit of defensiveness. "Well, I"m glad it wasn't entirely my doing that the Fort should be attacked by dragons, although I certainly didn't oppose destroying the elves..."
"But yes, it sounds as though some wizard has awoken these creatures from a state of petrification. That would be strong magic, indeed. Certainly more potent than anything we've seen so far. Oh, if only we were closer to the college, I'm sure someone would know what to make of this."
Anthuria declines to watch the crucifixion of the dragons, instead opting to assist Orrend with salvaging the ruins of the inn. She avoids the entire area for as long as they remain in the fort.
The rest of the day passes in recovery work. Cleanup of the ruined inn seems the top priority in many hearts and minds, though there is only so much demand for hands in the effort. Sifting through the wreckage, several salvageable items are sorted out, including the leather pouch of coppers hanging from the skeletal boar's tusk - the coins' faces have deformed slightly, but remain usable, as does the coin in Orrend's coffer, stored in a locked trapdoor beneath the ground. The effort won't be easy, but at least there's some seed money to help the project grow - though unfortunately one thing that won't be growing this season are Orrend's bean and potato plants.
Amund rushes to the Four Wheels Hall to check on his young charges - and hears an almighty din from inside their cart. Peeking inside, he finds some very riled cubs, and several new scratches marring both the cart's inside (and the small, ferocious inhabitants). A side of charred, ash-covered beef from the inn's former kitchen manages to calm them, though, and they seem to have made it through untouched by fire, with the warehouse spared from the drakes' breath. With his charges seen to, Amund emerges to face Jetta's grim display - a cruel display of dominance, but one that seems to bolster several onlookers, as a grim reminder of victory.
Work, then rest, then another sunrise. Tensions run high throughout the fort as you prepare to depart, with all eyes turned to the sky in preparation for another assault. Enrico takes his place in an empty guard tower this time to give him as wide a view as possible, several canteens of water and a tray of dense nut bread next to him; soon, he disappears into empty space as illusory doubles of yourselves begin to roam the fort and spectral ballistas are tested on the ramparts. Oakbrow sits back against Ama's bulk in the courtyard, ready to rush to where he's needed, and buckets, cauldrons, and barrels are once again filled by Father Apar. Preparations are in place, and you ride off, the crucified drake a stark symbol receding behind.
Angling off from the road into the woods, you find making your way between the trees and through the underbrush...much less expedient than the drakes' route. Still, you spur mounts into as fast of motion as possible in the close space, though it proves unsustainable as time continues; a couple hours later, you emerge with horses lathered in sweat, but facing your goal - Pointer's Rock. The monolith rises high into the mid-morning sky, a small, winding path climbing up the face of the shorter, broader plateau that makes the proverbial hand's fist. And atop, you find your search hasn't been in vain - at the taller, narrower "finger"'s base, you see a pair of broad red wings stretching languorously.
Balthus looked at Katsa sideways one more time. He had no problem with her in principal but he just thought that she was someone else he had to guard when things got ugly. As if watching Anthuria wasn't enough. :)
He dismounted and stretched his old muscles. He then moved his horse to under the trees for cover and signaled for the others to do the same. "Well, we found them alright but it would be suicide to just charge up the hill. They have the advantage. They can fly and we have no cover."
He looked at the forest and trees, "We need for them to come over here so we can hide in the trees and snipe at them."
He patted his mount, "You think the dragon would like horse flesh? We could unsaddle one and leave it out for bait?"
Stopping short when he sees the desiccated creature displayed. Staring at it in morbid fascination. Right, Hellknights are not normal people but mixed with Devils. Somehow I forgot that. Spending the rest of the day working and trying to avoid looking at the macabre symbol.
Exhaustion drags him into a fitful sleep. And to soon the it is time to awaken and depart the Fort.
That's all I've got. Hopefully we can sneak up on them when they're down on the ground. They're likely to be on their guard, though.
Impatient as always, the ranger stated, "Things have changed people. Wake up! Whereas last time it was us defending, now it's their turn to defend so maybe their flight won't be as important."
"How about if we get 'ready' and then march up the mountain? Surely we can use stone walls as some protection against their fire breath. And once we are on top, they will have to come to us. Hopefully the top area has some sort of entrance. Is that where this wizard hides?"
He palmed the shaft of his axe, "I think I will be doing some chopping instead of shooting. Well, is this plan better than my last one?"
Glaring over at Balthus when he suggests using a mount as bait. The grumpy old man keeps at it. Nearly snarling at the older man, Their flight is very important. If we get to the top they can breath fire on us at a safe distance. Not to mention if we are all clumped together there it is more likely that more of us will be maimed or killed.
Taking a breath and calming his tone, If I can touch one I should be able to ground it.
Glancing over at the older woman, Kasta would you be able to do the same thing as before?
Pinching the bridge of his nose and sounding tired, If we can keep them on the ground then you can chop all you want but currently they have flight as an option so we need to plan for distanced fighting. Yes we could use a horse as bait but then we are short a horse and the other one are more likely be unruly. Though if you really want to get to chopping you could be the bait.
Pinching the bridge of his nose and sounding tired, If we can keep them on the ground then you can chop all you want but currently they have flight as an option so we need to plan for distanced fighting. Yes we could use a horse as bait but then we are short a horse and the other one are more likely be unruly. Though if you really want to get to chopping you could be the bait.
Tempers flared, "Listen boy. You misunderstand me. I'm saying that if there is a cave or some sort of entrance then we may be able to bypass the dragons altogether. We get to the top and enter whatever this place is. Surely the dragons won't be able to follow or if they do, then we'll have the advantage."
He patted his own horse, "And the horse is bait and NOT a sacrifice!"
Snapping at the older man, Amund, my name is Amund.
With a glare and a snarl to his tone, Do not suggest something that you would not be willing to do yourself then without acknowledging what you are asking. Against those three the bait will most likely die and if not it would be a waste of time. It would be a sacrifice if it were to get those beast close enough to matter. They would need to be eating the horse. That would put them on the ground and then we could attack.
Taking a deep breath and shifting his gaze to the rocks before continuing, The dragons have familiarity with this place. Something we do not have. No matter the scenario we are at the disadvantage Balthus. This is where they come to so they could recover. Much like how we prepared the Fort it is safe to assume that they have this place fortified in some way. They will know where they can hide and the easy ways for us to approach. From what I see there is a path up and no entrances. Just rocks. And that pathway would be a death march.
Glancing over at Perry and speaking in a monotone voice, Lord Arizian would be able to summon that boar again? If they descend on that then we could try the bait option.
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Impatient as always, the ranger stated, "Things have changed people. Wake up! Whereas last time it was us defending, now it's their turn to defend so maybe their flight won't be as important."
"How about if we get 'ready' and then march up the mountain? Surely we can use stone walls as some protection against their fire breath. And once we are on top, they will have to come to us. Hopefully the top area has some sort of entrance. Is that where this wizard hides?"
Percival observed the hill quietly as the ranger and guardsmen argued. He then looked around at the forest's cover.
Deep in thought, he turned to look at Henrietta and Anthuria.Glancing over at Perry and speaking in a monotone voice, Lord Arizian would be able to summon that boar again? If they descend on that then we could try the bait option.
"Hold it, son...that might work," he mused. Before Balthus or Amund could turn to him (and prompt whether he meant one or the other's view), he said to the group, picking up a twig and drawing a circle in the sand. "Here's where we stand: we draw them into a killing field. My magic will conjure a circle of stones to grant us cover and a dome of wind to protect us from above. We draw the drakes one-by-one into the circle, and make short work of them.
"Here's how we do it."
Scowling at Perry, And if they opt for long distance fire? You are very quick to dismiss Arizian.