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Seeing the evil creature trying to escape, Zarnel flies into a rage. He leaps into the air to charge after it.
I think this is the first time I've ever truly felt like an Angel, he thinks to himself, just before the hell-beast bursts forth from his soul and sheathes his sword in black fire.
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Despite her trembling hands, Corona manages to line up her crossbow and some skill and a lot of luck, fires her bolt right into a spot where the dragon's scale had fallen off, causing more irritation than anything else.
Everyone's attention, however, is on Zarnel. Enchanted with flying magic, he manages to zoom straight up towards the flying reptile. She sees him quickly approaching from the corner of her eye and swings her head around, and with strength borne from desperation, manages to sink her teeth through his his armor and rip out a large chunk of flesh from his shoulder. Despite the sudden massive loss of blood, however, Zarnel's course holds true and with a powerful downward swing, chops the dragon's head right off! Icy blood spurts out across the room as the decapitated dragon body glides for a short distance before plunging and slamming into the ground. The head bounces against the column of ice and rolls unceremoniously to the feet of Draklor and Corona.
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Draklor is about to heal Sangkip when the head hits the floor. He flinches back but grins. "That'll make for a better tale to tell," the kitsune notes, turning to bring the vanara back to his feet. "Our presence here gives all the more impact to this than any feat of Irori, storied as they might be."
"I just hope the other Pathfinders and fey are faring as well...."
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Chou sits cross-legged on the ground and catches her breath. "Nice swing Zawnew! Give me a few minutes to west and then we can see if thewe awe any twaces of Ivowwa in hewe."
After a few minutes, Chou pulls out a gadget that looks a lot like a pair of goggles, fits them over her eyes and ears, then flicks a switch causing a small jet of steam to come out the back side.
She begins to work her way slowly down the spiral descent, searching for traps and signs of Ivorra's visit.
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575 gives a breath of relief as Zarnel takes out the dragon with a might swing of his sword. He quickly goes to collect his javelins, worried about more such creatures arriving to continue the battle... especially given the large pile of treasure now laying unguarded at the bottom of the cavern.
For now, unguarded
That sparkly hoard of vast wealth
Will not be for long
He says, pointing to the treasure piled up at the bottom of the cavern.
He eyes the hole in the ceiling warily, on the lookout for more trouble.
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Zarnel turns in the air and descends toward his friends. His outstretched left hand holds his still flaming blade, the hellfire reflected in his blackened skin. His golden hair flutters behind him in the breeze of his descent. His right leg is straight, toes pointed downward, while his left leg is bent slightly at the knee and turned outwards.
He is as unto an angel of death.
Nearing the ground, though, the fire on his sword extinguishes. His skin returns to its normal hue, and his posture slumps a little as he feels the toll of his rage and wounds. But when he touches down, the first thing he does is kneel beside Sangkip and lay his right hand upon him.
"Thank you, my friend. That Evil would have escaped but for your potion and sacrifice. Vildeis is pleased, of that I am sure."
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"That. Was. Awesoooome!" Corona cheers, jumping up and down with excitement. She bounces along to each of her companions, grabbing them up in a big hug - except for Sangkip, who she just awkwardly pats on the shoulder due to his wounds and slightly prickly demeanor.
"We did it! That was great work, Friends and New Friends! Draklor can sing about it forever!"
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While sounds of raging battle continue to drift in from other parts of the kobold caverns, the sounds are gradually dying down. It seems that other teams of Pathfinders are similarly meeting success in defeating the horde of kobolds and dragons elsewhere, and the risk of other enemies entering grows slimmer as time progresses.
Chou makes her way slowly down the ramp, satisfied that the kobolds did not lay any traps within this chamber where the dragon nests. Although the pile of treasure catches everyone's eyes, she seems to notice something strange inside the column of ice in the centre. However, it is hard to tell for sure with the thick layer of frost covering it...
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With the dragons defeated and their kobolds fleeing, the Pathfinders assemble in the deep cave. With her phantom Anok in tow, Medda approaches the frozen column and brushes away the outer layer of frost. Frozen within the column is a dwarven woman in steel armor, her body torn as if by immense claws. With her hand pressed against the ice, Medda pleads. “Ivvora, I have found you. Now what? Vildeis said to find you and that you would help me, but how can we help you in this state?”
“You look to me when you should look to the evil that stalks our homeland. It is not I who needs help,” declares a voice that is both sweet as music and powerful as a thunderstorm. The frost melts away from the column, revealing dozens of clear facets that dribble melt water as if from open wounds. The image of a wounded angelic figure reflects in each facet, simultaneously warming the chamber and judging all that the angel sees. “As you can see, I serve Vildeis more directly than before.” The images look to Anok. “I see you took your oath seriously, Anok. I was wrong to have doubted your conviction. How are our people?”
The red phantom’s hue turns rosier as he looks to Medda and responds, “You would be proud.”
With a nod, the angel addresses everyone at once. “Then why do you seek me?”[b/]
[b]“Eshimka has returned,” Medda announces. “We fought off the horror once, but it shall return at the next solstice.”
The angel’s eyes flare with righteous fire. “Then you will need a weapon to defeat it, as I had. Vildeis granted me the blade that I gave your people, but only after I thought I had given everything to vanquish my greatest foe. Even now I can sense evil has returned to that land, far to the south in a forest where the Whispering Tyrant’s legions once ruled. Show our patron Vildeis the same dedication that I did, and I shall ask that she equip you in the same way.” With that, the angelic images fade from the melting column.
Medda addresses the gathered Pathfinders. “I believe I know the forests Ivvora mentioned. You have already done so much, Pathfinders, but I invite you to help more. After I give Ivvora the burial she deserves, I will set forth with all who are able and willing for the Fangwood.”