-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* The Front Lines *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

    This is a hilly area on the outskirts of southern Sendor. Bludguni and Myrrish troops face each other across a wide valley. With the spring thaw, the entire valley has been churned into a disgusting, bloody mud by the two armies. Bludguni forces currently hold the pass and the high ground, and are camped behind the hills. The Myrddion army is camped a little distance away, by a stream fed from a different, cleaner valley without a handy pass. Up near the head of the valley, the Bludgun army has left behind a huge mass grave that is said to be haunted.

 

Near the Myrrish camp, far away from the actual front lines as to be considered fairly 'safe' at the moment, is the de-facto command center and entertainment establishment in the area, a tavern called the Blushing Rosalia. It's somewhat the worse for wear, but the many officers and adventurers in the army provide the owners with a steady supply of coin.

 

Not far from the Blushing Rosalia are the numerous tents that make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought back to be healed. The air near those tents smells of whiskey and herbal poultices.

    

 

Meyla has arrived.

 

Over the last week, the high grounds surrounding Gettys have been taken. Bunkers and entrenched positions have had their defenders forced out of them. Many of the enemy have been killed, but they've managed to inflict quite grievous casualties on the Myrrish and Alexandrian forces. When assaulting an entrenched position, though, that's always the case. They aren't called 'force multipliers' for nothing and the forces of Kinnevack couldn't have asked for a better position than the ones they enjoyed previously. Now, however, those entrenched positions belong to the Myrrish and all roads lead through the most impressive defensive piece of architecture yet. 

 

Fort Gettys. 

Gettys is a massive castle of a fort, dominating the passes through the hills into Sendor. A strong enough force is inside its walls that makes bypassing it impossible and its cannon and batteries can wreak havock on transport. It sits atop the tallest hill in the area. To secure the chain of supply to further liberate Sendor, Gettys must be returned to Myrrish hands. 

 

But enemy forces haven't been idle. They've been busily expanding its defensive structures during all the time they've had it. 

 

But, still, the time has come to lay siege to it. That's the order. To encircle and choke off Gettys from reinforcements. Already, soldiers trudge up the hillsides in massive lines, like a great snake aiming to constrict the life from the fort. All of you are part of this, yes, but one can not get too close to the fort just yet. For one, in a great ring around it on the hillside, they've entrenched and buried 'X's' made of iron that serve to break up additional formations. And there's the cannon, of course. It would appear that you're out of the cannon range just at the moment, or they're merely conserving ammunition. 

 

Either way, you're looking at the start of what is going to be possibly be a long, long siege.

 

SiAmun has reconnected.

 

SiAmun has partially disconnected.

 

Chiddle is most definitely smoking today, a cigarette rather than his usual pipe. Pipes were good when you were already relaxed, but the rollup is helping to calm the gnome's nerves. He's seen more action in the last couple of months than his entire life so far, and he's come a long way, but... that is one really, really impressive castle up ahead. And the cannon it houses is thought to be a marvel of engineering. And it's full of... well, who really knows what, when it comes to the Myyrish. Goblin and Orc mecinaries, Human traitor captains, hobgoblins and undead, all in ample supply, most likely. Not a thought the gnome cherishes.

 

Srassha yanks at the bridle, snuffling. Great dollops of drool ooze down to the ground, her own agitation to lung forward and being held back by rider. And said rider does exactly that--the feet fit loosely in the stirrups, and a borrowed lance, with Myrrish mark, lies against the leg and shoulder. Darshan sits astride Srassha near Xander--and holds out a list, paperwork, of some kind. "Is this all?" he asks the mage, at length. As though well--as though, he expects the other to have the answers. "Mrm...one felt the list would be longer."

 

Arianwen, laden down with Myrrish supplies (tents and the like), strides alongside one of the columns of soldiers, looking more burdened than usual. Huzzah, lending a hand with setup. Her face is unreadable beneath her cowl, but as her eyes get their first good look at the Bludgun defensive position, she emits a low, impressed whitle.

 

".... I am going to require new songs for the upcoming days, I fear..." Ceres murmurs, as she looks up at the fort, and between and betwixt them all, all the fortifications and formations.

 

Ellarian rides along, having recoverd from the recent strings of battles, and seems much more at ease, T'lor riding on his shoulder now instead of scouting ahead as usual, preening himself as his friend trots along on the warhorse's back. Ellarian seems to be meditating for now his eye's meer slits.

 

Xander gazes off into the gloom. Gods only know how long he's been out here, doing whatever duty he'd been appointed to (overseeing the placement of the junior mages into their proper contingents, possibly?). He looks a bit fatigued, but at least the bulk of the job is done. For once, he'd not on horseback, perhaps to not present too tempting a target. And then, there's a lizard, bearing MORE work. He takes the paper, miraculously supressing a sigh and looking through it.

 

Aleron seems to be sitting at the edge of the periphery, sitting on... a briefcase... So it IS useful for something other than frightening the masses! He seems... to be eerily acting lazy as he takes swings from a flask while watching the battlescape.

 

Meyla is mounted today and sits her saddle with a natural ease. She watches the sight shakes her head a bit. She is a little further back, still a scout, not much of a front line type person. She wishes her wife wasn't busy elsewhere at the moment but in war one has to do what one has to do. She just watches for a moment, waiting to see if something is going to start or if she will be given orders of some kind.

 

     Seated alone, is the mercenary warrior Si-Amun. At the moment, he is eating some food.. Other soldiers are nearby, but are seated across from him, while he eats. The work has been stead, along with the pay.. No undead to deal with of late, so thats cool for him. His helm is laid nearby, is basically silent, glancing around occasionally

 

Having signed on for a more direct involvement with the war effort after partaking in a few lucrative extraneous contracts, Jareth marches along with the rest of the Myrrish siege forces. Laden with a pack of field supplies, the young fighter pauses an instant to wipe at his brow and scratch at his matted hair under his open-faced helm. Upon seeing the looming fortress, his breath catches for an instant, and then comes out in a sharp exhale, "This will be a long day indeed."

 

Arianwen sets down the Myrrish supplies at the feet of the sublieutenant who asked her to carry them, where they will presumably be distributed to soldiers too busy carrying ballistae bolts to carry tents. With a tiny smile for the officer, she moves off, light-stepped by comparison now, towards more familiar faces. Her cloak ripples with the motion of her stretching out the taut muscles on her shoulders and neck. "Xander, Darshan, Srassha," she murmurs, nodding and looking them over for any war wounds they've acquired since last they hung out. Chicks dig scars. Right.

 

The warhorse known as Strider chomps a little at the bit and glances backwards to it's rider, the knight known as Gauvain. He sits on the mighty warhorse and pats the horse's neck with an gloved hand. A shield is strapped to his arm, and his eyes gaze upward toward the Fort. He himself is not far from Darshan. on the saddle horn rests an ornate helm, the match to the immaculate plate mail he wears. He is silent, and his gaze is long on the fort they are destined to take. He looks over toward Darshan and watches the exchange between him and the mage Zander before gazing around him. Spieing a few people he regognizes. He nods to them, and then his gaze returns to the Fort once more.

 

With a faint smile, Darshan produces a second set of papers to be handed over, and hand them he does. "If you're sure, I think that's everything," pause, "You might also take a look at these. They're the--" he nods to the other, previous papers, as he then turns to grasp something from the saddle. "--'basic magical supply' items referred to on the more general list I just gave you." And this--he grasps hold of it by the neck and twists this around his hand to lift it. It has a slightly soft look, and...a slightly familiar scent. Bat...guan...any mage might recognize it, or the items that may be contained therein. The paladin's face is now--the smile's become a grin. He looks from Xander and nods, to Ari. "Ev--good day?" trying out the greeting. "I'm just checking some of the last...supplies. And giving Xander his."

 

Setting his pack down, Jareth looks about and mutters a curse under his breath. Not a time for modesty anyway, he proceeds to remove his lighter shirt of mail and replaces it with a denser full suit of the interlocked steel links, taking the time to make sure the padded undersuit is comfortable before starting to cinch on the hauberk and sleeves.

 

Chiddle pets his dog slightly, the riding dog isn't intimidated by the battlefield- like many large dogs, he's been trained for war. Chiddle tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground, ad then stomps it out. He begins tinkering with the devices at his wrists, making sure they're properly calibrated.

 

Xander glances at the, ah, package Darshan is holding. His brows arch, slightly. "I do hope each component is individually wrapped, as asked?" he inquires, tentatively. Yes, bat guano and sulphur mix. You don't want it getting on the other stuff. He nods a return greeting to Arianwen. He doesn't seem to have gotten any readily visible new scars (that is, none above neck level, as that's more or less how much of him currently isn't clothed).

 

"Heave! Heave! Heave!" 

 

Artillerymen are bringing their cannons up, pushing and pulling. There's simply not enough horses to do all the heavy lifting that has to be done, after all. At least the cannon are on wheels in most cases, right? Right? 

 

Other siege equipment, old fashioned ballista, trebuchet, and catapault drawn from the Myrrish reserves are *also* being brought out. Might as well use them, right? Right. 

 

Siege equipment is everywhere, yes, and numerous airships can be seen in the sky above. Command of the skies now belongs to the Myrrish as Kinnevack's airship corps have been forced further back with the seizure of several landing places for them by Myrrish forces, though there's likely still a few in the confines of Gettys itself, its unlikely that they are going to be able to see any use with such coverage.

 

Valadhiel has arrived.

 

"Indeed," Arianwen responds, eyes flicking to the soft pouch, then between the two. Finally they alight upon Gauvain's shiny armor and unworn helm, and she bites her lower lip, obviously holding back some sort of snarky comment, and says instead, "Your horse looks strong, and that equipment is heavy." She chins meaningfully at men tugging on a catapault string.

 

Meyla cocks her head to the side a little and sighs a bit. She misses the Vast at this point, not much seiges going on there. She shakes her head and smiles a bit. She then turns to watch, after all she really hasn't seen many catapults and seige engines before.

 

Darshan looks at the bag, and then looks at...he hands the bag over without much fanfare. "One hopes that's the case. You've intimidated a number of the deliverymen, Magus," solemn, and a glint of gentle humor twinkles there. He raises his hand, greeting Gauvain, Ceres--and Srassha lifts her head. Fluffing up her scales in Arianwen's presence. /I/ am the prettier jungle princess! that says, to the elf. Strut. Unfortunately, one of the struts takes her nearer one of the rolling canon--the tail lures, wriggles near a set of rolling and heady wheels.

 

Ellarian emit comes out of his trance when Petro comes to a halt, "What is it boy.." as Ellarian leans forewards a bit to pat the warhorse's neck. He then look up and nods. "Ahh were here hmm. " as he look around catching sight of a few people he's seen before and even battled with. He even catches sight of the woman he met yesterday before the tunnel incident the one called Meyla and smiles.

 

Aleron finally gets up from his briefcase and guzzling, throwing the flask on his belt and the briefcase into a set of straps on the back of his backpack 'shell'. He yawns and snaps his jowls like a cat before staring at the siege weapons being mobilized, tucking his hands into his pocket. Slacker.

 

Catching sight of Magus, Paladin, and Srassha (and Arianwen, too), Ceres diverts her course to make her way over towards the small party. "It is good to see you all in such fine health..."

 

Xander doesn't seem particularly inclined to look inside the bag right now. He carefully sets it inside one of the nearby tents before returning to the place from which he's been keeping vigil. "Thank you for bringing it. It saves me a bit of work." he says to Darshan with a gentle nod of emphasis. Another nod, a deeper one, is offered as greeting to the bard as she approaches. There's a glance at the siege devices being brought in, his eyes flickering to Srassha, with a bit of amusement. "Make sure she doesn't break anything?" he asides to her owner. She is strutting so carelessly!

 

Valadhiel gathers her bow and everything, wandering over to take a look around. She tilts her head, "What's all this, then?" She seems to have missed the news, whatever that was.

 

Gran has arrived.

 

Strut! Srassha backs up a single step, and then forward a single step. The tail swishes and lashes, arcing (she thinks) grandly as she poises for all to see. /She/ is the prettiest jungle princess! Her rider looks no such thing--a wry, bland look with humor to it. "One has found," strut! goes Srassha! "it's best not to interfere with the interworkings of the females," bland. And, on that note, "Evening, Ceres," as one more of such fearsome nature joins the group. And as the engines go by, he eyes them.

 

Chiddle's dog, unfortunately, is not really big enough to help shift heavy siege engines and, in truth, neither is Chiddle. Besides, he needs time to get his own weapons of war up and running- he didn't have all the parts to replace what was burned by the recent acid bath, so he's practically re-invented the devices. The arcane engine that feeds them is now integrated into a backpack, and he's jsut finishing off making sure the connections are all lined up and leak-proof.

 

Finishing up with the change of armor, Jareth heads over towards Gauvain as he fastens his belt and baldric at his waist. Unslinging his shield, he stops a couple of paces away from the Paladin and his mount, "Good to see you again. I foresee the smell of spilt blood filling our nostrils today."

 

Karelin has arrived.

 

Gauvain blinks when he's addressed and looks toward the siege equipment. "Strider is strong." He states with a nod and then gestures with his chin and a finger point toward the Fortress. "But, I'm saving his strength for that. He's going to have to lug me in battle, and he's not as young as he used to be." The horse turns a baleful glare toward his rider. The Knight offers a smile and slight rub of the horse's neck. "You know it's true buddy. where this Five years earlier I wouldn't have been able to stop you from pulling all the siege equipment." Strider snorts and looks away. 

 

 Gauvain looks over to Arianwen and smiles at her. "It's nice to see you here. Your marksmenship will be needed as we advance, and it's good to know a friend has one's back." He looks aorund and raises an eyebrow. "You're more then welcome to ride behind me if you want to advance faster accross the field."

 

With a nod to Jareth Gauvian says, "Alot of it. That Fort is known to be a vicious bastard to take."

 

Arianwen rolls her head back on her neck to regard Srassha, shaking her head at the wayward tail. Very clumsy for a Princess, her body language suggests. More teasing than that, though, she refrains from; the grave situation has her attention, and after returning Ceres' greeting with a quiet nod, and Gauvain's offer with a shake of her head, she moves off to lend an extra pair of hands with the heavy lifting. Evidently she is less convinced that violence is going to ensue today, and more convinced that the human army could use a little adventurer sweat.

 

Meyla has disconnected.

 

Karelin comes up from the rear, tromping along in his black battleplate and a pack full of supplies.

 

Even as you all continue your approach towards Gettys in that slow, gradual way that armies of this size move, you can see that the current owners of the fort are in no way idle. They too are continuing preperations. The gate has long since been drawn up and those present here seem to be manning the ramparts en masse, musket, bow and crossbow all at the ready in organized structure. Defensive batteries too are at various points, kept covered and concealed by their positions in the walls. 

 

The fort itself is the shape of a star and is o ne of the more advanced Myrrish castles in design, its great walls easily thirty or thirty five feet in height, imposing to say the least. 

 

Slowly, the army begins to encircle the fort, cutting off all visible lines of support. But as those present have had some experience with, well, they've proven to be pretty masterful tunnelers.

 

Aleron walks up toward the gathering of... 'irregulars', staying quiet all the while, his steps seemingly slow, but steady... as if he had a measure to drink, but not too much to lose genuine control over himself.

 

Darshan grasps hold of the saddle horn as the army slows, and drops. It takes a while for Srassha to notice--I am /not/ clumsy! that seems to say. She looks...she sniffs, and holds her head higher, and pretends that Arianwen Does Not Exist. Sniff. And at which point..."I'm going to go help settle the engines," solemn, "I'm mrm, not doing too much here. ...Srassha, girl," he says gently. And..."I need you to guard the--" her head comes up. Perks. "--guard the Magus," he finishes. And Srassha looks So Proud. She has been given something to do! A Sacred Task! Take THAT, Arianwen!

 

Ceres lifts her hand to cover her mouth, as the raptor-lizard struts at the guarding duty, before she looks forward again. The smile fades a bit, as the bard remains uncharacteristically silent.

 

Xander merely watches the swiftclaw a moment, before turning to the lines of soldiers once again, sweeping his gaze across them, and on to the Fort looming up front from its little hill. He frowns a little, but says nothing right this moment. And manages to look dignified in spite of the fact there is probably a giant drooling lizard sloping said drool around him right now.

 

Gran goes OOC.

 

Gran has left.

 

Valadhiel hrms, looking up towards the fort, whistling a bit under her breath as she glances over towards some of the others gathered.

 

    Ellarian remains seated and mostly out of the way while they set up the camp, figguring that in due time if they need him somewhere they will let him know 

 

Karelin's eyes slit as Getty's crawls into view. He grumbles a little, and tries to find an artillerist. "Someone tested the shields lately?" He looks... determined. Also, he's showing a lot of new, pink skin, and his hair is very short. Very short. As if its just growing back.

 

Chiddle is finally done checking that everythign is working, and he looks up, watching the moving shapes in the distance. he begins to gravitate towards Arianwen and the seige engines, ad he eyes one of them. he decides that, since he only comes up to the waists of those currently pushing it, that there really isn't anything he can do to help.

 

SiAmun finishes off his meal, then whatever he was sipping, tossing the remains into the fire, and to whatever animals, might be about for scraps. The warrior begins to stretch, and soon he rises donning his helm..

 

Arianwen continues to heave, and while her muscles work, her mind whirls. After she's drenched in sweat and forming some new and exciting blisters -- heavy lifting isn't a normal part of her life, she travels light -- she returns to the others, looking at the earth beneath her feet thoughtfully. "I wish it were colder. Frozen ground."

 

Srassha shakes herself off, and struts over to stand near Xander. She looks proud, apparently and the tail swishes this way and that, and she stands up for all ten feet of her height. Poor Xander. His hand is nudged, and great-sized eyes given. Food? that says. And, Don't tell Darshan.

 

Said stodgy rider makes his way along towards the siege engines as they're settled into the grasses and earthchurn. And the...earthchurn. He finds one of them and walks towards it.

 

Ceres chuckles, and shakes her head, "You have a new admirer, Xander.." she teases the magus, before looking around. The sight of a pinkened and shorn Karelin causes a slight frown to appear, as she tilts her head.

 

    With a click of his tongue Ellarian nudges Petro up further, closer to the newly being constructed Siege Engines and cocks his head a bit, having never employyed them before, as he and his people had very little use for them.

 

"It would indeed be easier." Xander says to Arianwen, "But at the same time, harder on the troops themselves." He, gallantly, offers her a handkerchief to wipe her hands and face off, miraculously managing to keep it away from Srassha's curious nose by distracting the swiftclaw with a pat and some neck-scratching (and it's some damn powerful neck-scratching, else she wouldn't feel it through her thick hide!). No food is produced quite yet. Ceres' remark is snorted at, amusedly. "For as long as I have a treat for her, yes." There is still no treat, though. He better have one! "How have you been, minstrel?"

 

Perhaps he has. Srassha nudges Xander's fingers again, nudges and nudges...and, much the way of a dog burrowing underneath someone's arm, attempts to do this to the unfortunate mage. Beam. Happy. The tail sways behind. It's her own version of guarding, apparently. Or, perhaps it's a not-so-secret attempt to be Immediately In Place in case some treats do happen to show.

 

Karelin nods towards Ceres with a wry grin. He wipes a hand over his head, and then nods towards Xander and Darshan. He approaches the big lizard (not Srassha), and asks: "How're you feeling?"

 

Arianwen has disconnected.

 

Arianwen has connected.

 

Arianwen accepts the hankerchief with a quiet thank-you, returning it grimey and sweat-soaked. "I meant magic," she murmurs to Xander with the very smallest possible smile to still be worthy of the name.

 

"I am well enough; and too busy to be properly crafting any songs, unfortunately.." Ceres mourns briefly, before offering Kareling a quick grin and a nod.

 

Aleron has disconnected.

 

And the circle begins to close as the sun sets, men settling into their positions for the first of many long nights ahead for the siege of Gettys. It is then, of course, that a man makes his appearance. It is just just any man, of course, but rather, one whose presence here on the front has since seen.

 

His reddish-blonde hair and distinctive armor allow anyone on the field of battle to recognize this Son of the Lion Throne. 

 

Prince Verin has begun to make his approach, flanked on either side by guards made purely of iron, towering over him with great steel blades. The golems are ever present with him and unfaltering in their loyalty. And that's without touching on the phalanx of elite *human* guards always with him. One can understand that, after all, a prince is a tempting target for an assassin's blade at an hour like this. And it would appear that the prince, in front of everyone, is closing in on the great doorway to Gettys, a flag of truce and parley held up by one his men. Seems he's wanting to talk to someone from the fort.

 

Srassha beams. The tail shifts and moves and she beams. If there are treats, she, the fierce jungle princess, will be the first to get them. And so on, and so forth. Poor Xander. 

 

Her rider, eventually, does come back. Mud cakes his armor, and his smile--a crooked half-thing, like he's not sure of it. "They have...I've never. Seen, some of the things they're pulling out," solemn. The half-smile fades, becomes more serious. "And they've brought the Prince."

 

"I couldn't possibly freeze the entire battlefield." Xander offers in return to Arianwen, his own tone lightly jesting, waving his hand in a 'keep it' gesture far as the handkerchief is concerned. Alas, poor handkerchief. We knew thee well. Karelin's greeting is returned, the nod ruined a little by being repeatedly poked and nudged at by the swiftclaw. She's given another friendly pat for her efforts. "That's good." he asides to Ceres, but he is distracted from both her and Srassha by the Prince's approach to the gates, further off. Idly, he tosses a bit of dried jerky over a shoulder for the swiftclaw to catch, to buy himself a moment of not being nudged and pestered. After all, she did a good job of, uh, protecting him till Darshan returned, right?

 

Arianwen shrugs. "Summoning elementals to harden rock, or bringing in iron shapes. I was taught that your power is limited only by the imagination." Then she spots The Prince, and shuts up to watch the goings-on. Reflexively she pulls her bow, always ready for trouble when The Target is around.

 

     Ellarian sighs and moves to find himself a good flat spot to lay down. pulling out a bed roll and unrolls it, he then removes the saddle from Petro and gives him the guard command. While T'lor flys and lands on the pommel of the saddle once its placed on the ground.

 

The slime should keep most away, most assuredly. Xander's comment is given a slight nod, before her attention is drawn towards the Prince as well. "Giving a chance to surrender, first?"

 

Xander has disconnected.

 

Valadhiel hrms, "Or something, perhaps." She gets a cunning look on her face, but doesn't say what she's thinking.

 

Chiddle glances up, alert again when the Prince arrives, and he begins making his way towards thef ront of the lines to get a bit closer and, just maybe, get within range to see what's going on. He won't break the lines to do it, though, and especially won't do anything that might make those guards, or golems, agitated.

 

Gauvain shrugs and lifts his helmet placing it on his head. He gins to fasten the straps with practiced hands. "Standard order of battle for Royalty. He'll approach, or given his postion, have a representative approach. Give an offer for Parlay. The Bludguns will likely refuse as I can't imagine the offer ebing anything less then unconditional surrender of the Fortress and it's defenders." He shrugs. "Then we'll attack. Or The Official will be shot at ending negotiations before they begin." The knight finishes strapping on his helm. "I've seen it exactly Fifteen times."

 

Settling himself over by one of the fires amongst the irregular forces, Jareth rigs up a cast-iron tripod stand over the flames. Placing a small iron pot into the support ring, he begins the process of cutting and peeling anything edible that he can find in the food store rations provided to the men, pouring in some water from one skin, and after a testing sniff, something a little more potent from another.

 

Xander has connected.

 

A slow blink. Registering that. Registering his mount stepping backwards, and...she keeps an eye on the wild elf as she backsteps towards the jerky, backsteps... 

 

"...it's...possible," quiet, solemn. Darshan turns and looks over Karelin's pinkstubblehead. "...I'm expecting the Bludguni might do something spectacular. Sort of strutting out their no," pause, pause, pause, "...Karelin. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm suddenly so damn glad I don't have any hair to regrow."

 

Gauvain says, "It's why I'm wearing a helmet. Shortly afte rthe fall fo galenthia..." he shudders. "Let's jsut say I look terrible bald and the hair regrows in patches.""

 

Valadhiel blinks in surprise at the Sith, then looks over at Karelin, "Karelin? Is that you? I didn't even recognize you." She looks a little startled, to say the least.

 

Karelin grins at Darshan. "Truly. At least you don't discolour in the flames."

 

The jaw slowly closes. Stare. A sudden blink to snap his gaze back to Srassha, "Ah...yes," solemn. While his thoughts are probably roaring: pink. stubble. head. With the training that says: Do. Not. Stare.

 

But...but...

 

Pinkstubblehead!

 

Blink-cough. "My ah, scales were the color of that. ...aaaaannyway."

 

Eventually, the gate to the fort slowly opens and a trio of Hobgoblins ride out on horse back, a white flag up above them indicating their desire to communicate with the Prince and his officials. It isn't long before the two of them are greeted by the Prince, his Seneschal, and the numerous soldiers and guards with them. 

 

The conversation is held. Right there. In front of everyone, and what's being said is quickly being transferred down the lines...at least *somewhat* intact. 

 

"I have no time for games or diplomacy," says the Prince, "You will surrender immediately in the face of overwhelming force or we will make you surrender alongside the deaths of an overwhelming numbers of your brothers in arms. I do not particularly care which, but you will no longer enslave my people to do your bidding. Those who surrender will be treated fairly and transferred to an internment camp where you will be fed and repatriated at the end of the conflict." 

 

The Hobgoblin, a stern looking, blue-nosed, orange colored creature dressed in a highly official uniform and breastplate, shakes his head at the Prince. 

 

"I do not understand the meaning of this word? 'Surrender'? It is not going to happen," his accent is a little thick, "you say you have overwhelming power? We have not yet begun to fight. We *will* defend this fort with honor and we *will* see you crash upon its walls uselessly. Myrrish construction, you know, is a fabulous thing, I have learned."

 

Idly, the Xander sweeps a hand across his sleeve, where swiftdrool managed to drip and smear while he was being nudge nudge prod nudged - and causing it to vanish instantly, and the cloth to dry itself. What drool? Besides that, though, he's silent. No, he's not even pointing and laughing (or staring) at Karelin. He's just watching the officials do their pre-battle honorwork.

 

Karelin glances over towards Valadhiel. "Indeed. Fire will do that." He grins back at Darshan, the scars just making it all worse. "Behold the power of healing." He just grins towards the officials, gaze settling on the hobgoblin.

 

Valadhiel smirks, "Honor from Bludgun? I shall have to revise my opinion of hobgoblin senses of humor." She shakes her head, then glances over at Karelin, chuckling a bit, "It is a bit of a radical change, but I'm glad you're not seriously hurt."

 

SiAmun begins to move towards where other mercenary forces are of all sorts, passing within a few feet of the paladin and company. Though no words are exchanged of course, nor does he look in their general direction, but is aware of them in the vicinity

 

Arianwen follows the conversation with twitching ears. "Some of them seem to have something similar," she murmurs back towards Valadhiel, "Or the version they've learned from lives of hardship."

 

Chiddle watches intently as the negotiations progress or, more accurately, hit a brick wall as soon as they begin. he tries not to look too tense, he doesn't do a very good job of it, though the production of another cigarette does seem to help himr elax a little.

 

Darshan half-turns around, and perhaps too cheerfully finds interest in the goings-on ahead. After a while, he grasps hold of his helm, and--drops it back into place. It clicks, and lets out a faint, hissing of steam. Srassha, for her part, has found the jerky and couldn't be happier. For the moment, it looks like Xander has his respite.

 

But she knows he has more jerky. Perhaps she sneaks covert, sneaky-looks.

 

Jareth purses his lips as he gets wind of more and more details of the parley taking place in the middle of the battlefield. Nodding slowly, he continues on with his task of getting together whatever slop he can to fill bellies before the siege begins.

 

"Bought what I figured." Gauvian says idly. He begins to check the straps to his armor, assuring it's perfectly set on his frame. Once he's done he picks up his shield from where it hung on the side of Strider's saddle set up. He beigns the process of strapping it to his arms. He looks to Darshan, "I'd make ready Brother. The Prince will either order us to assault it as a show of force, or tell us to do it in the morning. If it's the latter, it won't hurt to be ready." He nods to Arianwen at her assesment and finishes up the strapping of his shield. He grins to Jareth. "Whatever you're cooking. I'll be glad to share it and the special ingrediant after we find out if there will be fighting tonight." Once the Shield is on, he reaches into the saddle bag and pulls out an apple. Giving it to Strider. Then he pulls out a piece of salted, Dried meat and throws it to Ssrasha. He winks at Darshan. "I like her. You should get some more of her kind so we cna have a cav force of them for the Order. It would be ... Scaley." 

 

 The shiney man tried to make a joke. Really he did. He chuckles lightly.

 

    The druid Ellarian continues to rest on his bed roll, accompionied by his Hawk and warhorse. Petro is currently grazing by the druid

 

Karelin looks towards Valadhiel amusedly. "Well, I'm not now. The crater was quite impressive, and I'm convinced that my armour was the only thing holding me together." One hand snakes out and bangs Darshan on a big vambrace. "Its okay to stare, you know. I know you want to."

 

Jareth leans forward to smell the fruits of his labour. Wrinkling his nose, he chews his lip before shrugging and looking at Gauvain, "Fair enough. Although, I am starting to suspect that I'd feel guilty making the enemy eat this stuff." and then scanning about, "In fact, do we have any gourds we could ladle this into and throw at them? They'd be hard-pressed to defend that fort when they're all likely to be overtaken with a sudden and overwhelming need to all rush to the privy."

 

"I...they're...not like that in the wild," humored, but Darshan hadn't expected that line of reasoning, that suggestion. Nor had he expected to be made to clang, bell-like (armor will do this thing), so he stares, blinks. And were he human--he'd color. But scales are scales, and the similar is expressed in a long, slow blink. "That is the damn ugliest haircut I've ever seen," solemn. He seems to think the other will take it well.

 

Arianwen bats a single eye at Srassha's antics; it's all she has to spare. She's much more interested in potential Bludgun antics; regardless of her beliefs about their honor or lack thereof, she seems to be at high alert, nearly trembling at the tension between the two sides.

 

More meat for Srassha from Gauvain? Good - that means Xander's free to not get lizarded for a while yet. The mage's arms cross, his expression ponderous, with a sharper frown that casts shadows on his face. Makes him look kinda scary, actually. "Hobgoblins are highly disciplined - soldiers through and through. Even those not of Blar may have their own codes of honor, but their Bludguni masters in this conflict likely do not." he asides, briefly taking part in the discussion, his voice hushed so as to not block out the drift of words exchanged at the gates.

 

    Ellarian sits up and offers his arm to T'lor and says a few words to he Hawk and toss'em into the air. The hawk flys the field and near the woodlands, seemingly to be in searching for something. About an half hour later the Hawk can be seen in the distance, flying low, with something small clutched in it's talons. Headed directly back towards the Wild elf Druid Ellarian.

 

Karelin grunts. "Do you have -opinions- about haircuts?"

 

"I imagine you think that this is clever? Listen," says Prince Verim, leaning forward and speaking loudly and clearly, "you are lucky that I even offer you this chance. Typically, we do not offer such terms to thieves and wretches whose masters commit acts of treachery so vile. But as you will. If you're inclined to refuse surrender and wish us to take the fort by force, we will, in due time. You have a little time to consider your course of action -- but perhaps a demonstration is in order, no? You may return your fort." 

 

The Hobgoblins glance amongst each other, nodding. This seems to be more or less what they expected. "Yes, sir. We will be honored to die with our brothers. There can be no finer a fate for one of us. As long as we hold that fort, we buy time for our brothers in Sendor to prepare. Even if you defeat us, you will pay for every step into those lands. They belong to Bludgun now." 

 

"You may *return*. Before I lose my patience." 

 

The Hobgoblins salute and then turn, marching back towards their houses and going back inside Gettys. The gate is drawn up after them. 

The prince straightens up and lifts his voice. "Since our generous terms of surrender have been denied, it is time you got a taste of what is to come!" 

 

He holds his hand up, a glowing crystal glinting in the dwindling light. 

 

A winged shadow falls over army. 

 

A great, winged shadow. There can be no mistaking its source for what it is. A dragon. A great, bronze dragon with a Dragon Knight upon its back. He's been seen before, of course, during the battles for the high grounds. With him are a trio of Myrrish airships and the four of them begin flying *directly* towards the fort.

 

Karelin looks up, wincing, noting again. "I hope that they're taking those shields into account."

 

Valadhiel hrms, "I bet that they are... they aren't that foolish, I'd wager." She does look a touch concerned, though.

 

Srassha dances back and underneath the arcing meat--aim, aim....GLOMP!

 

Blink. Stare at Karelin.

 

Stare, stare, stare.

 

Darshan rips his gaze away and back towards the interplay and what he can see. "In the wild, they...turn...on their owners, if they think they can. Srassha's Daeus-blessed," the tail flickers, and he lowers his head a moment, still--still with horrible after-burn images of the pink. stubble. head. 

 

That's going to last for /days/.

 

"Ah...no. No, I don't think so."

 

And then. Then there are dragons.

 

Gauvain watches the display and grunts once. "Yupp. A show of force." He turns to Darshan to say something, and notices the Sith's eyes and follows them. He leans down from strider to get as close as he cna before whispering to Darsdhan. 'Don't worry Brother. One day you'll be a big boy too."

 

     The hawn T'lor drops the object into Ellarians hands, who proceeds to skin the rabbit, while Hawk lets out a screech and then comes in for a landing waiting for his usual treats for bringing in the meat. Ellarian toss's the hawk tid-bits of the rabbit and then calls out. "Anyone need meat for there meals!" as he continues to skin the rabbit as "Not much here but your welcome to it.!"

 

Arianwen has never seen a dragon, 'tame' dragon or otherwise, so close before. Her eyes go enormous, the dark green like holes in her head, eyebrows straight up. Her throat pulses with a forced inhalation of spit, and her lips tremble a little. Her hands, however, remain steady on their bow, but only by the utmost effort of will.

 

Jareth was about to lean forward and taste test whatever he's drummed up in that pot when the dragon's shadow drifted across the encampment. The ladle's contents dribble down to the trodden grass and dirt at the young warrior's feet as he can't take his eyes off the magnificent sight above. There are some things in this world that one simply can never be prepared to witness. For Jareth, this is one of them.

 

Xander looks up at the dragon's flight over the armies. He nods, a tiny nod more for himself than directed at anyone in the vicinity. It seems he pretty much expected the great beast to show, what with the promise of no resources being held back that the Prince had made when he arrived. He just settles in to wait, perhaps a bit more tense than his usual - it's hard to tell, he's always tense. His fingers flex, momentarily, complete with quiet pops.

 

Arngrim has arrived.

 

Ceres just watches. For now, that is what it is time for. Later is to figure out what rhymes with 'dragon'.

 

Srassha looks up...and up. And sniffs. She heads back towards her rider, with great, big steps. Slower steps, steps that seem to drag, and he--he doesn't notice. He's staring overhead and towards the dragon, saying not a. blessed. word. Srassha stops, and looks at him. And lowers her head towards the grass.

 

Somewhere, a grey dragon mutters "... nobody ever reacted to me like that..."

 

--------------------  At a glance around The Front Lines  --------------------

 

Arngrim           2m 8'9"     1045 Lb    Giant-Blood                 

    An impossibly colossal man. Did we mention he's huge?                     

 

Karelin           1m 6'2"     232 Lb     Human             Male      

    Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.                          

 

Valadhiel        42s 5'2"     105 Lb                                      An elfmaid with dark auburn hair.                                          

 

SiAmun            6m 7'2"     355 Lb                                 

    Dark-skinned, muscular, tattooed young highborn male.                     

 

Ellarian          1m 5'5"     145 Lb                                      A medium height bronzed skined elf with ruddy red hair and peircing grey  

 

Gauvain           6m 6'2"     213 Lb                                 

    A tall brown haired armored man.                                          

 

Darshan           0s 6'4"     274 Lb     Sith'makar        Male      

  Mechagodzilla                                                             

 

Chiddle          20s 3'4"     44 Lb                                  

    Dark haired gnome dressed in in Artificer's garb.                         

 

Ceres             2m 5'8"     130 Lb     Grey Elf          Female    

    Silver-haired elf, tall and extremely graceful                            

 

Neynos            1m 6'3"     130 lbs L                              

    A thin red-haired human in slightly unkempt clothing.                     

 

Jareth            3m 6'2"     197 Lb                                 

    Tall young man with a strong build, wearing a chain shirt.                

 

Arianwen         31s 5'0"     93 Lb      Wild Elf          Female    

    Gray cloak, shock of red hair beneath. Bow, sword.                        

 

Xander            3m 6'1"     184 Lb                                 

    Tall, handsome, goatee-wearing human mage.                                

 

Whirlpool         1m           Lb                                    

 

                                                                             

==============================================================================

 

Chiddle watches the spectacle from the ground, observing the dragon, and the airships that accompany it, flying overhead. He seems, as can be expected, rather impressed by the display. And can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy for the crews of those airships. If only HE could be manning one of those huge anti airship cannons...

 

There are cheers. Great cheers that erupt for the sight of the dragon over Gettys, yes, cheers from the Myrrish forces that are both awed and pleased. There are, indeed, magical shields over Gettys. As the dragon closes in, these great semi-solid auras seem to cover the top of the fort in a dome, no doubt created by some sort of generator from within. But that doesn't seem to be a concern to the Prince. Indeed, he looks unconcerned about it as one can get. Whatever plan they're placing into action seems to've taken the fort's 'shields' into account.. 

But that's when thigns change considerably. No plan survives contact with the enemy and this one is no exception. 

Something changes. First, one of the airships near the dragon suddenly seems to *explode*. It's cut in twain by something that crashed right through it from above, shearing it in twain. These two pieces break apart into many more, beginning to come down on the friendly lines. That's not a good thing.

 

Almost immediately, one can see the source of the problem. 

 

It's another dragon. 

 

Well, it is shaped like a dragon. Except it's *not* alive. Rather, it was what was once a living dragon, but now is no longer. Rather, it's a great skeletal beast with baleful, glowing red eyes. And it bears a rider in black armor, not unlike the dragon knight upon the living one. 

 

Within seconds, the two are engaged. And forces on both side of the line watch in shocked awe.

 

Darshan's jaw drops, and he lets go a long, rattling hiss. The tail lashes, churns against the earth and Srassha stops her slinking to step next to her rider. "I think we're done with the jerky for today, girl," he says, still staring. He jerks his gaze away, looks at her--and then it's back up to the sky.

 

Valadhiel has disconnected.

 

SiAmun having been standing and watching this for some time. The eys narrow slightly, as he views the battle above, seems the other warrior in black is noted, and wonders about this indead, a dragon alone is nothing too be trilfed with, but an undead on? A slight shake of his head.. it won't be long before the signal for ground forces.

 

Gauvain says, "Oh. Well Shit." Gauvain says. For the first time in plain common and not in Celestial Gauvain swears. First time for everything eh? He looks to Darshan as he draws his blade. Then looks back to the battle taking place. Strider, ebing naturallyu afraid of his predators raises a horse eyebrow. As if to say 'Oh good. They make dead versions of those. Wonderful' The knight on the mount's back raises his sword arm and claps the visor down."

 

"They're not down here...not yet, Brother," Darshan steps back towards Srassha, going for his mount, too. He grasps hold the saddle horn and hauls himself upward, the both of them--looking towards the sky. And he doesn't even notice he's talking. Speaking. Voice hollow. "Maugrim's rolling around with Thul underneath the sheets again. That's what this is."

 

    Ellarian finish's skinning the rabbit and then looks for the company cook and hands it over and checks to see if there's someone who can properly cure the skin so to not waste it and then returns to his bed to get his gear. "Seems the fun starts early guys." he says to both the Hawk and the warhorse.

 

Arianwen screams, but it's a shout of defiance, a trilling, furious war cry, urging the bronze dragon (and friendly airships) onward. She nocks an arrow to her bow and sights for a long moment, trying to decide what the vital point is on an undead dragon. Finally, as though to settle the debate with herself, she gives the tiniest of shrugs, expressed externally even though the debate is internal, and just tries to HIT it. "In the name of the human King!" Fwip! (And yeah, she doesn't know his name.)

 

A great airship piece comes crashing down next to Ellarian. The cook, whom he tried to hand a rabbit too, ran away screaming from it and was too busy staring in horror at the sight above him to take the rabbit in the first place. 

 

Meanwhile, men are heading in all directions to avoid the falling and flaming debris. It's breaking up the lines but, thankfully, the Bludgunners don't appear to be in a position to take advantage of it. Rather, they are staying safely beyond their walls, letting out cheers and 'oooh-rahs' from atop the battlements.

 

Why is everyone staring at the dragons?! Can nobody see the looming shadows?! "MOVE!!" Xander bellows, breaking into a sprint. "MOVE DAMN YOU, MOVE!" he directs soldiers and adventurers alike to get the hells out from below the pieces of the falling airship that had been ripped asunder by the skeletal abomination. The magus mutters obscenities (presumably) in the Wyrmtongue, screeching to a halt and causing dust to rise as he lifts his hands towards the sky - not once but twice, harshly, with a cry of Eldritch - causing many pieces of the falling vessel, one particularly large and deadly-looking, to slow their descent and buy people time to get away. There are also people, people who should be wearing gods-damned parachutes, survivors from the ship whose lives likely flashed before their eyes, that get caught by the spell's gentle embrace and touch down safely. Other pieces, though? Crash down. BAM! BAM!

 

    Ellarian is a bit startled when the first piece of debrie lands near him its one of those comic looks of oh!.. and then he tears off running as he dodges and weaves his way around trying to avoid any further peices of the air ship from landing on him.

 

Stare. Stare hard. "Yeah," and there are just some things too unholy for wards. Darshan invokes the grace of the Dragon in a symbol of the air in front of him. Twice, and, looking up at her rider, Srassha hurriedly mimics it, with sloppy raptor-arms like a child. Her legs step backwards, backwards. Carry them both, and her rider for his part guides that backwards-step towards Xander. "Xander. If we have to run, I will drag your ass off the field if you don't." Srassha...makes /another/ sign. She does not like.

 

Chiddle goes begin moving to avoid being crushed by fine myrrish engineering at.. uh, well, past it's prime, and he calls out a sharp whistle to call his canine companion to his side as they manage to avoid being crushed to death by giant flaming debris. This is not what he signed up for.

 

Karelin's teeth are bared as his lips skin back. Fists ball, knuckles crunch. He scowls. "Fuck Thul; I need to fly." Because getting in the middle of that is smart. Then he shakes himself and starts hustling people out of the way of the falling wreckage.

 

Debris falls around the Mounted Paladin and the Knight doesn't appear to take notice. His gave is still skyward however. He states very plainly to Darshan. "Yet is the opperative term Darshan." He levels a balde toward the Fort. "They're not in a position to take advantage of this yet, but again. Yet." he lowers the blade and let's Strider edge back. "Arianwen. I'm not sure it's a great idea to get that thing's attentiuon. Just yet."

 

SiAmun moves out of the way as well, hell we are all adventurers here, so make sure you are at least alive to fight and not ki;;ed by shrapnels of metal

 

The other airships begin to shift positions, trying to get themselves away from great, flying beasts and their battle, but they do open fire with their cannon on the undead monster, trying to assist their allie. 

 

Naturally, the two dragons are engaged with one another and the undead one seems to a speed and maneuverability advantage at the moment -- the reason for this becomes evident almost immediately. One of the wings of the bronze has been savagely torn in the intiial, furious assault by its counterpart and now that advantage is being pressed. The undead dragon drops down ontop of the bronze, sending them both *crashing* through a second airship that simply can't get out of the way in time, it's back third severed off completely. 

 

In a miracle and act of mastery of skymanship, however, they at least begin to steer their airships remains towards the ground away from the lines, rapidly descending and *slamming* into the ground in a thunderous, but possibly livable, crash. Bows, crossbow and musket fire begin erupting from the ground in support of the bronze.

 

The sight of the two battling dragons above is just too much to take in for Jareth. His arms hanging limp at his sides, he's captivated until he hears Xander's shouted commands. Snapping out of the fascination, his eyes fix on the flaming wreckage hurtling towards the camp from the skies above. He's on the move, shouting for others to do the same. Seeing non-military personnel about, he draws his sword and waves it in circles above his head and yells for them to move away to the rear borders of the camp.

 

Karelin unlimbers his bow, cursing. He bellows: "Xander. Do you have a flight spell?" There's an enemy -up-there-, and he's -down-here-. Dammit.

 

Apparently, those firing at the undead wyrm were inspired by Arianwen's act of defiance.

 

Arianwen runs at an oblique angle away from the airship debris she sees, only narrowly avoiding being crushed to death by flames, wood and metal. She continues to lend her arrows to the fight, volley after volley, the slender shafts of wood flying joyfully, defiantly aloft -- even if they, and their ammo-friends from other soldiers, only rarely find their target, torn asunder by debris more often than not. "FOR MYRRIDION!"

 

Chiddle spots the airship go down, and then starts running towards it, "That was an emergency landing, not a crash- there will be survivors!" He calls out, hoping to get someone, anyone's attention to help him start saving those survivors. When he gets there, he get shis canine companion to start draging one eprson out by the collar, while he himself struggles with someone somewhat taller than him.

 

    Having gotten clear of the first airship's debrie, he see's the second one crash land and once clear he swears and turns back rushing in to pull out any survivors he can find and begins dragging them out and into the clear. Once down he hits them with a cure minor to stabileze them if they need it and then he rush's back in to find more survivors.

 

Srassha ducks her head against the ground, bobs it. She's saying something, something, and slices the Dragon's mark again into the air in front of her. The entirety of her form twitches, the scales in small spasms saying, run, run, run. Her rider looks up wildly at the battling pair, the falling debris. "...Daeus preserve us, Brother," he says, tightly. He keeps the swift near the spellslinger, watching overhead. "Go help them if you can. I'm guarding this one," a hand's jerked towards the mage. "He's slowing the debris."

 

Turning to look at the gnome, Jareth sees the second crash and charges off after Chiddle to help him pull out survivors from the wreckage. Shielding his face from the fanning flames, he rushes in only to come back out with one airman slung over a shoulder, and dragging a second behind him by his forearm.

 

"I am somewhat busy here!" Xander roars back, a little irritably, around his shoulders the arm of a soldier from the first airship with a big, BIG wooden shaft that embedded itself right in his leg when the vessel splintered, leading him off to relative safety because the man cannot walk on his own. He checks, briefly, the pulse of another nearby, shaking his head as he finds no heartbeat. "You'll not be able to match their speed even if you were able to fly through magic - if you must aid the fight, get your hands on a bow!" he adds to Karelin above the whimpers of the injured soldier he's helping.

 

Karelin steps up beside Arianwen, and curves his great bow skyward. He starts sending a steady stream of shafts upwards with a cry of "Fuck you, Thul! You should have stayed down!" Which, really, is the whole issue with Thul anyhow.

 

Srassha--run, run, run. Her tail lashes, her feet dig into the earth. Silently, that says, I want to /move/. Her rider grasps hold of her, nearly rips into the rein as a chunk of ship drops by, shadows indicating their fallspots, broken limbs indicating where they've fallen. She skitters backwards a pace, a pace, before settling. I don't want to stand here, that says. Don't.

 

    Ellarian comes out of the burning wreckages, one man drapped over him in a firemans carry, while another who can barely walk is leaning on the druid. Ellarian seems to struggle a bit as he's not as strong as most here, but still manages to do his best. "Hey anyone care to lend a hand here, I cant support them both. " he yell out. "Fires got to bad couldn't see anyone else in there, but Im not able to get further without aide."

 

SiAmun begins walking towards thee wreckage, dragging a few people out by his strength alone

 

The size of the creatures makes it easy for everyone to discern what they're doing. Less true, however, for their riders. The two men in their armor upon the backs of the great beasts have their blades out. Indeed, disturbingly, the one upon the skeletal dragon has *leapt off* his own mount, fallen through the air, and *landed* with amazing skill and grace upon the back of the bronze. Now he and his other rider are engaged in a duel upon the back of the bronze. 

 

This duel does not go well for the Dragonieri Dragon Knight -- rather, the dark armored warrior seems to have a preternatural sort of grace to him that allows him to easily stay on the back of the mount while engaged in a running sword duel on a twisting, defensive, flying dragon. A sword impales him just as the bronze is able to throw him off -- the skeletal dragon breaking off his attack to snatch his own wounded rider up. 

 

The surviving airship places itself between the badly wounded, badly bleeding dragon as it beats a retreat, landing down near the second crashed airship. 

 

The skeletal dragon did not escape without injury -- indeed, cannon fire, musket fire, and arrows are beginning to mass upon it as its seperated from the bronze and it drops back ioto the walls of Gettys, its purpose served for the moment. 

 

Prince Verin is looking deeply enraged. 

"..where... *where* did they find that?" He swiftly is making his way, with his guards, out to the fallen form of the badly injured (though alive) dragon and knight. The former won't be flying again for a while judging by the state of his wings. They were targetted. Specifically.

 

Arianwen smiles at Karelin as he steps up beside her, screams a Sylvan explicative at the undead dragon, and continues to fire away. However, after that, her eyes begin to flicker around the battlefield. "I may be able to do more good assisting our friends on the ground," she suggests quietly to what she perceives as an Irregular beside her. "May your aim be true!" And without further ado she plunges towards the burning airship remains, silver following her hands as she starts stabilizing left and right until there's no juice left in her.

 

Ceres has disconnected.

 

Karelin slings his bow, and curses, then trots towards the dragon and rider, more than the wreckage -- but they're in the same direction.

 

Jareth has disconnected.

 

"Xander...my cousin," Darshan says, terse, and touches heel to Srassha. The swift does what she gives her name to--and trembling, latches toes to the ground and starts to...

 

Run.

 

She finally gets to run.

 

Depositing the wounded soldier into the hands of one of Althea's faithful, so denoted by the holy-symbol-decorated tabard, Xander turns a narrow-eyed glare at the skeletal dragon, or where it used to be, and then turns around, hopping into (or trying to, anyway) Srassha's saddle right behind Darshan. He mutters something to the lizardman, but is likely forced to hold on for dear life soon enough, so he can't speak much beside. Yes, he's going to see if the dragon is alright.

 

    Ellarian gets about halfway from the wreckage before he drops to one knee, breathing heavily. The crewman with him also pauses to catch his breath. "Dont worry airman, we'll get there soon enough."The man just nods his head and helps Ellarian stand as they both stagger back to where its clear. It takes Ellarian a bit longer to get the wounde to the same place as the first man he brought out but eventually they get there. Ellarian lays he unconcious man down, having already used a cure minor on him to prevent him from dying. Once both are laying down and resting Ellarian sits down and tries his best to catch his breath.

 

SiAmun helps out some more people, even the burdened druid, as he walks by those his apporach isn't gentle, hell he is being nice even considering saving folks. But they have been paying well the mercenaries, after some folks he stops to watch.. refolding his arms. Yep good deed for the day done.

 

Arianwen, now singed, having lost the bottom six inches of hair from slipping through a particularly narrow crack... on fire, emerges spent of daily blessings, and ripping the healer's kit out of her backpack to tend to the wounded more mundanely. Her hands are rough, but not enormously skilled; the best she can do are ugly bandages and burn polstices she had lying around. She leaves the splinting to the professionals.

 

Gauvain spies Darshan and Srassha run. He leans forward so that he's close to Strider's ear. "Show that Lizard what it means to Run my Freind." Then he yanks on the reigns hard to turn the mighty warhorse in Darshan's direction and squeezes with his knees. 

 

 Strider rears and turns, forelegs pawing at the air before touching down and digging wiht a spray of grass and mud. The Balde is held to the side and back. Ready to strike, but not endangering anybody. He leans forward on the horse to give Strider more speed, and hsi sheild is held ready with practiced ease.

 

The dragon's voice booms and rumbles into ear and soul. Rage mixes with urgency, coloring the rumble of his piercing words. He addresses those rushing to aid the knight and himself but all within an immediate radius hear him well enough,

 

<<GREVIOUS, THIS MATTER HAS BECOME. POWERS OF OLD, AWAKENED TO BURN THE SKIES AND REND HOPE FROM THE HEARTS ELI'S CHILDREN. WOE BEFALLS YOUR EFFORTS.>>

 

"What is this riddle you speak, great one?" asks Prince Verin, stopping as he's rushed forwards, casting an irritated look at his golem guard and living guard. "Get to helping them, already! Do not worry, ser knight and dragon -- my personal physcian will see to your injuries. This is going to require a different plan than our original one now. We will have to rely more heavily on the irregulars than I had planned."

 

    Ellarian nods to the armored fellow for his aid as he pulls out a water skin and drains half the flaggon, then offers some to the airman who's still concious. "My thanks for thy assistance sir." he address's to SiAmun, then he stands and pulls out his own healers kit and start to help those he can.

 

The added weight slows her, but she /runs/. Srassha runs. Her feet eat the ground and she stretches forward--as though the stretching itself would make her get there faster. It's what a swift is made for. Her rider reaches around and makes a grab for Xander when he jumps--claws meet cloth. He repeats whatever words the mage had said, sounding...surprised. "Erthes, erthes."

 

They slow when they near, and the dragon's voice booms overhead. When the prince answers. Breathe. Breathe. "Yeah, I hear, Xander." He twitches his hand where he holds the mage in the saddle. Blood there. Claws. "...You alright?"

 

<<A POWER BORN IN DAYS OF MIST...>> rumbles the great beasts voice into body and soul, <<...A SCION OF THE WYRM KING. ONCE SLAIN, NOW SUMMONED ANEW. BY WHAT AUTHORITY, I KNOW NOT. FREED FROM THE LABRYINTH, BOUND IN SERVITUDE, IN DEATHS ETERNAL CHAINS. TO FALL UPON YOU, AND DRAG YOU DOWN TO THUL.>>

 

Xander hops from the saddle as soon as Srassha halts, his stride urgent, yet still measured - not a breakneck run, but something that shows a measure of respect. He waves off mention of the wounds Darshan's grab made - an insignificant thing, right now. "We will prevail regardless, Bronze-wing, or perish trying. Much is at stake." he speaks, unusually proficient in the ancient language despite not being a dragon himself. "I bring with me a Blessed of the Great Father - will you allow him to administer some healing to you and your Bonded?" At this, Darshan is indicated with a sweep of hand. The question, in part, is directed at the Prince as well, though it's doubtless he'll agree, if he understands. <draconic>

 

Chiddle has disconnected.

 

The bronze looks upon Xander and Darshan with a gaze that seems to weigh them as if measuring their worth on some unknowable cosmic scale. The use of the ancient, and perhaps sacred, language has gained the beasts attention. The seconds drag on and then the bronze dips his head in affirmation to Xander's words but he says nothing more.

 

The Prince seems to understand Xander well enough and he gives a quick nod, letting them know his own permission has been so granted for any treatment than can be so granted. His seneschal has rushed off to fetch his personal physician already, though he's still grimacing, "This sounds entirely promising. I will need to confer with the generals. We have new plans to make. *Damnation*." He promptly kicks a piece of debris hard enough that it crunches under foot far more easily than it ought to. Someone has strength enhancing magics.

 

Arngrim has left.

 

Karelin looks towards the Dragon Knight, studying the injuries. "Tell me everything you can about the other rider." Then he remembers. "Please." A grin. "I want to live to give you the gift of his skull."

 

Srassha's sides /heave/. She stands there trembling on her legs, sides like great bellows in front of a fire. Her rider scratches her neck as he rests there. Waits, and looks at the dragon. "...healing isn't something that the gods made easy for me..." a look over the dragon's bloodied hide. But still...hide. "But I wouldn't hurt you if...you let me make the attempt. Your hide's a little tough for that," a half, wry smile accompanies it. A wry one that...fades. Quiets. "We're not leaving you, cousin. Daeus' hide, we're not." And when the dragon nods, he drops off Srassha's back. <draconic>

 

Strider stops in a small spray of dirt not far from Darshan and Xander and near the Mighty Bronze Dragon. He stays mounted and looks off back toward where the sky battle took place and then to the fort. He looks to Darshan and offers a quick salute of the blade. "Let me know how I may help Brother." He shakes his head at the Ancient language and then says to the dragon, "I'm afraid I don't speak that Sacred tongue mighty One, but know I am an ally, and will assist in any manner I am capable."

 

Arianwen tries to follow the conversation, but first her focus is ruined by her attempt to put stitches in someone's leg, and second she doesn't speak Draconic. However, she groks the prince well enough, and when a bit of kicked debris splinters her way, she looks up at the Prince. "The unexpected is the nature of warfare," she says to him, gentle and quiet. "Perhaps we can ... I believe the phrase is 'turn the tables' ... in that regard."

 

The rider grimaces, having been helped off the dragon. He does answer Karelin's question as well as he's able, "...was not a *living* man, much like his steed. A human, I think." He grimaces.

 

Neynos has disconnected.

 

Karelin nods once, curtly. "That would make sense. It was quite a display, that fight. Anything else you can tell me?"

 

Xander's hands fold behind his back, frowning, frowning, surveying the wounds of the rider and dragon alike. But he is no healer. He cannot mend them. He nods at Darshan, encouragingly. Emergency healing. Stop the bleeding, stop the infections - on the rider, at least, the dragon's a far tougher creature than he. It's only then that he remembers to drop to a bit of a bow for the Prince, perhaps in thanks for the permission or as due respect now that the dragon and his so-called Bonded are being taken care of. He doesn't speak, and his eyes flick to the fort, the place looking all the more darker, now.

 

    The druid moves from one wounded person from the crashed airship to the next tending to any he can. He's tired, sweaty and dirty but seems in good health and jeer dispite all thats happened so far.

 

SiAmun is now standing with his arms folded, having moved up a bit, to hear some or most of the conversation with the rider/dragon.. and prince.. The mercenary looks on, piercing eyes from behind his helm

 

Darshan nods distractedly to Gauvain, distractedly because--who ever thought to be this close to a dragon? He kneels beside, and the sith'makar's...clawed hands...begin to glow. A faint, platinum light fades into the dragon's hide and seals part of the wounds. Part of them, and he drops his head a moment. "That barely makes a dent, doesn't it?" he says, after a moment. "Not with what you've taken. One will stay here until the Mother's children arrive." <draconic>

 

Karelin looks at the rider with sympathy in his eyes. "Be strong; you will recover."

 

Arngrim has arrived.

 

"You speak truly, elf. We will destroy them," says the Prince, nodding towards Arianwen. When his physician arrives, a harried looking older cleric of Althea, he steps aside to allow him to do his work. The healer gets right into it with the Rider and the Steed, quickly moving to pray over both of them, begging for Alteha's blessing to heal them both. The mess is already being cleaned up by soldiers set to work on it. 

 

It's going to be a long night.

 

Xander approaches, laying a hand on Darshan's armored shoulder. "Come. They are in good hands and need rest." he tells as the Althean calls upon prayers galore, this time speaking in the tongue of trade as he addresses the lizardman.

 

Darshan creaks to his feet and steps out of the way as the older man arrives. He stands nearby a while, tail moving in a slow, slow S before stepping back to regather Srassha's reins. He scratches the sides of her face, and says nothing for a while...just a thoughtful, steady look Xander's way before addressing another sort of question: "Rider...did that creature Breathe?" he asks at length, and draws his claws from his chin in an outward motion, indicating what he means. He's quiet otherwise, and too thoughtful, as he scratches Srassha's heaving sides and neck.

 

Arianwen returns the nod gravely. "That's not a threat, it's a promise." Her eyes sparkle dangerously as they survey the incredible damage done to the Myrrish forces; without further ado, she moves strips of cloth and leather brought by another soldier under her stitching victim, and together they move him off towards the rest of the wounded.

 

"I have no doubt it could, but it did not," says the rider, grimacing. And with that, the cleric is urging both Xander and Darshan away. Karelin too, for the matter. Because, you know.

 

    Ellarian finnaly gets done with the last of the wounded exhausted and slowly makes his way back to his bedding. Watching the prince talk to those he seems familiar with and groans as he lays down. 

 

Xander had already turned to depart, so he's one step ahead of the ushering priest. He steps back towards the lines, the shambles that remain of them in light of the fallen ships, wounded men, torn siege machines. Every once in a while, he stops, to check a pulse - sometimes, he calls attention to those who became trapped under the debris and still live. At least the sheer chaos of it is dying down, now. He reaches into his coat for his cigarette case.

 

Doubtless, the Althean comes equipped with wooden spoons. Darshan steps away and steps to duties, and finds places to spend it--Srassha plays pony again. The two of them team up and begin to move debris, to shove it, haul it off and away.