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He had miscalculated, and he could not deny it. Even though the dragon had wings he had completely forgotten that it could fly, he had gotten far too used to land dweller’s battles. Although there was a flying race on his home world they hadn’t bothered with him for some time, and he had gotten lax about keeping up his guard.

The acid was completely new to him and he didn’t realize just how damaging it was until it caught him full on the chest. As his clothing dripped away in melted heaps bright blood red scales that ran down his full torso from collarbone to the top of his rib cage were revealed. Though they sizzled and puckered the acid didn’t do him anymore damage, though he couldn’t help the wince when a couple of stray drops hit his stomach and started to eat away at the normal flesh. It took something damn deadly to affect the scales of a cursed Ireulian; the only good point he could see is that the acid hadn’t damaged his precious coat.

Diving to the side he avoided another furious swipe of the dragon’s claws, and in continuing the roll barely got out of the way of a second blast of acid.

“Air, earth, solid!” He yelled, instinctively throwing up his shield of earth between them to buy him some time to think. He had to do something about the beast’s wings somehow, and quickly, he was not as fast on the ground as the dragon was in the air. He had gotten lucky, but he was all too aware how quickly luck could turn sour. However, its maneuverability was not his only concern; there was the ranged acid attack to deal with too, not to mention any other surprises it was still hiding.

It was time for something drastic, and something he was bound to regret later; but he preferred to live his life in the moment, and now was a moment to shine even if only for a little while. Fliping the locks that kept them in place he let his heavy metal and bone armbands fall to the ground, they would do nothing but slow him down right now. His belt followed quickly after; and he was deeply grateful that the belt was purely decorational, otherwise his baggy leather pants would have gone too, whether he wanted them to or not. Yanking off his leather coat and flinging it to the side he braced himself with his legs shoulder width apart as a crack appeared in the earthen barrier. Had he the time he would have taken off his elaborate, and extremely heavy boots, but even as he saw a taloned finger punch a small hole he knew he had no such time.

“Body, mind, soul, flesh, blood.” He began his familiar incantation, but his second part changed drastically as this was a far more complicated spell. “Arm to wing, leg to talons, air give me lift, sound guide me, Spirit of my Will, transform me I command!” With a whoosh of compressed air that centralized around him his body changed in a flash of light. His skin was now in various tones of blood red, what remained of his shirt was torn from his back as the muscles bulged and merged with his compacted shoulders. He arms had changed into leathery wings the same color and texture as his discarded coat, and the scales on his chest were gone. His face had changed too; his nose had extended into a snout while his mouth had gotten bigger. His eyes turned pure black with no white and had grown slightly in size. He no longer had human ears and instead on the top of his bald leathery head was large triangular ears that were able to rotate 90 degrees in any direction. He had transformed into the only wing bearing species he was familiar with, the bat-like Xono from his home world.

He had considered tying down the dragon much like had seen chickens tied down in the city, but after seeing just a light display of the controllers’ will in forcing the dragon to break free from his spell he knew such a thing would only harm the dragon and he was trying to avoid doing that. However if he could simultaneously stun the beast and gain the power of flight it was a plan that was worth a shot.

As the barrier crumbled beneath the dragon’s onslaught, Baal took a deep breath and screeched as loud as he could at him. To a normal human it would sound like a high pitched note from a flute, but to anything with sensitive ears it was as loud as a ship blow horn being blasted right in their face. To a dragon it was as painful as getting your ears boxed, but there was a nice secondary attack in it. The screech of the Xono canceled all magical ties temporarily that were in its direct path. It was a split second that the dragon wasn’t controlled, but it was enough for Baal to take to the air and start winging his way towards Zhillcrad. He still wasn’t sure what the man, if he could be called that, was using to control the dragon but he could be sure that if he got close enough he might be able to sense it. As it was right now there were far too many conflicting wills bouncing around the chamber for him to even make out the echoes of his own, much less discern one so specific.

Even as he flew away Baal quickly remembered the downside of being a Xono, he was nearly blind and could not see how his companions were fairing. He was forced to fly with the instinctual radar that these kind of beings used in place of sight and it made his movements erratic. Luckily the Xono were built for flying in tight spaces and he was easily out maneuvering the dragon; especially since he could essentially “see” the dragon behind him.

When he finally got close enough to what he was pretty sure was Zhillcrad he let out another of his deafening screeches. Because of his blindness Baal couldn’t see that he had just gotten in the path of Yoshe’s energy ball.

__________________

Vampirates: Probably THE best webcomic I've seen in AGES!
My Dragon Cave Scroll: Help them grow up! Click on em ! ^^ (you know you want to)
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Undiscovered World (Advanced)
Meeting of the Lions (Advanced)
Dragon Dayze (Casual)

As Markas went down, Lander released his hold, but the man's blood running between his teeth had fueled the bloodlust of the wolfish beast that was now controlling him. His too bright eyes focused on Drisk, who looked as if he were about to attack something, namely Keladry, and he let out a low growl at the animalistic man who stood in his berserker form. His own animalistic urges were incensed by Drisk's attack stance, and it didn't seem to matter to him anymore whether he was fighting friend or foe.

He would have lunged at Drisk had he not been stopped by the sight of the blade of Markas sword which flew into the air. It moved with lightning speed as it struck and impaled Drisk, knocking him to the ground.

He hesitated and watched curiously as Drisk's original form returned, and the man lay on the ground, blood leaking from the wound from Markas' sword. For a moment there was a look in his eyes that belied something of his human mind, still inside his wolfish form somewhere, as he gazed confusedly at his fallen comrade, not really able to make sense of what was going on through the fog of his wolfish thoughts. The man was making speaking and sputtering noises but there was nothing he could do, and he couldn't quite process what was being said.

Just then he heard from not far off the screeching of Baal's attack on the dragon, which to his sensitive canine ears was immediate agony, the high-pitched noise having the effect of an extremely loud dog whistle on him. His ears drew back sharply and he shook his head from side to side, racked by the pain of the sound, and for a few moments it was all he knew.

When it faded the wolf-beast was angrier and more violent than ever, looking furiously around the room for the source of what had attacked him and made his head hurt. He focused on the still standing Keladry, who just happened to be closest, the animal inside him set on 'kill' as he padded toward her, growling and snarling, an evil glint in his eyes.

Then another one of the high-pitched screeches erupted into the air and held him in its grasp, the pain of the noise echoing throughout his body and he howled in fury, disabled for the moment by its harsh sound.

Markas’ dead form dropped heavily to the floor. The golden shield struck the stone and let out a metallic ringing before coming to a rest next to his corpse, where it mingled with the blood leaking from his gaping chest wound.

The sounds of battle were mixed with the piercing cries of Baal’s new form. The black dragon was racked with splitting pain after the first cry. The hold the Black Orb had over him was released for a brief moment, but it gave the dragon no respite, for as soon as Baal had taken wing towards Zhillcrad, the foul spells took over his mind once again. It tried to catch Baal, but it flew clumsily because of its injuries and the tight spaces. Right on his tail, it was urged on by Zhillcrad’s fell artifact, and shot forward with an unexpected burst of speed. Baal’s powerful senses and maneuverability allowed for a last moment dodge, and he narrowly escaped its fanged maw, but the dragon still collided with him in mid air! The sheer force of the blow was magnified when the large magic orb Yoshe had produced slammed into Baal and the dragon. The resulting explosion tossed them from the air and against a wall. Whether it was luck or by some skill of Baal’s, when the dragon had collided with him, its form ended up shielding him from the brunt of the magical explosion. The dragon and transformed Xono collapsed into a pile after striking the wall. The dragon did not struggle to get back on its feet, nor did it claw or bite at Baal. Instead, it breathed its last heavy sigh and died, finally free from its slavery.

When Zhillcrad had broken free of his bindings, he immediately turned his attention to the flying fey. The two orbs of magic flung at him erupted in mid air even before striking him, sending a flash of light and billows of smoke out from the point of impact. It quickly cleared and Zhillcrad stood unharmed, having countered the magic with his own. At first he did not see Yoshe, who had ridden the shockwave of her own magic clear across the room in an instance while he was distracted. When his yellow reptilian eyes finally found her small form once again, he was brought to his knees by Baal’s shriek. But Baal’s cry was cut short when he was tackled in the air by the dragon and pushed into the path of Yoshe’s attack. Staggering back to his feet, he sheathed his hands in brilliant blue electricity. He could feel her weakening. He desired to kill her, to take another life with the power that was his to command. He let it blind him. These beastly urges made him no different than Drisk or Lander in this battle. He raised his arms and fired the energy. But Yoshe’s efforts were not in vain.

Falco remembered so clearly now. The power he felt was not his. It was not a power he learned from an old tome or from countless hours of research of the magic around him. This power had been taught to him by a close friend, now long gone. The power gave Falco a feeling of excitement unlike he had experienced in ages. Like most things from his past, he had allowed the power to quietly fade away into the depths of his mind and soul. He had no purpose to use it up until this point, since he felt it had been weak compared to the power already under his control. But after years lying dormant, it was ready to strike out at evil once again!

Falco found himself shouting out an old battle cry, it too leaping into his memory. “These brave souls, the powers of the cosmos, SOL!” Golden light gathered around Falco’s outstretched palms. And he unleashed it at Zhillcrad in one long coherent beam. The energy threw off copious amounts of heat and light. The matter in its path, even the air itself, was converted into energy in some glorious chain reaction mimicking a star’s. It passed over Zhillcrad, engulfing him.

The blinding light and staggering heat subsided a moment later, the spell—was it a spell?—lasting only a brief span of time. As Falco stood there, his arms blistering from the energy, exhaustion finally reached him. It had been many years since he had expended so much energy in a fight, invoking so many spells intended only to hurt and kill. But it had not been enough.

Zhillcrad’s scales were melted into one gigantic mass of burns and peeling flesh. His eyelids had been fused together by the spell, not that it mattered, since the light would have blinded him anyway. He looked even more horrible than before, standing there as a mass of wounds, and clutching the Black Orb in his right claw. He let out a rancorous cough, and then spoke in a tone that reflected a man in intense physical pain. “You…have not won yet. There are others!” The dark smoke inside the Orb began swirling, and Zhillcrad and the artifact faded away. His aura could no longer be felt and Baal lost the imposing feeling of his will. It seemed he was gone, at least from the room.

Falco would have screamed to the high heavens and cursed Zhillcrad’s name, but the fight had changed him. The memories brought forth stronger feelings of comradeship, and so he turned to his friends to known their state of being. He did not care about his own arms. Drisk was lying impaled on the floor. Yoshe was hovering uneasily in the air, although it looked like she could fall at any minute. He didn’t immediately see Baal until he looked where the black dragon’s corpse rested on the ground. Lander was growling ferociously, and Keladry stood with a blood sword between Lander and Drisk.

He remembered one last thing before allowing his body to collapse. “Luna…” he muttered, invoking the power of the moon. A strange purple light bathed the room. It was cool and mysterious. It eased their pains and closed superficial wounds, but Falco did not have the strength left in him to make it more effective. He thanked his friend, wherever he was, then let his eyes close and his body fall to the ground.

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The Undiscovered World OOC:http://roleplayerguild.com/f14/the-u...orld-ooc-4575/
The Undiscovered World IC:http://roleplayerguild.com/f9/the-un...ed-world-4608/

Motivational Tips: Don't believe in yourself. Believe in me, who believes in you!

Baal and the Dragon intercepted Yoshe’s attack when it was only half-way to its target. That was considerably closer to the resultant blast than Yoshe had anticipated being. The shockwave threw her back violently, rattling the teeth in her head and sending such a jolt of pain through her body that she was certain every bone was broken. She was dazed and slowly losing altitude as she struggled to regain her senses before Zhillcrad could retaliate.

When her awareness finally returned, she first saw the corpse of the dragon, a large portion of its side and an entire wing blown away. She couldn’t see Baal, but was too worried about her own life in that instant to ponder if he’d survived or not. Her attention switched from the aftermath of her own magic to Zhillcrad, who was just then casting lightning in Yoshe’s direction.

There was no way she could possibly evade the attack. This time, she really had only one option.
Yoshe raised a barrier in front of herself. She put all of her remaining energy into its formation. An iridescent solid white wall formed in front of her almost instantly. Barely a fraction of a second passed before the lightning struck the shield. The noise was deafening as the electricity hit the shield and scattered. Static electricity formed in the air and put Yoshe’s hair on end. Her shield quickly lost its brightness as it undulated under the assault. Every ounce of energy she had left in her went into maintaining the barrier, but she was fighting a losing battle.

The barrier was just about to break. Yoshe knew it was her end. Figures I don’t even get to die on my homeworld, she thought grimly as the last of her energy–all that she’d stockpiled and all that she had normally–was exhausted.

“These brave souls, the powers of the cosmos, SOL!”

If she hadn’t already been squeezing her eyes shut from straining, Yoshe would have had to from the blinding light that suddenly filled the room. The heat that came right after the light made Yoshe cry out, for she thought it was Zhillcrad’s magic finally breaking through her defenses and striking her directly. Then, as quickly as it all started, the light and heat faded. Yoshe was convinced that she had died. Her hands were still out in front of her and her eyes tightly shut. It seemed like a lifetime (which is very long for a Yaksa) passed before Yoshe realized that she was still beating her wings, that she was still breathing... and that she was in pain. Pain definitely meant she was alive.

“Vinzheai?!” She gasped, finally opening her eyes. Before she looked around, though, her exhaustion hit her full force and she really did drop out of the air, barely breaking her fall and hitting the stone floor with a dull thud. As she lay there, taking stock of all her new aches and injuries, Yoshe realized that surviving’s being a good thing was debatable.

Especially in pain were all the joints in her arms, her ribs, and her face. Those were the areas that had been facing the blast from her magic. Her arms had been raised at the time, so each joint was compressed. Her left arm also felt like it had been twisted at the elbow. Her nose, Yoshe discovered, had actually broken. Blood, closer to purple than most that of most humanoids, was at this point covering most of her lower face. With her turned slightly to the side as she lay on the ground, it was also running down the right of her face. Finally, and possibly the most painful, Yoshe’s sternum was almost certainly broken. Each breath was like pin needles in her lungs, and even her heart was beating irregularly.

Another light filled the room, but this one was cool, soothing. Instead of blinding, it was soft. The hue wasn’t unlike the fires that the Fey used on Yoshe’s homeworld–the same fire Yoshe had used in the first battle. As the seconds ticked by, many of the aches Yoshe felt faded. Her nose ceased its bleeding and started to tingle (a manual inspection revealed that it was actually reshaping itself back to normal). Even her depleted energy was at least minimally replenished. As she had been, death was a real possibility if for whatever reason she couldn’t replenish it within a few hours.

Even with the remaining pain in her arms and chest, the magic that Falco had cast made Yoshe feel... comfortable. It was the first time since her arrival on Aeolida. She couldn’t but chuckle as if it were funny–a movement she immediately regretted when her chest exploded in pain.

It took the whole time of her finding her injuries, Falco’s magic taking effect, and then some more for Yoshe to notice the utter lack of battle noise. Good or bad, She asked herself.

“Dead? Zhillcrad is?” Yoshe managed to say out loud. “We still live?” With the way she was laying and her unwillingness to test if she could sit up just yet, she could see the corpse of the dragon, but none of her companions. The fates of Falco, Baal, and Drisk were unknown, and she was unaware of Lander’s own struggle with his bestial self and the threat to Keladry.

((OOC: ED: Wow, I wrote Bane when I meant Baal... Weird... ^_^;; ))

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何をしてんだよ、俺は！

Keladry barely had time to contemplate her next move before Drisk's aggression came to focus on her. She brought around Falco's sword and held it defensively as she took a tentative step backwards. Her chance at getting to Zhillcrad was quickly slipping away, she knew, but not even the death of Eango made her willing to cut down her companions to reach him. She could tell that he was waging a war within himself and it seemed that the Drisk she knew was losing the battle. Then she saw the shortsword that she had disarmed from Markas making its lethal way right towards Drisk. Her eyes went wide as it struck him and instinctively she moved to aid him.

His body shifted into the form that she was familiar with and his face softened; he had come back into himself. She let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and shook her head vigorously as he apologized, denying that he needed to do it in the first place. With a glance at the main show, the battle between the magical titans, she felt a pang of regret that she was not heading there herself to see just how strong the Forceful Aegis was. But her desire to stay and help Drisk and keep another of their party from dying was stronger than going to attack Zhillcrad.

A loud screech sounded from where Baal and the dragon were fighting and Keladry looked over to see the bat-like creature that he now was flying nimbly through the air. It was quite the spectacle, which she was learning was very common for magical beings, but she didn't have time to watch it as a growling snarl sounded from behind her.

She turned to see Lander, still very much a canine, come trotting towards her with violent glint in his eye. It made her think a moment that they must think something horrible of her to be continuously coming after her. What had happened since she had been taken from their camp? She glanced over at the Artifact resting beside the corpse of Markas and then back at the advancing wolf.

Another screech had Lander stopped dead in his tracks and Keladry took the opportunity to get the shield and secure it to her arm and moved into a defensive position in front of Drisk, lest Lander decided that he might be an easier target. Hopefully she would be as quick a learner with the Forceful Aegis as she had been with the Black Orb of Dragonkind. She held it like one practiced in its use, though her arm screamed in protest at the weight as it strained to keep it aloft in her current state. "Lander?" she inquired cautiously.

There was a blinding light that encased the room a moment and Keladry hid her face behind the golden shield. She wasn't so sure she liked this magic stuff so much anymore, its power was... frightening. Kel listened to Zhillcrad, though she didn't turn to see the damage done to him as she was still concerned about the threat of Lander. He sounded angry and in pain though, and that made the situation a little better.

She didn't hear the last word that Falco uttered, but she felt the effects of it. The burning on her left hand, the one infected by what looked like a insect sting, instantly felt better and their was no longer heat raising off it. Her muscles in her right wrist righted themselves making it no problem to hold and swing around Falco's sword. She felt rejuvenated as well, her body getting an extra boost of energy that could not be provided by adrenaline alone.

“Dead? Zhillcrad is? We still live?” she heard Yoshe say, though she still didn't venture her eyes off of Lander. Kel didn't answer her questions since she didn't know the the first and only the second partially anyway.

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When the ear-splitting screeching noise had faded, Lander seemed to recover from its thundering in his head, although he was still in his wolfish form and he was slowly advancing towards Keladry once more, a low rumbling growl in his throat.

He could no longer distinguish friend or foe, could no longer accomplish rational human thought. The beast's mind lay over him like a thick wool blanket, encasing that part of his mind that was Lander in an impenetrable fog, taking control of his limbs, gnashing its sharp teeth angrily. He saw Keladry move in front of the body of Drisk, picking up the golden shield and holding it in front of her for protection. He could smell Drisk's blood, it flooded his heightened canine senses and seemed to drive him into a greater frenzy.

Then, through the thick muck that was his mind, something tugged at him, small and annoying. Keladry was saying something, and the sound seemed vaguely familiar, somehow, although he couldn't quite make out what it was. It was...his name? Could it be? He didn't know. He couldn't seem to understand.

Then everything was suddenly enveloped in blinding light, and he could feel it wash through the room and everyone in it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as it passed through him. He wasn't aware of what was going on with his companions, paid no attention to what was happening with Zhillcrad, but remained focused on Keladry as the light receded and everything resumed its normal color and focus.

He seemed to hesitate for a second as if trying to work out something inside himself, then with a flick of his tail and a growl he charged at Keladry, moving very quickly and striking out with teeth and claws.

His teeth closed around something hard, and he realized it was the golden shield that the woman was holding aloft to protect herself. He tried to get around it but couldn't, and let go, falling back furiously to the ground. The big wolf-dog got back angrily to its feet and seemed to be preparing for another run at her, when abruptly its shape began to change, fur and claws giving way to skin clothes and hair, and Lander was collapsed on his hands and knees, looking battered and tired.

Lander looked around the room anxiously, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He remembered entering the room and seeing their enemies but everything else seemed to be a blank. He had no memory of the events that had just occurred. He looked up at Keladry, who was standing near him.

"Wh...what happened?" He looked about the room and noticed that many of their companions seemed either injured or dead. His eyes fell on Drisk, who was bleeding from a sword wound and looked rather pale. Lander was still crouched on hands and knees as if defensively. He looked disoriented and vulnerable. His gaze flicked from Keladry to Yoshe, who were the only two still standing, his face full of confusion.

The dragon slamming into his back was so unexpected that Baal had no time to even raise his arms to protect his head as he was pounded into the wall by the tripled momentum of his own flight, the dragon’s and Yoshe’s attack. With a sickening thunk his head hit it full on, instantly knocking him out even as it started gushing blood down his face. As his limp body fell back to the ground it shifted into his normal form giving his crushed ribs some external protection from more damage with the sudden gain of his protective scales. Next to his right side with a wing covering Baal’s body in an almost protective gesture laid the dragon in a crumpled heap, freed from all of life’s woes by the gift of death. To his left, just far enough out of the way from their fall so that only Baal’s limp hand laid on his still tail was the empty shell of Eango.

Oblivious to everything Baal was completely unaware that his elaborate scrolling birth marks that ran up the length of his arms and ended at his shoulders were now a bright flaming red rather than their usual dull pink. As Falco’s healing spell covered him they faded just slightly but none of his wounds were healed even a little. It was like his body had simply sucked up the magic as it rolled over him. If one was to look closer at him they would get the eerie impression that they could almost see through him.

So still did he lie that only a small painful rasping sound as he breathed gave any indication that he was alive. However, even as he lay a slight white glowing could be seen in the small space between his body and where it was covered by the dragon’s wing. Those able to sense magic they would realize what was happening; just as natural as it was for him to still be breathing while unconscious, Baal’s body was subconsciously sucking the unfocused magic out of the dragon. As the energy flowed into him his birth marks faded in intensity, and even as the glow from the dragon faded it appeared on his left hand where it rested on Eango.

What he had told Yoshe earlier was true; he didn’t use magic, he was magic. Magic made up as much of his body as his flesh and blood and without it he would die. The biggest weakness of the Ireulians was that the magic that kept them alive was the same one that fueled their spells; drain to much of it and just like a normal wound that leaked blood their body would shut down.

However, unlike a normal wound his body was capable of drawing infusions of unfocused magic, and that was what it was doing instinctively now.

K…e…l...a...d...r...y… The voice was faint and weak, a memory from a dream awakened to new life by entering Baal’s mind. It had the tinge of Eango’s mind to it, but the feelings and will behind it was purely Baal’s. Eango’s will was gone; his body was dead; but his memories lived on in his magic and they had just entered Baal.

In Baal’s mind the blackness of unconsciousness slipped away into a series of dreams.

No.

They were not dreams.

He was Remembering the lives of the young black dragon and seasoned cat Eango. He Remembered hatching swiftly followed by the Memory of meeting Keladry for the first time as a kitten. Though most parts were just blurry images without the original will to give them focus, the more intense memories were still crisp and unforgettable.

((OOC: And yes, I do have Free Faller's and Falco's approval for this, hehe ^^ This is going to be interesting :P ))

__________________

Vampirates: Probably THE best webcomic I've seen in AGES!
My Dragon Cave Scroll: Help them grow up! Click on em ! ^^ (you know you want to)
My current RPs
Undiscovered World (Advanced)
Meeting of the Lions (Advanced)
Dragon Dayze (Casual)

Drisk looked upwards at the ceiling. The ceiling in turn stared downwards at him. Sighing, an act which resulted in more blood exiting his mouth, he looked around. As far as he could tell, no one was any immediate danger anymore, but what did he know, he was just the dude with a sword through his chest. Staying conscious was becoming a bit of a chore, and the shape-shifter didn't know how long he could keep it up. Just as some drops of unconciousness began to drip into him, a thought occured. This thought was just so great that despite his horrible situation Drisk couldn't help but laugh. Not chuckle laughs but big gaping gaffaws which rang through the area. It was painful, it merely sped up the blood loss, but it was just worth it.

"Something just occured to me" Drisk said, his voice weak despite the strong laughter that just a second ago had leaped from his mouth. "This finally proves it. I've gone nearly my entire life, and I mean nearly my entire life without anything like allies, or friends, or even someone I would be able to talk to. I've been dead set against the very notion of it, and despite not having any of these things, no... because of not having any of these things, I've survived. Then out of the blue I'm suddenly in a group with all of you people, and after what? A week, two weeks? After some small amount of time, it's finally happened. I've gained... alies, sort of, and just doing that has killed me, it's whats done me in. So, though I may die here now, know this: I was right goddamn it, I WAS RIGHT!"

With those words, Drisk's eyelids drooped, and then shut completely. His face was stuck in a smile. It wasn't a happy smile, it wasn't even a content smile. Even now those were things out of Drisk's reach. Instead, it was a triumphant smile, a smile which said "ha ha, I was right".

Some survival instinct still remained in Drisk, causing him to go into healing form unconsciously. He was not dead, not yet. The universe wasn't kind enough to just let him die. Drisk was in a coma brought on while his body diverted all it's energies to healing the injury, pushing the sword out from his chest.

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Now far away from the ruins of Kofutan, Zhillcrad slowly faded into existence in a large, stately room. It stood in stark contrast to the cavernous runes he previously had skulked in. The vaulted ceiling was decorated with intricate designs and edgings; from it hung a few small chandeliers that cast a soft light on the numerous paintings of landscapes and other beauties of nature that hung on the walls. Soft red carpets with patterns woven around the perimeter in golden thread lined the floors, but the carpet soon became marred with the blood of Zhillcrad. His festering burn wounds leaked onto the ground as he writhed in agony. His reptilian throat let out a gurgling hiss, the best scream his scorched esophagus would allow him to muster. Surely if he had not fled, he would have perished. Indeed, it looked as if he could parish now! But fate and circumstance, not to mention careful planning on his part, would save him. A regal looking man, perhaps in his late 30s, quickly entered the room through a set of double-doors, his face aghast at the spectacle of the squirming lizard-man on the floor at his feet. His uniform suggested he was some type of official and the fancy rapier that rested at his side practically confirmed he was a military man. He peered down at Zhillcrad with a monocled eye. He spoke with a soft voice, but with a tone of concern. “Dear gods, Count Zhillcrad…What were you thinking when you decided to fight them with no one but Carter at your side?”

“Ggggggggggggget the cleric!” Zhillcrad gurgled. The pain was unbearable and he felt he might pass out and never wake again.

“She’s already on her way. Try to remain still for your own good, sir.”

A beast now appeared in the doorway. Her frame was not imposing, not like Zhillcrad’s, and instead looked quite frail. She was even more repulsive then the Count, however. Dirty gray hair stuck out in every direction, growing from a wrinkled scalp. Her skin was a strange purple mixed with tinges of gray and green. Two green-glazed eyes, a hooked nose, and a jagged smile adorned the monster’s face. Her long, slender arms ended in filthy hands and long, sharp nails. Her frail frame was covered by a patchy robe of black, the only notable feature being a small neck-piece that resembled a large scarab beetle. She looked very out of place, standing in the doorway of the fancy building next to a gentleman.

“Dis iz not why aye-greed to work with yous, dragonborn!” Her voice could only be described as nails on a chalkboard, and her accent was almost unintelligible.

“Heal me,” coughed Zhillcrad, “Heal me!”

“Aye be specting reward for dis! Yous promise?” She eyed him cautiously, and furrowed her brow in a way that somehow made her more repugnant.

Zhillcrad managed to nod his head in affirmation despite the agony it caused him. The hag smiled a crooked smile and rubbed her hands together greedily. She produced a handful of dust, or something with a similar consistency, from her robe and sprinkled it over Zhillcrad. He winced as it mingled with his wounds. The horrid lady then rested on her knees at his head and started chanting some blasphemous ritual. The gentleman adjusted his monocle as he watched the procedure. The dust covering Zhillcrad began to give off a soft orange light and smoke rose up from the wounds. The chanting got faster and louder until the hag clapped her hands together at the end. There was a flash of orange light much brighter than before, and when it subsided, Zhillcrad looked himself again. His glossy yellow scales showed no signs of the wounds inflicted in the previous battle.

Zhillcrad slowly got to his feet, pushing away the assistance offered by the gentleman. He looked utterly exhausted, but that was significantly better then he looked moments ago. The hag jumped from foot to foot in anticipation in from of Zhillcrad asking, “Wat have yous for me? Wat my reward? Yous promise!”

It took Zhillcrad a moment to respond. He was brooding over the plans. Had they changed because of the circumstances? Perhaps a little, but that would not stop him! “Your reward is my permission to proceed. Do as I have instructed. Make them suffer, weaken their resolves, attacked their constitutions! Do what you so love to do, hag. That is reward enough.” She jumped for joy, and practically glided down the hallway, turned a corner, and was out of sight. “It will soon be time, Domenic. You saw what happened, so are you prepared to follow through?”

“Of course, sir. The loss of Carter is a shame, but it simplifies things for me. I’ll have it ready in a few days. You should rest up until then, sir.” He responded curtly.

Zhillcrad nodded once, and the gentleman was off in a quick step. Zhillcrad brought his right hand up and looked at it; the Black Orb was still clenched in his fist. He smiled wickedly into it as he left and room and closed the doors behind him…
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Falco’s mind was hardly troubled as he rested on the cold floor. It gave him some time to reflect on the memories that had welled up in the battle, however brief it was. In his mind, he pictured his purple-haired friend; if Falco had not remembered the Sol spell taught to him so long ago, the battle may have had a sadder ending. The images faded away, and his vision came back into focus on the sky seen from the hole in the stone ceiling. He sat up, but he was dizzy and it was a struggle not to fall over. He turned his head to the right and his eyes immediately came to rest on the purple hair of Drisk. His eyes shot open wide. “R…Ryu?” he gasped. No, that was not right. He shook his head and looked again. It was Drisk in healing form! The sword slid from his chest and clambered onto the floor. Falco picked himself up, and finally let the rest of the surroundings enter his vision.

He was not sure where to begin. They all seemed to be in that awkward state of mind that occurs after a battle where no one is really sure who won. It was the moment where nothing made sense, but action needed to be taken. So, not knowing what else to say or do, Falco gave out a few orders. “Keladry, put the weapons down, I think the fight is over. Go help Yoshe if you can, she is not even sitting up yet. Lander, get on your feet and give me a hand with the dragon before it crush Baal. Leave Drisk be, his wounds are healing. If we touch him, he might end up taking on our wounds and end up dying anyway.” Falco approached the dragon’s corpse and began heaving it off of Baal, hoping Lander would help because he really did not have the strength to do it alone.

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The Undiscovered World OOC:http://roleplayerguild.com/f14/the-u...orld-ooc-4575/
The Undiscovered World IC:http://roleplayerguild.com/f9/the-un...ed-world-4608/

Motivational Tips: Don't believe in yourself. Believe in me, who believes in you!

Lander picked himself up, looking about the room cautiously and examining the scene before him. It troubled him that he couldn't remember what had happened, although he knew why. The transformation had never been like that before. He knew that the beast inside him was dangerous, but never before had it taken control of him like that. Never before had he failed to remember what he had done while in that form. And the fact that Keladry was looking at him warily and defensively made him even more uneasy. He didn't know what his animalistic self had done, if he had hurt anybody...

He took in the situation, Baal lying unconscious beneath the dead body of the black dragon and Drisk lying injured not far away, although he seemed to be using his own powers to heal. He listened silently to Drisk's sudden outburst. "I was right...

He thought about that, and something in Drisk's tone and his words struck him. Lander, as well, had put his faith in this ragtag group of companions, and now...the last couple of hours were a complete blur. He didn't even know what had happened. He was afraid of himself, afraid of what he was capable of in his other form. Perhaps Drisk was right. It was better to be alone, involving yourself with others only led to disaster...

Falco seemed to have recovered from whatever had happened, and was back to giving the company orders. He watched as the man moved to try and push the corpse of the dragon off of the still unconscious Baal. Though his mind was still a blur of confusion and self-revulsion, he went over to help Falco, using his strength to push and pull the dragon's hulking form away from their companion, who seemed to be breathing and alive despite unmoving. The dragon, once a majestic beast who had been controlled by the evil of Zhillcrad, was now nothing more than a large mass of dead weight, reduced to an ugly, black, dead thing that lacked the beauty of its living form. Something about seeing it that way made him sad, despite the fact that he had never seen a real dragon in all its glory, a free one, uncontrolled by the greedy desires of humans.