Geoffrey pondered for a moment on what to do about the situation, when his train of thought was interrupted by his pig continuing squeals. "Hrruuup!" grunted out the peasant, as he whaled his pig down upon the breastplate of the not-yet-a-vampire. And as that strike was delivered, the pig did not thresh about as much. Geoffrey placed the pig on the forest floor, relived that it wouldn't be trying to flee just yet.

He already had the chickens and the contents of his sacks to worry about But at least those things were easier to keep in line in contrast to his pig. As for his sheep, they were starting to graze on a bit of grass that was nearby. The peasant wasn't sure when the creature would arrive, nor when the vampire would rise. So, it would be best to play it safe and start the burning now.

The peasant grabbed a hold of the rag and dunked it into the alcoholic beverage the mug had. Once that was done, the peasant placed the damp cloth upon the torn fabrics that shot through its armor.

Geoffrey took the candle and set the liquor-stained rag ablaze. Sparks were starting to take ahold of the undershirt, alongside the rag. With his task set in the proper motion, the peasant knelt down on the clearing and raised his arms to the sky. "LO, MAY YE TAKE THIS OFFERING OF THY WRETCHED VAMPYRE, 'FORE IT COULD TURN!"

Russ finished checking that the inner workings of his musket were not obstructed in some way, something of an unnecessary ritual with his current weapon but not a bad habit nevertheless. The day he didn't check would be the day his weapon would fail. A faint smell of gunpowder emanated from the opened breech of the firearm, something that likely went by completely unnoticed by other patrons, busy as they were, but which Russ inhaled almost eagerly. The smell of duty. Next came the rest of his weapons. All 10 pistols, secured and in place, loaded and ready to fire. His sword slid in and out of the scabbard easy. His bayonet was handy and unobstructed.

The foreign soldier watched as the hooded, holier than thou idiot trying to lecture a mob obviously turned to flee from both the massive barbarian that had recently bludgeoned a man to death and the dragon both. Odds were good that anyone caught fleeing would make for an easy snack for the enraged beast, but Russ was not a betting man. Stupid to lose a soldier's salary on chance. He watched with disdain as the coward tried to threaten some woman that had bumped into him before leaving in a huff, once more saying stupid things that would likely get him killed were he to stay. In Russ' homeland these people often found themselves executed.

With one likely useless man out, Russ stood up, slung his weapon over his shoulder and walked straight to the wolf person that acted as bartender and seemed to own the place. The man appeared to be so taken in by the whirlwind of events around him that he'd just been standing there, without saying or doing anything, since the barbarian had killed the imperial. The musketeer took this to mean these things were likely unusual here. Good, he didn't think he could handle such things on a constant basis.

"Barr-man", he said with a fairly thick accent. "I keep watch. In roof", he pointed upwards to illustrate. "Ladder? Stairs?". It was rather obvious this foreigner with a gun wanted some way to get to the roof of the establishment.

A wry smile graced Nariana's lips as she watched Damariq scuttle away. I almost feel sorry for him, yet I still hope he runs into the dragon alone. What an odd sensation.

Once he'd left, she delicately reached down to take the fallen coin pouch. She slipped it into the folds of her dress next to her own. Satisfied, she turned her attention to more pressing matters - namely, the oncoming threat of a dragon. Those in her line of work aren't too practiced in open combat, so she needed some sort of plan. Her eyes swept across the room, searching for anything she could use to get an upper hand...

The meat! Perhaps they could offer the soldier's corpse and a pile of meat to the dragon as a sign of peace. Of course, Nariana wouldn't stop there - she had plenty of sleep poison stored up, after all. She'd never had a chance to try it on a beast of such size, and the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Immediately she set to work, grabbing any meat she could - reasoning with the innkeeper that it wouldn't be much good if the dragon destroyed the inn anyway - and piling it outside near the commoner's vam-pyre. She made sure to slather the meat with just enough sleep poison to be effective without affecting the scent or appearance of the meat.

Her task finished, she turned to the peasant offering the burning soldier to the empty skies. "A favor, sir beast tamer. Offer this platter of fine meats to the dragon as well. It certainly can't hurt things." Nariana gave a genuine smile and bowed before slinking back into the inn.

The hooded man was leaving. Kodor took note of this.
The hooded man glared at a woman, like an angry dog, threatened the young woman. Kodor took careful note of this.
The hooded man abandoned them. They were not Darmariq's tribe, Kodor decided.

Others began wandering out, not running, but to prepare for the battle and hunt. Kodor followed. The woman in black and the shepherd-peasant began piling meats a ways away, which quickly caused the gears to move in the barbarians head. He understood immediately what they were doing.
Kodor approached the pair, and wiped his hands off on his loincloth before he grabbed their attention with a hand on either's shoulder.
"You pile bait. This is smart." he smiled.
"Kodor will ambush. This is also good." he lowered his hands and picked his axe back up, clutching it below the head. Stepping up to a nearby tree, he climbed up with surprising speed, yanking himself onto a middle branch. Here, the leaves would offer ample coverage and camouflage, while being easy to see out of. Truly, it was a good sniping spot.
"Meat smells good! Animals come soon!" he shouted back down.

The peasant remained in his kneeling position, knowing that was always a good method for pleading. Geoffrey knew that his task would need to done with the utmost care and precision. Geoffrey dearly hoped that this tithe would be enough to appease the dragon. After all, he knew what would happen if an unfitting offering was supplied.

Therefore it was paramount that the sacrifice would be enough. Geoffrey's eyes followed the flames doing its work at the vam-pyre. This scene gave the peasant some doubt on whether or not this particular sacrifice would be enough to placate the beast. While a vampire would surely be a rare sacrifice indeed, would it satisfy the covetous nature of a dragon?

His doubts would be answered as the maiden in black, provided a bountiful feast and placed it near the burning offering. And just as that was being provided, the savage man placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke of using it as a trap. The lady returned back to the inn, and the man hid ready for an ambush.

"LO, MORE OFFERINGS AWAIT THOU!" the peasant shouted skyward.

Another small man came around. Addis paid him no heed, and kept The Cutting's return trip in mind as he continued to watch the inn. One of the small men had dragged the body of the small man they killed outside, and... moved his arms around the small man's corpse. Was it searching this small man for valuables? Addis' curiosity waned as the small man's corpse was set aflame by some unseen means. When another small man came around and started piling raw meat on the dead small man, Addis recognized exactly what they were doing.

"Hark!" hissed Addis, not turning to look at Lisa and Welt, "A ritualle moste Sinfulle! Yon heretykal bord-dwellers hath burn-ed their prey and alighted Hym with Fatte And Muskle! A Summon-ing, or a Feaste Of Eville? Taketh Heede, Sonne of Manne, for Endarkenedde Powers art afootte!"

Enior stooped to a sitting position, having fallen from his river dance. He'd been in a stupor for a moment. Didn't these people realize the very room was spinning? Standing uneasily, the elf wandered, serpentine outside by convenience. Mug in hand he roamed, his sly boots touched grass. His path led him to the bonfire, where he tasted sweet meats simmering. His delicate fingers danced a moment before reaching into the flames, scalding his hand. "Gah! Cruel punishment!" His alcoholic breath nearly empowered the flames further. Enior grasped his wrist and blew upon his hand. These were wicked fires, indeed. What did he remember before his stupor? A vampire, that's what. A corpse in the fire, a closer look. "The vampire is slain! A celebration!" The elf fell prone onto the ground and took a hefty sip from his sloshing mug.

Now then, a bubble of thought imploded in Enior's mind. What was it that vampires could do? No, fire wouldn't do it. They would need something. Silver? No, a stake! On his belly, the drunken elf looked about. The woods would become their refuge. With his alcohol still in hand, Enior began to roll towards the woods. After a few rolls, his legs would gain enough momentum to support his body. He would cartwheel back onto the ground. Rolling seemed to be the most effective movement. "Ho I will return, stake in hand! Defend yourselves from the beast before I return."

The wolf man was only temporarily in charge while the true master of this establishment was out and about. He didn't want things to get too out of hand with this whole mob situation, but he didn't want to just let the imperial in either. This was a no win situation he was placed in, but luckily it seemed to diffuse itself once the intruder was out for the count. Well, for the most part. What wasn't "for the most part" was the news coming soon afterwards of a dragon making it's way here as they spoke! He couldn't have the whole place burn down on his watch! That wouldn't do at all. The master was a forgiving man, but allowing such a thing to occur would be of too much to ask.

His people did food offerings for certain festivities, so was willing to sacrifice some of his stock for that if it would help. Better loose a couple of eggs than the whole basket. However superstition he was, he still had the nagging feeling that this couldn't be enough to ward off the threat. Some dragons were known to burn down entire cities for fun rather than food, so they could be doomed either way. He wouldn't go down without a fight, grabbing a mighty battleaxe hanging from the wall behind him. A strange dressed man with string-less projectile weapons asked him about a method of going up the roof, so he pointed behind him and to his left with a clawed thumb.

"Down the hallway and first door on the left is a ladder. The outside walls themselves are easily climbable at well," he explained roughly. He then spoke up to the rest of the room. "I call to every adventurer brave enough to stand and fight. Slay the dragon and we shall all have as large of a feast as we can muster on the house and many songs sung in our honor! The one who takes the final blow shall get a lifetime supply of ale!"

It was true that the dragon was already heavily wounded, thus possibly negating some of the glory, but the one who knew that was currently burning, and the rest of the people here would likely be more than willing to say that they are the ones who did all of the damage against a fully functional dragon by themselves. Hopefully they would survive to tell of this and would not end the day as food, rather than enjoying food.

A sudden, mighty roar spread out of the trees to the east. It was an aggressive one, sounding as if a predator had found it's prey and was about to deliver a fatal strike against it as part of a war cry. The owner of the noise soon burst into the clearing to alleviate all down what had caused it, first revealing a large, scaly black snout dripping with blood at the teeth. Had it been eating other members of the Martross party that the dead man belonged too? Perhaps it was trying to recover some of it's strength, and that is what took it so long. If it had to take such a pit stop, perhaps that was a good sign and it felt very weak.

The vile thing was now in full view, reaching over forty feet tall, dwarfing the inn by almost twice the size and three times as long, from snout to the tip of it's tail, as it was tall. It oozed blood, both from it's own wounds at those from other beings splattered over it's dull scales that seemed to absorb light and send few rays back out. It's eyes were a dark red, filled with evil intent as it's lips turned into a snarled, spraying even more blood out of them. It's wings were in particular bad shape, with much of the membranes stabbed or torn out, forcing it to make this trek on it's four spindly legs.

However, despite all of these wounds, most on the scales were superficial and it was still an imposing sight to behold. He figured that it would take their combined effort to win, and taking it head on still might be suicide without a good strategy. Perhaps wear it out and surround him, or...blast it. He was a bartender, not a tactician!

"We have grander problems than superstitious peasantry now, tree-friend," said Welt. "Look." He slowly pointed at the great worm come from the woods, bloodied and wrathful. He unsheathed his sword, which was, surprisingly, as sharp as it was the first day it was crafted, and seemed alive as much as Welt seemed dead. "I know this is unheard of, but we will all have to work together if we are to kill that. It is wounded, and cannot fly; he burnt my cloak just before I came here. You should be able to bind him with roots."
Welt then spurred his horse and it darted forward with great speed towards the man at the pyre. He dismounted and joined the fellow facing the beast and introduced himself as "...Welt. I believe the vampire will have to wait for a while," he said, staring at the bewildered serf; and his shape, now away from the holy paladin, gave off a subtle, almost unfelt, cold air.

"Any ideas?"he asked, trying to turn his face away from the deadly sun.

The peasant stood as the sole vanguard of the pyre. It was the peasant who was standing on the front-lines awaiting the creature. It would be the duty of this peasant to attempt to reason with the creature by providing it with a proper tithe. Fortunately, hidden away he had the barbarian as his ally preparing for an ambush.

But surely the offerings of the pyre would surely be a worthy presentation that would cause the creature to leave without any bloodshed! Well they would remain worthy, as long as everything was kept prim and proper for when the creature arrived. Geoffrey stared incredulously at the drunkard bard who decided that the best course of action would be to steal from a tithe that was to be delivered to a dragon. The peasant was stunned, and simply stared at the man before he decided to enter the woods to procure something that could serve as a stake. Well, it could be useful, if the vampire wasn't already ablaze to stop its unholy resurrection.

Soon came the furious howling of the beast, which incited his sheep to run towards the tavern while bleated out in terror. Quaking, the peasant felt a distinctive sensation alongside the fear he was feeling. "Shite." Geoffrey cursed under his breath, as he clenched his hands together and quivering as the beast arrived. He had to offer this tithe properly so that the dragon would accept it and leave. But this was not dealing with a human sovereign, no this was a bestial lord the peasant had to bargain with. And just to make matters even more frightening, the creature brought an enforcer that rode upon horseback. Geoffrey's focus shifted between the armor clad goon and his commander.

"Aha-errraah" The peasant stumbled about with his words, as his body shook. Geoffrey knew he needed to collect himself. So to gather his wits, the peasant snorted loudly, and spat out glob of phlegm. The edges of his mouth twitched with trepidation.

"Greetings oh, mighty lordship!" Geoffrey bellowed, clasping his hands together as he gave a small bow towards the dragon. It was a fairly small dip, due to the fact his chickens were trying to peck at him during this gesture of submissiveness. His eyes darted towards his pig to reconfirm to his worried psyche that it was close enough to grab if things were to go awry.

With a plastered grin, Geoffrey tried to subdue as many convulsions that broke his smile as he could. However the peasant found himself unable to keep a fully and seemingly worry-free smile. "I erm, h-hope thy travel t' thou, erm ah, holdings 'ere went well."

The peasant gestured towards the burning corpse of the unrising-vampire, and the meats that were alongside it. "Lo, thou hast a most bountiful tithe to take! Behold the dead vampire, and tha tasty vittles that are served with it!" The peasant took in a deep whiff from the pyre, and continued to speak to the horrific dragon, and presumed lord of this land. "Eat, be merry! Your humble servants labored hard to provide thee with such offerings."

Geoffrey gave another bow towards the dragon. The peasant stood as both bait for a plot to keep the dragon's attention distracted from the strike the barbarian was sure to deliver, and the peasant stood as a negotiator to try to get the dragon to simply leave the lands away. However the events unfurled, Geoffrey knew that he had to do his part to solve against this breed of trouble.

Ludmilla strolled out the back of the tavern, using it as cover so the dragon wouldn't see her right off. She was a bit put out at the creature's apparent ability to phase through trees, seeing as it would make her plan that much harder.

Saddling her broom, she kicked off into the sky, out of the dragon's reach. Unsure of how large the creature's breath range was, she simply rose high enough that she had ample time to dodge should it aim for her. Satisfied, she conjured a batch of head-size pumpkins and allowed them to drop onto her thankfully large and easy-to-hit target, aiming for the head. They were hard, hearty vegetables, and magically reinforced on top of that. Altogether, being hit with one at terminal velocity would be like taking a hit from a biodegradable orange cannonball.

She watched patiently as they descended, landing several seconds later and tragically cutting short the lives of a trenchcoat-wearing teenager with two katanas, a man dressed in nothing but a green tracksuit, and some sort of hairy, axe-wielding barbarian-type person. Yet another caved in the tavern's chimney. Ludmilla stuck a finger into her mouth and held it up.

"Oh, a headwind."

Well, that was three less people she'd have to pay when this was all said and done. She moved forward, hovering directly above the dragon's center of mass and conjuring another vegetative barrage.

Russ nodded at the hairy man thing and went off to climb up the roof as the dragon's roar was heard. Russ was extremely surprised that the enraged beast had somehow managed to get through the clearing without making a single apparent sound before. There had been no prior roars, no rumbling as it went through tress, no panicked wildlife. He also considered how he was probably the one with the best shot at setting up anything resembling a coordinated effort within the tavern. It was sad since he was hardly a leader, didn't speak the language very well and knew screaming bits and pieces of orders at an unruly mob would do very, very little.

As if to confirm his thoughts, as soon as he popped his head out on the roof...something, he had no way of telling what it was exactly, came crashing down on it, destroying the chimney and forcing Russ back down the ladder's trapdoor to avoid the hail of fragments. Grunting and cursing his family, his homeland, his commanders, the crown and whatever god might care to listen in at that precise moment, all in a constant, nonstop mumble that sounded offensive even to those who didn't know the tongue, the guardsman stepped back out the roof to catch a look at whatever was trying to kill him.

He looked up at the beast, now regretting his decision to try and see it coming from the roof. He figured he'd have some more time to prepare, what with the assumption that one would hear something like a dragon approaching from a mile away. He also, thanks to his wondrous eyesight, could see the witch that had warned them about the beast preparing to cast some kind of wondrous spell no doubt. He really didn't care much for magic, which was a rather tolerant view where he came from. Still in position to head back down in an instant, he opened Nat's breech and loaded up a cartridge, waiting for the dragon to act.

At this rather short range, a shot from a musket could still pierce all but the best, most expensive plate armor without fail and Russ was extremely accurate within some 85 yards, a good 10 yards more than average. Depending on what happened, it would be rather easy for him to aim at a vital spot such as the eyes or one of the already open wounds and punch quite the nasty hole in it, as the smooth lead balls used as musket ammunition would flatten or even burst after penetration to further increase the damage they dealt.

Lisa bit her lower lip as she regarded the undead horseman behind her. If she had needed more proof that there was devilry going on at the inn of which the Ent spoke, it had just arrived on a rotting, skeletal mount. Her mace arm twitched as the Ent spoke once more, apparently too preoccupied with the evil ahead to regard the wickedness that had just invaded their presence.

But she was given no time to react as a gigantic 40-foot dragon appeared a ways away from her. There was something rotten in this forest to attract such fiends, and Lisa would dally no longer.

"Damnable stealth dragons," Lisa cursed, running towards the awful sight, "rather sneaky for a gigantic black serpent in the verdant woods, aren't you? Well you won't escape me much longer!"

There was much for the good paladin to do, but once she was done, the wise, peaceful Ent could live without worry.

As the small men beside him charged into battle against the gigantic black reptile that had miraculously snuck past him, Addis wracked his brain trying to recall what, exactly, this beast was. Addis had heard of plenty of gigantic scaled creatures, from the Basilisk to the Cockatrice, but this one simply evaded all recognition.

The creature that had been summoned by those small men's heinous ritual had four legs, thick scales, a large mouth, and a squat body. However, its four legs were shockingly thin and it had wings. Addis learned of things that looked like this, before. They dwelt in swamps and devoured passersby using their almost mystical strength. Clearly, this was a prime example of the dreaded Crocodile.

"Go Withe Harman, Sonnes of Manne!" Addis loudly whispered to Lisa and Welt. "My Aide shalt be Forthe-Coming!"

Addis knew how to deal with Crocodiles. The small men in the small village had a big book that showed how to fight them. Unfortunately, the big book never revealed how to avoid their deadly miasma from afar. What Addis would need to wrangle this fierce Crocodile was a distraction, and these small men were doing their best to do that. Addis waited patiently for the Crocodile to turn its attention to the small men, so it could perform the sacred rites necessary to destroy it.

The great lumbering behemoth stared placidly around the clearing, confident that its mighty roaring and posturing had crushed any morale among the humans near it. A number of humans scurried around its hulking mass, making loud noises and waving small objects at it. The mighty beast regarded them with the same passive malice a cat would to a panicking nest of groundhogs: mild curiosity tempered with the self-satisfied belief that none of them could ever harm it.

The dragon knew only two things: One, the pesky human that had attempted to intrude upon its territory had fled here, and two, the humans here were cooking an astounding amount of sweet-smelling meat.

It is a well-known fact that all dragons are creatures of unimaginable gluttony, and this one was no different. Nearly completely uninterested in the proceedings before it, the dragon turned its attention to the pyre Geoffrey had been so kind to set up. Here was both the meat and the human it was tracking! Had it the capacity to feel anything but contempt and jealousy, the dragon would have smiled grimly at the delicious irony before it.

In one smooth motion, the dragon snatched up the contents of the pyre and devoured it, wood, corpse, poisoned meat and all. Nariana's poison surged through the dragon's veins, hastily making the long journey to its brain.

At that moment, the dragon's attention was forcibly turned to the humans around it. A hail of hard objects rained against its head, making several fist-sized dents in its scales. Shaking its head like a wet dog, the dragon blindly charged forwards, threatening to trample the men around the pyre!

Rigid and stubborn to move, if not taunting, were his legs, bringing him to the ground. His fingers grabbed dirt and broken leaves. Sweat stung his eyes and soured the corners of his mouth. His abdomen throbbed as he pulled himself forward, air searing its way through his lungs. He snarled and cursed in his native tongue. With a strenuous lunge upwards, he stumbled into a tree, clenching his eyes as he hammered against the thoughts of fire and soot, trying to muffle that horrid growl that sent all gentle creatures fleeing and his innards knotted. He glanced back in the direction whence he fled, the trees obstructing his view of the distant towering beast, and hurried to retrieve his staff.

Doubt claimed him when the ebony wood met his palm. Oh, what shame my kin would lay upon me, he lamented, to know their blood would not honour their name when and where the opportunity arose, to not demonstrate the prowess of their teachings. Their teachings, he repeated to himself. He began to whisper an incantation, calling forth a rich red around his hands. He looked upwards and advanced two steps, and the arcane energies dissipated on the third.

No, he thought. The ethos of the Urwalhmé called for resolve in face of unavoidable conflict, not senselessly throwing oneself into it, not the vain soaking of soil. They chose to stand before such a monstrosity with nought but their flesh, pathetic weaponry, and misplaced pride. If there were songs to be had, the bards would have to make them over the smoldering of cooked flesh and charred bones. He turned his back and stepped forward, head downcast and strides short and slow, and then a sudden amalgam of sensations assailed him.

He held his eyes shut and cursed aloud. The bark on the trees around him cracked as the air pulsated. Flames danced in the darkness. The whipping winds and rustling leaves became indistinguishable from screams, and his heart held the fury of a thousand horses. Just let them die, he repeated to himself, forcing his feet forward. Just let them die. Over and over, he mouthed it, each repetitive syllable stirring something old and deep, something he wished to forget, but fate, or whatever the superstitious called it, thought otherwise. As he was about to complete the final word, the ground began to tremble. Without second thought, he sprinted back towards the tavern, maneuvering over logs and weaving around trees. Only the path forward was clear.

He stopped more than a couple of full strides before entering the clearing. He unfastened the small woodcutting axe from his waist and started hacking a hole into the dirt. After quickly burying his bag, he took note of his surroundings, identifying the nearby trees by the orientation of their branches. He then glanced at the raging dragon with its cruel eyes and ferocious teeth, and at the hapless mortals in its path. His mind matched the pace and cunning of his eyes, and within a few blinks a tactic was devised.

He removed his robe and reached into the pocket on his sash, pulling out a small wooden vial. He wrapped his quivering hand around the hilt of his dagger and wasted no time drawing it across his palm. After uncorking the vial, he poured the dark coloured potion onto his wound, and the pain was nigh instant.

The cramps in his stomach felt like the swelling and bursting of bubbles in a cauldron. It was as if the potion solidified into a thin serpent and burrowed through his veins. His breathing became erratic, his vision blurred, and blood dripped from his nose. He looked at his hands and saw a slight radiance. Each onerous respiration was accompanied by a clearing sight and subsiding of pain, save for the icy feeling in his frame, and more importantly, a greater ease with magic. If one were to see him, they would see red fluorescence in the veins underneath his sepia hue and an aurulent glow in place of his light brown eyes^{retconned that bit of detail}. The potion was brewed to fortify magical ability, and was to be ingested. He knew not the consequences of mixing it with his blood nor the length of its effects, but he did know conventional teachings would not fell a dragon.

He grabbed the axe and staff and ran towards the treeline. He aimed the axe at the dragon's right hind leg, a short distance ahead of where it would be, and infused his right arm with arcane energy. If he was fortunate enough to strike the beast, the impetus of the axe would split open its flesh and deprive it of a leg.

With a grunt, he hurled the axe and hoped for a sliver of success.

Inside the coverage of the foliage, Kodor smiled. He would praise the hogmaster and the woman in black for providing him this bountiful kill. The dragon was large, but Kodor was higher still in the tree. That was his advantage; he had the high ground.

"VICTORY BELONGS TO KODOR THIS DAY." his voice boomed. Kodor lowered his hands down the wooden shaft of his great axe, and tensed the powerful, sinewy muscles in his legs before propeling himself into the air, the sunlight reflecting off of his bronzed skin.
"SNEEEEAAAAK ATTAAAAAAACK" he shouted, raising the hefty chopper towards the sun. The barbarian was now a living guillotine of muscle and rage, aiming his mighty blade directly towards the dragon's scaly neckmeats.

Geoffrey was pleased that the dragon accepted the offer. However a realization was quickly dawning upon him; the dragon wasn't a cruel, greedy yet intelligent creature that could act as a lord of the lands. This was just a humungous and ugly undomesticated animal.

The blasted critter probably wanted to eat his livestock, like any wolf that stumbled upon farm animals! There was no way Geoffrey could let the creature eat his livestock, like his sheep. Geoffrey now remembered he wasn't sure where his sheep ran off to. But before he could go look for his sheep, he needed to save himself and arm himself with his pig. And so the peasant ran away from the charging dragon and towards his pig. In the process of fleeing he grabbed his pig alongside shrieking out, "EEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHGGH!"

Now armed, Geoffrey held the pig with both of his hands and knew what he needed to do. Civilization, don't let me die, today! Or my sheep. silently prayed the peasant.

"OooDeeeLeeeehHEHOOOOOO!"And with that warcry, the peasant charged towards the left side of the creatures massive frame and swung his pig to strike the beast.

It's raining barbarians, pigs, and pumpkins: a sight most absurd, Welt thought. And just when I thought I'd seen it all... Everything was happening too fast for Welt's eyeless sockets and hollow head. Had he had flesh, he'd have pinched himself; but he didn't, unfortunately. he chuckled. In fact, his entire body chuckled.

''I think I'll but observe for now. But I'll stick around... Should you need a toothpick...'' he said quietly to the dragon gesturing at him lazily with his sword.

And here the beast came, enraged by the sorcerer's attack. At least that looked like it had some kind of effect on it, but nevermind that. Russ took a deep breath, and as he did so focused down the barrel of his weapon and took in the details, the little things needed to set up a shot with something as unreliable as a smoothbore musket, even one as well-made as Nat. He took careful note of the dragon's awkward stride and its speed, both likely somewhat impaired from its injuries. He took note of the wind, which wouldn't matter much at that distance but it was best to make sure. He took note of the angle, put it all together, and picked a target.

He would've liked to hit one of its eyes cleanly, but the situation didn't lend itself to it. The charge, complete with the occasional shake of the head, made it more complicated, and the shut eyelids might just make it an annoyance rather than a clean, blinding injury. Better to exploit the damage others had done on easier targets was his lightning fast judgement. Russ exhaled slowly, relaxed and squeezed the trigger, and the unmistakeable detonation of gunpowder rang out in the forest as a lead ball capable of piercing plate armor and killing a man made its way towards one of the open wounds on the dragon's more vulnerable gut.

Soon as he was done firing the shot, he opened up Nat's breech with practiced, mechanical motions, taking in the smell of the recently fired gun as he prepared a new cartridge to load, while also keeping his eyes fixed on the target and his body ready to jump off the roof and seek cover should it be drawn towards him. Hopefully, the others' actions would keep it occupied.