Verissa lightly kicked at Erdren's sides spurring him forward. She pretended to ignore the Thunderfang patrols that were riding around her far in the distance, just at the edge of sight. She knew Shenzi sent them to see her to Gold Ridge safely. Meddlesome old woman was more of a mother than her own had ever been. She quickly stifled that nostalgia away though, not wanting to think of her father. She hadn't seen him in nearly a decade. He had no way of know if she were even alive. That he almost had a grandchild.

She shook it off, eyes focusing on the village on the cliffs, settled in the shade of the mountains, cast by the midday sun. The buildings all sat perched, spread all over the cliffs, connected by lifts, perilous steps, ladders, and various other means of vertical travel. It was strange. For seven years she'd been away from civilization, among her people that totally swore off the thought of settling down. Her stomach was full of butterflies at the thought.

Remus and Remilia were jogging out in front of her, constantly watching for dangers, always alert. They'd grown big, dominating the many mixed breed dogs in her tribe. The hound master helped her train them to improve their guard and watch instincts, as well as how to properly survive on these plains.

As they neared the cliffs, she found herself clutching her bo staff, the first gift that Asher had given her. It was her only, and most trusted weapon. Her eyes could see the many, many layers of shields she'd woven over the wood. Thankfully he'd trained her well before disappearing into the Abyss. She sent the horse up a sloped ramp, the entrance for caravans and horses. She looked back and waved at the sentries that had joined her.

Turning forward, she pressed on, until the ramp turned and she saw the entrance to the city. There were several mercenaries standing guard, some drunk, some sleeping, all in hodgepodges of armor, clothing, and weapons. Her dogs came in close to her, and she hopped down off her steed. One of the mercs approached her, sword lazily held in hand, rubbing his forehead. She saw the grimace on his face, and his avoidance of the sunlight. Unlike his friends, he was hungover.

"What in the hell does some Screamer gal want with Gold Ridge? We ain't in y'all's territory, so if its a raid, you'll find yourselves sorely outmatched."

She grimaced, keeping her eyes locked on his, having to look up to do so, "I'm no longer with my people. I have something more important to do. Let me through."

He smirked a bit, enjoying her less than passive attitude, "And what's in it for me?" He reached out for her hip. Two snarling maws were snapping at him, one where his hand had been a moment before, the other a hair's breadth from his loins. This caused the other mercs to pay more attention, mostly to laugh at their friend.

"Of course, I have a toll just in mind for you."

She turned to her pack on her horse, and got into her herb kit, and mixed a series of herb into a wine skin. She handed it to the man, "Drink some of that and that headache will disappear in no time. A specialty of mine."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "And if it's poison?"

"Then have someone else drink it, and take their stuff. Either way, you profit."

He chuckled at this and stepped aside to let her through. She walked her horse into the town, her dogs growling at the man, daring him to make another pass at Verissa. She made her way to the center of the bustling town, wondering where to go from here. She needed to find accomodations, then she needed to find people to join her in getting into the city. She hopped up on her horse to get a better view, and that's exactly what she got.

From her perch, she saw her home that she'd just left. The rolling grassy plains, spreading seemingly endlessly, made her homesick already. But the sight of Hr'kret stabbed into her home made her nearly retch. It was so foul, so foreign, so wrong. Talking to her pups, "Even if we can't find him, let's burn that hell to the ground." And with that, she simply rested there for a bit on her steed, steeling herself for what was to come.

Chia sat on a crate in the main square, her silky and smooth voice enchanting all those who deigned to listen. A group of children sat before her, their eyes lit up, listening to the tale that she told. A few of them were at her feet, depositing coins into an iron pot. She offered a brief smile to those who gave her tips. The story seemed to be getting more intense by the moment, children holding their breaths and leaning towards the black-haired woman, trying to catch more of the story.

Chia launched into the climax, an infant's black-haired head peeking over her shoulder. The infant child giggled, laughing at something unbeknownst to the rest of the crowd, and then playing with her mother's dress. The dress itself was made of red cloth, with lots of little beads decorating it. Chia had a simple brown shawl thrown over the dress. The dress itself was almost falling apart at the seams, having been patched up far too many times to count. The hem at the bottom was ripped, and the sandals on her feet showed significant signs of wear. The infant on her back played with her shawl, giggling.

After getting the climax over with, Chia lapsed into the song bit of the story. Now this part was much different, because her singing voice was melodic and high. Her singing attracted the attention of the crowd, turning heads and drawing oohs and ahhs. To those children that listened, they felt a faint sense of wonder and joy. A few children began clapping to the beat, laughing with glee. The infant on her back beamed, giggling. Chia grinned as well. Shouldn't these people know what to expect? She was a Tamasheq, after all, and Tamasheqs were the best storytellers around.

Her smile dissolved, although she kept on singing. When she was a little girl, she had traveled with her tribe, in their caravans and tents. Although life had been hard in the desert, she had her tribe to support her and love her. But not anymore. Her mood turned grim as she remembered the way they had callously tossed out young Chia into the unforgiving wilderness. She remembered the way that she had almost died out in the wilderness before finding an oasis to drink from.

But the Temasheq gods were unforgiving of those who harbored magic in their veins. And she had always known this, had known it since she was a little girl listening to the stories of the gods. She couldn't help but ask why the gods hated the gifted. Did they have a personal vendetta against them? Did they think that they offended the gods? Chia plastered a smile on her face while singing. Whatever the gods thought, this was her life now. Her child, her stories, traveling across the world. Although she felt shame, she would accept this life.

While Verissa took in the view, her dogs' ears caught the sound of a woman singing. They turned and looked at the square where the woman was singing to several children. They slipped down into an unnatural state of relaxation, not on alert like normal. Verissa noticed this, and followed their eye lines. Their heads bobbed and weaved with the music that woman was playing. She'd seen them act this way before, back when they were pups. Back when she'd met Lyriia in Green Fall.

She remembered that mute girl with fondness and a hint of annoyance. Having to read notes instead of conversing was a pain, but that was a unique quirk of that bard. Lyriia helped out with the attack on the Knight's Tournament. That was shortly before Verissa was captured and joined the Kvaren. It seemed so long ago, so much longer than it was.

But more importantly she remembered that Lyriia's music was magical. She suspected this woman's was the same, but it didn't seem that she was doing anything harmful. Just to be safe, she rubbed her hands together, exuding the dull lavender glow of her magic between them. Pulling her hands apart, the magic stuck to them like taffy. She hopped off her horse and bent down to her pups, rubbing the magic over their ears, letting the magic fade out of sight as it set in. She applied it to her own ears as well. She had set the shields to block magic, and she assumed they were strong enough as her dogs seemed to return to their normal behavior.

"How about we go take a listen? We could use a good time."

She led her horse over and tied it to a post, her dogs staying at her side. She sat down behind one of the children, her pups laying down, heads in her lap. Several children moved close to them and began petting them, which the pups allowed happily. Verissa watched the woman, wondering where she was from. She was foreign, that much was evident. She came from somewhere with a lot more sun it seemed.

When Verissa saw the woman's infant child, her heart fell, her hand dropped to her stomach scar. She could feel the hardened flesh there, the constant reminder of her loss. She still had days where she wished that Shenzi were a lesser skilled healer and had let her die. She forced herself to smile though, as always when she thought of this, so that she didn't break down in tears. She was the wife of a Thunderfang Swordmaster and she herself was the first Shield Maiden in the history of her people. But everyone had their burdens and stories she supposed.

Her dogs ears perked up, and they stood up, looking over her shoulders. She leaned back and looked out over the land. She couldn't see anything. But she was concerned, her dogs were worried. Then the horn sounded across the village, blasted from one of the watchtowers. What followed made her stomach drop. A man yelled, "Skeeters! Two chimes away!"

She jumped to her feet, and rushed to her horse, grabbing her bo staff. Mercenaries and guards started coming out of the woodwork, and children began running and hiding. In the distance, a dark cloud was coming closer, and coming fast. As it closed in, the dog sized demon insects could be seen, the slicing of their metal wings heard loud. Anyone familiar with them knew that they ate metal and drank blood. And a swarm could take down a caravan. Or small village.

Rotmek loved the feel of the wind through his beard, flapping over his shoulder, as the ground soared by below. He was the first non-dragon to join the Wing-Host. After the demon city appeared, as well as the destructive god Coria, it was soon realized that dragons would need some aid in defending their territory. So they made a single Flight within the Wing-Host to include battle tested non-dragons, and Rotmek was made Flight Commander. He had a brilliant eye for strategy as well as a joy for flying. He was one of the only dwarves that had been allowed to ride on a dragon's back. Many dragons still consider being rode as a great shame, as if they were cattle. But some considered it a partnership and made it work.

Rotmek rode without any form of saddle, using hooks that kept a hold on the dragon's scales. He was leading a flight of dragons and half dragons to Gold Ridge. Many of the older, wealthier dragons were curious about the valuables that people collected from the demons, things that could only be found in the Abyssal realm. And dragons had learned that the archfiends that ruled that demonic city were quite powerful, on par with themselves. So some preferred to send hired mercenaries to gather for them. Many a dragon had been killed or injured attempting to steal the treasures from the archfiends.

Rotmek looked over his shoulder and saw the many wings, mostly reds and greens. Blues were incredibly rare in Pyresia any more, ever since their great exodus to follow their god. Looking forward, through his tinted goggles, he saw Gold Ridge, the hodgepodge village on a cliff. He peered through the telescopic lenses, made for him by some of their finest engineers, and saw a dark cloud moving toward Gold Ridge. He smiled, it was time for fun.

He pulled out a cylinder, ripped the cap off with his teeth, and slammed the butt against the dragon beneath him. It caused no harm, but it did cause a reaction that shot a green fireball high into the air. It was a signal of combat incoming. Many roars bellowed from behind him indicating they'd seen the signal and were ready for the carnage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Verissa glanced back at the many children, most of whom were rushing inside, leaving behind any metal toys or tools that they might've had with them. It made her heart pang a little, that children would have to know such vital survival tactics. With a flick of her wrist, her bow staff snapped around, whirling and locking up behind her right shoulder. It was automatic now. Her preparation. Asher had taught it when she had become more adept. It let her test the weapon, ensure that it was still good, and it was used as a sort of trigger to put her into a combat mindset.

Her dogs knew the motion as well. They both hopped up, staying close, but out of reach of her staff. They were calm, now that they knew there was a threat, they slipped into the training that was taught to them by Asher, their mother, and the houndmaster of the Thunderfang tribe. They were bigger than most of the incoming skeeters, and would put up more than just a fight. They would be a veritable threat.

Verissa checked all of the shields she currently had in place. She had some of the standard shields around her dogs necks and vulnerable bellies, still humming with power. The only other shields she maintained hummed around her weapon, particularly at both ends of it. The guards that had greeted her at the village entrance, along with many others, were now taking up positions around the village center. One looked over at her, grinning like a fool, "If we survive this, wanna have a drink with me tonight?"

Verissa wanted to just flat out say no, but she knew these type of men. They didn't stop at a simple no. "Fine. That just makes you another creature I have to bash in the skull of." The threat wasn't even close to real, and Verissa still always felt awkward about having to display false bravado. But it elicited a round of laughter from the man's friends.

The buzzing in the air was now deafening, the cloud showing that it was quite a large swarm. Maybe sixty or so of the giant bugs. Thankfully, the village seemed prepared for the most part, as several ballistae began firing bone tipped spears into the swarm. Few were starting to fall, as the dive bomb began. The bugs dove down, heading straight for the main group of people. Skeeters had a single tactic; fly by, attempt to cripple the prey with their bladed wings. Repeat until dead or victorious.

The dive met the group, many of whom dove aside or threw themselves on the ground. The more skilled of the later slashed at the underbellies of the creatures as they flew by, sending the insects crashing. Verissa snapped her bo staff around several times. When a skeeter dove at her, she whipped the low end of her staff upward, the end crashing just beneath its mandibles. The creature's head snapped back harder than any might expect, throwing its momentum upward and over her, before it crashed into the ground, oozing around its neck where the exoskeleton had cracked.

Remus and Remilia took a different tactic. Remus was the bait, a skeeter diving toward him. As it got close, Remilia dove in behind the bladed wings, getting an unbreakable hold on the creature's body and tackling it to the ground. Remus followed with his sister and they tore the creature to shreds. The first wave passed over them, weakened but still a threat. A couple of the guards and mercs had fallen, and there hadn't been many to begin with. It would be a tight war of attrition. Who would run out of forces first?

"Where's my money?"

Loam's empty fist flashed across Marlo Daubin's face. The Pyresian merchant spun away with the force of the blow, but he never landed. Instead he sprawled against an unpacked crate of goods; the wind leaving his lungs added to his already bloodied nose. Loam never gave Marlo a chance to answer, he just hauled the thin, twig-ish man off his feet to shout at him.

"I just dragged your ass across these gods forsaken plains on the promise of fifty silver. I don't care if you had to 'pay off the guards' when we got here. You promised me the money and I'm here to collect. Now, where is my goddamn money?!"

Loam knew, in his heart of hearts, that at best it was a verbal contract. If Marlo called for help then the knights might get involved and that just wasn't worth it. A Screamer like him wouldn't get any kind of a fair shake. As the alarm sounded, Loam resolved that he'd just have to make sure Marlo was too afraid not to honor the deal. He dropped Marlo to the ground and smashed his sheathed sword into the merchant's fingers with a few satisfying snaps.

"I'm going to go see what's going on out there. If you don't have my money by the time I get back, I'll cut the weight of that silver out of your hide."

Loam exited the tent only to find a battlefield. Dead of both sides and the possibility of him joining them soon. With an exasperated sigh he joined the line of the defenders for the coming of the second wave.

It was good to be traveling again. Drachiathoryx angled her wings carefully, stoically ignoring the deep ache in her chest and back as she struggled hard to keep her place in the slipstream off the wings of the dragon slightly below and ahead of her. It took near-constant vigilance and strict timing to match her wingbeats with the young Harrok so that she didn't fall behind.

Not many would have considered the grueling struggle worthwhile, but after the last few months in Pyresia, this particular half-Ixen was ready for a break. The flight to Gold Ridge was the perfect opportunity to step away from the attention her accomplishments in the last few years had earned, and to continue her search for the Elemental Temple of Fire when she got there. The life of a celebrity was a delicious whirlwind of acknowledgment and rewards, but not all of her journey around the continent had been a cakewalk. Flying like this gave her a chance to turn her thoughts inwards, a luxury she hadn't recognized as such before returning from the Auric desert.

"...can't believe I'm ferrying foodstuffs across my back for bipeds! Like a common ox!...what is the world coming to? ...damnedly unacceptable if you ask me..."

Glancing over, Drache grinned at the stout blue dragon to her left. The venerable female had a rather blunt snout that gave her a decidedly ornery appearance, which matched the nearly constant stream of griping that had followed them all the way from Pyresia.

"You'd think that after three days of flying you'd have started to believe it by now, Sky Talon," Drache teased, speaking in perfect Draconic. The obstinate Schochra sniffed rudely, shut her nostrils and surged ahead a little to snub the half-dragon, who simply chuckled as she watched the heavy-bodied female grump her way through the air. The blue dragon's wings were painted with many lines of colour, a testament to her dedication to the Aerial Host and her skill in combat. Not for the first time, Drache felt a pang of jealousy for what it must be like to possess the sheer physical strength and power of a 'real' dragon.

The copper creature ahead of Drache turned his head also to watch Vesenthicar go. The stout spines on his chin made the wind whistle when he did so. "Indeed, Vesenthicar, it's not as though you're not getting reimbursed quite generously for carrying on a trip you were to take anyways." He glanced back at Drache and winked the seafoam green eye pointed at her.

"You will address your superior as Sky Talon, young Mojavico," Vesenthicar snapped, a sparkle of white static crackling around her jaws and the massive horn on the front of her skull. But Mojavico was not impressed. He flared his wings grandly and performed a quick barrel roll, which would have been impressive if it hadn't buffeted Drache and nearly knocked her out of the formation.

"I may be young yet, but you're no longer my superior, or had you forgotten?" he proclaimed, obviously quite proud of himself. Just before Drache returned to the volcano city apparently her friend had exchanged the blue bars on his wing membranes for a pair of chevrons that flaunted his promotion. Somewhat more subtle (and a great deal more expensive) lines of gold flake down the phalanges of his wings advertised something else entirely.

Rolling her eyes at the copper drake's flamboyant display, Drache was wondering if she'd get a chance to spend some time with the acid-breather in his munthrekadon, his human form, in Gold Ridge before they parted ways again. For a long time she had lived in his balcony on the steep face of the mountain, and now that she'd been awarded her own luxurious quarters she missed him. Though, not nearly so much as she missed Raffey.

She didn't get a chance to think on it long, nor did she hear Vesenthicars snarling retort, because at that moment a blinding flash of green and a loud report ahead of them. The Elementalist didn't lend her roar to the others' having just enough time to glance down at the ground to see what had caught the attention of the dwarf on the large gold-scaled dragon at the head of the formation.

The settlement below must be Gold Ridge! And in the distance across the vast plains she could see a tall spire sprouting up from the flatlands like a spear struck into a haybale. "Hr'kret!" Crossing the distance in an amorphous swarm were dozens of dark creatures like a swarm of locusts or birds.

Feeling a sudden thrill at an opportunity to use the arcane skill she had been developing for several years, Drache put on a burst of speed and reached out to seize Mojavico's tail. Hoping the copper dragon wouldn't fart at the most inopportune time, Drache glanced back, trying to pick out the other half-dragons in the group to see how they were responding. It amazed her how many of her own kind had begun to appear as Pyresia prospered and made contact with other great cities. Half-dragons were not at all common, and most of them were not born with wings that could keep them in the air. She still hadn't quite decided how to approach them.

"Cinder, get ready. We're about to have a very good time," Drache snarled between sharp bared teeth. In her mind she felt the radiating heat of her Familiar's presence. The pack strapped tightly to the small of her back grew warm as the Fire Sprite woke, emerging from his glossy black orb amid her gear.

"Oh? It's so nice to be needed," he replied dryly in her thoughts. Out loud his voice was a series of sizzles and crackles. But for some reason she understood him well enough.

The Flight of dragons and their allies dove towards the city and Drache felt a surge of heat in her veins.

Hearing the horns sound, Chia’s heart dropped, her face going pallid, like fresh-fallen snow on a winter day. She had heard of the Skeeters, a terrifying monster that ate blood and metal. They came in swarms, and they could destroy small villages. Such as Gold Ridge. Her heart raced with fear as children and adults alike began screaming and running into safe places.

The baby on her back started crying, tugging at her mother’s hair. Chia touched the child’s hair with a comforting hand. “Shhhh, Shadzi.” the young mother said in a gentle tone. In reality, she was just as scared as the child. Her heart pumped at an unsteady rate as she viewed the chaos surrounding her. Guards and mercenaries alike were fighting against the archfiends, along with the Screamer woman from earlier and a man she couldn’t identify.

Tentatively, Chia drew her sharp dagger from a hidden pocket in her dress. The dagger was always her last resort, and she was trained in it. Self-trained, of course. But before fighting, the baby would come first. Chia set the small child in a relatively safe alcove, kissing her head. She would fight to protect this village. If all those children lost their home and possibly their lives- well, that would break Chia’s already fractured heart.

And then the woman went charging into the battle, brandishing her dagger and stabbing into a diving Skeeter’s belly first chance she got. Yeah, she was mostly just fighting for the heck of it. But man, was it fun. She wasn't about to say that death and pain was fun- that wasn't her point. She had always loved the feeling of rushing into something with no plan, improvising as you go along. In this world, that had become her sense of enjoyment. Enjoying surprise, even if it was bad.

As the first wave of skeeters took back to the sky, to gain altitude, speed, and regroup, they saw the diving rage of dragons. The largest within the swarm, a particularly vicious female, let out a high pitched screech. This screech was soon matched by all of the other skeeters. It shot in a cone at the dragons, meant to disrupt, deafen, and confuse the attackers. But it also worked as a cry for reinforcements.

The swarm angled to meet the dragons directly, losing critical speed as they moved upwards. The large gold that carried Rotmek flicked its tail, straightening it out, and tucked in his wings. Rotmek whooped and dug the hooks in just a bit more tightly for he knew the maneuver that was coming. The dragon dove like a spear, and then began its barrel roll. It spun quickly, releasing its corrosive breath through the swarm as it stabbed through. He took several minor knicks and cuts from the bladed wings, but his breath had spread through the swarm heavily. The skeeters that took the most of it fell from the sky as their wings could no longer support them.

Once Rotmek and Tamaraniz shot out the back of the swarm, he opened his wings once more, glancing back to see that his rider had maintained consciousness. The smiling dwarf beamed back and the pair continued toward the village as half the swarm fell from the gas. Rotmek could see a second swarm, roughly the size of the first making way for the village. The second strike while the first kept the attackers busy. He peered through his goggles though, for something seemed off. There was something... big in the second swarm. Dragon sized big. He knew if he saw it, Tam saw it as well, and being the leader of the Flight, it would be his target. Rotmek pulled out another stick, popped the top as blue smoke began pouring out of it, and dropped it toward the village. It was the signal of the rally point. The remaining dragons would know it would indicate where they were to go to defend, rather than pulling the first swarm away.

The second swarm reached the village first, targeting the injured first, going into a frenzy at the scent of blood in the air. Verissa saw a few latecomers join her and the other defenders, including the singing woman from earlier. The swarm flowed through the village like a river, slicing down building and person a like. Verissa whistled and charged forward, her loyal dogs following close. The tip of the swarm was heading toward her. With a few bird whistles, signals she learned from her time in the Kvaren. The dogs tucked in close to her. She slammed her staff down into the ground, and expanded the shield that she always kept around it. For a brief moment, it glowed lavender before disappearing from sight. The swarm slammed into the wedge shaped shield. It parted the swarm, several dying on impact or from being thrown into the ground or the building. After the first several deaths, the swarm pulled up and flew over it. Her dogs worked as executioners, finishing off the injured beasts while avoiding the brunt of the healthy ones.

The large skeeter that was following the swarm was elongated, more like a massive centipede with dozens of bladed wings. Tam and Rotmek were already en route toward it. Tam could sense that it was a female, but not a queen. Queens of any insects don't leave the hive. It must be a princess, next in the line of succession. That meant bigger, stronger, and healthier. Tam flapped hard, picking up speed, keeping his legs tucked, his tail working as a rudder. Tam was quite large by even dragon's standards, but that didn't slow him. While many dragons preferred a life of leisure with their hoards, Tam did not. He flew every day, stayed active, and had no interest in wealth. Whenever he was given wealth, he had a tendency to just let whoever was nearby to have it. He just enjoyed the quiet life of a hardened warrior.

He roared in challenge at the princess, still speeding toward her. When they were close to a collision, he flipped over, extending his claws to either rake at her belly or possibly get a good hold on her, to rip her from her flight. But she was a bit too agile. She pulled up quickly, only getting a few superfluous scores in her exoskeleton. She was able to whip around faster than Tam, like an eel in the sky. On his tail, she screeched so loudly, that any watching could see a shockblast from it. The blast struck Tam in the hip and sent him careening momentarily, forcing him to strain hard to stop his momentum. By the time he got turned around, the princess was atop him, tackling into him, her many legs finding a grip under his scales. Then she stopped flying, forcing him to support all of her weight. And he could not. They started a free fall together.

The secondary swarm kept rising and falling over the village, swooping in and out through the bigger streets. Many stopped to hover into open doors or smaller alleyways, seeking out metal and blood to eat. A particularly large male caught a scent from an alcove and floated toward it, toward Shadzi. Several others caught the scent as well, and joined in the search for its exact location.

As a group the dragons angled their wings sharply to follow the gold hide of Tamaraniz and his rider into the oncoming swarm of bladed insectoids. Even those who were not part of the Pyresian Wing Host turned towards the battle with snarls and bared teeth, their reptilian eyes narrowed eagerly for the carnage ahead.

Tam's breath weapon alone had disrupted the spinning cone of buzzing bugs, half of them beginning to fall from the sky dead or dying as their metallic wings rusted away. They landed in squealing thumps in the grassland below, twitching like flies dying on a windowsill.

Mojavico positioned himself carefully in relation to the dragons ahead of him, cautious of being caught in the breath weapon of another dragon. As a fellow Uvelu he didn't have to worry about Tam's acid, but he had a fiery passenger to worry about.

The horizon tilted and he turned downwards at the ground. Ahead of him there was a blinding white flash as Vesenthicar unleashed her own weapon, white static building up on her stout skull until it ballooned out, jolting in jagged blue-white arcs from one skeeter to another until nearly two dozen fell, sparking, out of the air. Other dragons lashed out with claws and teeth, and upon realizing that the creatures were at least partly composed of metal, began snapping them out of the air like lizards lapping up crickets.

There wasn't much Drache could do except hold on and watch lest her claws loose their grip on Mojavico's tail during the dive. Like many of the other half-dragons, she had come to the conclusion that the best place for her would be down in the streets where the true dragons would be little help.

For her, the arc of blue smoke heading for the city, an order for the dragons to defend, was purely coincidental. It's what she planned to do anyways, until she saw where Tam was headed.

The Wing of dragons seemed to split in twain, the more seasoned fighters leveling out and heading towards the second swarm and the massive creature within while the older, fatter, and slightly less aerobatic dragons maintained a course for Gold Ridge. The dragonkin, apart from Drache, joined them.

Thud, thump, thud. Dragons landed on the ground just outside the city, their wings folding and their tails lashing as they fell upon the Skeeters. Fire and lightning crackled, different colours of light blossoming across the walls of the buildings as reinforcements for the villagers arrived. The half-dragons weren't all here as mercenaries looking for work, but most of them were familiar with bloodshed in some style or another. Drawing blade and cudgel, or simply unsheathing their claws, they rushed down the streets to mingle with Gold Ridge's defenders where they'd be most...effective. A huge scarred dragonkin with tattered wings and scales such a dark green that they were almost black strode right past Verissa and sliced a Skeeter in half with a pitted double-bladed sword, the strike so vicious that the flying body parts slaughtered the Skeeters on either side.

Back in the air, Mojavico and the other warrior-drakes had identified the eel-like flying centipede as the greatest threat. The huge reptiles circled the swarm, picking off the smaller Skeeters by the dozen. The Princess itself was far more agile than they were, turning sharply, almost impossibly, in midair. More than one dragon bellowed in rage as she watched her breath weapon streak uselessly through open air as the huge insect simply whipped around it.

"Here's an idea!" Drache bellowed, not sure that Mojavico would be able to hear her before the rushing wind whipped the words out of her teeth. Thankfully, the wedgelike crest turned slightly and Drache saw the light teal eye looking back at her. "This is all wasted effort if we don't kill that thing. It's too fast! I think I can be faster, but it'll work best if we can get some help! Are there any Xarxi in this Wing?"

Mojavico looked around. There weren't many ice dragons left in Pyresia and he didn't think any of them had joined this little excursion. The faintly-striped copper male ducked through a few straggling Skeeters, bashing them with his boney wings, before spotting a familiar stocky dragon in the distance. "There! Galceledas!" He turned towards the stocky, short-limbed drake and added as an afterthought, "By the hells, what is he even doing here?"

"I don't care, I just need you to tell him to ice that thing before I get there, and then tell Tam and that specky dwarf of his to get everyone to line it up straight if then can."

The half-dragon sounded certain, but Mojavico was having his doubts.

"And then what, may I ask?"

Drache grinned, a puff of smoke streaming from her nostrils.

"You're going to help me blow it up." She just hoped the true dragons would take orders from a half-breed.

Behind her and in the back of her mind she heard a crackling sigh.

"Work, work, work."

Tam had incredibly sharp hearing, listening to his companions' plan forming. A small part of him was a bit miffed that he wasn't going to get his one-on-one fight, but he'd learned long ago that pride was for the foolish. He was incredibly calm in the freefall with the Princess, for he knew Rotmek already had a plan in place for such events. And that's when he saw the round object get thrown down between their bellies. He'd feel this in the morning, but knew it wouldn't do any lasting damage to either of them.

There was a booming explosion of dwarven engineering between the beasts as the device went off. It sent the two beasts flying apart from each other, scales and insect legs ripped off. Tam went with the rolling, maintaining the momentum, ignoring how hard it was to breath for the moment. Using it, he dove into a deep banking dive that would've made all but the most hardened flight veteran pass out. But Rotmek never passed out. It's why he was the best. The insect didn't recover quite in time, still mildly stunned. It righted itself, floating to take in its surroundings when a golden missile struck into it at full speed should first. The creature screamed in pain.

Tam sent some breath over the creature, just for a weakening coating. He had control of the momentum now, and while tackling forward, he kept adding to it with powerful flaps of his wings, biting at the creature's tough shell. He felt needle like legs sticking beneath some of his scales but ignored it. He saw several of the dragons in position, particularly the ice breather. He suddenly extended his wings catching the full force of the air, and feeling the nearly muscle ripping strain in his chest and back as he stopped immediately. The creature didn't have enough of a grip and continued forward. Straight into the icy breath of Galceledas. Ice formed heavily over the creature's torso, filling the cracks formed by Tam's breath. It also made the creature much heavier and sluggish and it began to fall, trying to right itself with its bladed wings. It caught itself for a moment, suspended in the air, head thrashing sending out wild, erratic sonic blasts. One hit Galceledas directly in the face. He immediately lost consciousness and began to drop from the sky like a stone.

The dragons had mostly been flying in no particular formation, zipping back and forth in graceful but aggressive arcs as they dog-fighted with the Skeeters. But they were not just dumb flying lizards and quickly caught on that something was happening. Galceledas wasn't terribly bright, nor was he the greatest aerobat, but he was as blood-thirsty as they came and mean as hell, and relished the idea that he would have a part to play in this that he could boast about later. He didn't manage to cover the entire creature in clinging sheets of ice and that was disappointing, but a moment later he cringed hard at the high-frequency blast that seemed to rattle his brain. And then he felt nothing at all.

Mojavico banked far across the plains from the flying Princess, banking around to come at the thing head-on. He could feel the weight of the half-dragon clinging to his tail and hoped she was ready for whatever crazy bullshit she was planning. His ray-like wings undulated quickly as the copper dragon aimed directly for the massive creature's head. When he judged that he was close enough, be banked again, cutting so hard to the side that he heard his spine creak and felt his wings falter. But that wasn't important. He slung his backside around and whipped his tail as hard as he could, using momentum and strength both to sling the fireball dragonkin towards the enemy. Only when he saw her red figure diminishing rapidly did he notice the Xarzi's form free-falling towards the ground. Mojavico roared in alarm, but knew he was much too far away to help his fellow Harrok.

Nothing could have prepared Drachiathoryx for the sheer amount of speed she picked up after letting go of Mojavico's tail. She was sure she'd ripped a few of his scales out in the process and he would most certainly sulk at her about that later. But for now she was soaring through the sky like a meteor, her wings locked only partly open to keep her righted. The abyss-cursed monster was directly ahead and it suddenly seemed very large and dangerous. But she'd seen both large and dangerous before.

"Perhaps this was a bad idea," she hissed.

"Oh? A little late for second thoughts, isn't it?"

"Just shut up and get ready."

She couldn't see Cinder at the moment but knew that he had emerged from the glossy black orb, a vague humanoid shape forming until he became a small biped made out of fire. He clung to her back and watched over her shoulder, his coal-black eyes round with interest.

Drache's clawed hands were down beside her thighs to help streamline her shape in the air, but as she summoned forth the power deep inside she opened her hands and let her claws cut into the cool sky. It was like running her hands through water or the purest silk. One moment the air was just air, but then suddenly she could control it. With a booming whoosh a column opened around her. She couldn't truly tell if it was pulling or propelling her forwards, but in truth it mattered little. She was going fast, faster. The eel-monster couldn't have turned out of the way if it wanted to. A white tail formed behind her.

The column of wind was a tunnel. Drache aimed for a spot just above the creature's head to pass over its serpentine, undulating, ice-crusted body. She took a deep breath and felt her chest surge with heat. A hot glow gleamed through the pattern of scales on her neck and arms. With a roar, she unleashed a fire-breath of her own, painting the monster with hot orange flame.

Her tiny companion fueled the inferno, lending his pure elemental power to hers, shaping it for her as she concentrated on controlling their wild flight.

Kra-KOOM! Ba-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-BOOM! Fire erupted down the length of the terrible beast in white-hot explosions, the heat trapped close by the arcane wind tunnel. Once she was over clear sky Drache extinguished the spell and immediately felt exhausted. She tried to turn to see if her work had accomplished anything, fighting her leaden wings, forgetting that the sky was still full of the smaller Skeeters.

The sudden heat let the corroded and frozen exoskeleton of the skeeter Princess expand rapidly. There were thunderous cracks as the armor split in several places before it simple erupted in shrapnel. With her armor sundered, many pieces severing her wings she was defeated. She maintained her floating air for just a moment, almost suspended in pure disbelief before she could no longer maintain her weight. She let out the most shrill and high pitched death screech. As she started to fall, she saw the crimson creature responsible for her death and with her dying breath, spit a yellow gloop at the exhausted woman, hitting her square in the stomach. The blow caused no damage, but stunk to high hell.

And then the princess fell.

Tam was already in a deep dive, eyes on where he'd meet Galceledes. It was so close to the ground. Rotmek knew this. He shouted over the roaring winds, "Be well friend." He loosened his hooks and let the wind catch him, throwing him from the dragon's back. Once he was free of the momentum and in his own free fall, he opened his rucksack, and a parachute opened up. Letting him drift about lazily, as he watched his golden friend in a suicidal dive.

Tam crashed into Galc's unconscious form hard, throwing them into a tumble, shifting the momentum from downward to outward. Tam scrambled, trying to find purchase on the blue, before managing to dig in his claws and tuck in his wings, bracing for what came next. They hit soft plains soil hard, with a sickening thud and bounce, skipping like a stone, rolling and tumbling over the ground. At some point Tam lost his grip and Galc flew loose from him. When they finally stopped, there were deep grooves in the ground from their landings, and neither of them seemed to be moving.

The other dragons expected the skeeters that had hung around the princess to go after the defenseless dragons, but they had all turned to face another direction. Drache. The scent she'd been marked with sent them into a frenzy, to avenge their fallen princess. They would all stop at nothing to kill the marked one, not worried about anything else at this point. And it wouldn't be long until the skeeters in the village would smell her too.

The screeches synced up, with a single purpose. And then they all started their diving attack toward the tired dragoness.

Vesenthicar and Mojavico landed hard in the grass. There was a strong scent of mud where the two downed dragons had torn up the turf as they bounced across the ground. Regardless of their superficial animosity and barbed remarks, the blue and the copper had long been a team. Both Tam and Galceledes lay unmoving, slumped in the dirt like slaughtered cattle. There was no readily apparent sign that either of them lived. Mojavico sniffed the ice-drake and shoved at his side. Even if they were dead, which would have been a tragic loss, it would be up to them to protect the bodies from harvested by bipeds. Especially with the demon city so close. Cannibalism was the preferred resolution to that problem.

Vesenthicar was having a similarly negligible reaction from Tam. "Go!" she spat.

Mojavico shook his head, the frill along his neck waggling stubbornly. "No. I should help you here."

"You need to help your pet half-breed. Look!"

Mojavico whipped his head around, quick as a viper, and took only a second to spot Drache in the air. How was it that a half-breed had brighter crimson scales than an actual dragon? There was little time to consider that. Shrieking with even more blood-thirsty intent, the Skeeters had clumped together in a swarm and were headed right for her.

"Damn these bastards back to the abyss they came from!" Flapping hard, the Harrok was airborn in a moment.

High above, Drache struggled to remain aloft. She had become more powerful than she'd ever dreamed but even now she had her limits. No one had ever told her for a fact, but she suspected that one more attempt at magic would kill her. Watching the massive creature fall in death had been satisfying as hell, but didn't solve her immediate problem. She could no longer spot Mojavico in the skies around her and she doubted many of the other dragons would lower themselves to carry her, the elitist wyrms.

Something foul and sticky struck her right in the stomach. Her eyes began to water right away as she looked down at the slimy substance. "What...? Ew! It spit on me? That's so rude! Dragonballs that smells awful!" Concerned and having lived with an acid-drake too long to trust strange substances she watched for signs of it eating through her vest. It didn't start smoking and her scaled skin didn't begin to tingle, but a growing buzzing noise made her look up.

"Oh shit!"

"I agree. That is what it smells like."

She didn't have time to ask the fire sprite how a creature made entirely out of fire could smell anything. She barely had time to examine her options. There weren't many, and there were fewer by the second. The city below would be safest, but that would mean bringing the frenzied shrieking hellbeasts with her. She could try to flee and hope that the dragons would come to her aid, but didn't think she would get far enough to make a difference.

"I think they're coming after me because of the smell."

"Perhaps you should take all your clothes off. That won't be any trouble for you."

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

But it wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it gave her another one.

"Alright fine."

She turned back towards the city and dove. As she did so she carefully removed her pack, cringing inwardly as she let it fall. Hopefully she would be able to retrieve it later, but doubted it. But a small chance was better than it being certainly destroyed by what she was about to do. Using her claws, the busty half-dragon ripped her shirt off, balling the stinking material up in her fist.

"You'll have to do the rest. Cover me like you did in the old fire temple, but this time don't spare my clothes."

Cinder's round head nodded and the tiny flame creature seemed to spread out, the orange and red fire licking across her scales. It seeped down her back and across her wings, down her spine and out to the tip of her tail. The heat felt lovely to the dragonkin but did little to sooth her aching muscles.

The swarm of Skeeters dove after her, gaining momentum in their mad rage-fueled flight. As she drew closer to the city those seemed to smell her as well, abandoning their macabre feasting to rise towards the incoming fireball.

Cinder's flames quickly ate through all of Drache's clothes until she was naked apart from some jewelry. Her garments burned away in floating embers until she was free of the stink. Purified by fire. Turning back she lobbed the soiled shirt into the face of the closest Skeeter, and her fiery companion closed his protection over her hand.

She wouldn't know if it worked because at that moment her wings gave out and she couldn't cushion her descent, crashing haphazardly into the ground inside Gold Ridge.

Clawed legs cut and beat him, but Loam held firm. Riding the thing's midsection he held its mouth at bay with his scabbard while he stabbed its abdomen with the broken end of his sword until it finally pierced the beast's carapace. He rode the death throes and extracted himself from the mess when it was over.

Nine. This would be number nine. The ones in the air were the problem of the dragons. He took advantage of the reprieve to secure his busted longsword in the scabbard and grab a spare one dropped by one of the defenders. No time to patch himself up, but at least he could catch his brea-

Then a dragon shaped comet streaked past him, followed by six more armored shapes that hit the ground with the force of cannon balls. When Loam found his feet again the five survivors of the impact were already on him, smelling his blood and metal. He kicked up a nearby spear to impale the one at the front, but it's fellows simply tore through the new obstacle and came at him.

There was no time for thinking or tricks. Loam lashed out viciously with his blunted sword, hitting the Skeeter's eye hard enough to dig into the head. Wings cut him and he whirled, driving his new sword into another. Mouths bit him. It was a whirling savage dance, but in the end Loam stood over the broken bodies bloody and mangled, but alive.

With the same stubborn determination that had propped him up all his life Loam walked away from the carnage to find the next bug to squash.

Verissa could see the swarm within the village was dwindling heavily, but being more scattered, they were much more unpredictable. She saw a small group of them floating around an alcove at the head of an alley, looking for something. It seemed they were closing in on a small hole in the wall, small enough for something to be stored.

Verissa summoned her magic and pushed it into her staff, forming two balls of magic at each end, glowing lavender lightly. She swung the staff around over head, and slung one ball at the hole. Just before its collision she took control of it, and spread the magic over it, forming an invisible shield over it. The skeeters hovered confused, sniffing around until there was no more scent. Until they found another.

The little blonde mage was already slinging the second ball of magic, it flying low. It sunk into the ground before the group. Once deep enough, easily passing through the matter, she rapidly solidified and expanded it. This rapid expansion threw large chunks of rock and earth outward. The shards took out the smaller skeeters, but did little to stop the larger male. It was coming at her fast now, planning to take her down easily.

She spun to the side, just barely getting her shield protected staff between her and the bladed wings. She could feel that the shield was severely weakened from all the constant use. This fight needed ended quickly. Thinking back to a lesson in hunting from Asher, he always emphasized finding an enemy's strength and finding the weakness that strength creates. The bladed wings gave a lot of maneuverability and offensive power. The skeeter dove toward her again, when she thought of a plan. Pushing more magic into her staff, she made a deep, unformed layer around the end of it. She readied herself, and made no attempt to dodge. She swung her staff up. When she felt the bladewing sunk into the magic, she snapped it into existence. The wing caught but the skeeter continued forward, crashing into the woman, its wing breaking off in her magic. It threw her to the ground hard and tumbled past her. With just one wing, it spun in circles trying to lift off the ground. Her dogs made quick work of it.

Verissa laid there, hurting from the collision, looking around to see the numbers pretty much depleted. A flash of light in the air made her look up. Something, or someone, was on fire in the air, then suddenly, was falling out of the sky like a stone. She couldn't make out what it was, aside from red. Really red. She saw the thing fall somewhere on the other side of the village. Remus and Remilia were nudging her to get up, not seeing any immediate threats.

Moving slowly, Verissa made her way for the crash site, using her staff for support. But she found a woman with her arm sliced off along the way, a strange looking half-elf nearby, having seemingly finished off several skeeters. "Someone crashed over that way," pointing to where she suspected the crash to have occurred, "Go check it out. I have a feeling its an ally." She knew the man had no reason to listen to her, she was just a Screamer after all, but she figured in a moment of chaos a little leadership could get people to do anything.

She knelt down by the woman, pulling out her healing kit, already applying a shield to the arm nub when she had an idea. Maybe she could reattach the arm. She'd learned a lot from Shenzi and knew she needed to push her boundaries as a healer. She picked up the woman's nearby arm, finding the cut right at the elbow joint, was quite clean. Setting to work quickly, she cleaned both nub and severed arm, glad to see healthy bleeding from the live side. She shielded both exposed ends, stopping the blood, and lining them up. Shenzi told her that with her magic, to not think like a doctor, to go beyond what a doctor could do. Hands glowing, she permeated both sides of the joint completely. She pressed the arm to the joint, knowing that it still wasn't yet connected.

Her instinct was to try stitching, but there were too many internal features to try that. She could feel them with her magic, they were identical on each side but too small for stitches. A bunch of different types of tubes, cut off from one another by the walls of her shield. Her eyes widened and she was chewing her lip in concentration, having to focus completely on feel now. She adjusted her magic, using it to move the arm into place, matching everything up more precisely. Then, she started opening the walls, little by little, so that artery met artery, vein to vein, nerve to nerve, so that everything could flow again. She did this so slowly, trying to make sure as to seal each thing the moment she reopened the tube. The ligaments were trickier though, she had to stretch them to meet in the proper places and stick them there. She didn't notice that nearly a full stretch had passed before she rested back on her haunches, having just finished putting salve on the outside of the wound and bandaging it up.

The woman stirred, groaning in pain. Her eyes fluttered open, and both hands came to her stomach, gripping it tight, fingers winding in the cloth. Verissa saw that somehow, she'd made it work, the arm was working. She was exhausted, physically and mentally and magically. The woman got up and immediately ran away, back home she assumed. Verissa just leaned back on the ground, trying to rest.

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On the far side of the village, the local stable had a new occupant. A crimson, naked half-dragon woman had crashed through the thin wooden roof and landed in a pile of hay. The hay helped stopped the worst of the injuries, but the roof had done some major damage. Her left wing was bent at an awkward angle, broken in at least two places, with a large slash in the membrane. Her face was heavily bruised from the impact, and she was covered in small slashes and splintered pieces of wood. And despite being unconscious, she'd survived.

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One that looked quite similar approached the Argonian bounty hunter. He was a black half dragon, old, scar covered, scars that appeared to be burns. But he stood out from all the others, for his wings were gone. He had scars where they'd been. He wore a simple tunic, a set of twin swords on his hips. "You might want to get moving bounty hunter. That princess corpse will attract beast and wealth monger alike. The corpse is worth more than you'd make in a lifetime. Though you might want to take some help, it might get bloody." He turned as a lone skeeter dove at him, a straggler from the fight.

Half dragon merely kept walking toward it, and it in a blur, the creature was halved, quartered, sliced into so many pieces. He never stopped walking, his swords already sheathed. Once he'd walked through the space, the creature's blood spurted out of the pieces of his corpse, and not a single drop landed on his tunic. He made his way out of the city, heading for the two fallen dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drache's plan had worked, even better than intended. The skeeters altered course, diving after the smelling clothes and ignoring her completely as she fell. Skeeters all throughout dove into the ground, attacking and assaulting all that the scent touched. It took only a few breath attacks from stray dragons to vanquish them all.

Galceledes stirred weakly, taking a mental check of himself. He would be sore for a while, but it seemed everything was in order. He lifted his head, seeing Vesenthicar nudging at old Tam, finding no movement. Galc looked around, saw the grooves in the earth, and quickly discerned what had happened. Tam had saved him. Galc pulled himself slowly up on all fours and moved over to Tam, shoving Vesenthicar out of the way. He roared as loud as he could in Tam's face as loudly as he could muster. But the old silver didn't move. He was gone.

He let out a mournful roar, and all dragons knew that meant that one of their own had fallen, and that they would all be expected in consuming its corpse. When Galceledes looked down, to take that first bite, he saw a woman standing atop Tam's corpse. He'd not sensed her arrival in any way, and even though he could see her, he still couldn't be sure she was there. She smirked, giggled once, and disappeared, along with Galc's corpse. There was no trace of scent of the fallen brethren. Galceledes immediately went into a frenzy of rage and frustration. Vesenthicar flew away from him silently, to report what had happened to the rest of the dragons, letting Galc vent.

There was a dragon roaring in the distance. It was a sound Drache heard regularly while in Pyresia, but here it seemed to stir her back to consciousness. Somewhat randomly she was able to tell that the owner of the hoarse bellow was male, but beyond that there was nothing she could surmise. In a daze, the crumpled half-dragon shifted about, wallowing a bit in the loose hay that had apparently cushioned her fall. A low groan erupted, repeating as she swam through both the straw and the daze that made her woozy.

Everything hurt. She could smell blood and knew that it was her own. Bruised limbs throbbed and minor cuts burned like acid up her belly and down her arms. One of her eyes would only open part-way. Threads of smoke were beginning to form a haze inside the barn and the horses being stalled there started to prance and whicker skittishly as the stack of hay smoldered with the flames that hadn't quite extinguished on impact.

Swaying, Drache felt off-balance. Her left wing felt cold. She tried to twitch it up to match the other and was met with an explosion of agony that took her to her knees, gasping in shock. Slumped on the dusty floor of the stable, she twisted to look at the damaged wing, a cold dread seeping down her veins.

"Ruined." She had to say it out loud, convincing herself it wasn't a dream-vision. The limb wasn't terribly mangled, but it was hanging at an odd angle and looked lifeless. The tattered hole in one of the membranes oozed hot red blood messily onto the floor and there was a break in one of the long phalanges that was already turning an angry purple, yet those things she didn't seem to feel. The true horror was that her radius and ulna had both snapped and were protruding from the strong muscles that attatched the wing to her back. There it dangled uselessly, bleeding a rivulet that crept down her back and thigh.

Drachiathoryx was far from being a Healer of any sort. Her magic could not fix this. No skill she possessed could undo this damage. Winng injuries were somewhat common in the dragon city and she'd seen what kind of damage could be overcome and what couldn't. With a nauseating hollowness she realized that not only would she never fly again, but the wing would have to come off before she bled to death. Even if the injury could be patched up there was no way it wouldn't plague her painfully the rest of her life.

A choked sob erupted from her throat and she tilted her snout back, fighting the hot tears of pain and anger that threatened to overflow. She could have handled the loss of an arm or even a leg, or even her long lovely tail. But to be deprived of flight?! Drache felt a grief coming for her as inexorable and terrible as a tidal wave. But not yet. She couldn't afford to sit there and bleed. She knew no one in this battle-hardened town and those that she had come with were none of them Healers, magical or otherwise. What she wouldn't give for an ally.

"What are you going to do?" Cinder. She'd almost forgotten him. He had made himself as small as possible and though his eyes were always fairly emotionless she got the impression that his fiery face was sympathetic, worried even.

Stumbling slightly as she headed for the light of the open stable door she shook her head slowly, still disoriented. "The only thing I can do, my friend. I must find someone to cut it off before I bleed out. My dagger was in my pack and I may never see that again, else I'd do it myself." She had no way of knowing where her belongings had ended up.

Tucking her arms across her chest, not out of any particular sense of modesty but more to keep herself from falling apart with the sick dread of what she had to do next, the half-dragon shuffled uneasily out into the light to find someone. Her amber eyes, somewhat dull now, hoping to catch sight of Mojavico. But anyone with balls and a sharp blade would do.

Loam, with the enemy dead for the most part and nothing better to do, complied with the blonde's request. Whether she was a Screamer or not didn't really matter. All that came with the name were just bitter memories of being left behind, considering their situation it didn't matter either.

He ambled off, taking a few nips of moonshine as he went. It wasn't hard to find his way back to where the dragon landed. He'd been right there after all. Getting the chance to survey his handiwork was something Loam didn't often get the chance to do. Being in the moment he often glossed over what happened and why, but here it all was laid out in broken bodies. God damn, it was satisfying.

He found her not long after, wandering alone, naked, and bleeding. He also got to hear the last of her comments to herself. He didn't know much about dragons or wings, but if she said the wing had to go, well, who was he to argue?

"Ey lass. Seems some trouble's found you. Don't worry, good ol' Loam will set you right. Still..."

His tone was frank. He dropped his jug and sheathed sword in front of her.

"A few tucks of that for the pain, then bite down. Don't need you swallowing your tongue when I lop it. Don't get too drink too much either. You'll need to sear it shut after."

His preamble done, he grabbed the broken wing firmly. It was mostly to emphasize his point, but also to let her know it was about to get worse in a moment.