More of the bard's magic was flung into the air, only to be noted by the two axemen stuck in their own combat where they were greatly outnumbered while to their side Cyanwrath was swinging his blade in the unrelenting assault against the champion that he had so feverishly sought to fight. The men had to try and keep on fighting, but something crashed against the will of the lantern wielding one, and he soon turned tail. Not a move unpunished by the adventurers intruding into this cult hideout, the bard pushing her rapier through the man's armour and dangerously close to a kidney, and in the brief moment he froze another sword swung in from the side, nicking his throat in a very close call. But on just the right spot, blood starting to pump to the man's skin, leaving him not long for this world. He collapsed down before the half-orc even had the chance to make his strike properly, thus leaving him ready to address another threat if it came to it.

And another threat he would have, or if not him specifically at least he was locked in combat with the scar eyed man that still remained standing of the goons this half-dragon seemed to employ for himself. The axe was lifted once more, and a quick assessment of the situation was taken, observable through the one properly functioning eye of his darting around. He spun around, taking aim at the next priority, the woman that had proven capable of picking up the pieces of the fallen and making them fight once more. A combatant that wielded a blade without hesitation was already dangerous enough, and now they came with the skill to raise up others of the same vein? Certainly this would not stand!

With her wounds not amounting to much quite yet, the man seemed to put self-preservation once more onto a higher pedestal, likely the smart thing to do when outnumbered to as unforgiving a degree as he was. Yet the care put to preparing the axe and footwork to defend from multiple directions left the strike lacking, its arc too telegraphed in the movements of the wielder of the weapon and the strike would not come even close to landing, despite its terrifying speed. The opening had been missed. Now he could only wait for the next.

The unnatural resolve and endurance that flowed through the moontouched beast allowed it to weather a brutal storm that left its off white, pale fur stained with red. A step back from the recoil, it shook itself off and exhaled sharply with pointed, merciless fangs slick with spittle. With an ominous glow, the changed figure's pawed hand gave off ghostly light and the whole body for a moment relaxed as though a breakthrough in the recklessness was reached, a moment of lucidity. The digits flexed some as the palm grew more taut, a channel for a font of energy, and soon they laid themselves to rest against the stained chest armor of the pained beast. In a soft corona of silvery energy, the deep wounds all but disappeared, knitted back together into unnaturally tough flesh once more. While it did not remove the crimson stains or the sickening, metallic odor, it did stanch the worst of the injures taken - those same that would have killed a mere man outright several times over.

All that followed now was the fading dispatch of the ethereal shroud and its cool, divine glow, leaving the body. Such a moment of serenity, the eye of the storm, passed as the desperately needed second wind came to in full effect. The bestial, monstrous thing would hold out for as long as it could, so in return it lifted up the sword and this time, met the blade of the half-dragon with an audible clatter of tense steel, blade to blade; Cyanwrath would have his wish, but what was or once was Brannor, was not about to go easily or lightly. Every ounce of the tiger, from the tip of its whiskers to the point of its claws, were ready to go for a second round.

Yet for now the wild eyes flashed beyond the duel, a moment realizing that the tide was still roiling - perhaps turning - in all its chaos, then back to the draconic aggressor, the one who razed Greenest. Something needed to be done and it was clear that if the curse gifted man did not, and neither did his allies, none could or would.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

There was no thought in the tiger's mind at this point, no thoughts of wanting to defend those who were near death, no human want to help the Paladin who was fighting against a foe who hit as hard as Cyan did. Nothing, nothing but the want to rip into flesh, to kill anything in its path that stopped it from it's ultimate goal of simply getting rid of everything that was a danger to it and it alone. If it seemed threatening to its safety, it wanted it gone, out of the way and bleeding on the ground. With that simple instinct raging through it, the beast lashed out with teeth, wishing to inflict as much injury to the one before it as it stepped forward. Teeth sunk into flesh, hoping for the taste of blood to rush over its tongue, looking for a sign that it had managed to somehow hurt the one before it far more than it intended to hurt it. Of course, that taste did not come as the one before him seemed to manage, somehow, to avoid the injury the Tiger wished to bestow upon it, but maybe it was close. Maybe the one before it would die soon, and that was all it wanted. It wanted it dead so the next threat could be dealt with.

Sparks flitted through Cyanwrath's mouth as he opened it once more, the edges of his maw spreading in a grin while the fight beyond him went as ignored as before. His soldier wrenched the tiger off of his person with the long handle of his axe, and even that feat went unseen. His eyes were locked on the champion of Greenest, his tongue flicking across his teeth sharp as razors, the greatsword readied for another assault on the paladin's person. He had misjudged his intent of action, no retaliation following just yet as instead the weretiger spent the time to patch the fresh wounds. Something that Cyanwrath could easily punish.

"You had a good start! Do not squander it! I know you can fight!" the half-dragon bellowed out his demands, the sparks vanishing from between his teeth. That was enough. His blade sang as it cut the air and crashed against Brannor's armour, bringing forth a great uncomfortable dent to its surface. The fierce assault had crashed right on to Brannor's side, the hit threatening his inner organs even past the unnaturally tough hide, but his splint mail managed to still keep most of the attack at bay. Disappointment at the strike's results flashed visibly in Cyanwrath's eyes, and as he yanked his sword free he drove it further downwards, taking a good slice out of Brannor's shin with the tip of it, and soon the half-dragon had adopted a more defensive posture once more. The weapon was ready to intercept strikes, and the posture left few spots vulnerable. But he was no impenetrable fortress. And he knew this just as well.

Pulling her blade out from the fleeing coward, Kyra narrowly avoided the backswing of the last remaining axeman. He was fighting more defensively now that he was severely outnumbered, something that would only lead to his downfall as Kyra had no intentions of letting herself be taken down so easily. She had done well keeping herself out of danger and largely unharmed, aside from that incident with the spike trap. Before the man could recover from his swing Kyra directed her blade to slice into him. However while she felt contact, she knew the cut was too shallow; she was aiming for his neck and it simply did superficial damage to his armor. Thus Kyra dropped her bow and with a swift swipe, slashed her dagger across the man's face, aiming for just above his eyes so that the blood would hopefully blind him. "We have to hurry, Brannor can't hold off that monster on his own!"

With one berserker down Orchid turned his attention to the scarred man who swung at Kyra. The elf was quick on her feet and was able to avoid his attack, switching to a dual-wielding style similar to Orchid's. He smirked at her ferocity, and as she attacked the raging warrior the orcish barbarian attacked with renewed fury, throwing caution to the wind as he moved around to flank with Kyra and hacked up the berserker. His main strike was aimed directly to the back of the man's head, hopefully a decapitating blow. If not, Orchid still strike low, slicing his sword down the man's calf to hamstring him. Surely if he was a warrior like Orchid, he may be able to withstand said cuts. But much like Orchid, there was only so much damage one could take before they too would fall.

Parum had mixed feelings about finally taking down one of the axemen who nearly killed her, but the other one was still standing. As much as her newfound aggression told her to stab him, she knew that he was more than capable of cutting down just about any of them with that axe of his. She needed to be smart about this as she took on a defensive stance and threw insulting words at him. "You couldn't even cut down a halfling. Some warrior you are!" However she was also very concerned about Brannor. He didn't look too good going up against Cyanwrath, and while everyone piling on damage against the axeman was important, Cyanwrath was likely a greater threat. She knew she only had one spell left, and dammit, she wasn't going to fail him! "Stay strong Brannor! You will defeat him!" She played another encouraging tune on her viol, filling Brannor with positive energy to keep him on his feet.

The eyes of the axe wielding warrior upon whom four combatants were clumping upon flitted between each target despite the seeming blindness of one, visualising angles of attack and retaliating strikes and their possible opportunities. This man was by no means inexperienced. Yet despite the ability to know something was coming, all good it served him was being able to mitigate some of the force behind the strikes rather than block them in their entirety. There were simply too many to work with for the battling to proceed favourably for the hide wearing cultist who bit his teeth together as weapons struck together and some strikes even drew blood. He grunted as the first bleeding cut was cut and spat out a curse as the insults of the halfling sunk into his mind. He turned his good side towards Parum for a moment, shooting her a quick glare before baring his teeth and picking an actual target for his attack. That would be the one who had just opened himself for one.

The axe was swung at Orchid, it cutting through the air towards the barbarian's naked chest. The lack of confidence inspired by the bard's interrupting magic did not manage to quell the sheer destructive power of the large weapon, the sharpened edge of the axe sinking into the skin and hitting bone, the tassel attached to the weapon's tip slapping the berserker in the face before the force of the impact would truly register through the man's rage, one pouring forth from primal instinct. "You wait for your turn halfling, and we'll see about that!" the warrior fired back with his successful attack, his stare stuck on the target he'd just hit, just waiting for the male's eyes to roll back in his head.

The beast within now without was the sole reason the man turned monster had survived the tide of iron the draconic foe leveled blow after blow. It wounded the beast deeply, now stanched again only by the enchanted word of the halfling woman perhaps in the fight of her life. Fighting through to the desperate end, pawed hand taking up the sword again that had been near thrown away by the blow Cyanwrath dealt, the blade cascaded up from the cavern floor and narrowly caught the blue scales rather than the armor itself. Yet what trailed with the wake of the strike was the same ethereal glow that shed from the arms of the pale tiger down across the leading edge itself; each attack was the all that could be mustered, even the very soul of the self.

Not relenting, answering the order of the enemy as best that there could be - knowingly or not - the savage palms changed grip and crashed the hungering blade back down. Again, snarling with a rough exhale, maw stained with its own blood did the once-man pour all that was within out into the attack. Not an ounce more of supernature could be felt, not a drop more could be given from its cup. All that the Pale Lady had provided in this moment was here. Perhaps the dragon servant would feel it, perhaps for once he too would recoil, but there was no time for Brannor to even exalt in lucidity. Everything was flashes of animal anger, raging fires stoke by injury and the need to fight or die trying, interrupted by moments of the silver moon's cool calm. A roiling storm of experiences, the mauled gauntlets held up the blade again, hoping it struck as true as it could and the green knight shook off the haze again.

Eyes of gold burning, the wash of intangible green-white smoke fading from the sword, the jowls quivered with anticipation. This needed to end soon, the moon's graces were not just limited to it; the half-blooded man had fallen, there was an imperative need, an urge, to preserve him, and the only way to do so was through the enemy of Greenest.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

And so they were left with the lone axeman, of course, Torus couldn't find a way to weasel himself between the threat and the nearly downed barbarian which made him let out a rather annoyed huff of air. Instead, he simply jumped in, sharp claws slashing across any exposed flesh he could find. Thankfully, his attack landed, leaving ribbons of blood behind as claws sank into flesh and tore it open much like a knife through butter. He just wanted this creature to die, its danger to those he was here to protect irritating him and something in the back of his mind screaming at him to rend, tear... kill.

The momentum of battle was such a fickle thing. This knowledge was no stranger to Langderosa Cyanwrath either. He'd been in the shoes of the one that turned the fight around just as well, and now that the fight turned on him, he could only blame his own carelessness. Too much aggression, too little focus on protecting himself. His blade may have turned towards the attack, but it did so a fraction of a second too slowly. The second attack to come, for that he did not even possess such a chance. And of any normal warrior he could have taken these two blows in stride and kept on fighting. But not one whose strikes were flavoured with divine vengeance itself. By letting himself be hit, he had failed to keep his lead in this battle. And by failing to keep his lead, he had suddenly fallen right into the jaws of defeat.

As the second attack knocked him off-balance, his blade still turning in the air to meet the champion's in another strike, this one in retaliation rather than the proactive role he'd commanded, Cyanwrath felt his consciousness slipping from him. His greatsword clattered to the ground, bouncing a few times on the slightly uneven floor dotted with small rocks, the half-dragon himself falling on one knee without the intent to do so. The light of the Pale Lady circled under his scales, the sparks of his lightning dim in comparison. "Your allies… cheated", he noted as the last thing before the light flashed outward from his eyes and nose and he would fall over on to his side with a single spasm of his muscles.

The tone his words had carried had not been the expected one. He hadn't been angry. He'd been bested in the end, and he couldn't see it having been the fault nor merit of those that had unjustly intruded in his duel. The tone, unlike the one with which he'd yelled at Brannor in their earlier combat, it had now been only dissatisfied. Not with his opponent. But those that he called his friends.

Slowly but surely Kyra and her allies had turned the tide of battle, despite the odds. Each of the enemy warriors fell one-by-one, even the half-dragon warrior Cyanwrath. Kyra vaguely heard him say something as he fell, however she was too focused on the enemy before her. She wonders if maybe he would surrender now that Cyanwrath was defeated, however Kyra knew that even if he had, his fate would be the same as the others: death. Meanwhile Parum insulted the man, who in turned threatened the halfling after he had cleaved a heavy blow to Orchid. Indeed, Kyra couldn't distract herself with her vengeful fantasies right now. There was an enemy that she needed to kill immediately. "Pay attention! Your foe is standing right here!" Kyra shouted as she plunged her hunting sword and her dagger into the man's back, trying to rip and tear apart his flesh like Torus's bestial jaws.

The axe cleaved cleanly across Orchid's chest, sundering flesh and bone. A deadly blow for sure, causing Orchid to fall. Against lesser men such an attack would cleave bodies apart, tear through armor plates, and even make demons hesitant to go through such an experience. But for Orchid? Twas merely a scratch. As the axeman retorted to Parum the bloody, nearly dying barbarian warrior regained his footing and just smiled at the warrior before him. 'THAT'S A NICE HEAD YOU HAVE ON YOUR SHOULDERS!" He roared as Orchid slashed both his swords across the man's neck, aiming aftering his original target and chop this man's head off once and for all.

The warrior brought the handle of his axe to meet one of the strikes. Yet there was a mistake in the movement, a mistake that led to Orchid's weapon clipping into his fingers and a hiss being released through the more and more grievously wounded man's teeth. And with that, all so quickly, his fate was sealed. Body fighting against the pain, he had not enough time to react to the follow-up strike. The blade cleaved into the side of the scar-eyed man's neck, ending up stuck against his spine, but it needn't cut all the way through. At this point, more than enough damage was already dealt. He knew it, and if he'd been able to he'd released his weapon. The fingers of the hand that still worked did let go, but the other remained grabbing the long handle of the weapon.

Blood oozed from the warrior's wound, his punctured throat letting out a gurgling hiss of his own before the weight went out of his movements and he fell towards his weapon, the heaviest thing in his possession. Were nobody to catch him, that would bring him down to the ground between the half-orc and the cleric, the sound of metal crashing against stone with only its own weight to speak for in power. Four bodies more were added to the toll caused for the cult of the dragon. But these, too, had to have come from somewhere. As momentary peace descended upon the heroes, a familiar question hung in the air. Unspoken for now, but ever so obvious: What were they to do now?

The sound of the beast's throaty, rolling breath filled the startling calm as surely did other labored pants. All of them in some fashion or another had been in dire circumstance, their lives on the blade's edge, and for a moment the stillness of life - perhaps the realization of it and that victory had somehow been attained, snatched thrice over from the jaws of defeat - settled in. However, such a pause was not long lived as the tremendous, broad, furred digits that were barely restrained against the armor of the hand tightened harder still along the handle of the sword they were already draped around. The soft crack of each knuckle preceded the the shift of armor as both powerful limbs, both arms truly, lifted the sword up and with a wrathful, vengeful snarl, the blade struck at the fallen blue dragon's neck. It mattered not if the blow was enough to decapitate the other monster's tremendous head but the blow was one of surety.

Something still burned in the heart, some ethereal flame that kept this other aspect him of alive and well so that it did not again shirk away to lick its wounds. If anything the golden, killing eyes were still alight with intensity, and the wounds sustained even if largely healed still funneled the supernatural furor into them. It was not enough to kill Cyanwrath or even his lackies, let alone his lesser underlings, the champion of the ferine wanted to fell them all; a frenzy of urges that made the pale, blood-stained pelt twitch even yet. There was no hope of kindling the light of the soul if there were still adversaries ever eager to plunge life into darkness, those same who would leave the land and its people barren of what belonged to them. Growling louder still, lips quivering, the hunter snorted loudly and looked up to the rest of its company.

If it could speak, it certainly did not; how much of the man remained was unclear through this channeling but some amount of the harsh expression softened as did the heaving exhalations once mutual glances were exchanged. None of these things lasted long as the looming body turned away, withdrawing the sword from its sickening place of rest despite not once having left either palm. Brannor, rather the version all too similar to Torus in the moment, went quite outside the hungering, animal breaths that passed over and between the rows of pearled fangs...

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

With the last of the hostiles down, Parum fell to her knees. Her blood was hot and made her cloths and skin sticky, and her breath was quick but heavy. She needed to calm herself down or else she might pass out again. Looking up at everyone she smiled weakly. "Thank you... Everyone. For keeping me alive." Parum looked over to Brannor, his true form more apparent to her. She always knew he had some sort of bestial side to him but this... Was this druid magic? Or something... More? Both curious and concerned Parum approached him. "Brannor are you alright? In fact, does anyone have any potions? I doubt we'll have time to rest so... Now is as good a time as any to use those potions."

The approach of the small woman, teetering as she was from her reeling injuries, caught the attention of the feral figure. In a way it could still well understand her but it took a few long, drawn out moments to appreciate what it was she had said then asked in the same breath. As far as this aspect of the paladin was concerned, it was as well as ever and driven further to pursue its prey but that was not the intent behind what she had said. Some fragment of more mortal personality appreciating this, the growl of the beast formed the first portion of the answer, "Yes, I am fine."

While it was clearly Brannor who spoke, it sounded as much the part as it looked. Yet as its focus kept on Parum, it maintained a sense of idle control; one that came clearly across as its padded, pawed palm removed a potion from the leather of its belt before stopping down to offer it. All of the thick glass was captured at its neck by the hand and the raw scale difference was even more clear now.

Perhaps this close the woman could better confirm her suspicions that it was some form of power similar to that of druidic magic, just as divine and supernatural, but removed in its own way.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Taking her blade Kyra made sure to slice the necks of the fallen warriors, making sure they were done for. After completely her grisly task she retrieved her longbow and other weapons, heading over to Cyanwrath to not only cut his head off out of spite, but also seeing if he had anything of value on his person. His weapon and armor alone at least may be of use to them, if not for it's practicality, than as plunder. She looked over to Brannor, the dragon killer, the tiger warrior. Just who did Kyra meet, that her company was so... Beastial in nature? Torus could literally turn into beasts, Orchid fought with the ferocity of a frenzied bear, and Brannor had a tiger's fury. Only Parum lacked any animal attributes. Perhaps this was a sign from Chauntae. Either way she called Brannor over.

"Let's not waste any time. I have no more spells left and I believe we only have one potion between the five of us. I'd say we give it to Orchid, as he is at death's door right now, but regardless Brannor come over here and see if you can fit in this armor. I'm sure you might have some compunctions about wearing this brute's equipment, but considering your state you need all the protection we can afford. I'll check the other bodies as well, and then we can continue forward and deal with those dragon eggs, as well as find any clues about the cultist."

If it were not for the visible flick of a bloodstained ear in the direction of the young priestess, it would well have appeared the monstrous amalgam of man and beast ignored her outright. It was difficult to control every impulse and action at hand, all the world too electric and alive, driven by otherworldly designs and the much more mundane; the need to further the hunting party, to kill the enemy, undo evil. But there was enough to at least face her in response, as difficult as that was.

Returning the sword to its sheath across the back, the tremendous bestial feet spread across the cave floor with the same silence that those of the old sailor had until they stood mere inches from the body. It did not bother any that the ground was sticky with the dragon's lifeblood, nor was it a bother to part through the departed's belongings...

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Zverda@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Torus had spent most of the time quiet, sitting on his haunches as he simply stared at the deceased beings before them, then to those that had been severely injured. Sadly, he had nothing but two berries and they would not do much to assist in the healing process in the least, so for that he would have to consider himself useless unless they wanted to attempt to call upon his medicinal skills. After a moment of contemplation, he finally dropped the form of the tiger and found himself on two legs once more. "That was close," he muttered, looking over his comrades for a moment before going over to Parum, simply wanting to look over her wounds, "Here, drink some water and stay still." He offered the woman his waterskin as he began inspecting her wounds in an attempt to see if there was anything he could do to help without the aid of potions and spells. The last thing they would want was her passing out, and while it wouldn't be impossible for him to carry her, he thought it best not to revert to a bestial form unless he absolutely had to at the moment. He had almost lost himself towards the end of that confrontation, the body of an animal feeling more at home to him in the heat of the battle than his own as he had gotten closer to the end.