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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 18, 2017 4:36:57 GMT
Aldacer Taun-Lok Velaeri Madog Hier Taenor StormwindAs the dwarves tended to the lizard-man -- or not, as the case might be -- Miri hunkered down behind the sturdy gunwale. As the patter of incoming arrows slackened, she peeked over to get a picture of the situation. During her initial escape to the castle, she'd estimated the orcish horde at somewhere around two thousand strong. Now a portion had gone inside the castle, another group had filtered into the keep proper, still more had remained outside to loot the decrepit outbuildings, and some had already taken their loot and scattered. Those outside the castle were forming up to face another army, this one gleaming and professional under the banners of the Empire of Arlek. Though she'd had no dealings with the Arlekkians in person, Arlek lay more or less between her home in Ashdell and her school in Perona, and she'd made that long journey many times. She knew their flag, and she'd heard about their innovative, downright frightening tactics. The orcs, at present, knew no such fear. She flinched at a flare of light. A moment later came the shockwave and the sound, both emanating from a gryphon and a man on the gryphon's back. They arced in this direction, coming for the airship. Friends, she could hope. That gryphon looked gigantic, and she'd recently read a report of such a gryphon rescuing an Ashdell trade convoy a good way northeast of here. As she took in the situation and shrugged off a few concerned dwarves, and as the fight went on between the airship and the orcs, Miri scribbled in her sketchbook. It seemed the thing to do.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 18, 2017 14:31:47 GMT
Taun-Lok relented, letting the dwarves tend to his wounds quietly. They slathered some form of paste on his smaller cuts, letting them be other than that. The largest cuts however they struggled to stitch up, having difficulty getting a needle through his scales and tough hide, but they managed. "Wessst." He growled and hissed out the word at the helmsman. The dwarves ushered him to lie down out of the way, and so Taun-Lok relented, his wounds somewhat treated enough that he wasn't bleeding on the deck anymore. The large lizard sat beside the gunwell that Mirielle Merlon had taken a seat in. Taun-Lok sat beside her, his large head turning to watch what she was doing. Scribbles, sketches. " Taun-Lok." He gestured to himself, pulling out his own parchment and charcoal and making a note, deciding to be totally honest with her in case she was divine like the gods. I must take you to my home to see my leaders, You are the first outsider to have spoken with the Gods and it is a sign, but I do not know of what. I do not know what your fate will be, but I will protect you and keep you alive. He felt that word would best ease her fears about possibly being eaten. It was still a possibility that the Gods had deemed her divinity so that her sacrifice would be exceptional allowing them some greater measure of presence in the city, but he doubted they would have blessed an outsider in such a way. Then he added the more personal question to the bottom of the parchment, as her sketch book intrigued the Priest-King. What art do you call your own, Which talent grips your passion? He passed the parchment to the Princess beside him, holding it so that she could see it written in Common. He had picked it up during his sojourn, and writing came much easier to him than words. It was so much easier, more proper to write to one another than speech. Mirielle Merlon Velaeri Aldacer Taenor Stormwind
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Post by Madog Hier on Jan 18, 2017 22:11:10 GMT
"Fire!" Two hundred crossbows snapped forward, bolts hissing venomously through the air. Even over the racket of charging orcs and war-cries the sound of missiles embedding in flesh was clearly heard. The front ranks of the orc horde fell to the ground, screams and wails of the wounded and dying adding to the awful din. The crossbowmen bent almost as one and began reloading, simple winches click-clacking as they wound the bowstring back for another shot. The orcs grew closer, but Madog's men had enough time for another volley, he felt, and refrained from giving the order to cease fire. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Rangers taking cover and firing as well. They lacked the raw force of shock and awe that the ranks of crossbowmen possessed, but what they lacked in firepower they more than made up in accuracy. Their gave more weight to the main line, but primarily forced the orcs into a single mass, preventing them from spreading out and enveloping the Arlekkian line. "Present!" came the call and two hundred men took aim once more. "Fire!" The snap cracked the air once more and the men went back to reloading. Madog took barely a moment to assess the orcs ahead before turning to the captain, giving a single nod. "Make ready!" the captain shouted out and almost as one the pikemen and swordsmen stood. "For Arlek and the King!" It was an age-old war cry and considered synonymous with both charge and receive charge orders. Pikes were leveled, swords were readied, and the men themselves braced. The swordsmen behind helping to brace their comrades before them. Like water on rock, the orcs slammed into the wall of men and the sounds of war drowned out the world around. The orcs leading the charge, pushed on by the orcs behind, met the pikes with piercing wails and welters of gore as their bodies were pierced by Arlekkian steel. Those that survived attempted to push by the leveled polearms and get within melee range of their foes. Many of these suddenly grew feathered appendages as the crossbowmen behind took shots of opportunity over the heads of their comrades. Those that managed to avoid death by quarrel were cut down by the flashing blades of the swordsmen within the line. It was clear that the advantage lay with the Arlekkian troops, but Madog knew that a stagnant line was a defeated line. Outnumbered, it was only a matter of time before they were outflanked, swamped, and overrun. "Get the bladesmen into the fight!" he shouted at the captain, attempting to be heard over the noise of war. "Yes, sir!" came the reply, but as the man turned to give the order something else drowned everything out entirely. From the castle came a massive explosion, one that sent sections of the tower-top from where it originated outwards in all directions. To their merit, only a few of the men around him flinched. They were mostly veterans of the Northwest border, soldiers who'd faced similar things in the constant skirmishes and wars with Vaundsburg in the past. Around them, chunks of stone and debris fell, a testament to the power of whatever explosives or magic had been used to cause the explosion in the first place. The captain drew breath again to give the order when a chunk the size of a man's torso struck him as it bounced first through the orc mob and then through the Arlekkian lines, wounding and maiming men as it passed. Swearing as the captain fell, blood spurting from his now-ruined leg, Madog took command. "Close that gap! Close it!" he shouted, gesturing to the gap in question caused by the pinwheeling slab of stone. His men closed ranks, stemming the hemorrhaging before it began and denying the orcs a chance to break the pike line. The immediate crisis averted, he gave the order he'd initially wanted given. "Bladesmen! For Arlek! For the King! Charge!" Taun-Lok Mirielle Merlon Velaeri Taenor Stormwind
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Post by Aldacer on Jan 18, 2017 22:42:46 GMT
It had taken a moment to rouse Aldacer from his meditations. Open scrolls lay tacked to the captain's cabin walls. His wife had asked him to lead the first expedition. Originally a scouting mission to show the friendship between Idmidum and Aida to the West, it was stopped short when local accounts told of the Orc Siege. Rumors of wanton slaughter and typical Orc madness had brought a grim light to the Venator's cold blue eyes, and he had ordered a change in course to try to stave off the Orc horde.
But they were still learning how things went, and how the ship flew. Cumbersome to steer for those new to it, it seemed every day was swifter and agiler, but it was a process. The engineers had trained them, of course. But like any other process, when applied practically, things began to change and evolve. But once woken from his slumber being told of an enormous lizard man and a human girl he was protecting. The chirurgeon had stitched and salved as best he could, but still help was asked.
Above deck came the Venator, brow furrowed and knitted in concentration. As soon as he saw the orcs he began bellowing, waving arms to signal orders. Quick, furious motions were drawn up. This was not their fight, but Aldacer would not leave the Arlekians to their own devices without at least softening their work.
"Crossbowmen fore and beam! Find an orc and make it dead! Fire until I tell you to stop. Arlekians are not to be harmed. Chiurgeon, lead me to your charge and for Irodil's sake stop spewing the substance before you light us on fire, that blasted stuff is DANGEROUS. Bosun, clear a space for a gryphon to land, she will be a friend unless I miss my mark. Engineering, get us ready to retreat immediately."
Plated mountain boots clanged on the deck as he stopped before Taun-Lok and bowed his head in respect.
"Greetings sir. miss. If you will permit me, I can ease your pain and restore your fatigue to normal levels. And we can talk about where to go, or if you should be in irons as prisoners."
He spoke plainly, without preamble, and with expectation to be obeyed. He might not have been a sailor, but he was a consummate captain of this kind of ship. It was little different than a siege company, he had long experience with those. And leadership in general. His armor was different than before, a sleeker design, but still on the tubular device his beard was braided into rested the ancient dwarven symbols for the Venators and Irodil, with Idmidum's rune on a signet on his right pinky. Lordship had been pressed on him whether he willed it or no after Silverclaw Valley, and he sat on the Council now as the representative of the Venators. Even if most meeting were attended by pages and scribes in his place. Likely for the best really if he were honest.
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 19, 2017 2:13:40 GMT
Aldacer Taun-LokThe lizard-man was the definition of monosyllabic. She'd known he was smarter than that: he'd spoken in complete sentences to his god with an unknown language, and his judgment had been sound so far. But even so, his consummate literacy came as a genuine shock. In the back of her mind, she wondered whether his saurian throat and tongue could form the sounds of the Imperial language. She scribbled for a couple of minutes in her sketchbook. Your god said I would find a way to protect my kingdom. It spoke of mist and fog. Does that mean anything to you? Regardless, I need to ask your god for more information, and I am starting to suspect I owe him an ethically sourced heart.
As for my art, it's just sketches mixed with notes and letters for my father. I'm the first of my family to study in Perona - an important city far away from my home - and I sketch the statuary for him. He's a carver.An impressively helmed dwarf was coming their way; she tore out half a page and handed it to the lizard-man, in case his hearing comprehension had issues too. She tucked her sketchbook back into the largest of her belt pouches and stood, listening. At his final words, her eyes narrowed in irritation, but she bit that back. "Thank you for your offer and the aid of your flying ship, master dwarf, but I'm uninjured. My companion Taun-Lok could use your assistance, I think. I'm Princess Mirielle of Ashdell, and I have urgent business in Taun-Lok's home to the west."
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 19, 2017 2:47:54 GMT
Taun-Lok waited for Princess Mirielle to speak with the dwarf, but he himself didn't reply. It wasn't him that the Dwarf was really speaking to. The stout little being didn't know him or of his kind, and it was likely they were more interested in wondering if she needed to be rescued from him. While he accepted her letter back, Taun-Lok didn't read it yet, more interested in the dwarf for a short time.
He scribbled some words on a spare piece of parchment and passed it to the dwarf.
Turn your prow to face where the sun falls into the sea. At the mountains, turn half to south. At night, I can turn the ship to my home. That was the best he could tell, but once they were nearer he could navigate them to the city well enough. At night once the stars came up he would be able to accurately direct the vessel to his city. Once she had finished speaking to the stocky creature, Taun-Lok's attention turned to the script in his hand. He took a moment to write back, pausing several times before continuing on. She might become difficult knowing the truth that may lay before her feet.
I don't know what Totutl has planned for you, but some how you fit into his Great Plan, he has chosen you for something. You may owe him your own heart, there is some small chance his plan is that your sacrifice reveals the true path to the Priest-King who rules the City of Gold. I cannot say for certain, and it does seem unlikely given the unlikeliness of our meeting, nor was our meeting foretold beforehand.
My city is shrouded in mist, but I don't think it would be of use. It hides us, but for a kingdom on your maps I'm not sure if that would be useful. When we meet with the Five Gods in person, you may ask them your questions. As if written as an afterthought, Taun-Lok had scribbled something a little more reassuring. There were some who would jump at the chance to be sacrificed, even if it was rare that the Crokodon resorted to killing each other. Only when there were no wayward travelers and there was some crisis on the horizon.
I've promised to keep you alive, and I shall. If it comes to the worst, I won't let you be sacrificed unless you are willing. Taun-Lok, being of pure intentions for the city was unaffected by the Divine Fog. Perhaps Mirielle would notice more when she passed through it on this strange ship, and perhaps when they spoke to the gods they would direct her towards the ancient structures used by the Mage Caste who used to maintain the now failing Divine protection.Mirielle Merlon Aldacer
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Jan 19, 2017 16:55:09 GMT
Taun-Lok Mirielle Merlon Velaeri Aldacer Madog HierAs arrows arced up at them from beneath, Taenor used his free hand, and pushed more mana through. The effect was a strong breeze blowing beneath them,arcing past the gryphons feet, and angling the arrows away. Further draining his resources, Taenor slumped closer to the gryphons neck and brought both hands around to hold on. He could likely push it and make a few more attacks, but doing so would potentially send him into unconsciousness and shock. "Wind...will protect us..." He said weakly to the gryphon, holding on while trying not to hurt her.
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Post by Velaeri on Jan 20, 2017 2:20:57 GMT
The aroma of dwarves was a hard one to mistaken for much else: sooty, metallic, earthy. There were few peoples who could be described as such, and the only others that this particular Gryphon had encountered so rarely left their northern mountains. Not to mention the armored bears hardly liked leaving the ground - first hand experience had taught her that.
Gliding in for a closer look, the Gryphon skirted alongside the massive airship, blue eyes pinning at the machine out of sheer surprise at it. In her moments of bridled awe she also caught the scent of a familiar and that was all she needed to assert herself to the ship. With a fading Mage on her back and several orcish arrows saturating her flanks with poison the Gryphon had need to land somewhere safe and, preferably, somewhere friendly.
She pushed upwards to the fore of the ship, avoiding spinning blades and rudders, and with as much care as she could moved to hover and lower to the airship decking. The Gryphon's back legs nearly buckled beneath her weight, massive wingspan barely capable of fitting within the confines of the machines structure. She landed with a shudder and a wilting caw, accidentally knocking over a dwarf or two while attempting to fold her aerial limbs at her side.
Head lowering she gently shook her passenger free.
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Post by Aldacer on Jan 20, 2017 3:01:51 GMT
The dwarf nodded and raised a fist. The gryphon was streaking towards them, and he spun his fist in the air, signaling to make room. "Archers, clear our flying friend some breathing room, loose bolts at will. Engineers, release one vial!"Immediately, blue-green substance sprayed from the figurehead at the prow of the boat. A few moments in the air, and it caught flame, coating the orcs it touched below. Guttural cries of confusion and pain sounded as the airship labored to make the landing for Velaeri easier. Aldacer himself strolled to Taun-Lok and placed his hand on the wounded warriors shoulder. Immediately a suffuse glow surrounded the paladin, neither blinding nor dim. It spread through him into the lizard, surrounding them both. As the glow faded, Aldacer noticed one particular brute trying to lead a counter-charge against the forces on the ground of Madog Hier and his countrymen. Excusing himself with a nod of respect to Taun-Lok and Mirielle Merlon he raised his hand and brought it down to the deck rail with a slap. He didn't have enough in him after the healing, which was not where his powers lay, to strike the beast down. But the sky rumbled omniously, and the men of Arlek would feel a stirring in their hearts, strength in their limbs. Brow sweating, but not as badly before, his experience with his Lords' will growing, he turned to the two visitors. "I will take you to this City. Ashdell has been kind to my in my questing in particular. Whatever services I may render to it and it's royal family I will do on behalf of Irodil and Idmidium."Suddenly, the boat shuddered, and Aldacer turned to the gryphon landing, and smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, a friend has come aboard. You are welcome to come, or stay. Fine sir, thank you for escorting this young woman"Tromping over, he raised a hand to the gryphon and smiled in greeting. Bowing his head in respect, and low to her, he gestured to the small group of dwarves following him, who hauled the mage to the chirugeon. If he could be restored by other means, Aldacer was best to save his strength, and wait. If not, he would keep the young man alive and well as best as he could. "An honor to see you, friend gryphon. Will you permit us to check you over and heal you? We journey West."With that he turned and bellowed. "WEST TO THE MOUNTAINS, FULL SPEED!"
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Post by Madog Hier on Jan 20, 2017 5:11:24 GMT
Steel flashed in the light and the ground was quickly becoming muddy as men and orc alike struggled in the fight. The swordsmen darted between thrusting pikes, their blades flicking this way and that as the men wielding them used the weapons to their full effect. Orcs fell like wheat to the scythe, but Madog knew it was only a matter of time before the tables turned. It was time to act and strike decisively before the battle shifted, especially since it seemed that the orcs were making their move. A particularly large and rather ugly specimen was advancing through the mob, his head and torso heavily scarred and festooned with trophies. He figured the orc was the horde's war leader or chieftain and the only slightly smaller orcs around him comprising a bodyguard of sorts. Every orc in the group easily stood head and shoulders above most, if not all, of the Arlekkians arrayed before them. Madog knew that even with the advantage, the chieftain and his warriors would wreak havoc on the pike line, possibly even breaking it and threatening the formation entirely. His first thought was to maneuver, either to advance in an attempt to push the orcs even further onto the back foot or to adjust the line and place more men in the way of advancing orc warriors. Resolving that the order to advance was the lesser of two evils and would warrant fewer casualties, he drew breath to give his commands. At least, that was what he intended to do. The moment his lungs filled, a cascade of energy washed over him and from the slight ripple among the men around him, they felt it, too. Instead of orders, instead of commands, he bellowed an inarticulate howl across the battlefield, one that the orc warlord picked up on immediately. A brief moment passed that felt like a lifetime as the creature turned its head and locked eyes with Madog. It stood silent a moment, a slow snarl growing larger on its face, before bellowing a roar in kind. As if by previous agreement, the fighting dwindled as the two marched towards each other. Madog stopped ahead of his men, the pikes at his back, as the orcs before him parted. The chieftain stopped a dozen paces from the Arlekkian and the orc warriors spread out to form a ring. Madog blinked once before pulling his helm onto his head and snapping the faceplate shut, realizing that whatever had happened, whatever had caused the sudden wash of energy and strength, had somehow and inexplicably caused him to roar what the orc warlord had taken as a challenge. Resigning himself to rotten luck, but realizing that this could possibly be a solid chance at saving his men more casualties, he hefted the two handed weapon over his right shoulder, the blade at an angle. The orc bellowed once more and hefted its crude ax, the weapon crudely hammered by unskilled hands into a sharpened lump and fixed to what appeared to be a wagon's axle. With barely a warning, the warlord rushed forward at Madog, its ax held high. It was now or never... Aldacer Velaeri Taenor Stormwind Mirielle Merlon Taun-Lok
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Jan 20, 2017 12:49:36 GMT
Velaeri Aldacer Taun-Lok Mirielle Merlon Madog HierTaenor slid off the gryphons back, hitting the ground somewhat unceremoniously. Even in his fatigued state, he had noticed how the gryphons back legs buckled when she landed, and none could mistake how she now lay. She was wounded. Taenor wetted his lips and sat fully up. The tingling in his arms and legs was greater than it had been, but he'd be a damned man if he allowed this beautiful creature to save him, then die. "Fetch your healers Master Dwarf" Taenor said, trying to keep his voice steady as he gently laid a hand on the gryphons flank and closed his eyes. "I will do what I can, with what energy I have left." And with that, Taenor filtered some of his magic into the gryphon. He needed to see what was wrong, before he could apply any remedy. The Runic Circle was adamant that healing needed to be as planned out as time allowed. That only those who worked with divine magic could heal directly without needing to know what. Aracnist, such as himself, worked with energy in a different way. Though he could channel positive arcane energy, it didn't have something that divine magic possessed that allowed it to be channeled without harm to living creatures. So, Taenor let his consciousness find the wounds. He mentally viewed as poison leaked from arrowheads into her blood stream. Before he could do anything about the wounds, they needed to get the arrows out. But he could counter the poisons for the moment. "Someone needs to remove those arrows. Carefully!" He said, still keeping his eyes closed. He channeled small amounts of arcane energy into the great creature, countering the poison in her blood but unable to do anything about the wounds themselves as of yet.
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Jan 21, 2017 6:21:05 GMT
Taenor Stormwind Madog Hier Aldacer Velaeri Taun-LokMiri skimmed Taun-Lok's latest note, then again, then stuffed it into a pocket and leaned against the gunwale. She closed her eyes. So much was going on, so many things she should be attending to, but the moment overwhelmed her -- its sights, its sounds, smells, implications, consequences. She kept her eyes closed as a hundred concurrent tasks crowded the deck of the airship. It was maneuvering now, away from the castle and the battle, making for Taun-Lok's city and whatever strange truths she might find there. She had any number of options, ways she could help, information she could discover, but her mind and body refused to engage. That might be hock or something like it, some part of her noted distantly. All the blood she'd smelled, all the narrow scrapes and sprinting escapes and last-second arrows, the dead bobbing in the river... Duty and decorum required that she speak more with the dwarves, that she greet the gryphon, that she investigate the mage, that she look to Taun-Lok's care, that she get a final glance over the gunwale at the clash of armies. Instead she just sat back against the gunwale and kept her eyes closed, letting the noise wash over her.
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Post by Taun-Lok on Jan 21, 2017 14:47:57 GMT
Aldacer would notice quite easily that it was much more difficult to heal and aid the giant lizard being that he might have expected, but it did have some effect. That in combination with the paste they had slathered in the cuts on his skin and the very poor stitch job on his injured shoulder would keep him alive. He'd heal up fairly quickly but now it was mostly tiredness that bothered him.
Mirielle was silent, bearing the thousand yard stare he'd seen before in humans when they'd been traumatized until she closed her eyes. Taun-lok was wiser to the ways of the outside world than his people were, having lived in central Ardell for over a year, and knew that the princess wasn't used to war and death like his people, or even like the average soldier, and that she was likely struggling with coping.
A big scaled arm reached to wrap around her comfortingly, to pull her close to him and rest his chin on her head. "Sssafe." He said softly in his best attempt to comfort the princess, though it still came out as a growl of sorts.
Taun-Lok's attention turned to the dwarf, whose aura was bright and powerful, no shining beacon like Totutl, but more brilliant than a simple priest. With a grunt he asked the Dwarf, "Bed?" seeking a place to lay her down alone so she could sit in quiet and away from the sounds of battle and death going on around her.Mirielle Merlon Aldacer
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Post by Solaiel on Jan 23, 2017 3:48:21 GMT
Massive wing span beat down upon the air to hold up the obsidian dragon. Its predatory gaze spied the faltering orc formation, if it could even be called such a thing. Even up so high the dragon could see the company of Arlekkians holding strong against the superior number of the disorganized orcs. Solaiel had seen this numerous times. The orcs would break and retreat soon. They were ferocious fighters, but they didn't have the heart of the other races. He wasn't going to lose a year of work to gather another war band in this region. It was unfortunate to play a trump card so fast, but he had to rally the orcs. Enter the Dawnbreaker... The dragon's wings tucked into its body as he dived downward to gain speed. No roars or other beastly sounds were made as he didn't want to take actions that would remove the element of surprise. Wind surged past as his forward pointing eyes locked in on his target. Aldacer's airship was just starting to change course. At the last few hundred feet, the beast outstretched its wings to catch the air like a parachute to reduce speed. All four of his talons stretched down and opened as the deck suddenly came into reach. The airship lurched downward under the impact as the dragon landed at the fore of the ship. The sheer speed and weight of the creature was enough to knock several crew members off of their feet. Others dived out of the way as the massive beast let forth a roar that could be heard across the battlefield. "YOU DARE" came the deep booming voice of the creature. A few drops of what seemed like saliva dripped from between his teeth to the deck below. The liquid ignited into a small fire when it touched the deck. The dragon emanated an almost nauseating dark presence as anger filled his being. These lesser beings had the audacity to build a vessel that could fly?! Meanwhile the orcs seemed suddenly emboldened by the Dragon's presence. Battle-cries rang out in almost unison across their number. The words "Dawn Breaker" were shouted repetitively in a lot of the guttural voices of nearby orcs. His appearance was rallying them. Taun-Lok Mirielle Merlon Taenor Stormwind Madog Hier Aldacer Velaeri
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Post by Velaeri on Jan 23, 2017 4:41:41 GMT
Tense at the touch of the Mage at her wounds, the Gryphon did well to hold back a level snarl. Even she knew when a helping hand was truly necessary - indicative of the three orcish arrows spearing her flank. Massive talons curled against the decking as two Dwarves moved forward to assist the Mage, taking hold of the arrows just at the hide and pulling them out with as much care as they could muster. Wasn't much to be done to stop the blood that followed; the Mages efforts would stem the flow, the Gryphon's own powers would take care of the rest. As they finished she pushed her limbs beneath her, testing her wounded hind limb. It could barely hold weight and would need time to heal, for the poison to dissipate. Time she wouldn't have. Not many could sneak up on a Gryphon, especially not a beast such as a dragon. The humans might not hear his silent descent but the other beast of flight on board knew the tune of rushing air better than anyone. His volcanic presence of power and smell she might've sensed miles away. With a sudden ear-splitting screech she twisted gracelessly, wings spreading to throw her Mage and Dwarven caretakers to the floor beneath her. The dragon slammed into the fore of the airship not but moments later, bellowing his offense and spewing acidic saliva. It rained upon golden feathers illuminated by ethereal blue, runic sigils appearing across the plummage in a magical barrier to protect both Gryphon and the much smaller charges safe beneath her wingspan. Few things set off a Gryphon quite like invading their territory - now presently being the airship of Aldacer - or threatening a chosen charge. She responded in kind: seconds after his arrival the dragon was greeted by the nine tonne gryphon who surged upwards from beneath into the base of his neck, taloned forelimbs raking against dragonhide and wings beating to push him off the edge of the airship, back into open skies.
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