The FoothillsOldbeard had met up with them on their way out of the city. He had gotten his powder gun back and seemed extremely pleased. The quickly made their way across the planes and two days later, arrived at the town of Foothills.
“That’s it?” said Vilien. “Foothills? That’s what they named the place? That’s bloody ridiculous.”
“It is just a mining town,” said Kogan. “I expect originality is the last thing on their minds.”
“And I think I’ve discovered what’s foremost on their minds,” said Galdon. Half the town was a charred ruin. There had obviously been several large fires here recently.
“I’m not feeling any better about doing this,” said Walter.
“Mm-hm,” said Barbarossa, distractedly. “Right, first off, we need to locate the mayor or leader of this little squat. Let’s go.”
“Shut up,” hissed Workerdrone, at the back of the group.
“Did you just tell me to shut up? Me! A weapon forged in fires so hot a demon of pure flame would balk at them!” “All I know is that you’ve been going on about battles that took place hundreds of years ago and hold no real interest to me! For
days. I can accept that you can talk but do you have to be so bloody annoying? You’re almost as bad as Oldbeard!”
The axe grumbled, but fell silent. Workerdrone was starting to regret taking the sentient axe. It was a good one, sure, but it didn’t seem inclined to shut up and didn’t come with an off lever. He sighed and trudged after the group.
“Do you want this thing dead or not? Where is it?” said Barbarossa. They were in the burnt out shell of the Head miner’s hut. He’d been eaten a week ago an no one seemed inclined to take his place. Barbarossa was questioning his kin.
“Bu- b- b- It’s huge! Tunnel, cave, cliff, high!” stuttered the woman. “You’d never climb it! Too big! Too high, high, high!” she seemed on the verge of collapsing.
“What? It’s up the cliff?” asked Barbarossa. They’d seen the mountain on the way here. A sheer, unforgiving rock face. It seemed to emit an aura of ‘just try it’. There was no way they’d be able to climb it.
“What now?” asked Ryan.
“I don’t know,” said Barbarossa, shaking his head. “We might just have to wait until it att–”
“Dragon attack!” someone screamed outside.
“Well, that was easy,” said Workerdrone, happily. “Shall we?”
“Could have been a mechanic like my mother wanted,” muttered Barbarossa as they headed outside.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur and a nightmare, looked back upon in the dark grip of sobriety on many a late night by all who witnessed it.
Raptor left the building first. He’d been quiet recently, but had been a valuable asset nonetheless, helping behind the scene as he liked to say, better than any elven doctor, setting broken bones, healing cuts, bruises. He was barely noticed by the group anymore. He was taken for granted, a huge help, certainly, but he had been one for so long no one noticed anymore.
Upon exiting the building, he was caught in the dragon’s fire as it strafed the road.
(I'll miss you Raptor, even if I didn't use you much) Screaming, he was dragged back inside by Tamunshin, who almost seared his own hands off. Lying in the middle of the room several dwarves, and Walter, tried desperately to beat the flames off but by that point half of his body was on fire, and there was nothing anyone could do.
Raptor died screaming.
The entire room froze. Then, quietly, Forrest picked up his crossbow and left the room. Outside, there was a twang, followed by a roar. The sound shook the group out of their collective daze. Everyone, quietly, gathered their weapons and left the room.
Outside, Forrest was reloading his crossbow. Up ahead, the dragon was swooping in for another go. Oldbeard raised his gun and fired. The kickback almost bruised his wrist, and the bullet thudded into the dragon’s left shoulder, sending it into a downwards spiral. With a crash, it hit the ground on the east side of the village. As if by telekinesis, the entire group headed west. Quickly leaving the town, they stood in the field just outside the town limits. The dragon flew into view and soared towards them, strafing the town once again. The head miner’s hut was incinerated almost instantly, along with everything else on the street.
Quickly forming into a line, Forrest, Ryan, Oldbeard and Barbarossa aimed and fired a volley at the approaching beast.
(Nope, still can't be funny. All tearful now)It rolled out of the way, but not fast enough and as what seemed like divine punishment two of the bolts embedded themselves in its chest. Roaring, it dived. Everyone dived out of the way, but Kain managed to get caught in the chest with its tail, flying into a tree. He got up, before collapsing, lapsing into unconsiousness.
Tamunshin used his sword to help him stand. Staring at the dragon, he tried to work out what to do next. Suddenly, his vision flashed blue and his body felt as cold as ice. As if he was being controlled by some unseen force, he hefted his sword and threw it at the dragon, just as it dived for another go. The sword spun end over end, and by some miracle lodged itself into the dragon’s chest. A controlled dive turning into a uncoordinated landing very quickly, and the dragon smashed into the ground, throwing up dust. The dwarves swarmed it and, to the dragon, must have seemed like ants swarming a spider. Hacking, bashing and chopping began and continued long after the foul thing was dead. Who struck the final blow? No one could say. No one wanted to know.
(Seeing red, both literally and figuratively. They're covered in blood)Hacking off a toe, it being the easiest thing to carry, Barbarossa turned around and, without a word, headed for home.
That nightDarkness had fallen and for fear of ghostly reprisal, the people of Foothills had let the dragon lie. A blue light flared, dimly, and could not be seen from more than ten meters away. There was a low laugh, one that chilled the bones of any watcher, animal or otherwise, and then the dragon began to glow.
Valhalla“What do you mean I can’t go back down? You did it for Olon!” said Raptor, angrily.
“We were lucky. Olon took a fatal wound to the back, but we could stitch it back up and from the right angle, it didn't look fatal. Stab wounds and puncture wounds are easy. Your body has been quite thoroughly destroyed and quite frankly, the attention we would garner from rebuilding it would be quite dangerous. I am sorry. There are other factors as well. We cannot influence the mortal plane as much as you think. We would if we could, believe me. We need all the edge we can.”
“…I guess. I guess. Hey, what’s to drink here?” asked Raptor. The room was filled with pipe smoke, singing, dancing, alcohol, wenches, alcohol, fighting and alcohol.
“What do you want to drink?”
Raptor grinned. Wasn’t so bad then. Wasn’t so bad.
Raptor, I'm sorry. I actually caught myself whistling Danny Boy. But you're dead and you'll stay that way. Thanks for joining us, we enjoyed your company. Sorry again.
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Topic: To venture north, into Hell: Othtar Noloc, world at war (Read 106582 times)