Siwan

The Realms

Secondday, 3rd week of the 9th month, Age of the Chosen 1

Mid-Morning

Approaching Ceallach Macht, Mistvale Highlands

Siwan hummed to herself as she pulled a cart containing all her worldly possessions towards her new home. It was a beautiful morning; the sun reigned alone in a cloudless sky while a crisp autumn breeze kept the temperature pleasant. And, in only a couple more hours of walking, she would be in her new home, a place of legends.

More importantly, it was a place of opportunity. Back in the village, Siwan had just enough work to keep herself from going insane from boredom. She received very few opportunities to stretch her skills or make a name for herself. At least not until Aidan came along. The cloth necklace design he got her to make for Brighid was surprisingly popular. Not everyone knew the intent behind it, but they saw it wrapped around Brighid's neck.

The intimate clothing she made for her friend was also something she was proud of. The majority of her time was spent either making or mending simple, practical clothing, much like the garments she crafted for Aidan. When the handsome human brought Brighid into Siwan's store and made her bend to his will, extracting every intimate measurement with quiet confidence, it sparked inspiration for Siwan.

She was no stranger to Brighid's body, of course. They were friends as children and became close friends as they approached adulthood, giving each other their first kiss and first sex. Siwan was quite familiar with the heft of her friend's breasts and the scent and taste of her arousal. Yet, in all their interactions were started and dominated by Brighid; she wasn't bossy or demanding, but when she became aroused, it was hard to say no to her.

Then Aidan entered her world and demonstrated complete mastery over Brighid. It opened her eyes, and Siwan realized how beautiful her friend had become. Standing there, watching him run his hands over the redhead's body, teasing and controlling her... it gave Siwan ideas. And, when Aidan sent Brighid to her in response to a whispered promise, Siwan found her calling. The sex had been great, but seeing her friend in the impractical, yet tantalizing, intimate clothing she'd crafted was what really got Siwan going.

And now she'd have the opportunity to make clothes like that for more than just centaurs! If Aidan's dream came true—and she would not bet against anyone who could kill a Wildlord—then Ceallach Macht would return to its former glory sooner rather than later. With it would come dozens of races living in peaceful proximity, and that would generate a healthy demand for what Siwan had a sudden desire to produce.

A cloud passed across the sun, sending a shadow over the caravan. Siwan shivered, the lack of direct sunlight making the day seem much colder all of a sudden. Then she paused, front foot halfway raised.

It was a cloudless day.

Siwan looked up at the sky, then screamed.

Gerwyn

A shrill scream split the lazy morning, followed by a flash of light and an explosion that threw Gerwyn through the air. This was a new experience for him; sure, he could jump as well as any other centaur of his stature, but being hurled around like a child's ball was unexpected. However, he didn't have much time to register the event because he crashed into the ground a heartbeat later.

He lay where he landed for several seconds, dazed and confused. He wasn't sure how he'd gone flying or where he'd ended up. The lack of sound also seemed a little odd; after what just happened, he expected more of a ruckus. After a moment, he managed to get some breath back in his lungs and lever himself back up onto his hooves.

The first thing he saw was the body of a young woman, her fur scorched in a strange spiderweb pattern. Thin wisps of smoke curled and twisted upward from her unmoving form. All around him, people panicked, dropping their loads and fleeing from him. Gerwyn took a hesitant step forward only to stop and fight back a dry heave. He felt nauseous, and his balance was all off like he was blind drunk. And why was it so quiet? He couldn't hear anything. Surely there should be more screaming if people were running away?

A warrior galloped up to Gerwyn, grabbing him by the shoulder and trying to hurry him along. The man's mouth was moving, but still, he couldn't hear anything. Gerwyn raised one hand to his ear. Wet. Why was his ear wet? He looked at the hand only to see it covered in blood.

Oh. That would explain it.

Ignoring the warrior for the moment, Gerwyn looked over his shoulder. Two of the large caravan wagons lay shattered and burning. Behind them rose a towering creature covered in glinting metallic scales the size of his chest. Legs the size of ancient oak trees ending in claws longer than his arm supported the monster's sinuous bulk. Its torso was at least twenty feet wide at the thickest point; Gerwyn idly wondered if it could fit a whole centaur in its stomach. From its shoulders sprang two wings so vast that they blocked his view of the entire sky, and up and up and up at the end of its neck was the beast's head.

A forest of gleaming yellow spears sprouted from a cavernous maw. Above them, a faceted orange eye observed the devastation and found it wanting. Gerwyn stared, uncomprehending, as the dragon—for it could be nothing else—lifted one leg and swiped it through the air with a casual shrug of its titanic shoulders. The wagons disintegrated with the force of that blow, sending arm-length splinters flying towards the fleeing centaurs.

Gerwyn swallowed hard, then decided the warrior had the right idea after all.

Eilwen

Eilwen stood her ground. Not out of bravery; she knew there was nothing she could do against a monster like this. She didn't even have a class, after all. No, Eilwen refused to flee because it was pointless. She was too old and infirm to run at a pace any faster than the beast could walk, but even that didn't tell the whole story. No, it was pointless because her time—the time of the Starchasers as a whole—was done.

The dragon whipped its tail through the air with a blur and a crack of broken sound. Three veteran warriors, good men and women all, screamed as the limb swept them off their hooves and into the air. They landed some twenty feet away; none of them rose. Arrows flew towards the creature only to ricochet from its scales. Other fighters charged around the dragon's legs, striking it with spear and blade, to no effect. It took a step forward, crushing one unfortunate woman beneath its foot without even looking.

This was the face of desolation, Eilwen knew. Maybe, if they'd known it was coming, they could have prepared for it, fought it off. But an adult dragon attacking from ambush? It would kill them all within minutes, then turn and conquer the city, which was its certain destination. The human boy—curse him for bringing this calamity down upon them—was powerful, yes, but this foe was not weak to his flames. There was no immobile, defenseless weakness for Aidan to exploit. He might be able to hurt this monster, but kill it? No.

But Eilwen was old, old and tired. If this was the end for her people, she would face it down and stare it in the eye as it slew them. That resolve was tested sooner than she thought as the dragon spotted her standing alone amid the carnage. Its eyes whirled and spun, then it stepped towards her, lowering its head down until it examined her from far too close.

"O brave grandmother, what steels thy heart? Dost thou not fear thy death?" The dragon's voice boomed, almost too loud for her to understand. Its breath stank of rotten meat and ozone.

Eilwen lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Maybe, at least, she could buy time for some of her people to escape; the dragon wouldn't bother chasing them all down if they ran far enough away. "Death comes for us all," she answered, "and I am old enough that any day could be my end. This is as good as any other."

A sound like an avalanche emerged from the dragon. Eilwen realized after a moment that it was chuckling. "Well spoken, grandmother. What is thy name? I would know it before I slay thee."

More arrows skittered off the dragon's scales; the creature did not react in the slightest. Eilwen breathed in a shuddering breath. "I am Eilwen Brighthearth, mother of Mata Lightweaver, Huisdean the Hammer, Manas of the Endless Plow, Meinas Talesinger, and Catriona Starblade, and seven more children; grandmother to fifty, great-grandmother to eighty-five, and great-great-grandmother to fourteen; eldest of the tribe; and Councillor for the women and children."

"Thank thee, Eilwen Brighthearth. In return, I give thee my name; I am Karsarrym, Champion of the Skies, Storm Conqueror, Slayer of Baezzi and Immarth. Out of respect for thy courage and courtesy, I grant thee a swift and painless death."

Eilwen closed her eyes and bowed her head. This was it, then, her long life was over at last. "I have no regrets," she murmured to herself. She waited for the blow to fall.

Heat bathed over her, and Karsarrym roared in pain.

Aidan

"How big is that thing?" Aidan yelled over the rushing wind.

"Looks like a full-grown adult," Fionn replied. "Wingspan up to three hundred feet, a hundred feet long or so from snout to tail-tip."

Aidan could only shake his head. "Plan?"

"Aim for its eyes and mouth." Fionn snorted. "Not usually good advice, but when the eye is as big as a human, it is at least feasible. Our melee warriors will be better served to evacuate any remaining civilians; steel will not pierce a dragon's scales, and it will not stay still long enough for us to attack the gaps between them. Brighid and I have a chance thanks to our better equipment, but I do not have high hopes."

"Got anything for the lightning?" Aidan asked Ailis. The dragon took to the skies again; several tiny, brilliant shapes darted up after it, wheeling and plunging to strike at its flanks. Good; the elementals are doing their jobs.

"No," she replied, "although I can heal any damage it causes. We are in luck in this regard; lightning is not always fatal even when someone is struck directly, and even a dragon will find it difficult to aim. If its breath were any other type, I fear we would already be too late."

"Well, thank Birgitte for small favors," Aidan muttered. "Do we have anyone who can take a hit from this thing?"

"Ysbail and I should be able to endure for a short while," Fionn said. "Brighid, Cai, and Llwyd might be able to survive a glancing hit. You certainly cannot."

"Ysbail's here?" Aidan decided to concentrate on the good news.

"She is with the caravan—unless she got bored and wandered off."

Me and my big mouth, he grumbled to himself. "Alright, then. It's going to be me, the mages, the archers, and the elementals doing the heavy lifting, then. Ailis, I guess it's time to see how good of a teacher you are."

Aidan straightened on Brighid's back, clamping tight to her flanks with his knees to keep himself from falling off. He started to trace glyphs in the air in front of him, lines of fire following his fingertips. ""

The lengthy incantation drained Aidan's concentration, but twelve miniature suns orbited around his shoulders at the chant's completion. His Burning Barrage typically resulted in tiny embers no larger than a candle flame, but these were the size of grapefruit. Heat radiated from the fireballs, and a dull, crackling roar rumbled from their interiors.

"Well done, apprentice!" came Ailis's praise. "What language was that in?"

"Divine Speech," he grunted. The increased potency of this enhanced Burning Barrage came with a comparable increase in the drain on his focus. "The same language I used for Phoenix Pyre. That might have been because the Brighaid was guiding me through it, but I figure it's not called a Language of Power for nothing."

"Indeed, it is not. But to make a new incantation off the cuff in it..." Ailis shot him a look. "Your power frightens even me at times, Lord Aidan. What alterations did you make, aside from the obvious?"

"We'll have to see how much of it actually came through," Aidan responded, "but the intent was to increase the damage each fireball deals on contact and to make them stick and continue to burn instead of exploding. The cores should be white phosphorous, but that might have been beyond my skill."

"I have no idea what that is, but it sounds terrible."

"I know of worse things, but I don't want to try and contain a thermite or dioxygen diflouride fire right now. Not very confident that I even could contain the latter. Nasty stuff."

That was the end of their conversation, for, at those words, they crested a hill and saw the convoy spread out before them—what remained of it. Most of the wagons were broken or burning, and dozens of centaurs lay unmoving among the morning mist. Aidan looked up to see the dragon still engaged with a dozen or so elementals.

"It's distracted for now. I'm going to wait for a clear shot and try to get one of these into its gullet. The rest of you, do what you can. Don't risk yourself in melee unless you're confident that you're up to it. Brighid, you're going to be my legs for this; you can run a lot faster than I can, so it's your job to keep me from being dragon food."

Fionn started barking out orders to his troops. Anwn settled in beside him, an iron-shafted arrow notched to the string of her war-bow. Aidan gave her a nod, then turned his attention back to his monstrous foe.