Chapter 1: Blood and Lightning

Raphel narrows his eyes as the abomination vanishes skyward, then turns his attention back to those atop the tower. After seeing to himself, he goes to question the rescued mages. "This tower is a weapon, is it not? If your reserves are too drained, teach me its workings and I will assist in wielding it against this dragon."

"Then there's just one thing to do," Edgar says flourishing his knives in his hands. "Let's kill ourselves a dragon."

"Everyone, use your anointing oil, that dragon its not going to give us a bit of quarter. And we need every advantage."

Hrafe broke out his own anointing oil preparing to anoint his armor.

"Nothing but the dragon matters. Not even our lives. I don't want to die, but if we fall here the whole host of Heaven will be singing for our arrival."

Edgar nods and applies the oil to his fancy new dagger.

Pouring out the oil on his suedes Hrafe's teeth chattered. His blood was running blue and hairs stood on end. He was terrified and making no attempt to hide it. He carved runes into the stones of the tower, "Hrafe was here."

He swallowed the bitter taste of fear and collected some of the traitors blood, painting his face. He grabbed the main gate heaving it open. Resignation was on his face, he looked much older in that moment. He grasped the medallion around his neck and looked to his companions. "I am Hrafe Serpentkin, this auspicious day is one of prophetic importance. My people say it is the dragons duty to kill the serpent before it comes of age. But should the serpent slay the dragon it becomes the Hræzlyr, Terror. Do not interfere, if I am to die. It may be better that way."

"Let me die without fear, as I have lived without it."

Hrafe took Glæzentorg in his hands and stepped out of the tower looking for his foe.

Hrafe steels himself to his fate, taking Glaezentorg at the high ready he flings himself at the dragon seeking to strike a mortal blow where it was already heavily wounded.

Makasi's eyes widen as the lighting strikes Raphel, singeing his flesh. She mutters something in another language and presses her fingers to the Elf's temples. "May your ancestors replenish your spirit, Raphel!" She then turns her attentions to the dragon. "Foul creature! What business do you have here?" She thrusts her halberd out before her like a lance and runs full bore at the beast.

"We need to spread out!" Edgar calls out and runs to across the battlefield while throwing a dagger at the dragon.

Raphel's first incantation is abruptly cut short as the shock wracks his body, sending the mage down to one knee. The taste of iron in his mouth, he discards the notion of casting a more complex spell and aims a simple ray at the monster.