RP:On the Wings of War

Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc

Frostmaw Fort, Outer Wall

Satoshi is high upon the fort's perimeter wall, eyes on the horizon and the growing black smudges visible along it. Eyrie's scouts have already flown out to investigate, returning with reports of an approaching aerial force. The details reside on a page clenched tightly in the magus' left hand. Beside her, draped atop the wall, rests Satoshi's signature coat, along with her bracer and rerebrace, the only armor she'll wear into this battle. For now, however, it waits to be worn, the same as Satoshi waits for her knight-commander to arrive--the guards at the fort's entrance know to direct Hildegarde to the wall.

Hildegarde is directed to the wall, nodding in confirmation of the directions and hurrying up somewhat breathlessly while holding onto her chestplate as she jogged to meet her Queen. She had ran most of the distance to get to the fort, wasting no time in matters of war and duty. "My Queen," she said as was of greeting, hoisting up her chestplate a little and holding onto her halberd in the other hand. "You mentioned movement? I am sorry I could not get here any quicker," she apologised gently.

Satoshi, without taking her eyes off the distant forces, greets Hildegarde with a wave that turns into an offer of the report still being held. "No need to rush. It'll still be another couple hours' time before they arrive." On the paper there are lists numbering an arrangement of ice wyverns, drakes, even a few frost gryphons, as well as, "Your information was right, they have dragons. Undead. From what Mistral says, they don't seem to be well animated. Sluggish in the air--or playing at being so. Whichever the case, the Eyrie is readying itself. They'll be prepared to fly in the hour." Satoshi turns then toward Hildegarde, an eyebrow raised at the knight's crooked chestplate. A smile tugs at the corner of an otherwise grimly set mouth. "Will you be~?"

Hildegarde stepped up beside Satoshi, staring out into the distance with her as if she too might see the oncoming storm. "They're old," she said gently, "brittle bones, m'lady. I was able to smash right through one and sustain little damage, but that could just be one who was old and brittle." The knight considered what else she had seen at the encampment, "I think the dragons might be their weakest. Hunting dragons and having the power to reanimate them," she had been doing her homework that much was clear, "is no easy task. Finding already dead and buried ones, however, is much easier." The woman shrugged her shoulder, "We'll see, though. Do you ride into battle, m'lady?" she asked the traditional question. "I'll be ready," she grinned, allowing her halberd to rest against the wall as she pulled her chestplate straight and attempted to fasten the buckles. It was a difficult task without a squire or helping hand, especially with all the bumps, bruises and breakages the knight was hiding.

Satoshi spares one last glance for the horizon before swiftly moving around behind Hildegarde. With deft hands and without invitation, she begins buckling the armor into place for the knight. As she works, the magus speaks, as much for the sake of conversation as to conjure up her magic. Satoshi is not so dense as to have missed the subtle signs that Hildegarde is, once again, hiding injuries, and so the kit ensures her hands are shrouded in a softly glowing ice as they travel over the knight's armor. From the glow comes a soothing chill and invigorating crisp, meant to ease bruises and sores. "Yes, I believe I'll be going into this battle. Trebel too wishes to join, although I fear he is not quite ready to carry me as his rider. We still have much to train, he and I." With a tug and a click, the chestplace is secured and Satoshi steps back to admire her work.

Hildegarde is blissfully unaware of Satoshi's spoken magic, assuming it was merely the chill of being up higher that brought relief to her bruises, aches and pains. "Do you have a mount?" she asked carefully, sighing at the satisfactory click of the buckle. "Thank you, my Queen, you honour me," she said gratefully and truthfully, not many knights could attest to having their monarch fasten their armour for them.

Satoshi returns to the wall's edge to begin putting on her coat. At Hildegarde's question, she shrugs. "Trebel, technically. I think perhaps I'll go with Kasyr and Luffy. Or Tristram, if his offer still stands." With coat in place, the magus takes hold of her hair to start a braid, the better to keep it out of her way in the coming fight. "What about yourself ? Do you intend to ride as a knight, or fly as a dragon?" Only once has Satoshi seen Hildegarde fight as a full-bodied dragon, and it had been a sight to behold.

Hildegarde was undecided about which form to assume. Yes, she felt it fair to fight in this form, but she was more skilled in aerial combat as her true self, not as a rider. Nor was she willing to endanger Kenway, so set in her way of protecting him that she had distracted him with many tasks and quests to keep him far away. But she steps forward and moves to lift Satoshi's coat, "May I?" she asked, as if to help Satoshi don her coat or at the least hand it to her. Indeed, Hildegarde was her protector, but she was a loyal subject and servant. She would tend to what needs she could, including fetching a coat. "I imagine I would be more able to protect you in my truest of forms," she said gently.

Satoshi accepts the help without faltering, so that her coat finds itseld donned and fastened in little time. She nods then to Hildegarde from around the half-finished braid of her hair, understanding the knight's response. "Yes, that's likely for the best. On the ground, you may be more used to combat in this shape. But in the air, I think you'd be best suited to use your own wings. With a Silver in the air, the exiles' wyverns may just balk." Like sparrows against an eagle, the wyverns consider themselves tough in a flock, but the instant the eagle spreads its talons, they scatter and flee. By scout reports, the wyverns the exiles have are captured beasts and only half-trained, far from the skilled fliers of the Eyrie. But as half-wild flocks, the wyverns are contenders with sheer numbers, false bravado, and tenacity.

Hildegarde had never been comfortable with the prospect of killing her own kind or those related to her kind, it filled her with a kind of sorrow to take something from the world that was conceived purely of magic. A creature often demonised or hunted for the sake of fashion or war, thoughts and feelings that sickened her. "I would rather they balk than contend against our might," she answered truthfully. "I have no rider and I am not terribly fussed about having one. I'd truly not wish to endanger a rider on my back."

Satoshi finishes off her braid with a ribbon to be left slung over her shoulder. While Hildegarde speaks, the foxkin nods, listening. "I'd prefer they balk too. They are just creatures of the forest forced into this fight by the exiles. They had no choice in the matter." Retrieving her armorpiece from the wall, Satoshi lays it over her right arm to be buckled into place, thoughts elsewhere. "I'd like to think all those who fight with us do so out of choice. The less of the wyverns and drakes that fight, the less we must kill, and the less of our own that will fall. Mistral and her scouts are skilled in using nets, I've already instructed them to disable as many fliers as they can without killing. We save the deathblows for the exiles themselves." Satoshi's eyes narrow then to near slits, the smouldering amber still clearly visible in her quietly boiling rage. "And their leader."

Hildegarde nodded in agreement, "I shall spare who I can and when I can," she swore. "But I am duty and honour-bound to protect you, Satoshi," she said, levelling the kit with a stare, "and my life is forfeit if it saves yours." She smiled, "You are stubborn, this I know, you are crafty and sly, so I know you might lie to save my mind and heart. If I cannot see you in the field and you need me… if we are separated, you call for me. Now that's an order," she said, glancing to the side for just a second at the mention of an order. Perhaps she was crossing the line.

Satoshi's gaze settles on Hildegarde for a long, silent moment, unreadable. And then, wordlessly, she holds out her right arm in indication that the knight secure the armor into place. She knows the Silver is not the sort to refuse the gesture, and after a moment more, Satoshi speaks, words soft and almost to herself. "I have lived my life trusting none but myself to survive. No other could protect me. No other would I permit to even touch my gear. It was my task alone, for to rely on them would be to put my safety in unknown hands." Pointedly she looks down at the bracer she's invited Hildegarde to fasten before lifting her gaze back to the knight. "Is that answer enough for you?" It is proof enough that the once solitary magus has learned to put her faith in not only the Coterie, but those sworn to her. She need not rely only upon herself.

Hildegarde almost expects a reprimand for her words, but she stands tall and proud; refusing to shrink back or look down with shame. She glanced down, however, at the bracer. It was a proud moment in her life, it was an intense one too. She would wait for Satoshi to finish speaking before carefully bonding the bracer to Satoshi's arm, buckling it comfortably yet tightly enough that it wouldn't move around her arm with a strike. It was not so tight that it prevented or restricted movement; that it would make a strike feel all the worse. Hilde was, after all, experienced in armour. "You honour me," she said, before clasping her hand gently upon Satoshi's forearm. A sacred gesture between warriors, one that spoke of trust; a symbol between comrades that spoke volumes. "It might not be the right words, but…" she smiled, "may your scales shine and never break," a phrase she had picked up from her grandfather.

Satoshi stands a little taller, clearly honored at being given a dragon's blessing. "Then may the frost slow your foes and renew your soul in return." A rough translation of the ritual songs her elemental teachers used to sing. Satoshi mirrors the forearm grasping gesture, for while the magus is not a warrior in the same sense as Hildegarde, she understands the unspoken meaning behind it. Her hand withdraws seconds later as Satoshi turns toward the distant sound of a roar. What had once been black specks on the horizon have grown clearer in the short time knight and queen spoke. The line where sky meets earth is blurred by a great flock, as if of birds in migration, save that these 'birds' are far bigger than any human. Outlines are visible already of the dragons among the flock, spread out across the line and surrounded by a swarm of smaller saurian beasts. All are flying hard, determined to reach the city before the Eyrie's riders are ready to take to the air. "Not much longer now. Be ready, Mithril."

[[Roars can be heard coming from the west, still far-off but fast approaching. Upon the horizon is what seems to be a flock of birds... but as time passes, the outlines of dragons can be picked out, along with swarms of wyverns, wings of drakes, and a scattering of gryphons. The Exile's makeshift aerial force approaches. Will the Eyrie be ready in time?]]

Hildegarde smiled at the returned blessing, dipping her head in a respectful manner. The knight, however, turned at the sound of a roar, squinting as she stared off into the distance. "I'm ready," she said quietly, "although, I'm wishing of a fine feast after this!" she grinned before pulling herself up onto the edge of the wall. "This shape isn't ready for war," she said, allowing herself to dramatically drop over the edge of the wall and assume her truest of shapes. Where the armour went, no-one could say for sure. Dragon magic, perhaps. The Silver dragon's mighty head rose up over the wall, looking at Satoshi with her sole serpentine eye. "Do you need a lift?"

Satoshi bows to the dragon head peering down at her. "I'd be honored, dear Silver." Which is about all the ceremony Satoshi spares before she hops aboard and settles in. As if awaiting such a signal, the archers lining the walls ready their bows and set fire to an arrow each, all to be loosed into the sky. Like flares, they stand clear against Frostmaw's overcast sky, easily seen by those in Eyrie's tower. As one, riders and mounts take to the sky in an armored, screeching, roaring flock. Once airborne, they seamlessly split off into their respective units, with the Wing of young Frost Dragons at the head to lead them beyond the city. The will meet the Exiles above the forest.

Cold Winds

From above Frostmaw Fort, a series of burning lights soar into the sky. A signal, clearly, as from Eyrie's Outpost comes a deafening series of screams, roars, and shrieks in answer. The clan's aerial forces rise as one into the sky, sorting themselves into their Wings with obvious habit. They are ready, and together wheel around and begin flying to the west, to meet with the enemy forces over Frostmaw's forests.

The Exile forces loom above the forestlands, winging toward Frostmaw's city walls, although they know they will not reach that goal just yet. Not when Eyrie's own aerial fighters are visible above the city and swiftly approaching. Riders and mounts, armored and ready, stick close to their assigned units, minds focusd as they seek to put their daily training and missions to use in the coming battle. Where Eyrie is uniform, militant in their movements, the Exiles are ragged, wild, and chaotic, composed of captured wyverns and other winged wildlife. And, worst of all, undead dragons. Skeletal, decayed, fresh corpses, the state of undeath is as varied as the species of dragons enslaved: Frost, White, Blue, even a Red, two Black, and a Silver. They are spread among the wyvern swarms, flying at varying altitudes and occasionally snarling at one another, as if contending for who will strike first against the Eyrie.

Hildegarde 's wings carry her with ease across Frostmaw, as she bellowed a triumphant roar as if to hearten her friends of the Eyrie. The dragon was fine with the cold, unlike some creatures, so she was more than happy to fly higher than some and into the chilly air. She was ready for a fight; ready to see what aerial prowess the Exiles had to offer. More importantly, she was ready to squash them and find victory.

Satoshi, astride Hildegarde's saurian back, shares in the Silver's exultation. A careful eye is kept on the Eyrie fliers below, spotting a number of familiar faces. Among them are the Red Riders, a wing of fire-attuned combatants. Near them flies Mistral's swift-winged scouts, all former Sage Rangers and Druids with forest-loving partners. Not far from Hildegarde is Satoshi's own mount, Trebel the angha, big as a house and as joyous as a puppy as he bounds through the skies. Satoshi nods in approval of what she sees, familiar and otherwise. This battle would be hard, but she has confidence in them.

Dogma had felt the large source of undead energy. The slow crawling corruption of the undead forces arrayed against frozen lands. His only course was to lend his blade the *good book*, and teach the world why you should always walk in the light of sven. The paladin appearred just in time to spot the undead dragons. Such a mockery of life would need to be dealt with. Wings flaring behind him, the avian would wait and see how the battle progressed. It was not his place to care who should win or lose, that was the realm of the gods to weave the story of time. No, his job was simple destroy evil in all its forms. And at the moment the evil he could see was the undead . Gleaming white armor, laced with holy sigils, seemed to shine in the presence of the damned. Running down the right gauntlet was the prayer.*For as long as I hold my faith, I am the light of the world.* An old battle prayer to keep the mind clear of fear. The avian cast his cold blue eyes about the place and simply prepared to lend aid. Healing hand? Or the wraith of the gods...Only time would tell.

Tristram had come and gone from the Eyrie, unwilling or unable to remain in that one location for longer than a few hours a time. He was half-hidden in the snow when that rallying call came, eating an infirm mammoth to gather strength for the imminent fight as blizzard-like conditions raged around him. Powerful thrusts of his wings bore him upward, away from the remnants of that meal, and he was soon a clash of black against frostbitten white as he joined the horde of dragons jockeying for position overhead. He flew lower, his great neck bending so he could sweep the area with an appraising gaze, noting enemy combatants below, their defenses, and then, finally, those dragons toward whom they rushed.

Satoshi's heel nudges the side of Hildegarde's neck as the kit leans sideways and squints through her goggles' lenses, a hand pointing toward the Black Dragon joining the Eyrie's numbers. "Our Gualon governor, oui~?" Although normal flight circumstances would tear words away before they could be spoken, Satoshi's long adapted a spell that carries her voice to the ear of the one carrying her, for ease of conversation.

Dogma slowly lifted himself skyward. Seemed the land of frost had its own hoard of dragon protects and riders. Silently the avian let the powerful drafts of the dragons pull him up into the sky. No weapons drawn, just a single hand holding a rather odd holy pendant. The sigils started to glow brighter and brighter the closer the undead came. Well, the only thing the paladin could hope for would be that not a lot of people died... Such a loss of life would be terrible.

Hildegarde 's voice initially came out as a sort of growl, "Yes, m'lady," she answered, unable to actually look at him. "They are getting closer," she warned. "I think you are best setting the frost inclined dragons against the dead ones, or ones who can destroy their bones without damaging the environment," she said. But, of course, the decision was in Satoshi's hands.

Iintahquohae arrives a bit late on the back of Pinquettki, who seems very eager to lend a hand judging by her enthusiastic hissing. The pair seems to have come to a mutual decision to accompany the Eyrie's Red Riders, and both the rider and couatl can be seen flying just above and behind their ranks. Iintahquohae has a bag strapped to her front for quick access to what she's keeping within, but otherwise she's immobile on the Pinquettki's back while she waits for some direction.

Tristram focused on joining the group, dipping down, and then upward to near Hildegarde's flank. He snapped at her underbelly, some bestial or territorial protest at being so close in proximity to dragons whom he was not allowed to harm, even though his own rusty navigation had put him there. It wasn't long before his attention was stolen once again by the enemy at hand. He focused on the two smaller whites, noting their decomposition, which paled in comparison to some of the bones flying about, which seemed barely stitched together. He let out a piercing scream of his own and broke away to climb skyward in an attempt to position himself for the best possible attack.

Before Satoshi can answer, the enemy wyverns suddenly surge upwards, gathering together in a tightly knit body and rapidly diving. A careening ball of saurian flesh comes screeching down Eyrie's front forces, heavily built dragons and wyrms without the speed necessary to dart out of the way. Bellows go up from the knot of fighters struck as they're sent tumbling out of formation, to be set upon by the wyverns like carrion crow. Two Frost Dragons, a winged draft horse, and a Wyrm have been knocked low in the sky, frantic as they try to shake off the swarms that harass their flanks, wings, and faces. One Frost's roars become a scream of terror as she realizes her rider has been plucked from her back. All thought of organization vanishes within the dragon then as she surges forward, determined to retrieve her partner from the claws of wyverns. And while the wyverns create such distractions, the first of the undead beasts enters the fray, red wings furling as it brings itself into a stooping dive toward a drake flying beside Dogma. Its rotting maw opens, aglow like a furnace as it prepares to belch flames at drake and avian alike.

Zette flies into the area, her body tiny, perfectly perched and crouched over a hummingbird whose wings match her own, who is in turn at the head of a six-bird formation. She hovers by the edge of the battlefield, well away from the snarling others, keen eyes penetrating the battlefield and taking note. She recognizes only one other, having encountered her before. The others, perhaps seen from a distance, her eyes glance over distantly, focusing a moment here, a moment there, as she pulls back and waits. A low hum escapes her, and seems to resonate through all her birds, a song of encouragement and love and empowerment. Another joins the fray, has flown past her upon a hissing mount. Zette smiles, follows in the wake of that seamstress' wind, hovering by her and humming, now, soft, not-distracting, clear above the forming din.

The undead Whites seem to notice Tristram not long after his gaze finds them. In unison, the pair issue hissing challenges to the Black before pulling away from their ranks to rise to above his altitude. Together, the Whites begin spiralling downwards, hurling snarls and wads of frost at the Black and Silver, determined to drive them toward the ground. Small as they are, the Whites learned in life to heckle and harass larger dragons, if they wish to get the upperhand, and bringing the enemy to the ground to be harried is the best outcome they can ask for, as it brings vulnerable necks and wings into biting range.

||Iintahquohae will find herself in good hands, as far as the Red Riders go. They're as brave as any knight, if as foolhardy as a young page. The leader of them, astride the phoenix Yalra, is a feline priestess of Cyela called Hthrr. Together the pair guide the Wing in weaving patterns through the rest of the Eyrie formations, deadset upon gunning for the solitary Blue Dragon among the enemies. Yalra's beak is opened in a long-winded shriek as burning wings bring them ever closer. But their determined charge leaves them blind to a tiny, ragged wyvern that darts past, its greedy eyes set on the shimmering colors of Pinquettki, and the little troop of hummingbirds not far behind.

Hildegarde can only offer Tristram a screech of her own and a snap of her jaws, the response purely based on instinct rather than personal feelings. Frankly, she thought well of the governor, but in their truest of forms it could well be a very different matter. Instinct was stronger here. But the Silver does not have time to dwell upon such things, given that the enemy wyverns have already begun their assault on Eyrie members and now herself and Tristram. The knight is quick to react, tilting upwards as if to clash directly against the smaller White dragons. Such a notion might be considered foolish, but the knight is not dependent solely upon her sheer force and mass: she is already roaring furiously at them, forcing so strong a gust of icy wind against their smaller wings. She intends to knock them off course, even somewhat, or perhaps repel the wads of ice and frost they attempt to throw at her and the Black.

Satoshi has long adapted to riding on dragonback, a fact that sees her staying secure and snug on Hildegarde despite the dragon's movements. Although the magus lacks the bulk and strength of the saurians, or the wings to get airborne herself, she is still a master of the ice and snow. It's with little effort and fewer words that she redirects the Whites' frozen projectiles to collide with wyverns. A series of the smaller beasts take snowballs to the face, neck, and wings, momentarily stunning them--all the time that's needed for Mistral and her scouts to swoop in with nets. As they had been ordered, their job is to disable as many wyverns as possible without killing them, as the creatures have been forced into this battle against their will.

Tristram dipped away from Hildegarde, feeling the frosty aftermath of her answer to the two Whites. He whipped to his left and unfurled his wings completely, so the desired effect was as though he'd just put the brakes on. As the whites faltered under that initial icy blast of Hildegarde's, he responded with one of his own -- white hot, black in color, and acidic in nature. His fire would literally eat away at the enemy until it was extinguished, or there was nothing left to consume.

The Whites find their spiral interrupted as they struggle to hold steady against Hildegarde's gusts. The smaller of the two collides with its companion, earning it a nib and buffet from a wing that sends it tumbling higher into the air... which turns out to be its saving grace, for it's neatly out of range when Tristram's inky fire erupts from below. One White is engulfed, given no time to even cry out in surprise before its undead flesh shrivels away like old parchment. A scattering of bone chips rains down upon Hildegarde and a cloud of ashes hangs in the air where once a White had resided. It's from this obscuring cloud that the second one careens out of, wings tucked tight and all claws reared up in preparation to flash past Hildegarde and latch upon Tristram's back. Half the Black's size, a White could never win a fair fight, but it can hope to deliver a fatal bite to the base of his neck, if it has any luck.

Dogma snapped his cold gaze to the undead red. A small playful smile starting to form as his hands clasp upon the holy symbol. His eyes snapped to the drake beside him...His newest battle companion. And his words ring out across the area. " The night is almost over; the day is almost here." His holy symbol started to glow in his hands as the words poured forth of their own accord. " Let us set aside the ways of darkness and embrace the armor of light!" At once the glowing holy symbol ripped from his hand spinning end over end until it arrived scant inches from the drake. A brightly lit, wedged shape shield forming arouns the duo, but truth be told mostly around the drake, since dogma could hide his body behind the flying beast. As the flames washed upon the shield the avian could only hope his faith could divert the power of the undead red dragon.

Zette flits from one rider to the next in her immediate surrounding, always from behind, always soaring to avoid the dangers of wings and tails and snapping jaws, as well as tending towards back, so as not to hinder vision. Always, that low hum, courageous, now, and strong, imbued in itself with the truth at the heart of why the creatures fight. Her song catches in her throat: Perhaps she has seen what other riders have missed: those greedy eyes. And now it is not a song that escapes her, but a series of growls and flaps of her wings in a Couatl tongue. < Hello,> she near-whispers to Iintahquohae's mount, as close to an ear as she can manage. < I am friendly please don't be scared and please don't eat me there is a wyvern who means you harm >, in a darting voice before it raises and lets loose a chirping cry to her birds, who rally. They zoom -towards- the ragged wyvern, the song being sung one of love and kindness and a very unwilling-to-fight sort of melody. There will be a battle, she expects, for already one has begun. And yet here the fae is darting to-and-fro with love, in and out of fliers with dextrous skill. She bends over and kisses the fuzzy head of her mount. Her intention with the song may not be felt by any for whom the song is not intended, but the wyvern would feel it, no doubt: an overwhelming surge of peace, woven through with enchanting wyvern-words and a shimmering truth that cannot be denied. More, there is happiness, here, whether real or illusory unknown, but it is drawn carefully on the happiness and courage within the little fae's heart, projected outwards.

Drake and rider exchange a look, uncertain who this avian stranger was, but immediately grateful for his presence seconds lately. Instinct causes the young Drake to balk at the sight of flames so intense, being a creature of the North, although his rider holds him steady by will alone. The rider, like Dogma, is a person of faith, a follower of Cyris, and she understands the power behind the avian's conjured shield. Without hesitation, she gives voice to her own prayers, all the better to fuel the barrier warding off the Red's flames. Over the roar of fire, the paladin calls to Dogma in a voice gritted in effort, "Strike, friend, we'll hold his attention!" Together, rider and Drake launch themselves forward and through Dogma's shield, the female paladin's faith cloaking them in a golden blaze as they dart about in front of the Red. Snarling, the dragon lashes out at them with talon and tooth, for the moment unaware of the avian.

Hildegarde was not too concerned about the bone shards, thinking that her tough hide and scales would serve as protection enough. Of course, her breed was a proud one and that often led to such thoughts. Alas, while the Silver and Black may nip and snarl at one another, she was still a knight and bound to her oath and nature of good-will. The dragon roared, head craning forward and body straightening in order to become as aerodynamic as possible so she might speed forth and tumble into the White that attempted to latch onto Tristram's back; to tear it away with her vicious talons. With no rider, he might find it difficult to defend his back, after all.

Tristram beat his wings once more, intending to fold them in and go streaking after the other errant white, when something hit his underbelly. He was confused, at first, then enraged as he felt that icy spell began to creep past his belly, over his flanks, and toward his wings, with the likely intention of freezing those leathery appendages and rendering him unable to remain airborne. Without much thought, he released another lengthy acidic rain of fire on whatever was positioned below him, as he judged the attack to have come from land, somewhere. In doing so, he missed the attack from above -- the clandestine affairs carried out in the thick of a blizzard, with snow as thick as a blanket for a shield. He bellowed when he felt that Black beat against him, and he twisted in the air, snapping and grappling as he tried to disengage as they spiraled toward the ground.

Iintahquohae 's hand curled around one of the larger jars that she had stowed away in that bag of hers. The contents of the jars were a bit out of the ordinary, but useful. Handfuls of sharpened sewing and knitting needles, pins, drop spindles that had been smashed into splinters of varying size, salt, lemon juice and a fair amount of alcohol. She didn't want to just burn them with her molotov cocktails. She wanted to cut them up and sting a bit too. Pinquettki and Iintahquohae follow Yalra and Hthrr's lead, particularly because Pinquettki had a fondness for Blue's (in that she liked to try eating them, anyway), but the couatl's eyes catch a faint glimpse of the wyvern as it approaches. Color flashes from the psionic creature's mind to alert the seamstress, who in turn alerts the Red Riders with a, "Watch out!" and before she can give Pinquettki a direction to go she's already darted through the air for the wyvern. She's a blur of teal and lime scales and red wings that looks like it's about to propel herself headlong into the wyvern until she makes an abrupt drop. As she drops, Iintahquohae removes a jar from her bag while murmuring the incantation to bring forth a tiny spark of flame to her fingers, which she holds to the rag sticking out of the jar. She springs herself off of Pinquettki's back as the Wyvern begins to follow, then throws the fiery explosive jar at their adversary while airborne. As she begins to fall, Pinquettki swoops from above to snap at the wyvern and her tail whips forward just enough for Iintahquohae to grab onto it, but it's unlikely she'll be able to climb up into a safer flying position any time soon. She shields her eyes from the explosion of glass, fire, needles and other items she shoved into the jar, and keeps silently hopes her aim was true. A few stray needles tear through her clothing and her flesh, however, so at least she knew the thing exploded.

The wyverns of the Exiles are plentiful, where one falls, two more spring up. Or so Iintahquohae would have unfortunately found out, were it not for the song of the hummingbird-rider. Although the melody of peace had been missed by the saurian unlucky enough to eat tailory molotovs to the face, the two swooping in behind it were not so deaf. Wings falter and the pair slow to an awkward hover, snouts turning every which way in search of the sound. Clearly, the duo are young, likely broodmates, and only engaging in the fighting because elder wyverns are as well. But Zette's song as ensnared them, spoken to their playful natures, and still their bloodlust. Chirruping, the twins seek out the little rider to babble wyvern-words of offered help. Two wyverns have been spared a painful death today.

Dogma gave a small grin as he unsheathed the blade from his side. the *good book * sent a ringing across the area bolstering those who where faithful. " Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident....rebuke." During his prayer the paladin's sword lit up with the divine energy of the gods. The avian followed in the wake of the drake and rider intent to send the dragon's soul back to where ever it had been summonned from. Tucking his wingz against his form the avian rocketed towards the back of the dragon coming in from above. The * Good book * a glow with that divine energy to rebuke the undead. He'd strike out with a terrible force the holy fury pounding through his frame. A single hard strike aimed for the neck . Would it even pierce the flesh ? It wouldnt matter the true intent was to let the divine energy lay waste to the necromatic monster.

Satoshi presses herself close against Hildegarde's scales as she calls out to the Silver in earnest, "Get me to Tristram!" The eidolon sensed the arctic spell that had struck the Black, she can feel the ice singing as it creeps along his flanks, but she is too far away to command it to halt. She needs to be closer, if she can hope to dispell its grip before the Black plummets to earth. ..not that she's sure how to handle the White he's entangled with.

A cry goes up from the Drake's rider, only to be cut off midway as she's torn from her mount's back by the rending claw of the Red. The Drake takes up the cry, paralyzed in the air as he watches his partner's broken form fall into the forest below. A second talon is poised to strike down the Drake as well when the Red's form gives a sickening jerk. From beneath its rotted scales seeps a light, white and pure to look upon, and as it grows in potentcy the dragon's form begins to disintegrate. The riderless Drake watches numbly as the Red crumbles into dust to join the paladin's corpse on the ground.

Hildegarde offered a resonating growl in response to Satoshi, dipping down with expert skill so she might catch up to Tristram and get Satoshi close enough to him. Of course, she must be careful as she descends towards the Black. Snarling at any who dared to get too close, before roaring a blast of concentrated frost - more like ice - or paralytic breath to force them to freeze up and fall to the earth.

Upton had, in truth, hoped to speak with the queen before events came to a head and this war he had heard talk of found itself upon the people of Frostmaw. But, alas, it would seem that Upton was fated to be a day late and a dollar short in that regards. Much to his chagrin, he would just have to negotiate the worth of his contribution and further contributions later when there was not a fight being had. Trudging through snow and ice with no shoes and what few cloaks he could gather around himself in such short notice had put Upton in quite the foul temperment, a grim mood that the halfling fully intended to unleash upon whatever chose to assail the side that he had chosen to sell himself to. He would keep himself at a distance, for the purposes of safety, and hope that the white of his cloaks could keep him hidden well enough from view that he might live to collect on that paycheck the bard intended to claim. With endpin stuck into the ground for balance and fingers in the appropriate starting positions, Upton and his cello were ready to play. Bow would not touch strings yet but rather, the halfling would strum out rapid notes along the neck of his songbird and on those notes were focused the bardic magics so that the frameworks for Upton'smachinations could begin. It were a grim sound, very much a dirge and full of a strange an empty bleakness as if putting the world's final sunset to note. As if rising from beneath the ground, his creation would begin to rise in a herald of fire and red hot stone. Hellish claws of black and blood emerged from the earth attached to a gnarled hand of hateful rot. And despite the could, Upton found himself sweating. This would be his masterpiece.

Iintahquohae is a mixture of pleased and displeased with the success of her molotov cocktail. On one hand, it worked. The wyvern appears to be having a very hard time dealing with Pinquettki, who has sank her fangs into one of its wings and is proceeding to shred them as much as possible to knock the beast out of the air, but on the other, her face and a good amount of the left side of her body now looks like she brushed up against a porcupine's quills. Once Pinquettki has successfully sent the wyvern plummeting to the ground below, she carefully swings her tail up to toss Iintahquohae up, then catch her on her back. The land isn't pleasant, as some of the needles and splinters sink into her flesh a bit more, but the couatl gets her signal to fly higher so they can prepare for the next dive and hopefully give Iintahquohae time to tear some of the needles free. An idea dawns on her as she rips them out, and her attention sets on the Blue that the Red Riders were focused on. The next jar she yanks free from her bag is opened, and what bloodied needles she's removed from her flesh are carefully tipped in. The pair fly forward for the Red Riders and the Blue.

In the skies above Frostmaw's forest, the battle rages. Skirmishes have broken out everywhere, some formations holding fast, others destroyed, others mingling where they were otherwise broken. And among them are the enemie forces, as packs of wyverns divebomb fighters, stealing riders, or shredding smaller fliers. A number of the undead dragons remain, including the duet of Frost Dragons, whom have taken to fighting alongside each other and destroying every unit that charges them. But a force approaches them from the north, seen only as a ripple running through the clouds above, coming on fast... She is not pleased at having her territory invaded...

Tristram continued to grapple with the other black. Hildegarde had prevented it from delivering a possible fatal bite to the neck, but now they were entwined, and plummeting quickly. He beat one of his wings, only having control over the one, as the other seemed frozen and suspended as the spell creeped up the webbed, leathery surface. Incensed, he focused on the black again, and he angled his neck around the other to deliver that same acidic attack right in the other black's face, despite the dragons' current entangled state.

Zette has been neither seen nor heard by Iintahquohae, nor her mount, but the little bard has no knowledge of this as she flits forward, nor any knowledge that her song, as yet, remains unheard by all, at least until she sees the first playful glimmer in the eye of one of two other wyverns. She barely has time to register where they came from -- -Friends!- she thinks with a happy smile on her face and now they are her . She can see the attack coming only once the explosive has soared above her head. She watches it with grim eyes, though never do her lungs stop calling their happy song. By the time it explodes, she is far enough below her original target, seeking to guide each of the twin wyverns to the ground, quickly; perhaps it is not only her own life for which the little fae is concerned. A falling needle catches the fae unawares, however. With her energy focused on these two creatures -- -they are -big- friends-, she think, but what friend would not be to a small one such as she -- Zette is unable to dart out of the way. The metal, undoubtedly still warm from its burning origin, catches along her shoulder as her mount attempts to dodge. She spins out of control in the air, for a moment. Her other five have escaped without injury, and still, they spiral away from the battle. Rather than allowing the pain to ease a scream from her lips, she switches to screechier a wyvern tongue, a gentle voice insisting, < Hello new friends! You are beautiful, yes, that's as true as your sweet voices> pulsing with the same, previous love, even if it is strained, now, by pain. Her eyes course the field that had, moments before, been behind her. She spies Inks, hanging from a tail. A look of horror crosses her face. < Can you help her, friends?> Zette asks, and then does cry out when she gestures with the injured arm. The wyverns seem about ready to switch sides, she thinks, to help where help is needed, though she would not have them fight, if she could help it. < She is lovely and kind and would be ever-so-grateful.> Should they decide to turn, to help, she'd fly back with them and join them on their way to Inks, to hopefully restore the seamstress to her previous position, if only so that these wyverns will not, like that other, get many burning needles to her face.



Satoshi lifts herself partway from Hildegarde's neck to squint at the falling Blacks. Well, that is a predicament, isn't it? At least the ice is a problem she can solve with ease. Although unheard over the noise of battle, Satoshi begins to sing, a melody soft and airy, a tune for the ice clinging to Tristram. To control ice cast by another is a tricky matter, often taking time to dismantle, but Satoshi has other ideas. Persuasion is the key. The ice has been told to disable a Black Dragon, after all, and the eidolon need only convince it that the job would be better executed should it choose a -different- Black. Namely, the one entangled with the governor. Eager to please the Frost Singer, the ice obeys, claws unlatching from Tristram as it rises to envelope the undead Black like a frozen blanket. Wings pinned to its sides and jaws sealed in frost, the undead beast manages only a muffled roar before it topples off Tristram and toward the snows below--hope that hobbit isn't standing there~.

Upton played and played faster still, his fingers a blur as the worked the strings to play that song that spoke of hate and anger in each darkly dismal note. His breathing was heavy and his heart was racing with the exertion that both playing and pushing mana into his notes caused on his small form. Surely, these foes that they faced would not recognize an emoption such as fear but he could only hope that perhaps they might see his creation and treat it as a threat. His was a gambit of distraction, an attempt to create an opening that others might have a chance to tide this battle favorably in the prefered direction. He had gone unnoticed and could only count himself lucky for that boon for as long as he did not need to run then he could keep his efforts uninterupted. Suddenly the bow would be taken to hand and strumming gave way to rubbing out notes and making the strings hum. Monstrous hand erupted forth attached to a gargantuan arm forged of countless writhing tendrils of muck and blackness. It would spiral upward and make as if grabbing at whatever enemy it could, twisting to avoid allies for favor of grasping at the undead saurians that haunted those skies. "C'mon ye bloody bastards, take the bait." He prayed from behind gritted teeth.

Dogma head snapped to fhe lifeless corpse of the paladin, then to the riderless drake. " Fear not for your friends passing she is in a better place..." The avian woukd turn and survey the battle field eyeing down more of the unholy creations. But before even that could be handled his eyes snapped to the young woman hanging precariously off her mount with the red riders. Withour turning his he addressed the drake. " Help the woman I fear i shall not arrive in time. " And with that the avian was once more flapping his wings as he soared across the sky. How to help how to help. The though continued to pound into his mind...Perfect! " The avians wings suddenly flair open stopping hin in the middle of the war zone. " For he saved my soul from the pit ai shall forever be his guiding light!" The avaian lifted his sword higher into the sky and watched as it shattered under the strain of thr divine energy. But the effect would hold. His allies of the eeryrie would find their attacks laced with the divine essence. Delivering fury and pain to all the undead of the area. It was the best he could do and already he coukd feel the strain of channeling the might of the gods through himself.

The wyvern twins are easily convinced, for Zette's sweet songs are honey compared to the vinegar whips and beatings they'd been given before by the Exiles. Eagerly they soar back into the air, winging their way alongside Pinquettki while chirping greetings and flaring their wings, wyvern-language for 'Friend, not enemy.' Although the seamstress has righted herself before they arrived, they still wish to help, and flank her like bodyguards as she makes for the Blue. The Red Riders have the beast occupied with peppering assaults, although their fire is doing little damage to its metallic scales.

Tristram slid one wing back to his side in an anticipation for a sudden meeting with the ice below, so as to keep it from buckling under his weight were he to land on it. But suddenly, his other wing is free, the ice snaking back from under his belly, and disappearing altogether. The other Black is no longer fighting him. It took only a moment to untangle himself from an immobile enemy. He arched above it, spreading his wings again, testing them, and when he determined they were as sound as they had been before, he arched his neck back and released a plume of corrosive fire, intending to completely annihilate that black that plummets, frozen now, to the ground. Now it is a race. Tristram has tasted sport, and there is his competition, Hildegarde. He snaps at her in challenge, now, daring her to try and outdo him, out-maneuver him in hunt for the rest of these decidedly morbid saurian creatures, that live on in undeath and undeath alone.

Hildegarde had been so focused on getting Satoshi close enough to Tristram - without endangering the governor or her Queen - that she didn't notice the silent monstrosity that swirled down from the clouds above and made to latch its maw upon Hilde's tail; bone like talons attempting to sink into the back of the Silver dragon. The undead beast that was attacking her was bone and muscle, either long dead or stripped cruelly of its scales and hide. The beast was angry, though, perhaps due to past horrors or a rage instilled in it by its master. Needless to say, if it caught the Silver, it would shake viciously and threaten the seating of Satoshi.

Many of the Eyrie scatter when Upton's conjured hand claws its way into the skies, for they have no way of knowing it is an ally. It's only after a delay that realization dawns, as it doesn't strike any of Frostmaw's fighters, seeking out instead their enemies. The wyvern flocks nearest the hand are in an unholy panic, darting in every direction blindly to avoid being grabbed, colliding with enemies and friends alike to send tangled saurians raining out of the sky. Between the bard's creation, the Black and Silver roaring, and the generally mayhem, the wyverns' forces are collapsing. Instinct is driving the cowardly beasts to flee, and as more of the flock trickles away, others follower, not wanting to be a meal for dragons.

Zette watches as Inks' mount helps her to right herself (and oocly apologizes for the missed post, again), but is nonetheless grateful. < Make sure they don't fall,> she whispers to her new friends, < New Friends, make sure my friends don't fall, if you can without harming your kin. > She doesn't tell aloud which is which. No doubt they can ask one another, can make out the difference between friend and foe, to Iintahquohae, at least. With another low hum of love and encouragement, Zette is flying above, high above everything. Blood has soaked the back of her dress now, and a low, chittered conversation is had between fae and her six companions. She has ideas. Despite the urging of her friends, she will not land, will not quit not yet.



Tristram found his challenge challenged by another, some vile creature, a semblance of it might have once been. He lifted himself, catching a draft to put himself above Hildegarde, where he dropped down behind her, and behind her attacker to try and pepper it with short blasts of acidic fire, since a full attack would possibly injure the Silver, not to mention her rider. His flank is unprotected now -- open -- but he's got an eye on the swirling snow around him this time, paying attention for those surprise bombardments from the midst of the blizzard. He has to pause to create more of that hoary sulfur deep in his throat, but he uses that time to issue a series of snaps at the weaker sections of bone in an attempt to dislodge the Bone Dragon's attack from his closest competition for the other dragons.

Upton was alternating between stroking the strings and bouncing his bow off of them, to mix melodic sounds with thumpier ones. It was grace and heaviness intertwined with each other to give life to a duality of beauty and chaos in those darkly played notes. Very much the song befitting a funeral attended by sallow souls and Upton could not help but to let himself sway about in time to the tune, his eyes fluttering shut and his head cast upwards towards the sky as he allowed himself to become absorbed in his playing and whatever other music that he could attach his magic to so that his illusion would become that much more set into reality. This was danger that he flirted with now, to cut himself off from visual sensations and deafen himself to all but the sounds of his song that his music and his illusion-weaving might both become better for it. A mouth formed next upon the palm of his creation as it slashed and grabbed at the sky full of undead beasts, a gibbering toothy thing frothed with putrid slime. And into that mouth, Upton willed words to form; spoken in a hushed tone by his own lips and roared like booming thunder from the mouth of his imagined monster. "Observe your coming demise, abberitions! Come at me and be consumed!"

Iintahquohae is a bit surprised at the arrival of the enemy wyverns-turned friends, but made no move to stop them from joining her and the Red Riders. Pinquettki relayed their message to the seamstress with a warm burst of color, and that was enough for her. These ones are friends. Pinquettki flies just above the Blue, though it's likely that it doesn't go unnoticed, given her coloring, and once again the seamstress lights a tiny flame with her fingers for one of her makeshift explosives. She calls toward Hthrr with a sharp whistle to grab the feline's attention - She intended to try cutting through the Blue's scales a bit so the Red Riders could finish it off with their fire. Pinquettki is a bit overly eager, so their attack isn't as smoothly as Iintahquohae would've liked. The couatl playfully dives at the Blue, threateningly snapping her jaws at its wings before curving away from it a few times. On the second round that Pinquettki makes, however, Iintahquohae throws her lit jar at the Blue's spine, then immediately ducks amongst Pinquettki's feathery mane so she isn't pierced with more shrapnel. The debris already embedded in her skin sinks itself a bit further along her arm, causing the multitude of bloody pinpricks to bleed anew. A hiss that could match Pinquettki's if it were louder leaves the seamstress's lips. It clearly hurt. She spies a faint glimmer of something - Zette - nearby, and she can't help feeling a terrible pang of guilt. That injury of hers was very likely Iintahquohae's fault. The hand Upton produced causes Pinquettki to make an involuntary jolt, which jerks her rider forward just a bit, but she hangs on. The couatl dives for the Blue after the jar has made impact, and she tries to coil her serpentine body around its neck to strangle it, and hopefully hold it in place for the wyverns Zette charmed and the Red Riders to finish it off.

Satoshi releases her grip on Hildegarde willingly, only the ice of the magus' boots keeping her upon the Silver's back. As nimble as a cat, Satoshi darts along the Silver's spine and toward the foe still stubbornly clinging despite Tristram's assault. The undead dragon does not seem to feel the pain of its ribcage melting, or muscle sizzling, and certainly does not seem to care that a small foxish humanoid is running towards it. In that moment Tristram takes to prepare another attack, Satoshi leaps, to land upon the bone beast's head. The magus' song resumes as she latches on, calling to the liquid still within the beast's muscle and remaining tissue. Calling to it, inviting it to play, to abandon its home so that it might accompany the eidolon. In Frostmaw, there is little in the way of the frozen element that would ignore Satoshi's requests, as is evident by the sickly fluids that eek out of the bone-beast's joints to trickle toward her. Sections of skeleton begin to fall away as ligaments turn to dust, a clear sign to Silver and Black alike that the beast needs one good strike to collapse.

The Riderless Drake glances between avian and distant couatl. It is clearly prepared to obey any orders given it, if only because of its bewilderment and mourning. However, before it can heed Dogma's words, the wyvern twins and Zette have joined Inks. Clearly, girl and couatl have companions enough. With a determined snort, the Drake's wings power itself higher, intent upon following Dogma, aiding him however he can now that the fellow has broken his weapon to infuse Eyrie fliers with holy magic.

Tristram stopped peppering the Bone Dragon with small bursts of acid fire, and he withdrew as Satoshi made her way over the Silver's back. Now, his energy was spent warding off other attacks from any passing wyverns or half-dragons that might spot the occupied Silver. The enchantment Satoshi wove was not lost on him, and when it appeared the creature needed only the finishing blow, he strained against natural inclination, withholding his attack so that Hildegarde might be the one to claim that victory. They're tied, after all.

Hildegarde || The scales on Hilde's tail have begun to blossom red, as the bite of the bone-dragon was fierce and drawn blood; piercing her thick hide with its crushing teeth. But she can feel Satoshi run down her spine, smell the acrid scent of Tristram's acidic breath. With a trash of her tail, she whips the body of the bone constructed beast and allows it to crumbled down to the earth bellow without a sound other than the clicking of bone upon bone. Assuming Satoshi didn't return to Hilde's back, the Silver would use her taloned hands to grip the kit before carefully lifting her up to her neck so she might assume her previous seat. With a glance to Tristram, the Silver bellowed and offered what looked like a wink before climbing higher into the air. Silvers were better at ambushes, better the higher they went so they wouldn't seen, thanks to their shimmering, silver scales.

Zette and her birds fly up high in the air. She has meant to see more young wyverns safe from any claws, but she feels a tug at her own continued song as Upton's magic seeks to use all music, -her- sound, -her- song, included, to conjure his terror. Her eyes narrow and she growls. If she stays here, no doubt her wyverns will feel, and the other bardic illusionist will find himself attacked. Meanwhile the wyverns in question follow Inks' orders and Zette flees, cunning eyes and wings darting away to follow some turning wyverns.

Satoshi is in the process of returning to Hildegarde when the Silver's tail lashes too soon. Between that, and the sudden, dizzying sting of Holy magic nearby, the sure-footed magus finds herself stumbling, tripping, and finally toppling off the bone beast's broken skull. Mid-fall, Satoshi can't help but think now would be a swell time to have her own wings... Unfortunately, the kit lacks such blessings. But fortunately, she doesn't lack in attentive, loyal knights, as she realizes when Hildegarde's claws catch her safe and sound. An appreciative pat is given to the Silver once Satoshi is back in place. She'll need a moment to steady herself, while Silver and Black engage in further competition.

Kasyr , for what seems like the umpteenth time in the last minute, adjusts the goggles which he'd pulled down over his eyes. Around him, the clouds twist and whorl, his vision all but wholly obscured. It's only occasionally that he might see some great movement within that ocean of billowing white, some flicker of scale, bone or feather that might make itself apparent beneath him. And then all at once, he feels himself jolted, sees the world about him twist and turn. "Luffy!" Instinctively, the Revenants hands move to find purchase, to find a handhold somewhere amidst the network of sleek scales and wicked spikes which adorn the Black-ice dragon. Somehow, the Kensai manages, even as his trenchcoat does it's utmost to drag him off her back and towards the ground. The dragon's response is no gentler, an irritated, "Busy, Gnat." issued forth in a growl as she continues to swerve away from the great shape which had loomed in her wake. From amidst the clouds had Cryothains form finally emerged, each flap of her wings playing havoc with the very air currents- though it had been the near collision of it's 200 foot body with Luffys that had caused the dragons sudden shift in trajectory. And yet, even despite that difference, the Kensai feels the ripple which travels through the Luffys form, the way her body begins to coil and flicker- Prompting the revenant into giving her a sharp jostle, "We have better things to do. Go higher- wait until we have an opening. We'll be able to see in a moment."

Dogma 's head snapped about the area. Looking for more places to aid. The will of the gods was massive and mighty. Seeing that the trio could handle the boned dragon he attempted to look away. Only to watch in sick horror as the liquid was stolen from the bones of the undead beast. Could that be the answer to bringing this battle to a close? The paladin summoned his holy symbol to his hands once more. " And though the darkness surrounds us. This prayer is to lift you up. Oh maker guide us in our time of need. " For a moment the sigils on the avians armor started to burn, then the sigils on his body started to burn. Armor melted under the strain of divine might. Skin blackened and peeled away under the strain. And finally when the light was almost to much to look upon it vanished completely. The avian's final prayer was for the gods to grant satoshi the blessing of might and power. It would be a long plummet for the avian, but he went with a smile. The last thing he under stood was the drake catching him before his body broke upon the ground.

Tristram climbed with Hildegarde, snapping at her underbelly again in eager anticipation of beating her at hunting those with whom they are engaged in close battle. Her altitude soon found the black dragon dipping to a more endurable climate. Let her have the high skies; he'll make his attack from below, streaking in and out of other skirmishes, delivering corrosive blows to enemies as he passed by and amongst them. It was good some of the wyverns were already captured in nets and eliminated from the heat of battle; Tristram was not as discerning in his attacks as he whipped around the battlefield, soaring alongside that mysterious hand at one point, darting through its eerie fingertips to streak upward and toward another half-constructed dragon.

The wyvern swarms that are fleeing beneath the maddening onslaught of bard, paladin, Eyrie, and worse find themselves abruptly cut off: from the clouds above erupts a behemoth form as, like a shark bursting through the waves, Cryothrain enters the fray. Like so many sparrows against a freight train, the Mother of Dragons bowls through the flocks, knocks aside Eyrie members, and sends wild wind currents in her wake as she sets her sights on the duo of undead Frost Dragons.

Upton felt that it were high time for a finale of sorts, a final flare of both his song as his magic. Part of Upton felt an odd excitement at the idea of it. That much strain on himself could possibly kill him and he could only hope that someone might be ecclectic enough to have memorized the notes so that it might be rewritten and immortalize him should this be his last show. Once again, bow was abandoned in favor of strumming and the bard forced all that he had remaining to him in his magical reserves into the strings and the notes that would carry his mystical energies towards his so-called summon to fuel its form. It weakened his strings to near breaking and made his frets vibrate the very moment that he unleashed this explosion of mana onto his instrument. His poor songbird held up but only barely and as his dismal dirge of deathly doom echoed into air from rapidly plucked chords. The hand of his monster would dissipate into a black fog, thick as mud and the tentacles that followed it began to peel away at reality as they mixed into it; becoming something halfway real. It would require unfettered belief that these writhing tendrils of filth and plague were as true flesh and bone for this to work and in that regard, it was as much a gambit as Upton's effort had been from the get-go. Those tentacles flung outward, seeking to entwine themselves around as many of the skeletal beasts as they could find. In truth, they were nothingness wrapping about substance but the sensations would be there and maybe, just maybe, belief would be enough that the amorphous lengths of falsified flesh might veritably drag the winged nightmares careening into the ground below. This was all Upton had and he could only hope that his efforts meant something.

Satoshi watches the battle unfold from her aerial vantage point. Her mind whirls, flickering through spells that are quick to cast, low of energy, and of use to those around them. For the most part, she sticks to hurling frost at eyes, wings, and maws, the better to disable foes and leave their fate in the hands of the other fighters. Everywhere, foe and friend alike are dropping out of the skies in tattered remains. The snow below sings dirges to her of their red-stained fates. The frosted winds howl in her ears, filled with the cries of wounded and dying, and the forest's own pains. It's maddening. Sickening. Enraging. Calm on the surface, Satoshi boils with anger beneath, her people dead all around, their forfeit lives occupying her every thought. She hardly can spare a glimpse for even Cryothain's thunderous appearance, entangled as she is. The magus can feel it, like the cold scales of a serpent crawling up her spine, that dormant wrath rising. And that's when Dogma's blessing hits her. Where it should have been a thing of raw light and divine energy, it finds itself met by the voracious appetite of Asorial, the energies twisted, warped, and redoubled as the forsaken weapon uses the force to tear itself back into existence. With a howl, Satoshi tumbles off Hildegarde's back. And yet, she doesn't fall, suspended in the air by the tiny, detached wings that signal Asorial's manifestation. In her grasp resides the black-ice scythe, once shaped like a serpent's fang, and now forged as if to resemble a fallen angel's wings. Around scythe and eidolon alike ripples an aura of midnight and white, Asorial's energies coiled about Dogma's as they strive for superiority.

Iintahquohae ;; The Blue is defeated by the fiery blows of the Red Riders, and its body drops out of the sky shortly after Pinquettki untangles herself from it. Iintahquohae struggles to move herself back into an appropriate flying position on the couatl's back, but once she's in place she lets Pinquettki determine where they fly next while she keeps herself close and resumes tugging needles out of her arm. The majority are gone, but the ones that remain were pushed in fairly deep. Pinquettki's flight path takes a sharp turn as she dips out of the way of Cryothrain, and her movement nearly sends her colliding with Tristram. She dips downward in time so there isn't an unpleasant crash, then flies under and around him to chase after another foe once Iintahquohae has sat up and given the signal to do so.

Being creatures without sentience, the skeletal dragons have no means of defending themselves against illusions. It is with sickening ease that the bard's summoned tentacles ensnare them to be crushed into dust. Few even of the Eyrie riders or mounts seem to understand that what they are seeing is an illusion, for the mind runs wild during war, and makes sense of little save raw instinct. Numerous mounts and riders panic at the sight despite seeing only foes fall pray to the assault. Many a pair of wings seize in fear to send partners plummeting. Some, however, are spared, those fortunate enough to be near Zette, where they are embraced by her song of love, peace, and friendship. Such emotions dispel the macabre fetters freezing wings, freeing the fliers to take to the air once more, refreshed.

Riderless the young Drake might be, but he is still a fiercely protective creature by nature, made clear by his determination to stand guard over the avian on the ground. Not far from where he has landed to safely deposit Dogma, stands the bard and his songbird. A wary snarl comes from the Drake, unsure if this hobbit is friend or foe.

Kasyr , even as he waits for that perfect moment, fidgets yet again, rolling his shoulders back as he moves himself back into a proper seated position. A motion which not only serves to readjust the position of both his trenchcoat, the massive sheathed strapped to his back, but also manages to precipitate a rather noisy crackling sound from the leather coat- no doubt linked to the thin layer of frost that had been forming. "I see it!" The words aren't the revenants, but rather Luffys- spoken with a morbid glee that carries over into the ensuing roar as her body begins to pitch forward. Immediately, the Revenants hands clamp down on one of the Black-Ice Dragons spikes, ignoring the slight groan of protest that comes from the mesh of his gloves as he holds on with his considerable strength. It's not long before the Revenant can see what Luffy does- her abrupt descent revealing the massive hole in the cloudscape that Cryothains passage had left, and more specifically the dragons that Cryothain had pursued. "Oh. You- Oh." That was definitely Kas, as he becomes promptly aware of the fact that both he and Luffy are effectively locked into a collision course with one of the undead Frost Dragons. Even as Cryothain's body began to loom forward, righting itself so she might engage the foremost of the pair with her considerable might- The black Ice dragon made no motion to turn away, instead giving one more flap of her wings before adopting a position more befitting a dive, claws outstretched to intercept the dragon furthest from Cryothain. Kasyr, for his part, soon finds himself only clinging to Luffy by one hand, courtesy of the abrupt turbulence caused by yet another flap of Legendary frost dragons wings.

Hildegarde had the sense to move out of Cryothrain's way, knowing full well that the Mother of Dragons wouldn't stop or be polite about being in anyone's way; she would steamroll through them and the consequences be damned! The knight, though, was somewhat overwhelmed with the sight of the fleeing wyverns; the few that remained and the undead dragons that joined them. Suddenly, Satoshi had tumbled from her back and the knight is roaring with fury: performing a loop-de-loop and falling down in an effort to catch her Queen, before spotting those oddly angelic wings. She ceases awkwardly in the air, assessing for a moment the status of Satoshi and whether she should shadow her or seek out prey nearby.

Frostmaw's very mountains seem to shake with Cryothain's enraged roar as the legendary dragon charges into battle.

Upton found himself succumbing to the exhaustion inflicted upon him by his grand finale, the strings of his songbird breaking and fraying as magic overwhelmed them. As his composition came to an end, so did his illusion. It had indeed been worth it in the end and that made Upton smile as he dropped the cello into the snow, finding it suddenly much too heavy to hold. Swampy green eyes fell lazily and carelessly upon the dragon that had landed nearby and Upton could only grin like a fool in the face of a beast that could so easily end him, especially in his weakened state. Sweat froze against his flesh in the frigid air and the bard took his breaths in sharp short intakes. His heart felt as if it were about to burst within his chest as he wobbled about, barely able to keep himself on his feet. "Thank you, Frostmaw!" He announced, drawing as much air into his lungs as he could manage to fuel to shout. "I'll be here all week! Thank you and good night!" And with that yell made, the bard tumbled facedown into the snow. He certainly had not died giving his performance but consciousness was no longer viable.

Tristram snapped at Pinquettki in his excitement, prepared to either challenge her, or spur her on to another attack of her own. He circled again, though his attention was stolen by the resonating call of the largest dragon he's observed in a long, long while. He wanted her. Surely this would be a most illustrious trophy, bringing down a dragon of that size. But something held him at bay, and Hildegarde's brief fumble nearby found him distracted, and then distracted doubly so by the sight of Satoshi hanging animated in the air. He lifted himself higher, assuming a casual position near Hildegarde as he watched, uncertain of what was happening to his ally, and whether he should intercede or not.

Satoshi doesn't seem entirely aware of Hildegarde's hovering presence, nor is the Silver likely to get much time to comtemplate her next action. For it's in that moment of hesitation that a whistling can be heard high and shrill above the battlefield noise, swift approaching Hildegarde's flank. In a stunning flash of silver scales, another undead dragon bullets toward the knight in a blindsiding tackle meant to tear her away from where Satoshi lingers. The undead attacker is every desire to take hold of Hildegarde and drag her into the clouds, moving at a speed too quick to be anything more than a blur of cold metallic scales. It would seem Hildegarde is not the only Silver on this battlefield.

Zette blazes through the battle. Her body throbs as Upton's terror penetrates her, as the anger and the Truth of the destruction careen through her nervous system. She is more hurt, perhaps, by Upton's illusion. It is the biggest Untruth she has ever seen and now her only thought is to protect herself, her mind. Her song is shield, her notes ripped from the grasp of anything that tries to change it. It is the strongest thing she has ever sung and her body is the instrument. As she shoots past Satoshi, past Hildegarde, past any one of the many through whom she flits, she barely even feels stray blows as they threaten, and those she passes may feel a strong pulse of uplifting, serene song, exuding with a ferocity that could almost be said to bite. And then she is gone, far enough away, streaming along fleeing wyverns. Now it is her song which calls to them, biting love through terror, seeking friendship and strength. In a wyverns tongue--she hasn't the strength left to call upon another, and so it is only to wyverns she calls--she cries < I made friends today! Strong friends, only I think some of you are stronger>. Beneath her, she can feel the exhausted muscles of her mount. She sings further, an enchanting melody devoid of magic but laced with the Truth of her: she is exhausted, she is friendly. < will you join me?> she finishes her song. It feels like eons have passed. Her body trembles from blood loss.many turn to listen, a small crowd lift to her position and follow when she turns. There are six who turn most eagerly, and when they do, more follow. Each of her hummingbirds perch upon one of the first six, and now there is a fae clinging to scale and to spine. Her travel back to the battle is swift. She soars to Satoshi, first, and risks distracting the queen. Her notes are tentative, but their message clear and hopeful, even without words, even though the fae'd tongue will not speak Common, -Hello! I brought some friends! Can they help? They want to help-

Dogma gave a weak groan on the ground as the gods continued to use his body to spread their influence upon the world. More and more of the divine magic poured through him as it did battle with the force of satoshi's weapon. The new form was a sight to see but the gods refused to allow something to defile their powers in such a way. Slowly the divine energy shifted joining with the weapon's own natural might. No longer in tune to dominate but to cleanse. The weapon was a force of destruction but maybe...just maybe if the gods could twist its nature it could be set on the path of helping the save the world. Dogma started to scream out no man was meant to be a conduit for this long. Flesh continued to blacken and die as his armor seemed hell bent on fusing with his flesh.

Cryothain is a force of nature unto herself. Without bias or care, the dragon tears through any obstacle that stands between herself and her goal: one of the reanimated Frost Dragons. She knows him. And he knows her, judging by the sudden, panicked reaction he shows upon realizing she's closing in. At half her size, the male Frost Dragon is still enormous by all other comparisons. But such comparisons fall short against Frostmaw's Mother Dearest. The male's wings flap urgently, lifting himself out of her path... too late, as his lower half is collided with to send him hurling through the air. And directly between Luffy and her own target. What had been meant as a tackle by the black-ice dragon turns into a triple saurian tumble. Uncaring of friend or foe, the Frost Dragons snap out with fang and talon to try and free themselves before Cryothain can come back for another pass.

Hildegarde does not snap at Tristram, even with him being so close as he is right now. She is so transfixed with Satoshi hanging in the air that she thinks little of his presence, not wishing to snap; roar or shriek at him competitively. Indeed, so distracted is she by her Queen's angelic appearance that she doesn't notice the trademark glint of scales in the sky; the ambush technique of her kind even fooling her. The knight was grabbed by the other Silver, hauled up into the sky but not quietly. She roared with fury, immediately allowing her back legs to reach up and attempt contact with the beast: preferably the soft underbelly, so she might gut the enemy dragon before it can truly damage her.

Iintahquohae ;; Pinquettki gave Tristram a playful hiss as she passed him a second time before she dove once more. Unsure of who to attack next left both she and Iintahquohae circling, the couatl snapping at anything that got too close. With the seamstress clinging to Pinquettki's back and her head somewhat buried in the couatl's feathers, she only catches flashes of what occurs nearby with Satoshi, Hildegarde and Tristram.

Satoshi is blind to it all. To Zette's request and wyvern entourage. To Hildegarde's plight. To Cryothain's rampage. To the rise and fall of the bard's illusions. All she knows is the sibilant laughter of Asorial filling her ears, its vulpine smirk obscuring her gaze, and its icy fire shrouding her flesh. And within it, the song of the gods, the light of the divine, the burning sensation of the holy. If no man is meant to be a conduit for so long like Dogma, certainly no creature is meant to be subjected to the chokehold of corruption and blessing Satoshi is in. Asorial is a stubborn creature, and ravenous to match, yet even it realizes it cannot consume or warp all the energy Dogma has inflicted upon it. With a shudder, the weapon regurgitates all the divinity it at swallowed, unleashing it in a wide, blinding white radius around its magus host. Any undead entity unlucky enough to be near Satoshi in those moments are not granted a chance to realize their destruction before Dogma's light wipes them from existence. Asorial quivers in Satoshi's grasp, its normal sheen dull with exhaustion. Without warning, magus and weapon are no longer suspended in the air, gravity taking hold to drag them to the waiting snows far below.

Satoshi told Iintahquohae, "*before the radius of divinity is released, a voice, sounding like Emielle's, rings through Pinquettki and Inks' mind* Move! NOW!"

Zette is blind to the world after the holy light, but the wyverns at her command act with barely a thought. They slip in formation under the falling mage.

Frostmaw's skies seem to be thinning. The majority of the wyvern have been brought down or fled. Few of the undead dragons remain, save for the Frost Dragon pair, the Silver, and a single putrid Green. Eyrie's forces too have dissapated, many upon the ground either dead, wounded, or aiding those that are. A final concentrated effort could send the remaining enemies into the next life--or simply out of Frostmaw.

Tristram craned his head up, ready to go after Hildegarde and her attacker, when he notices the air around Satoshi seem to tremble. And then suddenly she is falling; she is falling and her mount is not discernible to him within the waning battle. With a grunt, he dips, pinning his wings to his sides to gain velocity and ground on Satoshi. Once he's under her, he awkwardly halts his descent to catch her. He's been riderless for his entire life -- his is not a delicate or intuitive ride. There are razor-sharp spikes along his back, though he still manages to catch his ally on the meaty section of scales, rather than impale her. And so he awkwardly carries her upward again, uncertain of what she would now require, or even if she was still alive.

Iintahquohae ;; Pinquettki's immediate reaction at the sight of Satoshi beginning to fall is to fly directly after her, to get underneath her, and hopefully catch her. Emeille's voice ringing through her head only causes her to push forward and move faster. So she does. Without warning for Iintahquohae to tighten her grip (though she heard the call of Pinquettki's sibling as well), the couatl dives. Fast. As Iintahquohae's grip slides away and her hands try to grab onto Pinquettki's scales, the seamstress finds herself turning, sliding on her back down the couatl's back as she tries to make a suitable (though likely uncomfortable) landing space for Satoshi to land, but is too late. Iintahquohae's hand once again finds itself tightly grasping Pinquettki's tail, while the other reaches out to grab one of Satoshi's arms, and hopefully halt her fall.

Dogma slowly picked himself off the ground as the divine energies fled. The sudden burst of blinding light burning away the weaker undead. Weak hands unclip the armor fron his body. Simple, blackened, leathers underneath. The battle beaten paladin wanted nothing more then to sleep. But alas he could not his code refused to allow him rest while injured littered the field. His first project Upton. Falking to his knees beside the bard his hands took on a glow akin to sunset as he passed it over the man's body. First checking for injuries. No? magical exhaustion? he had no fix for that. He'd slowly stand and move onto a rider with a torn open stomach his hands placed over the wound as the flesh began to knit itself back together. More of the avian's flesh burned and blackened and yet once his job was finished he'd move on towards the next fallen comrade repeating the process.

Satoshi's eyes flicker open to a scene of scales, wings, and feathers, and she can't make heads or tails of where she is. What had she landed on? She could swear she had heard wyvern shrieks. Had they stopped her fall? Or slowed it? Had she seen the bright flash of couatl wings? That had felt like a hand grasping her own, only for the kit's icy limb to slip through. The scales before Satoshi's eyes are of the richest black, certainly not Hildegarde's. Then wh-- "Tristram!" the kit's voice is rasped, thick with exhaustion and something else. As she sits up, feeling like one giant bruise, Satoshi makes sense of where she is. Upon the Black's back, with a worried mini-flock of wyverns hovering above her, the sense of Pinquettki nearby. Satoshi shakes her head wearily. She's not going to ask. Although, she does look up to address those that had gathered to save her. "Let's finish this, shall we~?" Woe be the poor Green dragon and its exhausted drake troops nearby. They're the last real force remaining.

Dutifully, the riderless Drake follows in Dogma's wake. He has no means to heal or even comfort, but the mount seems eager to assist the avian by offer his shoulder to lean upon. When passing Upton, the Drake passes long enough to sniff the unconscious hobbit, and give an experimental lick--he'd never tasted hobbit hair before. Snorting, it's clear the Drake never wants to taste it again, either.

Kasyr s' expression is locked in a grimace as he struggles against air currents caused by both Cryothain and his rapid descent, doing his utmost to halt the flailing of his arm which had been knocked askew and to once more find purchase upon Luffys back. And then the revenants teeth slam together with a jarring clack, which promptly evolves into an altogether unpleasent grinding noise- cued by the abrupt manner in which both he and Luffy are suddenly moving in a different direction. Briefly, the revenant moves to shift where his hands resides, if only to realize that he's groping and grasping at nothing but empty air. "You. Erk! " Apparently not that empty, however, as he slams against the foreleg of the dragon which had collided with Luffy, whether by (mis)fortune or it's design. He blinks again, wildly, as he takes note of the way the sky pitches about him, at the chaos of wing and claw spiraling about his position- "..Stupid." Luffy, heedless of anything save the chance for carnage, let's out a bloodcurling roar, and begins to lash out with the same blind aggression as her Frosty aggressors, those rigid wings of her now flickering out in an attempt to at least partially interfere with the motions of the other two- to hamper their attempts at dislodging themselves. After all, even as they bite and tear at her, she has no blood to bleed. Tooth and claw meet resilient black ice; and even when a blow finds purchase, it yields little but more of the same beneath- even as she rends and claws at their wings. It's a brand of recklessness the Kensai is more than familiar with, and one which has him almost thankful for the sheer spectacle she's making of herself, if only for the opportunity it presents. Without warning, a brilliant white light manifests about the revenants right arm, as though a number of luminescent feathers had burst into existance- if only for them to promptly condense themselves about his forearm. Within moments, that energy has hardened itself into an elaborate looking vambrace, seemingly composed of Platinum- the likes of which the Kensai swipes out wildly towards the wing of one of the Frost dragons. As a motion, it would almost seem futile, were it not for the abrupt manner in which the Kensai stops falling away from the dragon, instead seeming to have hooked himself to the creature. And indeed, closer scrutiny would reveal a number of curious wires which seemed attached to the revenants glove, nigh imperceptible save for the sparks which occasionally run along it. ..That said, this isn't really a vast improvement- since it doesn't address that he's latched himself onto a trio of dragons spiraling towards the ground, and being pursued by a much bigger "Dragon. right."

In the clouds above, Silver wars with Silver. Entrails spill from one, the lack of roar in response marking it as the undead beast, painless in its reanimation. In response to Hildegarde's catlike clawing, the other Silver's head lunges forward, seeking where neck meets shoulder on the knight. While it strives to rend the flesh and scale from Hildegarde with fangs, its claws scrabble for purchase upon the knight's limbs to lock the pair together before wings fold. Unless Hildegarde can wiggle free or support the weight of two dragons, gravity will yank them before down. And the undead is far more likely to walk away from a crash-landing.

Iintahquohae looks really, really happy that despite her inability to hold onto Satoshi that she still survived, and Pinquettki is happy as well, though a mental string of colorful apologies can probably be heard by both her sister and Satoshi for not being quick enough. Like before, her tail flicks up to drop Iintahquohae back into position on her back, and the pair move alongside Satoshi and Tristram. Instead of grabbing the final jar from her bag, Iintahquohae calls forth another tiny flame that gradually grows larger within her palm. She intends to light everything that remains in that bag. "Ready when you are," the seamstress calls over to the others.

Zette || one of Zette's wyverns now threatens to crash into Tristram. Most, however, circle above, watching, shrieking out. Zette translates the command to them, a croaking, dizzy, < Go, help Green.> But if they do, she is unaware. The fae passes out. Her hummingbirds lift from their perches, flock around her and lift her to the air. Carrying her in exhaustion themselves, they don't have a safe place for her. Not the snow, surely? But there is nothing else, and so it is there that she is brought, her bird-friends huddling around her to lend her what warmth they have.

Tristram might have grinned at Satoshi's command, where he capable of it in this form. Instead, he indicated his acquiescence by beating his wings twice to gain altitude, and then another three times to gain speed, and within moments, they were barreling toward the last remaining forces. Satoshi is in for a bumpy ride; Tristram does not possess the finesse of the dragons trained with human counterparts to fight as one unit. Instead, he barreled onward, rolling to avoid a wyvern that floundered into his path, and keeping Satoshi astride by sheer speed alone (though he does not discount her own ability to ride a dragon). His attack was fluid, but chaotic, as he wove in and out of drakes in an attempt to get closer to the Green -- his sole focus now. He seemed to remember he still carried Satoshi, and instead of delivering her to her own mount, or even Hildegarde, he slowed, and he refrained from trying for a devastating blow to the Green himself. The last foe, the last blow belonged to the Queen. He kept her close, and protected, rolling upward to expose hardened flank to the Green when it turned to breathe fire Satoshi's way. When the attack abated, he angled himself slightly behind the Green, staying close enough for Satoshi to deliver her spell, or song, or however she wished to deliver the decisive blow to this battle.

Dogma continued on with his healings until the sight of a humming birds grabs his attention. A small fae exhausted and injured. Once more he called upon the power of the divine and laid his healong hands upon her. Wounds would stitch together and he'd lose more flesh to the divine burns Once he was done the paladin looked about for something to cover the small fae in, the snow much to cold her her size. With a sigh he pulled his leather off and wrapped the band of hummindbirds and fae in its warm embrace. His eyes flickered back to the drake still following him. Since he was still here the paladin placed the bundle upon his back." Keep em safe. " Chest bared to the elements the paladin continued to work. What once wrought death and destruction would now try to save lives.

Hildegarde roared with fury, pain, annoyance: everything under the sun really. As the dragons are locked in their lethal dance, the knight catches a glimpse of Satoshi's fall; craning her neck as if to see better before roaring furiously as the opposing Silver bit into the flesh of neck and shoulder. But she clung on to it, talons reaching for the back of the dragon: intending to rip the leather of a wing, to damage it so that even reanimation would not let it fly. Hilde and the enemy Silver fell, locked in horrendous and bloody embrace, careening right through the rotted body of the Green dragon; letting steam roil from their own bodies at the hint of caustic breath that had been waiting in the now open and ruined throat - like the body - of the Green dragon. The dragons continued to fall, close and closer still. Seemingly falling towards their demise.

Iintahquohae ;; Pinquettki darts toward the remaining foes almost immediately after Tristram does, while Inky hangs onto her back and begins tossing her remaining lit jars in every possible direction she could manage, with care that they don't hit allies (she can't control the shrapnel, however). She doesn't seem too interested on whether or not they hit their targets at this point, since merely scaring them off their courses might be helpful for her allies. Once she's tossed the final, largest one (it isn't a jar, think more of a fish bowl) from her bag, she and Pinquettki focus on the others that remained aside from the Green. They tear through what they can while diving through the air. An occasional, tiny fireball can be seen leaving Iintahquohae's hand.

Satoshi is a predator of above all things, and so she doesn't miss the shimmer of wings as Zette's birds pass by with their burden. While Satoshi doesn't speak wyvern, she knows the creatures are intelligent beneath their instinctive ways, thus prompting her to nab one's attention and direct its gaze toward Zette. Either understanding, or compelled by its fondness for the fae, the wyvern peels away from its kin to follow, so that it can carry Zette and birds to the safety of healers. At least, Satoshi hopes thats what it does. But her attention most go to not being yanked off Tristram's back now. A bumpy ride it is indeed, and the magus is a thousand times thankful her own young mount is an energetic sort, else she'd not be as prepared for Tristram. Upon arrival before the Green, Satoshi has risen to her feet, albeit unsteadily, and stands ready. Asorial still clasped and smoking her hand, the magus hunkers down as Tristram slows to shield against the flames, before Satoshi's springing off the Black and directly into the face of the Green. Does this wingless little fox have a deathwish or something? Naw. It's just habits adopted from Kasyr. The fire-breath having peetering out, Satoshi is in the clear for a few seconds more before another attack can follow, and that's all the time she needs. This isn't the first dragon she's killed, and it won't be the last (don't tell Hildegarde). Asorial is ready, drawn back to trail behind Satoshi as her trajectory carries toward the Green's open jaws. ...And straight through them, Asorial having been swung at the pivotal moment to sheer through scale, flesh, and bone, lopping off the upper half the saurian skull and granting Satoshi's leap continued passage. ...probably should of thought about where you're going to land now, Satoshi. Good job.

Zette shudders as she is healed, her tiny body responding to the magic. Unconscious, she screams, remains passed out, as she and her birds are bundled. Her wyverns had been confused by the command, but move to help the fight -against- the enemy, following quickly any command they are given before falling to the earth once more and circling the little package-of-a-fae, roaring.

Zette oocly adds: Satoshi's command is heeded soon thereafter, more than one wyverns seeks to lift the fae carefully in her mouth, along with the wrapped hummingbirds, and flies her to the safety and warmth of healers.

There's a pause from Cryothain as she attempts to make sense of the tangle of dragons--and Kasyr. But only a pause. Cryothain prefers simplistic methods to solving her problems. And those said problems happen to all be bundled up nicely together. It's enough to make the Mother dragon smile, were she capable of such things. Or is she smiling? No. No, that's just her lips drawing back in preparation for the unleashing of a blizzard's worth of frost breath. After all, the easiest way for her to be rid of these three little dragonlings is to encase them all in her legendary ice, then shove them off a nearby cliff. It wouldn't be the first time Cryothain has been rid of a pesky mate this way.

Hildegarde is falling, falling, falling and it is not a sensation she enjoys. It is different, falling willingly with the knowledge you will spread your wings and fly to safety at any given moment. Instead, she is falling to what feels like her doom and there is little to nothing she can do about it. However, with the combined weight of two dragons, she is falling faster than she'd like to admit - or think - and passes as Satoshi falls. Though she may face death at the hands of an enemy dragon, her duty is to her Queen first and foremost: causing her to extend her one free hand and grasp Satoshi with a snarl as the opposing Silver clamped his mighty maw upon her throat. A strangled roar followed, as the two dropped hard onto the earth - allowing snow and earth to plume up in their wake - as her scaled hand lay on the ground, fist closed tight. Perhaps she had crushed Satoshi to death. The undead dragon remains attached to the well-known knight, but it too has fallen still. The most decayed parts of it having broken in impact.

Tristram bellowed his triumph as Satoshi executed her attack, and the Green practically disintegrated in the sky. He dipped away to avoid a collision with a falling Silver … two Silvers … Hildegarde? but strong wings carried him upward as he circled over the remaining vestiges of the fight. The battle was won. He lowered his neck, drooping now as the fighting waned. He felt something hot and slick on his underbelly -- the Green's attack had managed to reach some of the unprotected area there. The scales were ragged and bleeding, dropping great drops of dragon blood from above, poisonous to the undead, healing to the living. That macabre rain was brief -- that liquid froze quickly, creating a wicked icy burn across his hide. He bellowed another call, some mix of continued triumph, mingled with pain, laced with frustration, and then he was gone, disappearing into the thick of the blizzard around him.

Dogma gave a cringe at the sudden impact of the two dragons. His wings opened and he took to flight surely the powers to be would givs him one more rebuke. His burnt and blackened hand wrapped around his holy symbol and he tried to speak only to realise his throat had been burnt out. It wouldnt matter his prayer woukd be heard. * In our darkest moment I beg thee lords to frant me the power to vanquish this foe. " The holy symbol lit up and more of his body seemed to crisp and burn away his chest was covered in the divine burns his arms and hands nearly destroyed from the divine magics. But yet his oaths refused to allow his body to quit. A hard throw of his hily symbol, as it glowed like the sun. Upon impact it would once more unleash the rebuke undead pumping divine magic into the beast in counter of the necromatic magics. The lady and silver dragon would both need to be healed after that fall...Could his body handle it? It wouldnt matter he'd still try.

The battle is won. The Exile's flying forces have been slain, captured, or scattered. But at a high cost for the Eyrie and Frostmaw as well. Below, countless corpses lay broken and bloody. And yet, among them is movement, as healers set to work to save the wounded and put to rest the deceased. Life goes on, as it always has in Frostmaw. And what of the two Silvers and the queen between them? The snowdust begins to settle where they crashed, to reveal the undead of the two lying beneath the knight. Once, in life, the Silver had been a relative of Hildegarde's. Passed away, mourned, and buried, only to have his grave robbed and his bones animated. It had been during that fall, hearing Hildegarde's cries and her determination to save her queen despite it all, that had brought back the male Silver's memories. In a final effort to will to shake free his shackles, he had twisted in the air, putting Hildegarde above himself so that his body might break their combined fall. He'll never know if he was successful, undeath extinquished upon impact.

Zette || one of the original wyverns befriended by the fae catches sight of the falling Silver. -don't let my friends fall- Zette had said, and with a shriek to its twin, it crashes forward to land beneath the Silver, giving it's life with a hope to break the fall with flapping wings, even as it's twin's is taken by a great gust of cold summoned by the Ancient One.

Iintahquohae ;; Pinquettki knew the terrible effects Tristram's blood would most likely have if they touched Iintahquohae, so the when she saw the drops of dragon blood begin to fall, she flew out of their way and touched the ground in what she hoped would be a safe enough spot for Iintahquohae to roll off of her back. Numbed by both pain and cold and bloodloss, she slid off of Pinquettki's back with an unpleasant thud into the snow. She didn't stay there for long. After sluggishly getting to her feet (with a lot of help from Pinquettki, who gently nudged her along as she stumbled along), the fledgling began to walk for the trees unless stopped otherwise. She needed food, and likely a healer to patch up her arm and parts of her face.

Hildegarde's clenched claws twitch, once, twice, and then open, for Satoshi to half flop out of the Silver's grasp. The kit's face is ashen gray with exhaustion, her whiskers and ears competing for Most Droopy, and there's a splendid coating of dragon's blood over most of her body. Aside from this, however, she seems relatively uninjured. Rattled, yes, battered, definitely, bruised, no doubt, but not broken. Having a dragon cushion your fall is a blessed thing. It's with an effort Satoshi drags herself from Hildegarde's claws, catch herself from faceplanting into the ground, and then standing warily on her feet. A cautious poke is given to the knight then, worry evident on the kit's face. "Mithril. Get up. Please get up," she urges in a voice quiet and frail.

Kasyr , given that he's currently anchored into orbit about the saurian sandwhich like some sort of satellite, doesn't really get a clear picture of what's happening until he hears the shrill whistle of the wind, and the bite of frost as it forms over and under his skin. Within moments, the Kensais flesh is crackling, and his coat is layered beneath an uneven but thick layer of ice. The three scrapping dragons are likewise affected, with all three finding themselves rapidly cemented together, much to the Terror of the Frost Dragons, and indifference of the Ice Dragon. Then again, her jaw was frozen around one of the other dragons neck, and she simply seems intent on sawing her teeth back and forth on the spot. Kasyr, however, is good deal less complacent about his role within this debacle- as made immediately apparent by the surge of electrical energy which starts within the gauntlet on his right arm, and swiftly encompasses him. Both within and without his flesh begins to sizzle, pop, and burst- as the ice is superheated by the sudden invocation of electrical energy. The likes of which is amplified by the artifact on his right hand, Empera, and the sword which he's now moving to loose from it's sheathe on his left, Vesper. What occurs beyond that moment, however, is rather hard to describe, as the Kensai's form promptly distorts beneath a vivid flaring of electrical energy. With an unnatural speed which can only be described as lightning quick, the revenants form distorts under an electric haze, surging towards the dragon wing which he'd anchored himself to- if only to drag his sword, Vesper, through it with such force that it's shredded off in a ragged heap. Not one to stop there, the revenant makes a secondary invocation of his unnatural ability, something which coaxes an altogether abrupt change of momentum as his sideways arc promptly changes into a downwards stab- meant to impale one of the frost dragons, and send the whole batch of dragons hurtling down towards the ground in an angry bundle of claw and scale. And at a relatively accelerated pace. Kasyr, however, has no real intention of seeing this impact through, and instead choses that moment to bail out- one final burst of electrical energy used, though not to inflict any damage upon his unforunate target. Rather, it's used to redirect his momentum and velocity one last time- to push him clear of the angry mass of lizard, and sailing in a horizontal arc. Well, briefly horizontal, and now more diagonal. And ground bound. "Er." Wings. Kas. You have wings. You idiot.

Satoshi would like to point out Kasyr's freefall. This is where she learned the bad habits from, folks. Except she doesn't have wings like he does.

Upton stirred and roused, cold and wet and nearly frostbitten with hair forzen and form caked with snow. His clothes were ruined and he would need a new set but at least the cloaks had kept him from dying in the snow. Dying! He had not died! Upton had pushed his bardic abilities far and beyond what he had believed to be possible and here he was, standing himself back up. Everything else was ignored as he rushed to his songbird, his body still aching from magical exhaustion. The poor girl was the real victim here with her paint chipped and her strings broken. He would hold her close for a moment before looking around, the haze slowly lifting from his mind to make sense of what had happened and to look actually look around that battlefield was quite the sight to behold. How much of the decayed debris that littered the ground his doing? There was no way for him to personally know but his ego demanded that he assume much of it. Excitement rose. It boiled up and made Upton leap despite the pain in his body, hopping upwards into the air and yelling towards the sky. "Name's Upton Longfellow and Upton Longfellow am I!" He would holler. "Cross me 'gain an' you're all sure ta die!" He could not help but ryhym that threat made to the corpses on the ground.

Hildegarde is silent and unmoving, as quiet as death itself. But the frail nature of Satoshi's voice seems to rouse her, serpentine eye opening to affix itself upon her as she offered a low groaning kind of whine; one only a beast so big could make. The bones that cushioned her would be mourned soon enough, returned home so they may be mourned again and given peace once again. She would weep later. Now was not the time.

Satoshi rests her head against Hildegarde's muzzle in relief. The Silver is alive. Satoshi's not sure what she would have done, if her knight had fallen, although Asorial is happy to suggest a few ideas. The weapon's whispers grow quiet when Dogma draws near, however, as if Asorial is watching, analyzing, and waiting, like a serpent prepared to string when an ankle is exposed. Satoshi gives the paladin a quizzical look, not recognizing him.

Zette creeps slowly and quietly, teetering as a child might, under four-feet but far larger than before. She's come to survey the damage; the wyverns who stand, like giants, behind her, have come to mourn brethren and friend. The child-like creature stands away from the crowd, wrapped now in a mammoth's pelt--half of one, at least--dragging behind her in the snow. Quiet but for a soft song of grief that seems to echo the tone of the battlefield, she approaches no one, casting green eyes over every form and into every shadow.

Dogma didnt say a word as once more his hands simply lit up once more. His hands placed on the massive silver the felone seemed so worried about. Flesh cracked and burned on thr avian as the divine magic would surge forth into the dragon repairing damage from the fall. Mending wounds inflicted by the fighting. The blackened flesh continued to grow and grow as more healong was forced into the dragon. Once he was finished he turned his gaze to the woman. Holding up the glowing hands as if to ask if she needed healing as well.

Cryothain watches with something akin to approval as the kensai finishes off the work for her. Although she has not personally met Kasyr before, his scent is mingled with the 'little-ice-walker-fox' (as she views Satoshi). It marks him as one of the city, and thus one of her brood she protects. This is likely the reason the Mother dragon extends one of her gargantuan paws out to catch the revenant mid-fall, simply so she can descend to the ground--squishing a number of trees in the process--and place him down in relative safety. Without a backwards glance, Cryothain takes to the air, gives the scene a finally cursory scan, and departs for her nest, content that her territory is safe once more.

Satoshi's hands come up in a gesture of one disarmed, hurriedly waving off Dogma's offer. "I am intact, and I can heal myself, thank you. There are others who require it far more than myself. But I thank you, for your assistance to my people. Especially the captain of my Queensguard." Satoshi indicates Hildegarde with an affectionate nod, managing a smile despite her exhaustion.

Hildegarde was well aware of the healing magic of paladins, having experienced it at the hands of Aela and Eliason alike, she knew how draining it could be and how much one had to sacrifice in order to use it. It was not something she could bear or tolerate enduring, purely because she disliked imposing upon people. With a grunt, the dragon lifts her head partway and fixes a stare as if to suggest he cease his actions. Healed enough to live, that was all she'd take. As he pointed his hands in the direction of Satoshi, the knight merely said: "Best not," in her booming voice. Of course, she didn't want her voice to boom so terribly. Just a dragon thing. The knight was not dense enough to ignore the influence of godly magics on Satoshi.

Kasyr s' back begins to bubble, that flesh which had already been broken apart now gaining an altogether disconcerting, liquid property. Somewhere in the background he hears a momentous crash, and yet that information is set aside, filed in the background as he endures the sensation of his body transforming itself. In a disgusting display, blood, flesh, muscle and bone surge forth from the revenants back, pouring out from the twin slats in his trenchcoat- to rapidly coalesce into the form of leathery bat wings. Then with one mighty flap- the Kensai slams face first into Cryothains paw. Which simply leaves the revenant to flop over and nurse a headache while she descends to the ground. It's only when she lands that he staggers off to the ground, a quietly muttered "Thank tu" offered to the dragon, before he turns to survey the area. More or less, he's looking for the crater where Luffy and the other two dragons slammed into. And a good excuse to leave the area, before his particular 'knack' begins to affect the dead scattered about the area.

Upton found himself now stumbling through the snow and truly seeing the damage done. Many of those bodies had been his enemies but there were those here that had been allies he would never know. Upton was a selfish man but he had never seen death, never felt its weight upon shoulders and never made to hear the song of sorrow that sang the survivors. As a bard, he felt the magic that was in noise and this thing Upton tasted was a poison on his lips. "May those who loved ye love ye." He found himself singing to that wrenching tune the snowfield played for him. "An' those who don't love ye, may the gods turn their hearts." He found himself dropping to his knees under the burden of suffering. He had come here for greed of gold, not this. "An' iffen the gods don't turn their hearts, may they turn their ankles." He felt anger. Why was he angry? He had not known them and he still survived to collect his pay so why did he feel such hate. "So we'll know them by their limping..."

Dogma gave the dragon a stare to match her own his oaths refusing to allow a simple healing. He'd at the very least ensure the wounds healed over and sealed. The avian male gsve a friendly smile and bow the feline mage before stsggering off to once more set to healing other fallen. The paladin continued to work for as many people as possible. His body was giving out the gods powers where destroying his body. One two three more riders survived. The blackened and burned flesh started to creep up his face. Two more riders saved and he took he collapssed into the snow. Feebly tryong to rise and continue healing.

Zette trots over to where Dogma lies in the snow, struggling. Her own hand, scarred at the emerging wrist as though something fierce once pressed her flesh there, holding out a hand, with to offer the paladin help, or else to hold him down. She continues to sing her song for the dead. The wyverns shift, restless as they follow.

Satoshi has her people to bury, others seen into care, orders to deliver, battles to plan, and a husband to locate. Despite her joints protesting every step, Frostmaw's queen gets to work. Thanks are given to the healers, shamans, paladins, and priests devoting themselves to the fallen, as she trudges past them with only a pair of the Queensguard following--the rest ordered to carry Hildegarde back into the city to be cared for. Zette, Upton, Dogma, and all others Satoshi passes by are saluted, their faces committed to memory despite her being aware of it. There'll be time to remember later.

Kasyr will have long since left the thick of the battlefield, to find Luffy and his sword, before Satoshi is done with those tasks. That said, his trail will doubtlessly be easy to follow, if only for the morbid trail of crimson snow which -follows- on his heels, creeping along at a sluggish pace.

Dogma slowly looked up and grinned for the little fae gladdened she hadnt died. His hand moved past hers grabbing the head of his new buddy thr drske thst still seemed hell bent on following him. He pulled himself up onto its back croaking out." Healer." And the drake took to the skys. If anyone needed him he'd be at the frostmaw healer....Or close the dead needed last rights and to be burried.

Zette watches the others turn and leave, her song ever strong upon her lips. The sorrow of this place presses, but nothing else has the bard to attend, except sleep, perhaps, and for now the truth of the battlefield compels her to stay, long after the living have departed.

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