Legion of Light V: In the Shadow of Ancient Champions

[Flames of Hyperion]

The star dragon Mithandrir had its teeth buried in Natosatael’s neck, long raking claws scrabbling for purchase against the daemon’s thick leathery hide, wings held wide in a desperate attempt at balance. The daemon, for its part, was attempting to wrestle the dragon to the ground via sheer strength alone, thickly muscled legs straining for purchase on the frosty ground and bulky forearms buried deep amongst glistening dragonscale.

Lost amongst the two battling monstrosities, the elf-lord Turgon seemed an insignificant and puny figure. Still, the ancient longsword wielded by the Elythisian prince was a gleaming beacon of power that the daemon made much effort to avoid, constantly attempting to keep the rider off-balance by muscling Mithandrir to the earth.

The ground trembled in fury and fear as the two titans struggled for the upper hand. The chill air crackled with the occasional spell as one or the other asserted momentary arcane dominance, only to lose it a second later as its opponent wrested it from him. The melee was brutal and merciless, a swirling whirlwind of flailing limbs and sharpened talons that blinded with its intensity all those who looked on helplessly.

The end came surprisingly quickly. Mithandrir’s left foot stumbled amongst some loose bones on the battlefield, and the mighty dragon slipped, just for an instant. Before it could adjust, Natosatael had pounced. Trapping the dragon’s head beneath one clawed foot, using the other to restrain the remainder of its thrashing bulk against the ground, the daemon howled in triumph as it dragged the Dragon Prince of Tor Elythis from the saddle. Grasping the struggling elf in one viciously clenched hand, ignoring the green ichor that seeped from his palm from where Turgon had managed to embed his blade, Natosatael roared victory to the sullied heavens.

“IT’S OVER, ELF!” the horned horror bellowed, relishing in the moment of conquest. “FOR YOU, AND…”

The filthily matted fur that crowned the daemon’s shoulders exploded into searing white flame, causing it to fling its prize away in shock and pain. Turgon landed heavily in the midst of his elnaith, bowling over horse and rider alike with his impact. The elf-lord groaned once with the weight of his injuries, then blissfully lost consciousness.

Natosatael raged in fury, frenziedly casting his serpentine gaze about him. His eyes – all nine of them – flailed uncertainly as they searched for the perpetrator… it was not Ecthelion, the daemon knew, for he had set up arcane wards against the High Archmage of the Ivory Spire as soon as he had felt the elf reveal himself…

“YOU!”

His glare settled upon a lone figure amongst the barren ground, struggling even to stand in the epicentre of the daemon’s wrath. Dark blue cloak tattered and tore against the terror’s heated breath; one arm hung limply in front of his slender frame, battered spectacles hanging loosely from grimly set features. Tear-struck black eyes burned with unconcealed intensity, betraying a fierce determination… a hidden will of fire.

Ingwe Helyanwe glared back through rapidly slipping consciousness, barely aware even of what he was doing. All he knew was that his friends were in danger, and that he had to do something to help them. His breaths coming in light, loose gasps, the young man tried again to dredge power from the utmost depths of his soul, but it was as scraping the bottom of an empty pot… there was simply nothing left there to find.

But he could not run away. His fear of doing so and abandoning his allies completely overwhelmed his terror at the daemon to his for that would be his doom. Ingwe supposed that in a way, this was a good thing.

“I REMEMBER YOU!” Natosatael roared, bunching his legs beneath him and driving the haplessly snapping Mithandrir into the ground. In one massive bound, the daemon now stood in front of the young man, looming over the human as a mountain loomed over an insignificant insect. Arcane wards sprung into belated action behind him as Ecthelion and others of the manling’s allies tried to distract him from his prey, but Natosatael ignored them like he would have ignored the buzz of a fly during his nightly rest.

The air between man and daemon shimmered in a series of flashbacks. Wood and paper buildings of distinctly eastern construction, framed in hungry fire; a gibbering horde of goblins intent of murder and mayhem; a treacherous psy-mage leading a select cadre of compatriots towards an arcane portal bound to Haidia, the daemon-realm. Over a year ago now, in Nippon, they had encountered one another, and…

“YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!” Natosatael roared, the pain of his ignominious banishment – at the hands of an untrained amateur, no less – resurfacing through long months of hatred and resentment. The daemon reared back, reaching high towards the heavens with both hands and spreading its wings wide as if welcoming the long-awaited opportunity. Its bestial face mutated in a vengeful grin, savouring the bittersweet triumph.

Ingwe collapsed to the ground even before the daemon had struck, barely feeling the frigid resistance of the ground through the terrifying numbness that had conquered his body. Weakly he fought to keep his eyes open, trying to remind himself that to sleep was to die… but strangely enough, even that dire warning failed to rouse him from the blissful temptation of slumber.

Only then did he realise that blood was seeping through his white tunic into the thirsty earth beneath him, and that the cold air was masking the pain of a deep wound across the side of his abdomen where one of Angelus’s bolts had pierced his desperate defence.

No wonder… he laughed ruefully despite himself. It explains why I… can see… regrets…

The slowing beat of his heart in his head drowned out anything his ears could hear, but his mind’s eye focused vaguely on a memory from his past… a young woman with dark shoulder-length hair and delicate features, clad in a white tunic similar to his and walking towards him with a gentle smile on her face.

Yuka…

A lone gyrfalcon cried out sorrowfully as it circled in the skies overhead.

[Wings of Endymion]

“Back down, Natosatael.”

Fearlessly she guided her steed into the midst of the confrontation, dismounting when she was exactly halfway between the raging daemon and his fallen prey. The brave white charger bolted as soon as her hands slipped off the reins, and she supposed that she could not blame it. The delicate flutter of her heart within her chest was more than enough to remind her of the sheer folly of her current actions.

The barrage of missiles aimed at Natosatael’s back, both magic and otherwise, gradually ceased in sheer amazement. The allied warriors that had been rushing to Ingwe’s aid halted their headlong rush, slowing to a walk before stopping altogether. Together they formed a loose gallery of spectators, arrayed in a rough circle around the three central players to the day’s last drama.

“DON’T YOU DARE…”

“… oh, I dare, Natosatael,” she replied without raising her voice, cutting across the daemon’s strident bellow and silencing it mid-sentence. Her swift, graceful stride took her quickly to the side of her fallen friend, a brief moment of concern flittering across her brow as she placed a slender hand on his back.

He’s as thin as a bag of bones, she realised, feeling the languid pulse of his life through her trained fingers. A rush of guilt flooded through her veins, the knowledge that he was pushing herself for her sake wreaking agony upon her emotions.

Yuka took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus and willing the magic through her fingers into his weakened frame. Bleeding slowed and wounds mended beneath her touch, her power helping to draw out the regenerative abilities of the young man’s body. In moments she was done; no doubt Ingwe would sleep for a long while now, but when he woke again, he would be whole. Exhausted, incapacitated perhaps, but whole.

“HOW…”

“I said quiet, Natosatael.”

She turned to face the daemon, the wind whipping at her hair and robes. Her face was set in stone, only the angry glimmer of her dark brown eyes giving away her spirited resistance to a foe many times her calibre.

“Right now you need me more than I need you,” she pointed out, indicating her surroundings. Her words hit the daemon like a pail of cold water, drenching its bloodthirsty ardour in a single momentous instant. The woman was correct, Natosatael realised in shock. Not a single one of Maeril’s army remained on the battlefield. All she had to do was to turn herself over to the elves, and all his dreams of complete power on the corporeal plane…

Stifling his destructive frustration behind a mask of reluctant obedience, he allowed the power to seem from his form. Within moments he had returned to what he had been before the battle – a vaguely human-sized denizen of the underworld with only a pair of small horns and tough leathery hide the colour of parchment to distinguish him from just another human.

“Very well, milady,” he bowed low, letting the mocking flattery ooze from his voice like viscous slime. Yuka ignored the implied insult, knowing it to be Natosatael’s standard recourse when confronted with a situation not to his liking. “I shall do as you command.”

She nodded in acceptance; he spread his arms wide and cocooned her with his magic. Yuka did not miss the look of hatred that the daemon gave the helpless young man as he cast his dusty spell, but she knew that Natosatael did not dare to jeopardise her cooperation to his grand scheme. Her only regret, as the growing envelop of sand cut off her view of the desolate battlefield, was that Ingwe was in no position to hear her reasons for why she had left the Academy on that fateful night.

Ingwe…

A light breath of wind, and they were gone.

[Flames of Hyperion]

The Battle for Nenaebreth, as it would come to be known in the annals of Karazund, took place on the final day of the Month of Tribulations, in the Winter of Untold Agony. Two days later, the armies of the alliance recaptured the town of Nenaebreth from the forces of Xem’zund. The human mercenaries entrusted with the defence of the town fled in terror upon hearing of the defeat of the Death Lord Maeril Thyrrian, and the necromantic retinues that remained were little match for the righteous anger of the Legion of Light and the dark-haired warrior-mage who led the assault. The granaries and storehouses of the town were captured almost entirely intact, and in a single stroke, Xem’zund’s campaigns to the north and east of Raiaera were cut off from the Forgotten One’s will.

It was the second day of the Month of Reckoning, in the Spring of Retribution Dawning.

As for Ingwe, when he regained consciousness, he showed no sign of recognition of the young woman who had healed him upon the battlefield. Something about his demeanour had changed, though; it was as if a personal goal that he had nearly lost sight of had been rekindled within his soul, and he was attempting to make up for lost time by striving even harder towards it. He remained as quiet and as scholarly as ever, but the fires of his determination had flared up anew.

Like a phoenix reborn from the ashes.

~ Fin ~

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[Taskmienster]

Continuity 6.5

Setting 7

Pacing 6

All the fighting too me from the edge of my seat, off of it, onto the floor, where I looked up and saw more fighting and decided to just stay on the ground and take a break. There is a lot to say about pacing when the thread is so full of fighting, especially in the first two pages. It was good, but then it seemed to continue on and on, never ending fighting doesn’t really make me as a reader get drawn in anymore… just makes me want to take long breaks.

Dialogue 6.5

Some of the dialogue, as long as it was with the characters that you were all familiar with, was really well done. But some of the NPC’s that were created were, just uninspiring through dialogue and persona. Dialogue took the hit just a little more than persona, because you can show persona through actions, reactions, and general narrative. Dialogue, it’s hard to do that with. Things like writing “Teehee” constantly instead of describing the laugh or just saying that the person laughed made me bored with reading the laughter again and again.

Action 7

There was almost too much of it. It was well done, but there was sooooo much fighting that sometimes it was off, other times it was really good.

Persona 7

Technique 7

Mechanics 8

Clarity 6

Wild Card 7

Score:

68!

Rewards:

Flames [47 posts]: 4760 base exp * 2 for FQ = 9520 exp | 1278 base gp * 2 = 2556 gold

Kyros [13 posts]: 1213 base exp * 2 for FQ = 2426 exp | 353 base gp * 2 = 707 gold

Wings [23 posts]: 1095 base * 2 for FQ = 2190 exp | 625 base gp * 2 = 1251 gold

((Didn’t see anything asked for in regards to rewards, so just PM me if you wanted something but it wasn’t specified or I missed it…))

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added!

Flames is now level 4, one point from 5 due to the rules... sorry mate.

Kyros is now level 3!

Wings is now level 1!