The others had not bothered to help the downed wizard with his lava-splashed leg, but did him one better as they felled the mighty dragon. A rippling blast of shadow magic, and several mighty, heavy swords and another explosion of sorts tore the great winged thing down into a horrific, acidic crash of blood and gore.

Well, that’s another way to go about it.

The pain in his lower leg seemed instantly more distant as Storm recognized that his compromised speed wouldn’t likely cost him his life this day. He cut away at the pant-leg, pushing off the leg with his dagger as he cleared the charred cloth. It was agonizing, and tore with it a fair bit of flesh. There was red, bubbled skin and some meat exposed, and the searing pain left him a bit light-headed.

Ugh, God… shiiiiiit.

Defying this dazzling pain, he was safe. That is, unless one of the adventurers turned on him, looking to split the bounty amongst fewer folk. His eyes moved rapidly about, scanning for any fast-movers or surreptitious types. Learning he had not been betrayed, he pulled forward to stand. It was a pleasant surprise that he could walk with a considerable limp, and that he didn’t feel the fire shoot up his leg as he expected.

He managed to walk to the beast known as Sunwing within a few steps, and used his knife with the precision of a master chef. Driving the blade thinly against the flat of the skull, he twisted and tore in a few brief strokes before removing the large horn which previously stood off the left temple of the monster’s massive head. The right horn remained; he’d let the others fight for that scrap.

Got it. Eyes up. Look strong. Get the hell out of here.

To his amazement, Storm heard the beautiful, rhythmic clip-clop which was simply unmistakable. The mighty Attila had returned, bold and strong and powerful. Quickly securing his new prize in the satchel under his shoulder, Storm Veritas hob-handed the pommel of the saddle and pounced effortlessly atop the great ebony beast from his strong right foot. In a breeze, he was safe, secure, and mobile.

“Thank you, gentlemen, and well done…” His address to the group started at the boy, but there were others. The giant man had swung his hammer sword, and the other man reminded him a bit of himself in more idealistic times. Had he come here for glory? Licking his teeth to clear the blood away, the experienced wizard wouldn’t be surprised by any motivation.

And that big, bony bastard…

Truth be told, Storm hadn’t figured out exactly what the hell to do with the enormous skeleton. He appeared to be some sort of puppet, perhaps controlled remotely. Either way, the wounded magician wouldn’t stick around to find out. He was too weak, despite his proud façade, and needed to re-engage in an establishment where he’d be less vulnerable. Preferably, it would be a place with sterile bandages. Undoubtedly, it would also be stocked with plenty of cheap whiskey.

“Take what you’d like; I’m heading to town to square up.”

It was an invitation without formality, and an exit without grandiosity. In seconds, the hoofbeat picked up speed as Attila thundered down the mountain, his master hanging on desperately as he held back tears of agony.