A/N: Takes place at the very end of the original campaign of Neverwinter Nights, when the city of Neverwinter is under siege by Luskan troops. One of the quests available to the PC is to distroy the catapults and war golems; this story takes that same quest and twists it, presenting it in a new and different light.

"Hold tight Damaliti, we're about to hit a patch of turbulence as we drop through these storm clouds," Commander Juliana barked into her gemmed bracer, quick emerald eyes fixed on the rolling mass of gray clouds below her. She reached down with her free hand and scratched her dragon's black-bronze neck scales, whispering to him, right wrist still near her mouth, "You too, Virenyr."

The great dragon chuckled, smoke already drifting from his nostrils in eagerness for the battle to come, "Stop worrying…at least about me. Worry plenty about the wyrmlings in our wing. First battle for most of them…"

Juliana snorted and spoke once more into the gemstones of her right bracer once more, the large white crystal glowing, ready to magically transfer her words to the similar bracers of all those in her Wing, each of the smaller gems surrounding the crystal representing one of the members of the Wings glowing as well, representing the fact that not a life had been lost…yet. "Alright, my Wing begin the decent on my mark. All others," she shifted her hand on Virenyr's neck so she could hold her left bracer – similar to her right in the style of gems and crystals, this one linked her to all the other Wing-Commanders – "hold for my signal. We'll scout out the battle and give you the go-ahead when we've got a better idea of what we're up against…and a better plan, for that matter." There were chuckles from the other Wing-Commanders – since when did Damaliti ever have a battle-plan made in advance? They were used to thinking on their wings and forming tactics as situations came up…Juliana gave a tight smile, and stroked her dragon's scales one more time, for luck. "Virenyr," she addressed the bronze, "if you would do the honors? Quick as you like, mildly steep entrance angle."

He nodded, and Juliana felt the high backed saddle buck beneath her as he lowered his neck, angling his great wings down into the clouds. Behind her, stretching out in two long 'V's' like the formation of migrating geese, the twelve dragons and riders in her Wing followed their Wing-Commander's signal, diving down into the thunderheads that had formed around the battlefield. A land-bound creature might liken flying down into the cloud to walking into a ditch filled with fog; the dragons were soon surrounded by the thick gray 'fog' of the cloud, unable to see more than a dragon-length in front of them (roughly to the tail of the dragon flying in front of them)…but Juliana knew different. The crackle of lightning around her, the mist of the rain not yet released to earth, the press of humidity…she had spent too much time flying through storm clouds to ever mistake the sensation for anything different.

The promised turbulence hit the entire Wing just as the last dragon's tail vanished into the cloud. Virenyr's broad wings spread wide to compensate for the fickle winds, his tail lashing about as the edges of his bronze and black wings twitched, keeping him steady on course down through the thunderhead with what seemed to be minimal effort. But Juliana's hand on his neck revealed the truth; muscle and sinew and veins clenched, the dragon fought the winds every foot of the way. The other dragons in her Wing, especially the younger ones, were less skilled, and less lucky. The winds threw them first one direction, then another. Juliana gritted her teeth against their rider's panicked cries, and she shouted into her right bracer, "Hold steady! If you're going to be blown off course, be blown off course together!"

Shaky laughter echoed up from the crystal; all knew that their Commander was notorious for demanding that all dragons be in their correct place in the flying formations at all times. "Well, at least if a group of them gets separated from us, they have a better chance of surviving the battle than if they were on their own," she explained to Virenyr, reaching up to scratch beneath the flat, smooth gold circlet around her forehead, itching beneath the alexandrite stone placed in the center of her forehead, the gem tingling as she touched it.

Virenyr snorted, still consumed with his own battle, but commented, "At least we're almost out…the mage-scouts…"

She raised her bracer to her mouth once more, depressing two particular gems to address those two riders alone; the mages at the end of each line that doubled as scouts, "Mage-scouts, we're almost out. Prepare to cloak us on my mark….MARK!"

Just as the blue and white magic flowed about all thirteen dragons and humanoids, Virenyr burst out of the underside of the cloud, flaring and swooping to get out of the way of the rest of the Wing. Juliana whispered her next orders, "Nice work Damaliti. Hover and take a breather, and look over the battlefield. Report in as needed."

Even as the dragons were scattering in pairs, Juliana's emerald eyes were flicking over the war raging below, silent commands to Virenyr urging him over for a better view, turning him for a new angle…the crystal on her wrist hummed as various Damaliti commented on the position of catapults, mages, where fighting was fiercest…and where Neverwinter's troops were being hit the worst. Catapults there, battering the city…made of wood, thank Humusare. We'll need to do a Fire Flight against them…wait, are those war golems? "Virenyr, bank left!"

Obligingly, the dragon dipped one wing, swinging around in a steep arch, whirling around to face the massive construct stomping through the streets. "Damn…" Juliana's lips formed the word even as she rubbed the hilt of her curved sword. "There's one big ugly…and there's the second. Virenyr, are they…?"

"Immortal or close to it so long as their wizards are alive," he nodded as he whirled upwards, gaining height; though they trusted that the mages' magic hid them from all convention eyes, there was no since in taking chances when practically-immortal-killing-constructs were involved.

"So we kill the wizards; not so hard."

"Question: can we find the wizards without tearing through the half of the city that isn't in flames?"

Juliana squinted down at the rubble of the war-zone, and grinned, "I bet those two glowing doors have something to do with the wizards!" she pointed, indicating the two houses in question.

Virenyr laughed aloud in delight and relief, "Distinctive set to the houses too, too…shouldn't be hard to do another Fire Flight against each…and pick off the wizards as they escape the burning building…Humusare, I love wizards!"

"Me too. So arrogant, yet so easy to kill…Oh, well, time's a-wasting, soldiers are dying. Let's go." She lifted her left bracer up near her mouth even as she drew her curved sword with her right, "Wing-Commanders, begin your dive through the clouds. Be careful; the storm's heating up. I wouldn't be surprised if we had lighting down here in a few minutes." She paused, glancing up, and touched her alexandrite stone once more. "There's something unnatural about all this…" she whispered, half to her dragon, half to the other Wing-Commanders. "Be careful. I don't like it. This is not a nice storm…Now," with a shake of her head to clear her thoughts, she moved on to business, "We have a full Squadron of five Wings with us: 65 dragons. The rest of the Flight should be arriving with Westeringe Fortress…whenever it gets here. Still, we should be able to make a sizable dent in the – what's the opposing force's name again? Luskan? – troops. At least, with all the training we've done, I should hope we do. Drake, your Wing's on catapult duty. Do what you need to do to destroy them. Sit on them, for all I care. My Wing will take care of the siege golems. The rest of you, fan out and start attacking the ground troops. Try not to burn too many houses; there are still civilians in the city."

There was a pause, and then quiet affirmatives rippled up from each gem. Drake's voice came last, "Sit on them? Really? May I?"

"Drake…" Juliana chuckled, then switched hands, snapping back into combat mode, "Captain Felin, lead the right Feather in distracting those two siege golems. I'll lead the left in destroying the houses. Three with me on the north house; two with you, Captain Mers, on the south. Mage-scouts, when you see the other Wings drop from the cloud, drop our camouflage. And then everyone," she spoke into both bracers now, addressing all the dragons and riders under her command, "let's give them a battle-cry to shake the foundations of the city.…"

The other four Wings burst through the cloud, swooping to take their places flanking Juliana's Wing. The mage-scouts waved their hands, and to those on the ground below, it was like the dragons simply burst into existence with a ground-trembling roar. Many fell to their knees in pure terror as the Wings peeled off, dipping down low to flame the invading Luskan troops and their allies. No one had ever seen dragons like this before; dragons that shimmered with many colors and many combinations of the standard chromatic and metallic colors; dragons with armored humans upon their backs, humans who were just as adept in combat and magic as their draconic companions. Arrows seemed to have no effect on them; either the dragons moved too quickly for them to hit or they clattered off the tough scales or bounced off a canvasy wing, flight too spent to punch through.

In a frantic effort to combat this new force, the Luskan soldiers who were able (there weren't many of them) tried to swivel the catapults to face the attacking dragons…with even less success than the arrows. As soon as they would get a Wing or Feather – half of a Wing; six Damaliti in the Short Feather, seven in the Long, as the Commander was included – in their sights, said Wing or Feather would bank around behind them, hovering patiently until the catapult could be moved once more, only to shift positions again.

Consumed with screaming curses and sweating to move the heavy siege catapults, the commanders and crew of the catapults never noticed the angled line of dragons, led by Drake, swooping low. His dragon targeted the first catapult in the row, the second the next, and so on down the line. As they passed, they expelled plumes of flames, pulling up as soon as their personal mission was done, regrouping out of range of the still-operation catapults. The siege machines had been constructed of wood and crude rope; they stood no chance against the dragon's flame. Drake, atop his red and brass dragon Zirella, chuckled, raising his left bracer to his mouth, "Too easy, Juliana. We've got three bonfires from the catapults. I'm going to take my Wing around on a sweep of the other walls; be sure we got them all."

Off in the distance, Juliana stood up in her stirrups and waved her curved katana three times in salute. "Go ahead," she said into her bracer, "Try and be around when the real fun starts."

He chuckled as he ordered his Wing to form up in the standard 'Alpha' formation once more, so named because the two lines of angled dragons seemed to resemble the letter 'A,' "I'll be there. You save at least fifty soldiers for us, and I'll be happy."

"No promises Commander; first there, first served." Juliana turned her attention to the two dragons under her personal command, and then glanced towards where the other five under Captain Mers were harrying the siege golem in question. Hovering high over the construct's head, the dragons could breathe their fire down on it in relative safety. But the attacks did little more than make the golem angrier; its arms waved around in the air, trying to batter a dragon out of the sky…Juliana was just grinning, thinking that there was little chance of that happening…when it did.

Deledia was the youngest of their Wing, her blue and bronze having barely reached his full size. The successes of the day had made her cocky; her dragon swooped in too close, perhaps to get her a better shot at firing off a spell or arrow, and the huge iron and stone arm connected just above the young male's shoulder, knocking him full out of the sky. One large foot lifted up, then dropped. Then scream of the human female cut the air…and then silence. Their gem, a polished fragment of garnet, blazed bright and hot on Juliana's wrist, so hot she gasped, grabbing the bracer in pain…and when she removed her hand, the light that had always lit the garnet was gone, extinguished with their life.

"No…no, gods no!" A tear welled up in the corner of her eye, swallowed so as not to blur her vision.

"Commander!" Captain Felin's worried voice echoed up from the white crystal.

"I'm fine," she whispered into it. "But…may Deledia's soul always soar the winds in peace."

"Deledia! No…How?"

"One of the siege golems." Juliana scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, looking down at the glowing purple door. "This just got personal. Split-Wing," she turned to the three, "destroy that house."

They wheeled, eyes grim as they positioned themselves evenly around the house, already whispering a favored destruction spell or lightning or – in the case of the mage – simply pulling the stones apart. There was a saying among the Damaliti that a warrior who could not fight the same way his enemy did – sword with sword, magic with magic, bow with bow – was but a foot-soldier, and unworthy to lay claim to the honored title 'Damalit.' Consequently, all wyrmlings – as both child and dragon were known – were trained in all forms of weapons, though most ended up specializing in one or another, and in magic, even if they never used more than a magic scroll or ring all the rest of their life. It was the thought and training that counted.

For one moment, it looked like none of the spells had affected the house at all. Then it exploded, stones and timber fragments flying in all directions…revealing a very annoyed Balor Lord. It took two steps out into the street, skull-like head swung up to stare at the dragons that dared harm it, fire crackling along its draconic wings, the sword he held in one hand easily as long as a dragon's tail. "UP!" Juliana barked, and not a moment too soon. Later many of those four dragons would swear they felt the wind from that sword on their tails.

"Well, there's the wizard," Juliana commented once they were out of range, looking down at the Balor Lord the size of an adult white dragon. The robed Luskan in question was standing in the wreckage of what was once a platform at the back of the house, glowing hands raised, focused on controlling his siege golem. "I suppose it's too much to hope that the damn demon was summoned by him and will vanish when he dies," the Commander continued cheerfully.

One of her Ranger Damaliti, Lieutenant Caland, mounted on a lithe silver-blue, squinted. He shrugged, and pulled his composite short-bow from its sheath on one side of his saddle, opposite his sword. Setting a gold-feathered arrow on the string, he drew the nock back to his jaw, tilting the bow sideways as he sighted down the shaft for more stability as he aimed. Flit! The wizard was actually knocked onto his back from the force of the arrow. He flailed a moment, but three more arrows from the elf, fired one after the other, put an end to all movement.

The Balor Lord snorted flames, thrusting upwards with his sword in a vain attempt to reach the dragons. "Well…it was worth a try," Caland shrugged, "And on the bright side; the siege golem has just collapsed. That should count for something."

Juliana's smile was wane as she rubbed first one bracer, than the other, finding comfort in the glowing gems…except for the shattered garnet that once linked Deledia to her comrades. Their dragons could hover forever; she had time to formulate some tactics… "Captain Mers, are you having the same problem we're having?"

"The big fiery demon that won't die with the wizard? Yep."

"Any luck?"

"None so far. Don't bother with weapons; they don't even cut him!"

"Thanks," she drawled. "Well, keep trying, and let me know if something works; I'll do the same. Oh, and will the rest of the Wing please stop throwing around the siege golem's head and get over here, where they can do something productive for a change?" Even in the middle of a war, Damaliti refused to behave seriously. In fact, the worse things got, the harder they tried to lighten the mood…to a point, of course.

In a few minutes, all twelve dragons and their respective Damaliti were discussing which spells might have an effect on the demon. "Well, Virenyr?" she asked her dark bronze after five minutes of no progress from either Feather, "What do you think?"

He sniffed the air, glancing down at the Balor Lord. "I think we're wasting our time throwing spells randomly. He is a creature of fire, yes? Water, then, or ice. Or perhaps even electricity. But not fire."

"Hmm…you could be right." Rubbing her thumb against the alexandrite in her circlet, she touched one certain gemstone, leaning forward to address the resident Druid-Damaliti, "Try…Call Lightning or Ice Storm."

He shrugged; it was no less crazy than what they were already trying, and swung his arms upwards in praise of Nature herself. The storm clouds above them seemed to pulse in response, and purple-blue-white lightning knifed down, thunder rumbling in response. It struck the Balor full on, ripping straight through the fiend's red flesh to ground itself in the cobblestones of the street. "Let it be dead…let it be dead…" Juliana whispered, eyes fastened on the evil creature. It lifted up its sword once more…and then collapsed to the ground. It reached upwards in one last vain attempt to continue the struggle, then dropped, completely still. Two arrows were shot into the base of its skull before Juliana allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

She lifted her bracer once more, "Captain Mers…Lightning did it for ours."

In response, light flashed down from the heavens between the second circle of six dragons some blocks away, as the human walked. "Ours too, Commander," Mers reported. Juliana could almost hear the grin in his voice; it matched hers. "Think that's the worst they can throw at us?"

"Gods I hope so. Among the worst for sure, but the worst? I sure as hell hope so." She sank back in her saddle, staring out at the battlefield that stretched before her. With the addition of her Damaliti and their dragons, the Luskan foe was being beaten back to the original city walls, one painful step at a time. Three Wings already fighting, she mused, identifying each of the Wing-Commanders, knowing the rest of their Wing would be close by. Drake is still doing that sweep…and mine…Let's see then…Each of the three Wings have chosen a different area to help and support; but they've all got their respective area well secured. That section…is a mage's battleground; best not get in their way. So, that leaves me with what?

"We could hit the reserves; the majority of their army is waiting far from the battlefield, so that fresh troops can replace the fallen," Virenyr suggested. "While the Neverwinter soldiers fight on and on and on, getting more tired and hurt with each passing skirmish – though their guerilla tactics are quite good, considering – the Luskan troops only need to fall back to their 'impenetrable base camp' and fresh soldiers will take their place. If we cut off that stream of constant reinforcements…"

Juliana almost whooped aloud, "Ah, Viremyr, my bronze-black, you are brilliant! We'll stand more than just a fighting chance!"

"Of course I am brilliant," his voice was smug as he whirled about, bellowing to the dragons to form up as Juliana rapped orders through her gemmed bracers. In no time the entire Wing, all twelve dragons with Juliana and Viremyr at their head, were flying in tight formation, soaring high over the battlefield, so high they were not noticed by those fighting below. By this time, most of the soldiers had gotten over their initial awe and fear at the sight of the dragons and were fighting full-out. Perhaps it was the ominous storm clouds that blocked the morning sun from sight, or the press of humidity before the storm that stank of blood, or even the hot crackle of dragons breathing fire again and again to beat the enemy back, but all felt that this war was coming to a head; all would be won or lost today, now.