Desperado III

Now that we had a militia, we could finally get involved in the War. The question then becomes how can we participate without getting our asses slaughtered by professional fighters. I had no illusions that in a direct fight with the Seawings, our collective asses would be handed to us. But if there was one thing the Night King and I had in common (besides our mixed heritage), was that we knew that value of operating in shadows and secrecy. Indirect warfare often proved to be the most effective against a much stronger enemy. Strike them where they're weakest, and keep striking them until they break.

What's the weakest point for a Seawing Army in the middle of a desert? The answer should be obvious, but since I actually had one or two addled recruits actually ask this question, I'll spell it out for the odd dragonet or scavenger or who happens to read this:

Seawings need water, not just to drink, but to stay sane;
Without water, they'll start going berserk after a few days;
There's a bi-weekly shipment of water and supplies that come into the Scorpion's Den;
There's a few wells and oases within the Scorpion's Den that everyone uses;

All this added up to multiple glaring weakpoints for us to exploit. Fortunately, I've had quite a bit of experience in performing hit-and-run raids just like this. We knew the routes the Seawings used, where their stops were and where the best places for an ambush would be. A dozen or so Seawings carrying many containers full of water would fly either to the Scorpion's Den or Hawkstone. Best of all, they would rest in a small ravine not too far away from Crossroads, making it the perfect ambush spot.

On the 20th, I led our best warriors to the edge of that ravine, where we hid ourselves among the rocks and waited. The sun arched across the sky, and started to dip between distant mountains when we saw several shapes come from the east. Blue shapes. We waited for them to fly overhead, gliding their way into the ravine where they unloaded their cargo and rested their aching wings.

That was when we struck. Thirty fresh dragons armed with spears and the occasional crossbow, against a dozen tired Seawings? The only surprise we had was having to kill the one soldier who still had fight in her. A few fire blasts and a spear to the heart dealt with her real quick, and the rest were quickly bound in ropes and dragged or carried back to our camp. The water we could come back for in the morning.

That night, it was time to work my own kind of magic, and ply our prisoners for information...

I entered the tent holding one of the newest prisoners. The Seawing was old and tough, covered in old scars and fresh cuts. She sat tied and bound in rope, green scales pale with dehydration and yet still glaring venomously as I filled a small tub with water.

"Is this a bribe?" The soldier snarled, "Your egg must've been laid in dung if you're dumb enough to think I'll break that easy."

"What makes you think I'm bribing you, friend?" I asked conversationally. "I'm here to offer you a choice."

"What? Join your moronic cult or die?" The old dragon spat a wad of phlegm and blood in my direction. "I'm never going to betray my Queen."

"You'd rather face death here and now for someone else's war, than tell me what the Hawkstone militia is doing?"

"Beats serving a false god. Or a bastard freak."

I smiled. I placed my talons on her shoulders, and said, "Have it your way, then." In an instant, I bit down on the Seawing's muzzle, holding her head firm. The prisoner roared and struggled futilely, as I then grabbed onto their gills. With a twist and pull, I ripped them off her neck, tossing them in the dirt behind me. Blood poured out of the open wounds. I released my bite, only to breath fire upon her throat. The prisoner's roar turned into a pained shriek, as flesh burned and sizzled.

This alone might've killed her outright, but I wasn't done yet. Dragging the burning Seawing to the tub, I shoved her head into the water, and held it there. The fires went out, but the pained and panicking dragon had no way to breathe water.

The Darkstalker is said to have been a fan of ironic punishments, and who was I to deny such a fate to his enemies? How many dragons in Phyrria could claim to have drowned a Seawing?

...

"Have you heard the tragedy of Prince Fathom the Wise?"

The second prisoner shook his head nervously, watching me as I took a seat next to him. This Seawing was a fresh recruit, not even 18 years old. He surrendered without a fight, and shook like a leaf as I entered his tent. He drank deeply from a cup I offered him - it tasted metallic and ashy, but he wasn't in a position to complain - and kept his eyes on me.

"I thought not," I said, "It's not a story Your Queen would tell you. It's one of the many legends surrounding The Night King. Fathom was an Animus dragon, so powerful and so pure of heart, that he could prevent the damage to his soul when he used his power and create life. His magic was such that with The Darkstalker's guidance, he could even stop his mate from dying."

"...He could save dragons from death?" The young prisoner asked.

I nodded. "The power of an Animus is a pathway to many abilities, some consider to be unnatural."

"...What happened to him?"

"The power of the Animus - especially of the Seawing line - is so strong that without being hatched with omnipotence like Our Lord, it can drive them into madness. The only thing he truly feared was betraying his friends, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, his uncle tricked him into challenging Darkstalker, and was banished to the ends of the world for his misdeeds, to live out his remaining years alone."

I shook my head sadly. "Ironic. He had the powers of a god, but died alone and forgotten."

"...And what does this have to do with me, mister Desperado?" The prisoner asked.

"You have the chance to make up for Fathom's mistakes, my young friend. Your commander refused to redeem his Tribe, but I sense in you a goodness and innocence that's so rare amongst your army. You recognize the futility of your Queen's vendetta, don't you? You don't want to die of thirst in some silly desert over some silly ambassador, right?"

"No!" The prisoner declared, "I want to live! I have family back home, and friends, and-"

"I agree," I said, "And I don't want to keep you as a prisoner. But I can't let you go until your Queen stops supporting Blister. And to do that, I need to know everything you know about the Seawing Camp. Can you help me, to help you?"

The Seawing thought for a moment, and sighed, "Well, what do you want to know?"

I smiled.

The young Seawing proved especially helpful in the days to come. Turns out, he knew exactly when the shift changes were every night, as well as the quickest, sneakiest way to the wells in the Scorpion's Den. Sending in our operatives was a piece of cake then, especially as the guards didn't think to change their routines - no doubt my reputation of being a "merciless killer that leaves no survivors" was starting to spread.

I found several among our number that used to be thieves and smugglers, drakes and dragonesses with intimate knowledge of the Scorpion's Den. The first night, they would sneak in the dead of night, passing by the guards and and fill the wells with poison. The following nights, they would return, this time bearing the containers of water meant for the Seawings, and give them out to all the civilian inhabitants of the Den. Oh, one can imagine the shock and horror on all those blue faces when they realized that their only other source of water had turned against them. Day by day, they'd get thirstier and thirstier, even as the dragons they lorded over continued to be just fine.

To add onto this pressure, we kept an ear out for any rumor of reprisals and punishments dished out against the Sandwings. This would be our greenlight to spread the fear of the Night King among the wicked. Our informants within the city would provide us names, targets for us to exact vengeance upon. Our best hunters would return in the dead of night, tracking down our quarry and killing them. We would move their bodies to places where they'd be found in the morning, intersections and store fronts and near the wells. I marked the walls in their blood, declaring that the Darkstalker walked among them, bringing the Seawing occupiers to justice. If they didn't return to whence they came, I warned, even greater punishments would be dealt upon them. The Night King was fighting for Queen Nightshade, and those who stood against them would meet a terrible fate.

The plan worked like a charm. Within one day, the Seawings broke. When their shipments didn't arrive that second morning, the all stampeded for the wells, with over half of their number drinking deeply before the poison started to kick in. Within hours, as the morning heat dried them out like beached fish, those that didn't die from the poisoning succumbed to "Water Sickness".

Dragons are a hardy bunch, far more than any other creature in Phyrria. We're strong, fast, we can fly, and each Tribe has its own unique ability. We can also go a long time without needing food or water. I personally remember having gone three whole months without having a meal, during some of the hard times of my early years. It sucked ass, but I got better. Similar deal with Seawings: Despite having gills and spending most of their lives in water, they can actually go months without water before dying. However, without having a source of moisture (and being in a hot, arid environment like the desert for a month), they can suffer from Water Sickness, a mindless berserker state where they attack anyone and anything in a desperate attempt find something to drink. This even includes attacking other dragons and drinking their blood like some kind of vampire bat.

This is exactly what happened to the Seawing Army within the Scorpion's Den. Allies, civilians, even young dragonets, all were being hunted down and torn apart, as the frenzied aquatic dragons drank their blood like rabid animals. It was even worse over in Hawkstone, as the Seawings charged into the Royal Quarters, setting their claws upon the remnants of the Royal Family. Following the shitshow of the Duel between Smolder and Blister, the Princes Scald and Singe were basically left unattended, neither the Seawings nor Hallowglide's lackeys knowing what to do with them. They were left unattended with the rabid Seawings attacked. They never stood a chance. Rumor had it that Scald was caught in the act with his girlfriends when the horde found them, tearing them all limb from limb. The less said about poor Singe, the better. From every account I heard, almost the entire Royal Family was extinguished that day - Tanwen in Hallowglide's manor and Princess Blaze in Nightshade's Court survived to carry on the old Queen's line.

The slaughter and madness went on for hours, before the Militia of Hawkstone rallied and hunted down the crazed Seawings. Their bodies were collected and burned, their ashes scattered to the sands to quickly prevent any spread of disease (and perhaps as a small amount of revenge for the crimes committed against the Sandwings).

With the "Royalist" coalition now in disarray, I thought now would be the time that the people of the Scorpion's Den would rise up and declare themselves for Nightshade (or better yet, for me and the Coven). To my disappointment, there were so such mass uprisings in our name. It would seem that, in our efforts to liberate them, we might've frightened the townsfolk with our "wanton brutality". I'd say they'd be a bunch of big wienies who didn't know what it took to win a war, but I digress. As Hallowglide and Coral tried to pick up the pieces of their alliance, Dusk and I collected our Coven and flew our way into the Scorpion's Den as liberating heroes. There were no cheering crowds, no dragonesses throwing flowers before us, no dragonets cheering as we passed by, no young drakes asking to join our militia.

We had freed the Den, but our job was far from over...