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Cintra
The Amell Pass

Vandal tucked his hands behind the horn of his saddle and clutched the reins tight between his fingers.

The smell of burning timber assaulted his nostrils and stung his eyes as the winds blew the smoke of the charred mountainside upwind, bathing him and his men in a heavy blanket of blackness. Quick as they could, they ascended the mountain pass into the Amell gorge which would take them into the heart of the canyon that stretched across hundreds of miles worth of towering mountains. And somewhere in the middle lay the world shard that held the roosting ground of the dragons. Vandal was grateful for the many brave souls who accompanied him, for he knew that to face the mighty beasts in their own lair would prove costly.

He hoped, at least, that he could interact peacefully with them as the legendary heroes of Saggrel's past were said to have done. If there was a chance for him to gain an ally instead of another enemy, he would take it. The griffin riders returned to him once they've concluded their runs. General Rathir was among them, and he came to report of his findings.

The baron commanded the army to halt while he spoke to the riders, "Rathir, what have you found?"

"Trouble." The general said, "We've found that some of the drakes were not keen on remaining in one place, and they've started building nests all over the cliffsides in yonder canyon. They've spotted us and gave chase. They're headed this way as we speak."

"Understood." Vandal acknowledged, deferring to the general's expertise as he had little experience in most strategies. "Any ideas on how to combat this threat?"

"Trust in me, I shall handle this one, Lord Vandal." The general assured him, taking over the army as he barked orders from atop his griffin mount. His booming voice carried over the throng and echoed across the ravine below. "Make ready archers and mages! Shields up and form together! The drakes will seek to burn us out, make them pay dearly for it!"

The soul-bound did as commanded, forming a box shaped shield wall to surround their archers and mages. Arrows were nocked and spells were charged, right on time as the lesser dragons started to climb their way into the sky. As Vandal beheld them, he saw that they were indeed majestic beasts. Their scales, prominent like the jutting rocks on the cliffs they formed their roosting grounds on, had colors that varied from green, black, red and gold. Maws lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth opened wide to unleash terrible screams that reverberated across the mountain pass, shaking the ground beneath their feet as the drakes swooped down from the skies to attack the huddled masses.

They were lesser dragons, but that did not make them any less of a threat to them, as both man and soul-bound found out for themselves not long after.

"Ready!" One of the commanders bellowed, "Loose!"

Fire filled the sky in baleful torrents from both sides. Dragon and mage, fire incarnate versus fiery magic, with steel-tipped arrows in between. The skillful mages protected their fellow warriors with magical barriers that absorbed the flames shot down against them, turning the mana therein to power their own spells. Sometimes, a stray streak of flame would strike the mountainside, sending a great part of it to collapse on top of the soldiers below and block the passage.

Survival, if not victory, in this fight depended solely on the army's defense. Swords and spears could do little against aerial opponents, unless they were brought down to their level, which the drakes seemed to avoid entirely as they dominated the skies of the Amell Mountains. Vandal found himself helpless to do anything but watch, a spectator rather than a participant, to witness the strengths of others pitted against the beasts. This was General Rathir's stage, but Vandal found contentment in seeing that he was more than adequate to take the reins from him.

The general's mount Hellsmiter maneuvered expertly through teeth, talon and flame as the griffin weaved through the flock of lesser drakes while Rathir readied his greatbow and felled one mighty beast after another. His iron lances, shot out from that powerful bow, pierced their scaly hides and impaled their hearts with pinpoint precision. The other griffin riders, armed with handheld lances, rammed the drakes through while their mounts clawed and bit their way through their exposed necks.

Later, some of the drakes switched tactics and swooped down to snatch at the soldiers clogging up the pass. Their descent sowed chaos throughout the ranks as many a man was sent screaming to the gods as they knocked them off to plummet to their deaths in the chasm below, while those that were unfortunate enough to be caught between their teeth or claws were summarily crushed or gobbled down like meat. Those of the soul-bound who were killed had the most peculiar effect on Vandal. For everyone of them that died, it felt like their very souls were transferred over to him as water would fill a vessel. The transition was painful, and the Vestige of Warmth doubled over his saddle as he felt his very bones burn with every life extinguished.

With their attempts thwarted as their losses mounted, the remaining drakes turned tail and fled back into the mountains, screaming all the while as the sting of defeat was keenly felt. They left the intruders amidst the burning pass, which was now filled with both corpses and collapsed rocks.

Generalt Rathir and the riders returned to solid ground. He accounted for all their losses and sent the men to work so they could clear the path ahead while the healers saw to the wounded. Vandal helped move the dead, planning on burning their corpses in accordance to Saggrel traditions. Rathir surprised him when he made his disapproval of the act known.

"What are you doing?" The giant asked from atop Hellsmiter.

"Giving them a proper sendoff to the afterlife." Vandal replied.

The general sneered under his helm, clearly finding how both effort and resource was diverted to last rites an offense to his eyes. "That is a waste of time! A corpse returns to the earth, burning or burying them changes nothing but hinder our progress!"

"General Rathir!" Vandal stood his ground, his voice barely in level with the general's booming bellows yet firm as a rock on the seashore stands against the surf. "When you died, you were buried with all honors befitting a champion of Saggrel! These noble warriors fought as men, and died as men. They served me well, as they have served you today. The least we can do is give their remains their due respect."

Many of those in the ranks that knew Vandal, like Enris, were astonished to see the once timid man stand firm to his convictions even in the face of such an imposing figure as General Rathir. The giant glowered at him in silence for about five full minutes before kicking Hellsmiter to ascend to the heavens, "Very well, I suppose there's something admirable in holding on to one's ideals. You wear them well, baron."

There was an obvious insult there, but Vandal's pride was not so easily wounded, so he let it slide. "And where are you going?"

"Going to do something useful, like scouting ahead for dangers." The general spat. With that said, he disappeared into the clouds with his griffin riders in tow.

Enris rode up to the baron in order to give voice to his support, "Hey, you alright lad?"

"I appreciate the concern, my friend, but don't worry about me." Vandal replied, "This is just, I know it to be so, and I take more than enough comfort in knowing that."

"Good." The mercenary said with a nod, "Seriously though, fuck him. Those who have no respect for the dead shouldn't have the respect of the living."

Once the wounded were patched and healed up through the miracles of the sorcerers among them, and the dead given their honorary cremations, the army moved out as soon as the blockage of the Amell pass was removed. They proceeded deep into the mountains, where the terrain proved to have changed in the past few weeks due to the dragons' terraforming activity to make their habitat more livable, eliminating the usefulness of the few warriors from Cintra who knew the pathways of the Amell Mountains in that regard. Stone and shale were melted down like candlewax, forming archways and nests harder than iron as the very earth followed the beck and call of the lesser drakes.

The army halted at the foot of a piece of the world shard, which looked like a cutout of a fortress wedged in between the faces of two cliffs as it dangled precariously over a narrow chasm. To cross over to the other side, the army would need to proceed in single file to keep their combined weight from dislodging the only bridge connecting the two sides together.

Vandal opted to go first, followed by some of the elite knights from the Howling Citadel. He dismounted from Alfie so he could guide the mare across on foot, and braved the unstable stone path he set himself upon.

"Don't look down." Enris advised him as he shadowed the baron, "Just don't look down."

"Easier said than done." Vandal muttered, taking the advise nonetheless as he kept his eyes forward.

They hadn't gone any further than a few meters across when a deafening scream pierced the air and rocked the ground. All eyes darted fearfully for the source of the noise, and the horses whinnied and neighed as they reared up and down where they stood. The stone began to crumble, both horse and man nearly slipped through the gaps growing beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Vandal said.

"Who the fuck cares?" Enris bellowed, "GO!"

Both baron and mercenary led the way forward, pace quickening as the source of the sound made itself known. From further beyond the chasm came a dragon, this one was not like the others as it proved to be quite bigger and more ferocious. A greater dragon, one that was covered in scales as black as obsidian and had eyes that glowed red with malice.

"MOVE IT!"

When the dragon swept in closer, everyone realized that it wasn't just scales that covered the beast- but armor. Black serrated armor meticulously crafted by unknown hands, engraved with words of an alien tongue and shaped to cover the dragon from snout to tail. It didn't even bother to breathe its flames upon them, it just flew in straight for the bridge. The entire stone structure shattered with a horrible crash and crumbled like sand, sending man and horse flying out in all directions amongst the rubble.

Down they went, screaming, into the abyss below.

Vandal and the others, who were lucky enough to get within a few paces of the opposite side, leapt over the edge to escape certain death. Five of them abandoned their mounts and ran for safety, but not Vandal. The baron tried to get the frightened mare across by jumping onto her saddle and rode for the edge, but a piece of rubble hurled from the dragon's onslaught struck the horse just as she leaped over to save herself and her rider. Vandal flew right off his saddle and tumbled onto solid ground.

He recovered quickly, scrambling over to the edge just as the mare was hammering her front hooves onto the stony cliff to hoist herself up. Vandal grabbed the reins and pulled with all his might, hoping to spare the mount an unnecessary death. There was hope amidst the fear in her eyes, that poor horse. She snorted, squealed, and wheezed as she fought with all she had to get clear from the chasm.

Suddenly the reins, unable to bear that much strain, snapped away from the hooks that kept it attached to the bridle.

"Alfie!" Vandal cried out as the mare fell backwards and slipped away from the edge. Her screams could be heard as she tumbled out into the chasm, down she went for what seemed like miles and miles of empty space, until at last Vandal heard that faint thud.

Still clutching the broken length of fine leather in his hands, he stared down into the abyss for so long that Enris had to yank him off the edge, lest he would join the others should the cliff give out from under him. Their essences returned to him in droves, further adding to his ire. Vandal looked up at the mercenary sorrowfully, his expression immediately shifting to fury as he heard the dragon's voice reverberating upon the mountain face.

It was laughing at them.

"I'm going to kill that dragon." Vandal vowed, abandoning his previous conviction as he grieved for his lost faithful mount. He had bought, cared and bonded with that noble steed for a good while now, and she was family to him.

"We're all going to kill that dragon." Enris agreed.

The baron stood up and tucked the reins away into the small bag hanging by his belt. He turned to look at the men on the other side of the chasm who had not reached them and were spared from the dragon's assault.

"We will find another way, my lord!" Someone called out to them. "Worry not, we will not abandon you!"

There were six in total who were left of those who came across, including Vandal. There was Enris, Sir Weyland, two soul-bound archers and one soul-bound sorceress. Darkness was falling quickly. And since none of them wished to be caught out in the open, they decided to immediately seek out shelter and traversed deeper into the winding pathways of the Amell Mountains.

"We won't be facing those dragons alone. I suppose that's a small comfort." Sir Weyland remarked.

Vandal was quiet the whole trek through the stone corridors, as the burden of their losses weighed heavily on his mind. Again, he tried not to think about it, though not entirely succeeding. Such was the lot of a bleeding heart, whose compassion felt the sting of loss more keenly than anyone or anything. And yet, as he shouldered that burden, Vandal wielded it as though it were a driving force to propel himself forward. The dead cannot be brought back, not this time, but they could be requited.

Women weep for the dead, men avenge them.

Later, about an hour of traversing the steep passage leading deep into the heart of the mountain, the little group found themselves standing before another piece of the world shard of the Wyrm's Ruin. A cutout bastion, with its foundations still intact like a full tree uprooted right out of the earth, sat neatly into the mountain face plateau as though it had always belonged there. Toppled over pillars of limestone littered the entire leveled ground, with some statues of ornate bronze and marble standing in neat little patterns amongst the rubble. There were no dragons present there at the moment, but when they pressed their ears close to listen, they could hear the distinct clamor of something heavy hitting metal, akin to a smith's hammer striking an anvil.

Colorless smoke rose up from the towers of the bastion, indicating the presence of some kind of smithy or ironworks shop, which caused the little band to take pause and consider this new discovery.

"A smithy? Here, of all places?" Sir Weyland mused, "Interesting. Very interesting."

"Well? Are we to stand here and do nothing?" Enris, ever the impatient one, asked. "Let's go see what's in there."

"I'd advise against that." The soul-bound sorceress said. "We are too few to mount any good resistance should we be overwhelmed. We'd best wait for the army to-"

The song of hammers and anvils was interrupted with the clamor of battle. A group of soldiers clad in black and gold, emerging from the opposite end of the plateau, did battle against a group of incredibly nimble figures clad in slim-fitting armor. From a distance, those figures looked rather impossibly thin, or inhumanly so to be precise.

"Those men need our help." Vandal declared, drawing his sword. "Come on." The baron led the reluctant warriors into the fray, drawing close enough to see who they were aiding and who they were fighting against. Vandal did not recognize them, as he had little contact with those who belonged to other kingdoms in the Continent, but both Enris and Sir Weyland did as soon as their eyes fell upon the winged helms and the prominent golden sun that adorned their breastplates.

"Nilfgaardians!"

The soldiers in black looked at the newcomers, then back to their previous opponents as they seemed to be the immediate threat. The slim figures were not human, that much was apparent. They were marionettes, puppets given life through magic. They neither tire nor feel pain, and were very relentless in a fight. Vandal had his share of them as much as the undead back on Saggrel, and his experience with them proved to be a blessing as he directed the few warriors with him to strike precisely where it hurt the marionettes.

"Hit their arms and legs!" Vandal said, "Without them, they are powerless!"

"Save your breath, baron!" Sir Weyland yelled as he struck down a puppet and stomped on its head so he could cut off its arms. "These black dogs know not of the common tongue! Not enough space in those inbred skulls of theirs!"

"Piemellikker!" One of the Nilfgaardians spat, clearly knowing enough of the common tongue to know that the Cintran knight was talking about them.

The soul-bound sorceress took a moment to charge her spell and unleashed a barrage of shining white spears of light that pinned the marionettes to the ground for the other to finish off. Vandal wiped out the rest by bellowing a gout of flame that reduced the puppets to ash and glowing sheets of molten metal. When it was over, both parties faced off against one another, but did not cross swords just yet.

"Glaeddyvan vort!" One of the soldiers snarled, "Glaeddyvan vort!"

The Nilfgaardians outnumbered them, but Vandal's party had both him and a mage, so the odds were evenly distributed. The baron did not wish to spill human blood that day, so he tried to tell them that they were not there to fight, unless the black-clad soldiers were going to give them a reason to.

"Easy now." He said, boldly striding forward as he had little fear of getting stabbed. He lowered his sword and attached his mace back on his belt, "There, anyone of you speak common? Even a little?"

The nervous soldiers exchanged looks, then the highest ranking man among them stepped forward and lifted the visor of his helmet. He struggled through his broken common, but he got through with Vandal. "Hael." He pointed to them, "Naen...morvud? Er...not enemy?"

Vandal shook his head slowly, "Friends. Not enemies." Tensions slowly died down, and it seemed like both parties were about to establish a form of truce, when again the armored dragon showed up.

"Oh come on!" Enris moaned, hefting his maul as the winged reptile swooped down and landed atop the plateau.

The dragon was a lot bigger up close, easily the size of a siege tower with wings that were twice that long. Its mouth reeked of sulfur, blood and fire. The thin lips surrounding its jagged maw curled into a wicked grin as it stared down at the humans invading its domain. A deep guttural laugh escaped its throat, and as it opened its mouth, it drew a deep breath to fan the flames within its chest.

"Scheisse!" The Nilfgaardian commander swore.

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