A/N

Aaand, I'm back! Lezzgo!

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Attre

The dawn of a new day was coming. The first rays were breaking over the horizon.

A sentry standing guard at the walls of Attre beheld the breathtaking sight with a smile on his face. After spending so much time living in uncertainty due to the series of unfortunate events that plagued the countryside, every and any little moment of reprieve was welcome.

Even something as inconsequential as an early morning's sunrise.

The city was quiet, folk were quiet. Tired of being afraid from the undead scourge, the winds carrying the eerie howls of the dragon swarms, and the nightmares that plagued their dreams whenever they closed their eyes. A bright shard in the sky left a burning wound among the stars, and from it came the inexplicable feeling of doom that turned even the most stalwart man mad with despair. Exhaustion gave way to a fitting night's rest, the first in a long month of tortured nights.

If only it would last. But alas, it was not to be.

A shadow loomed over Attre, preceding the great winged horror that was Idlekkarnhamth. The sentry on the wall saw him first, and froze where he stood as the greater dragon swooped down from the clouds towards his fair city. Flying close by their lord and master, the lesser dragon swarms gathered in a storm of flapping wings and gnashing teeth. The eerie howls that echoed through the canyons of the Amell Pass now swept through the valleys of Attre, jarring awake all those who heard from their bunks and beds.

Springing to action, the sentry rang the bells, calling for every able-bodied man to gird themselves on and prepare for battle.

Men of Attre were accustomed to fighting other men, and perhaps the occasional otherworldly monsters that walked like men- but never dragons. Their inadequacies showed when the winged serpents started plucking city-folk right off the streets like grapes in a vineyard on harvest day.

Arrows flew, as did city-watchmen when the dragons descended upon Attre's defenders with wicked glee, spurred on by the promise of sport as the surface-dwelling humans put up a laughable excuse of a front against them.

A bright pillar of flame, belched from the pits of Idlekkarnhamth's belly, poured over the hapless watchmen and spilled across the nearby streets. The fires reduced stone to glowing molten, flesh to ash and wood to kindling. Those caught within the first blast were turned into petrified statues of crumbling cinder, easily blown away by the faint gusts of wind blowing from beneath the wings of the winged horrors above.

And above the screams and anguished cries of the denizens of Attre, Idlekkarnhamth laughed heartily over the carnage. For too long had he missed the din of the lesser beings, the smell of their charred loved ones and the very aura of misery stemming from his assault. In another life, whole kingdoms bowed before the Great Idlekkarnhamth and offered him riches beyond imagining just to stave his wrath for another century and spare their cities from his flames.

Indeed, unlike the few whom he considered his peers, Idlekkarnhamth never suffered defeat from the hands of men. He owed no one his service, for there would be none to give. All the greater dragon offered was death, and he owed this world a great deal of it.

The tyrant lizard landed atop the roof of the city cathedral, where the people of Attre gathered to worship Melitele and her saints. Idlekkarnhamth held nothing of men sacred, and so he didn't even think twice about desecrating the sanctuary by tearing his way through the roof so he could peer down at the huddled masses who sought shelter within its walls. The eyes of death gleamed with murderous delight as the greater dragon took in the cowering forms of the Attre city-folk who escaped the wrath of his sycophants.

An old priestess of Melitele bravely stood her ground before what she saw as the very embodiment of evil. Her frail limbs trembled as she held up a holy symbol, but her voice was firm as she sought to repel Idlekkarnhamth as a witcher would a haunting spirit. "Begone, demon! You shall not feast on the flesh of the faithful!"

Idlekkarnhamth chuckled, amused at the priestess' display. "You fancy yourself a shepherd, thinking that I am nothing more than a mere wolf? So be it, suffer the fate of one."

Seizing the woman in his jaws, Idlekkarnhamth threw the screaming priestess high up into the air to be torn apart by the lesser dragons. The grateful sycophants, always eager for another meal, swooped down one after the other to get a bite out of the woman until nothing remained. The panic-stricken city-folk, realizing that they were next, all made a mad dash for the exits just as Idlekkarnhamth returned to heave another torrent of flame into the cathedral.

The windows of meticulously painted glass burst into a hundred pieces as the fires filled the rooms and fought for a way out, and the aged foundations melted away to send the entire building crashing down on the screaming, burning people still scrambling over one another as they ran for the doors.

The slaughter went on, until the last cry of Attre's citizens was silenced. Only then did the braying dragons, fat with the flesh of the slain and still hungry for more, gathered themselves together and flew further north towards Cintra.

The witchers, Geralt and Eskel, were both well aware of the impending danger and had ridden hard for the capital. They had come as far as the border between Attre and Cintra. A dilemma presented itself to the pair, on which city to warn first. It would seem, however, that Idlekkarnhamth's horde made that decision for them. By the time they started for Attre, the city was already in flames.

So the two witchers spurred their mounts towards Cintra, determined to save what they could until Vandal arrived with the dragonsmith's weapon. Geralt had his doubts about averting further disaster with slaying the greater dragon, but if there was one thing he learned in all his years as a witcher it was that most hordes had a courage most fickle.

Kill their leader, the alpha, and the horde will scatter.

Even if they won't, they will falter and be a little less of a threat to Cintra's defenders.


The Amell Pass
The Wyrm's Ruin

Vandal couldn't help but smile at the dragonsmith's masterful craftsmanship.

Crafting something of that quality would surely have taken days, perhaps even weeks, for human blacksmiths. But the dragonsmith was above mortal standards, and he had his own skills to call upon to surpass them all. The work took only mere hours, and the results were undeniably to any patron's satisfaction.

Ten fine bolts fashioned out of the chains that once bound him to the bastion, sharp as razors but solid as the hardest titanite, were given to the young baron as a final gift for the giant's freedom. Each of them measured eight feet in length, and were perfectly weighted to fly the supposed distance. These came with a massive arbalest meant to be operated by two men, taken from one of the many weapons piled among the mountains of gold that filled the rooms of the Wyrm's Ruin.

The dragonsmith provided everything he could that would aid in Vandal's quest to rid the land of the threat posed by Idlekkarnhamth and his kin.

"You have my thanks, good smith." Vandal said as he prepared to leave for Cintra, "May you find peace in these troubled times."

"You should wish some peace for yourself." The dragonsmith replied, gathering his tools and his arcane constructs so he could finally leave his prison. "And maybe a little bit of luck. Idlekkarnhamth's going to be a handful. But then again, not my problem anymore."

Both parties went their separate ways, with Vandal heading for the capital city with his new weapon in tow. Before he departed, he stayed a while to speak with the Nilfgaardian soldier Nyaldan. Cintra now concerned itself with the dragon threat, not Nilfgaard. As far as the soldier was concerned, he was free to return home with some good news for his superiors.

Nyaldan returned Vandal's generosity with a friendly farewell, which was an unusual thing for a Nilfgaardian to do for a foreigner. "I thank you for helping me finish my task here. Would that more nordlingaen shared your inclination towards diplomacy."

"The feeling's mutual." Vandal paused to offer a bit of advice, one that the young baron offered out of a genuine desire to be of aid, but one that he'd come to later regret if he knew the implications. "Nyaldan, if your people are afflicted by the same undead scourge as those of this land, maybe there is a way for Nilfgaard to better defend itself against future incursions. If you and your men would scale the cliffs, and not mind facing a few lesser dragons, there are egg clutches within their nests that would prove useful."

Nyaldan's eyes widened as his clever Nilfgaardian mind grasped the idea, "Yes?"

"The hatchlings..." Vandal recalled the drakes raised by his people's master dragon-trainers, mounts no more harmless than a trained dog or horse. "If properly trained, as you would a dog or horse, they might give you all the strength you need to overcome the undead. It's worth a shot, at best."

"Well worth a shot, yes." The Nilfgaardian grinned, grateful for his advice.

When they departed, Enris gave voice to his misgivings as they rode back to Cintra. "That wasn't a good idea, friend. The Black Ones might like you for now, but you sure gave them an edge over everyone else- and they hate everyone else."

"Give them the benefit of the doubt, Enris." Vandal replied, "They struggle against this foe of ours as we do, they are but men who wish to live through this dark time."

"Aye, but what will happen after? Hm? Didn't think about that, did ya?"

At this, Vandal grew quiet. Not because Enris' words angered him, but because he considered the possibility that the old mercenary just might be right. However, he couldn't dwell on it for long. They had more pressing matters to attend to. Cintra remained in danger, right in the greater dragon's path and next in line to receive his wrath.

With this in mind, Vandal and his company of riders rode even harder for the city as the cloud of dragons swarmed right out of the ruins of Attre and into the skies.


City of Cintra

The witchers came just in time to warn Cintra of the impending danger, and the king wasted no time in making preparations for the coming attack.

Preparing as they would when under siege by some invading army, the Cintrans called for every subject to take shelter within the walls of the city. Although the attack would take place from the skies, Dagorad had his men fortify the gates, walls and towers. Field-artillery equipment, such as ballista and heavy-arbalests were fitted to combat aerial targets while archers were attached to every company posted all over the capital. The winged beasts would have to be brought down to level before the kingsmen could make use of their swords and spears.

It was a fortunate thing that Vandal's soul-bound warriors were at the king's disposal, otherwise the defense of Cintra would result in disaster. Never before had the kingdom faced so much in such a short amount of time, first with the undead scourge and now with the dragon onslaught. It all seemed like an never-ending nightmare for the king, but Dagorad bore it all with steely resolve.

There were courageous kings and there were cowardly kings, he just happened to be somewhere in the middle.

Dagorad dismissed his armorer and peered over the balcony to look over his kingdom. The streets that once bustled with the activity of his subjects now lay empty for his soldiers to tread on freely. His subjects have taken shelter in their homes, barring themselves within basements or cellars until the danger had passed- if it would even pass at all.

When the witchers came to warn him, he'd hoped to at least see the Champion with them, to see the assurance on the young knight's face when he'd come to give him the news. Alas, it had to come from Geralt of Rivia, the last person on the Continent who'd give anyone reassurance.

Still, the witcher did say that there was a chance for them to survive the dragons. A slim chance, one that rested heavily on his ability to ward off the attack long enough for Vandal to get there.

"Your Highness, it'd be best if you took shelter as well." The witcher Eskel advised the king after the royal family had been sent to the hidden catacombs beneath the palace, which led to a network of underground passageways that could also lead to the city outskirts. If the worst should occur, both the queen and the princess would at least survive the attack and thus secure the future of Cintra with them. "You don't need to endanger yourself."

"Have we arrived at such a time that a witcher could chide a king as a mother would her son?" Dagorad asked, "And what king would I be if decided to tuck tail and run?"

"A smart king." Geralt rumbled.

"A cowardly king." The monarch wagged a finger in his face, "That won't be how I'll be remembered. Besides, it's not everyday a king could face a horde of dragons. Bards will sing of this day for ages to come, and I don't just plan on having a stanza dedicated to me. I plan on having the whole damn song too!"

"Well, if you put it that way." Eskel shrugged.

The king and his armored entourage left the palace balcony to command from the relative safety of the main garrison's battlements. Along the way, Dagorad took the time to call out the witchers for their involvement in the matter, seeing as how neither of them were officially hired for the job. "And I have to ask, why are you two still here? I don't quite recall hiring either of you for some dragonslaying work."

"You didn't." Geralt replied, "I'm doing this for a friend."

"If I were anyone else, I'd immediately think you're referring to me." Dagorad said with mirthless chuckle, "But you aren't. Isn't that right, Geralt?"

"No."

"Well, that's just hurtful."

An hour passed, then two. Nighttime approached, and so did Idlekkarnhamth. The greater dragon and his horde came for Cintra, and they found a city prepared for their assault. It wasn't like Attre, where they fell upon the populace with ease as they held the element of surprise. Relishing the challenge, the dragons divided themselves into two swarms, surrounding Cintra from above until they formed a swirling circle of doom around the capital before diving in for their next course.

Soul-bound sorcerers fired first with spellcraft, heralding the storm of arrows shot from Cintran archers. Ballista bolts, customarily used to shatter formations, were hurled against the winged horrors. Commanders bellowed out orders, fanning the flames of their soldiers' fighting spirit for the eventual fight on the ground when the dragons descended upon them.

From the meekest footman to the most stalwart veteran knight, heroes were made that day. Fine warriors all making their mark on history's vast page as they fought against otherworldly creatures as magnificent as dragons. They knew it as they answered biting teeth and lashing claw with swords and crossbow bolts.

The king himself found action on the battlements, for the dragons were keen on fighting anyone and everyone they could sink their teeth in. No one was safe, not even Dagorad. But the king held his own, just as he had with the undead who once threatened the walls of his fair city.

And Geralt, the White Wolf, showed the Cintrans just how witchers were worth all their gold. So did Eskel. The two friends rather enjoyed taking part in the battle, never once backing down from the winged serpents as they fell from the sky in droves. Armed with simple spells, strong silver and some good old-fashioned acrobatics, the witchers danced around the battlefield as though it were a ballroom.

Their display caught the attention of Idlekkarnhamth, who remained absent from the thick of the fighting up until then. When he saw the witchers, and the king among them, he unfurled his massive wings and swooped down from the sky to meet them.

The sight of him turned the blood of the hardiest man in the Cintran ranks cold. Idlekkarnhamth was by far the largest dragon anyone in the Continent had ever seen. He was easily as big as the royal palace itself, with an appetite to match it.

"Shit, here he comes!" Eskel warned.

The greater dragon's maw opened wide, and with one powerful breath he expelled a great ball of flame at the garrison battlements. It was fortunate for the king that the soul-bound sorceress, Lady Belen, appeared to repel the assault. Her magical mirrors, swirling about her like a tornado, formed a gigantic rune in the air that absorbed the dragon's flames. With a casual wave of her hand, Belen redirected the fire back at Idlekkarnhamth and sent the winged lizard crashing down into the street below.

The greater dragon screeched angrily as he skidded across the cobblestones, upending wagons and toppling buildings wherever his oversized body collided. A great bell tower wobbled in its foundations, then collapsed atop the monster. Dazed still from the fireball, Idlekkarnhamth slowly got to his feet and shook his gargantuan head.

Ubrich Strauss, who moved to shield his king with his body, ordered the men to swarm after the fallen dragon while they had the chance. "Attack! Kill that daffy bastard!"

The brave Cintran soldiers obeyed, rushing after the dragon with weapons brandished high. Their warcries reverberated across the whole city, preceding the clamor of their steel against dragonscales. Although it was fairly easy to notice that no weapon, no matter how heavy or sharp, could penetrate the lizard's scaly hide, the Cintrans remained ever persistent. Idlekkarnhamth swatted them aside with his tail as one would with flies, determined to break the backbone of the army by devouring the king before their very eyes.

"I've come for you, you who call yourself king of this city!" The greater dragon roared. He rose up from the rubble, knocking more towers to the ground as he moved to regain the height advantage. Ballista bolts bounced off of his armored chest, while sorcerous spells slammed into the plates covering his neck. Idlekkarnhamth grinned, eyes locking on to the man in golden armor.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle rang clear through the din of battle as a silver glint shone through the haze of smoke and flame. Idlekkarnhamth turned his head just in time to see a peculiar bolt sail through the air and bury itself deep into his right side.

The greater dragon howled in pain, feeling the biting agony of the barbed tip tearing its way through his flesh with every move he made. Blood trickled from his wound, then poured out in rivers. Enraged, he turned his keen eyes towards the architect of his suffering and saw a young man standing upon a wagon operating a large arbalest.

Geralt and Eskel, who joined the soldiers in the fight below, also saw who shot the bolt. It was Vandal and Enris, and they've brought with them the weapon just in a nick of time.

"Hurry up, he's looking at us!" The mercenary cried.

"I've got it, just hold still for a moment!" Vandal frantically retorted as he slipped the next bolt into place.

Both men looked up in horror as Idlekkarnhamth turned his wrath on them and prepared to breathe another torrent of flame their way. Not wishing to stick around any longer, Enris grabbed the arbalest and fled towards the nearest alley with Vandal sprinting not far behind him.

"I hate this plan!" Enris complained breathlessly, dodging a screeching lesser dragon as it slammed into the ground in front of him. Blood and brains coated the street, and him, much to his disgust. A stray arrow found its way into the drake's heart, shot from some frantic archer somewhere in the city.

"But it's working!" Vandal defended, looking for another way to get a clear line of sight to fire again. "Come on, we just have to know when and where to move next. We have to keep it up until that beast is dead."

Before getting back into the fight, Enris checked if the bolt was securely loaded in. "Wait a bit. I have to catch my breath."

Saved from the dragon's wrath for the moment, Dagorad and his men got clear from the garrison. The king hoped to be of some assistance to the city's champion, while the two witchers gathered what sorcerers they could find to distract Idlekkarnhamth with their spells. While the Knight of Saggrel and his mercenary friend dodged and weaved their way through the ruined streets of the citadel, the kingsmen rallied to their sovereign just as the dragons dispersed at the fury of the greater dragon.

A little while later, Geralt found Vandal attempting to climb atop the roof of a ruined shop. The two friends greeted one another briefly, for they knew there were more important things to attend to.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Geralt." The baron said.

"Likewise." The witcher replied gruffly, "And it looks like you've delivered on your promise."

Vandal glanced down at the weapon in Enris' hands, "Ah yes. Only problem now is getting a clear shot. Idlekkarnhamth's on the lookout for us. Every time we poke out to get the range, he spots us and breathes fire our way. Can you do something about that?"

Geralt peered around the corner to see how their enemy was doing. The dragon was still raging as he'd been doing for the past hour. The monster-hunter recalled a few similar situations where he had to work with a disagreeable environment as a burning city to kill a monster roughly the same size. Then, he glanced up at a few unmanned ballista sticking out of the ruined walls and towers, the soldiers operating them either dead or otherwise engaged.

"Hm, I just might have the right idea for the job." He muttered, turning back to Vandal. "Give me some of those bolts."

"What're you going to do with them?" Vandal asked as he handed five bolts to the witcher.

Geralt held the bolts firmly in his arm and smirked, "Why stop at one shooter, if you can have two?"

The baron nodded, a smile forming on his young face as he realized what his friend planned to do. "We're still going to need a distraction."

"To me, sons of Cintra!" Dagorad suddenly cried, raising his sword high. To the shining piece of steel did the men gather as they would any standard-bearer, then fearlessly charged at Idlekkarnhamth.

Turning his heel to begin the long run around the city, Geralt grunted. "There's your distraction. Use it wisely."

Going their separate ways, but working for the same goal, witcher and baron scaled the heights of whatever crumbling establishment they could find. Enris took careful aim just as Idlekkarnhamth reared his ugly head to send a hundred brave souls into their fiery deaths. Another star-metal bolt was launched, this time hitting the winged serpent in the chest.

Idlekkarnhamth stopped short of bellowing out another gout of flame, and he howled like a wolf trapped in a snare.

Emboldened by the dragon's apparent weakness, the Cintrans focused all their efforts on drawing the beast's fire. But their attentions were drawn on two fronts, for the greater dragon called out for help. The lesser dragons who scattered to the four winds, now returned to defend their master. Another great battle between earth and sky ensued.

In the chaos of the struggle, Geralt ascended a guard-tower and hefted a heavy ballista into position. The cumbersome weapon was far too large to be operated by a single man, but it was a fortunate thing that the witcher was no normal man. He slipped a bolt into place, swiveled the ballista up to estimate for the arc, then fired.

He didn't wait to see if the bolt hit its mark, he knew it did based on the dragon's agonized cry. Before Idlekkarnhamth could retaliate, Geralt had already loaded a second bolt and sent it on its way.

By then, four star-metal bolts were already sticking out of the dragon's body, opening up vital organs and causing severe hemorrhages wherever they struck. Something about the star-metal prevented the greater dragon's wounds from closing, something that had to do with the dragonsmith's handiwork. Neither Vandal nor Geralt could guess what it was exactly, but there was certainly something imbued into the bolts.

Whatever it was, it turned the tide.

The greater dragon sensed his impending doom and attempted to flee. He unfurled his massive wings once more, then leapt from the ground to take flight. It stopped short of making its first flap when Geralt fired the fifth bolt.

This time, the witcher aimed for the dragon's spine. While he possessed little knowledge of Idlekkarnhamth's particular anatomy, he figured any shot to the spine could cripple any creature no matter the size.

His gamble paid off, and the beast uttered a tortured cry before plummeting back down to Cintra. The frightened lesser dragons, seeing their lord fall, scattered once more. Geralt thought that the beasts shared a form of pack-mentality, one that was easy to break once the leader was struck down. But the truth was that the dragons were only looking for an excuse to abandon Idlekkarnhamth. Seeing him fall was all they needed to go their own way, and so they did.

And when he fell, he fell hard. Crippled, but ever defiant, the magnificent and monstrous Idlekkarnhamth still had his teeth and fire. He killed anyone who dared to approach him, reducing many Cintran kingsmen and soul-bound to ash as he spat flames in every direction. Every moment that passed, he felt his strength leave his body as his blood pooled beneath him in rivers.

Seeking a quick end to the matter, the witchers took it upon themselves to deliver the killing blow. Eskel wheeled a ballista mounted on a wagon close to the spot where Idlekkarnhamth landed, while Geralt manned the ballista itself. He loaded a bolt and aimed the weapon at the greater dragon's head.

Idlekkarnhamth did not beg for mercy, although there was one the witchers were willing to give. It came with a firm pull of the lever, and a sudden jerk of a drawstring.

The final bolt struck him between the eyes, penetrating his armor and killing him instantly.

With his death, the battle against the dragons had been won. At first, the defenders of the ruined city couldn't believe that it was over. Only when the witchers declared that the dragon was dead, and the swarm had scattered, did the kingsmen heave a shared sigh of relief. Whatever celebrations they had, it was celebrated in silence.

Cheers were few and far between, for the men were exhausted and had their minds heavy with thoughts for the many who perished in the fight. The king himself surveyed the carnage that resulted from the dragons' attack, and even he despaired at the sight of the great destruction that had befallen Cintra.

The city could be rebuilt but it would take months, even years, before it could all be put together.

Still, the fact remained. They all faced the monsters and lived to tell the tale. If they had failed in their stand there, the dragons would've turned their wrath elsewhere. But they have faced them, and they won.

It was all thanks to the witchers, their soul-bound allies and the Champion of Cintra.

But Vandal didn't stay for the accolades. As soon as the danger had passed, he rode hard for the city outskirts to check on the two women who held his heart. Someone told him they had left the city to have a look at the new land being worked for him by the refugees, the one overseen by Sir Boshly. When the dragons attacked, none of the workers took shelter within the city, so it was safe to assume that they took shelter elsewhere.

Geralt watched him go and considered riding after him, but hesitated. If the trip there was going to end up in tragedy, he didn't want to know about it.

Right now, he was content with walking over to the nearest intact tavern and getting himself a good tankard full of ale.

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