Dragon(s)layer
26
Dreary Days
"How does this one look?"
"…Mmmmm… Too green."
Taliopia's groan was dripping with melodrama as she hurried back inside the room, the dress whisking after her like a sequin arm of vapor. Drawers were heard closing, and the wardrobe rattled as its shelves were parted violently.
"Tali', you're making a fuss out of something that is not im-por-taannnntttt~…." Morinth sang, securing a strap, and grunting when she tightened the cut. "I really think they'll be well and cheeky fine with whatever you show up with on that lovely body of yours. If you spent half as much time picking out clothes as you did tidying your side of the nest, maybe we wouldn't take so long in the morning to get to garrison duty."
"Not clothes, Morri-poo! Clothes are so… so… common. These are dresses." Taliopia bounded like a gazelle back into the doorframe of the suite's lobby, and held up a new specimen, the hangar clenched in her teeth delicately. "How abou dissch won?"
It was a vibrant sapphire sequen, with frilled, layered caps armored down the hindquarters and a cute, bushy bow meant to link the ribbons that tied off the belly paunch and a golden-detailed drapery for the breast.
Morinth didn't answer immediately when she looked up, but prior memories flashed in her head from the last time her bubbly mate had worn that particular outfit.
She remembered that Taliopia had kind of looked like a big blueberry peacock on steroids.
A cute blueberry peacock on steroids, but nevertheless…
"Hmmmm…" When she scrunched her snout, Taliopia duplicated her exercised groan from before and sprinted back inside the nesting room. "-Hey, wait! That didn't mean I was saying no!"
"You didn't have to, your face did it for you!" Taliopia called back, whining in panic as hangars clattered on the floor and linen swished. "Uggghh~! Morri-poo, I don't know what to wear~!"
"Technically, my love, you needn't wear anything, seeing as it's socially acceptable in this city to walk around naked." Morinth mumbled under her breath, looking up at the little dressing mirror propped in the corner of the foyer. She stopped adjusting the straps and posed proudly with an assured smile on her snout.
Where Taliopia had been slowly devolving into manic madness over the situation, she'd chosen to go simple. She just had a pair of shined military pauldrons, the ones she'd received as standard issue when her and Tali' had first graduated the academy. It was just enough to let folks know of her career choice, and was passable at just the right amount for it to be the lowest form of elite acceptability.
What with the trying times of the war, nobody was giving lip to the soldiers in Warfang.
Though, seeing as to who the identities of their hosts were, perhaps this assuredness was less factual.
Morinth wing-shrugged and turned herself about to get a good angle at every part of her midnight body. If it really came down to it, she could always just feign indigestion from a bad blast of flame-breath and call it a night.
Though it did feel silly to be so fanatical (not as fanatical as Taliopia, but still fanatical) –about her appearance, given this evening's plans. She chalked it up to simple feminine eagerness. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone on a fancy outing with anyone, much less her nurse. She did want to look good, even if the intent was not to impress anyone but herself.
She gave a pleased little rumble at the fine, slightly sapphire sheen the scalewash on her hide was giving her coat in the concentrated light of the chandelier above her head. Her back was gracefully curved, her wings strong and wide, and her abdomen was still as curvaceous and swept as ever, despite the… incident back south.
For a moment, Morinth righted herself back around, frowning as she sat back and ran a paw gingerly down her plated stomach.
She could still remember the pain and sensations, obviously, seeing as it was rather a young disaster.
It was hard to believe that she had actually been gutted by the Dark Master herself. Never before had the war felt so real, and that was saying something, because she was a several year veteran by this point.
Morinth's military record wasn't as illustrious as, say, that of Harad's or Ignitia's and the other Guardians (Terradora especially) –but it wasn't devoid of accomplishments either. She'd been too late by almost a year to fight in the last continental invasion, but she had served in the series of northern skirmishes that blasted around the highlands just before the range past Warfang's walls. She'd been deployed to Avalar for 'Infestation Control' –once before, and had also received a citation for saving two of her fellows during an ambush.
The armor was as much a grim reminder of the dangers she lived among as it was one of the great pride she had rightfully held claim to.
So it was with a bit of regality that she could crane back her spine and pump out her shapely chest. She even gave herself an austere and prim expression, like some snobby noble would have, in the mirror. Morinth giggled and played with one of the security tassels snug to her chest.
Her thoughts ran a bit amok as Taliopia's mewls of uncertainty sounded out in tune with drawers clattering and floorboards creaking as she sprinted around like a terrified mouse.
She did this to look nice for herself, and for Tali' too, yes…
But for some reason, her mind was trailing over to a different sort of question:
I wonder if the Fallen would like it.
Morinth sniffed and twirled around again in another quadruped trot.
She wasn't a homely 'ness by far. She was athletic, sculpted, with a pretty, long face and striking wingspan, a curved breast, ample hips (not as ample as Taliopia's, but still better than average) -and polished scales.
She was a catch, at least physically. She liked to believe emotionally too.
But she'd never given much care to it in the past. What really had that human done to her and her mate, that these things were now becoming worth the attention? Something about his touch…
"What about this one? Maybe? Maybe?" Taliopia danced in the doorframe, the newest outfit jostling over her cream-colored, rosy body.
"It looks mighty ravishing, my dear, so let's hit the road." Morinth swallowed quickly and hurried away from the mirror.
"B-But Morri'-poo, you didn't even look!"
"I looked with my heart, and have cheekily come back with all positives and treats. The dress looks fine, Tali'-wali, so quit being a slow-tail and let's go." Morinth shook her head, bustling towards the front of the commonhouse.
"…I-I'm not sure I have enough makeup on…" The medic fretted. "-I'm not used to going out anymore, all the army habits and… and stuff. I'm scared."
"Don't be scared, just be concentrated. They'll hardly be concerned with your looks, and more about your company." Morinth locked the last of three clips on her horn and gave her crown a swish, humming as the golden, decorative bands layering from their undersides clinked like thin chimes. "Though, I guess it's me that should be concentrating, so I don't lose my temmm-peerrrrr~…"
"You don't really think they'll be… t-that bad, do you?" Taliopia's nails clicked as she trotted into the foyer, her rosy eyes wide with concern. "Morinth?"
"That's a sort of unfair question. Would you ask me to predict how the mind of Infernia works?" Morinth scoffed as she closed the cabinet and joined the nurse.
"No! She's crazy. At least, that's what the stories say…"
"Anybody who wastes away inside some ugly, hot-as-bloody-hell volcano for that long must have a few gems missing from the hoard. I don't mean to sound nasty, but your folks are much the same way. …-Err, minus the genocidal intent."
"Oh, but mother is so sweet! Especially ever since father started making her take her medication in the morning. He crushes it and puts it in her brew." Taliopia giggled before beaming with some sort of pride. "She only had mental breakdowns the first few days, and then she was all better!"
Poor Morinth felt her face twitch as she grabbed the medic and tugged her out of the suite and into the hallways of the commonhouse.
"Your parents are an eccentric sort." Morinth admitted as she stood on her hinds to lock the door. "No more or cheeky less than you or me. Now, did you write the address down?"
"Mmhm! I have it right here-" Taliopia patted around the waistband of her dress. "…oh, poo."
Morinth sighed and started unlocking the door.
{🐉}
Just crossing the street felt like a death march. It wasn't because the building or the neighborhood looked bad or anything, quite the contrast with the prior: the place looked expensive enough to bankrupt a general.
But that was exactly the point.
Only dragons who had enough coin to buy peoples' souls were the type of crowd here. The place stank of borderline authoritarian elitism like no one's business. There was just a subsection of Warfang's establishments that really were- at the end of the day -built for the population within the population. The Councilors, their clutches and mates, the patrons and matrons of the merchant houses and officers in the military made the nobility of the draconic capital, and the serving house Leetol had booked them for was an avatar of this isolated world. All it needed was the forlorn echo of distant and snide laughter roving from the interior to the sidewalk for the image to be complete.
Ironically, right as the sour visage crept into Morinth's horned head, the very exact thing happened, and a bawl of snobby cackles paraded their way through one of the painted windows.
"EE-eeewwwww…~" –The dragon sang under her breath.
"Did you say something, Morri-poo? I-It's the dress, isn't it? Y-You don't like it don't you? If you don't like it, mother won't like it!" Taliopia's eyes dilated, as she quivered on the sidewalk. For a second, it looked like the poor nurse was about to start jumping up and down in hysterics. "-A-A-And neither will father! He won't like it either! Oh my god, oh my god, I'm hyperventilating."
With a patient sigh, Morinth reached over and stroked a claw down Taliopia's rosy neck, making sure to drag the tips of her talons along the rims of the scute-fins. The panicky nurse involuntarily sucked up her grief with a startled yip, and shivered with a little whine, making herself look like she'd bounced inside her own attire. Her dress's blouse plumed, like a puff of red smoke, and the trailers on her crown leaped like leaves in the wind.
"M-Morri'?"
"My doctoring 'ness needs to chill." Morinth said in a rare moment of bluntness. "I told you back at home that you looked ravishing, and cheeky that, nothing's changed for the last few blocks. Shocking, isn't it?"
"…I-I guess you're right…" Taliopia swallowed, craning her head around to watch herself angle her thick hip, prostrating the crimson velvet of the blouse secured around her lower half. She gave her rump a wiggle, and frowned when the frills jostled. "…Actually… N-No, nonono, I look stupid, it's too flashy."
"All the lusting stares you've been getting from the males walking by are proof of the contrary." Morinth hummed, brushing their wings together as she turned a full, slow circuit around the meeker dragoness. Her green eyes glowed in the evening dark as she examined her mate's body hungrily. "And they aren't the only ones appetized by your riveting appearance…"
"R-Really?" Taliopia shyly bundled on her own haunches, clutching the vibrant, crimson dress closer to herself as she tried to hide in it. "Well, I don't know… I think I might've made a mistake."
Oh you did, my love, just not with your wardrobe, Morinth silently thought. I wish she would just take the estrangement.
"You're letting your nerves get to you. I think- and, call me naïve –that they'll be simply thrilled to see your cute, rosy little face." Morinth swallowed as she played with the loops hanging from her horns.
In all actuality, her nerves were being just as bad, and everything she said was half-assed in authenticity. Yes: Taliopia's parents were that bad.
No: she'd never tell her that.
"They're here." Taliopia gasped, and Morinth gagged as a pair of white claws snatched up the bands of her pauldrons and dragged her closer to Tali's panicked face. "They're here!"
"-C-Can't- b-breathe-"
"Taliopia, there you are." A pair of white, rose-winged dragons touched down on the cobblestone before them, folding their spans up as they trotted closer. Councilor Leetol studiously gazed at his daughter past the bridge of his snout. "Right on schedule at least. Very good."
"Father!" Taliopia released her mate, who gasped in exasperation and clung onto the nurse to avoid toppling over from the sudden onrush of air. "H-Hello, father."
"Tali', so good to see you." A white dragoness beside Leetol stepped forwards, her sleeker muzzle painted with a dangerous and sharp smile. This was Meraleethe, Taliopia's mother.
"Hello, mother." Tali' squeaked, shifting uncomfortably underneath her dress. "W-What a lovely outfit you have this evening!"
"Mm, yes," Meraleethe gazed down at the austere silver and black corset wrapping up the midpoint of her narrow breast. It was supported by a tailing cyclone of platinum thread, borderline translucent, which somehow made the older hen appear more attractive than if she had been bare. "it is indeed, quite."
Taliopia smiled hopefully, as Morinth recovered behind her. She wiggled the flare of her own red dress and stepped a little closer.
"V-Very nice, mother."
"You already said so, dear, and once more: I know." Meraleethe harrumphed, not even looking at Taliopia anymore as she sidled up to her mate. Her gaze fell to the left, and immediately, a befouled sneer crawled down her chops. "Oh," She huffed. "and I see you brought your… your… friend, with you. How lovely."
"Yes, lovely, certainly." Leetol sighed, appearing more dismissive but no less hostile.
"Evening, pa, mum." Morinth flexed her brows. She always addressed them like actual in-laws, only because she knew it drove Leetol crazy, and Meraleethe crazier. "It's a lovely establishment you found here."
"M-Morinth's my mate, mommy, daddy." Taliopia hopped back and wrapped her forepaws over Morinth's neck, choking her off again. "Didn't you tell mother she was coming too, father?"
"Indeed," Meraleethe growled, bearing down on the Councilor with a frightening glare. "didn't you, my love? Inform me of such a development?"
"…Perhaps I experienced a moment of forgetfulness." Leetol pawed at the street. Meraleethe narrowed her eyes and started lashing with her tail.
"-Cheeky- that-! Yes, mhmm…" Morinth broke free of the strangulation, rubbing her throat as she settled and met the two dragons' eyes. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity for such a lovely evening out, especially if it means I get to spend it with my lovely Tali-wali and her… ehm… even lovelier family! You two look rava-shiiinngggg~." She sang.
Meraleethe slowly began to crumple the longer the note went on, like she was a giant, living ball of tin-foil being compressed in a phantom fist. Leetol had shut his eyes, and suddenly appeared as if he was experiencing the need to drive his face through a brick wall, whether because of Morinth, or the reaction he knew his mate was having, was unknown.
In a completely different direction, Taliopia giggled happily, and nuzzled Morinth's nose.
"You're so talented, Morinth." The nurse pecked her scaly cheek.
"Ah. How could we forget your, ehm… 'talents', yes." Leetol cleared his throat, tapping his mate to inform her that the racket had ceased and she could stop cringing. "Surely you're both empty-stomached enough for a fine meal?"
"Or two, eh? Ha!" Morinth cracked, and both hers' and Taliopia's laughter flared, the two 'nesses hanging onto each giddily.
Slowly, however, the hysterics died when they realized neither of their hosts had cracked a smile, or even blinked.
"-Aha! Aha-hahaha…ha…. Mmmhmmph…" Morinth rubbed the back of her neck. "-I guess it wasn't really funny anyway, ehm… d-does anyone else feel their blood pressure going up, by chance?"
"MmMm, no Morri-poo, I'm good!" Taliopia obliviously smiled. "I'm a doctor, so I can tell."
"That is a good topic of discussion tonight." Meraleethe snorted, dragging her mate along with her tail snagging his wrist. "It's been so long since we discussed your choices of career, Taliopia."
"We should have sent her to the colleges out east." Leetol mumbled at her. "Reared her properly for government."
"Don't be simple, my love, she was meant for the mercantile wing. If you spent half as much time examining where the wealth in this city goes as you did debating the passing of silly, pointless bills, you would have seen that."
"For once," Morinth whispered to Taliopia. "I think I'm the one of us two who's terrified."
It didn't take long for them to be seated. The Moles staffing the joint knew Leetol was a Councilor and had gone out of their ways to make everything as perfect as possible.
Unfortunately, while Leetol's definition of perfectionism was a little more on par with the standards of the majority of draconic society, Meraleethe's were a little more… refined.
And very specific.
"I prefer white, actually." The smile she gave the waiter was so passive-aggressive, that Morinth could've sworn her eyes started to burn from how corrosive the air got. "And if you could, dear, bring me a cup with a thinner neck? It's much more nimble on the paw and maintains class."
"It's quite alright, my cherry blossom, the choice of glassware isn't reflective of-"
"Au contraire', my darling husband, it is quite not alright. I have an image to keep in perspective, and my etiquette hinges on that image." Meraleethe harrumphed, pouting on her side of the table. "Besides, whom else will uphold the dying times of proper station? If it weren't for the self-dedication of the few and true, we'd all have devolved into an assortment of cross-eyed primitives long ago."
"Yes dear." Leetol dejectedly swirled his wine. He was already two cups deep in his stigma.
Morinth couldn't blame him: she was just about to hit three, and the freaking appetizers hadn't even come out yet. It felt strange having a small amount of agreement with Leetol, despite it being unspoken. Usually, the two of them couldn't stand one another.
But… Morinth would've rather dealt with Leetol any day of the week if it meant she didn't have Meraleethe stinking up the room…
"Tah~! And this tablecloth… it clashes with the atmosphere." Meraleethe scoffed. "Honestly, hasn't anyone preserved their sense of design?"
"It's just a tablecloth, dear." Leetol mumbled as he sipped his wine.
The restaurant was quite snazzy once you got past the aged, almost gothic exterior of the building from street-view. A modest and sizable chamber formed circularly around a decorative mural ring colored with blues and blacks to resemble marble-made flower arrangements under a stylized dragon's head. The politely tinged clink of glasses and silverware meshed comfortably with the hushed, ever-present undertone of tables whose occupants were locked in conversation.
Morinth felt like she stuck out like a sore paw-thumb in the joint. All the customers here looked like nobility, even the Moles. Richly embroidered dresses on females, polished pauldrons and tassels on males. She even spotted a monocle or two.
"I think it looks pretty in here, especially with the blue drapes." Taliopia bounced a little in her seat, minding her mother's earlier comments. She summarily shrunk almost under the table when Meraleethe's steely gaze ceased strangling Leetol and immediately latched over her like a passing blizzard. "…o-or not. Yes mother, it… it clashes."
Oh-ho, fuck.
Morinth's eyes were a bit hazy as she gulped down the last of the glass and set it down daintily beside her empty plate. She hiccupped. When Taliopia looked at her, she gave a lopsided grin and reached over to rub a paw down the nurse's twitching wing joints.
Taliopia shifted anxiously in her chair.
"Morri'…" She whined. "-s-stop that!"
"No." Morinth teased and stuck her tongue out.
"Wait until we get home at least…"
"But you're so cute when you squirm." Morinth chuckled, squeezing a little- 'Eep~!' –out of Tali' when she dug with her talons a bit. The poor medic blushed pure red, and tried to ignore the pleasurable waves ebbing out through her muscles. "See? It's like playing a cute, red-frilly and white piano."
"Oohhh, frilly… I-I knew this one was a bad choice." Taliopia shivered, running a paw down one of the corset bands of her dress. "I should've just worn the blue one. Oh, but, wait, that would've clashed…"
"If we went with what you thought was a bad choice, we wouldn't have been able to leave the lair." Morinth reluctantly took her paw away when Tali's parents stopped bickering. "And it only clashes in some dragons' eyes. By the way, now that I'm thinking about it: you didn't have any such urgency when we were going to dinner with the Fallen. Cheeky odd, that."
"O-Oh no, I did!" Taliopia defended, seeming suddenly meek. "-H-He's just so… so informal, though. But in a good way. He's so much more relaxed."
"Who might that be, that you are speaking of, daughter?" Leetol asked over his cup. "A comrade in your unit perhaps?"
"K-Kinda'." Taliopia blurted before she could catch her own mouth. "He's a soldier."
"Ah. If that is true, then that is a fantastic development." Meraleethe hummed. "A male would do you good, Taliopia."
Morinth coughed as she choked on her wine.
"-*hack*-W-WELL," She sputtered. "-isn't that blunt, Meraleethe?"
"Oh, no, no." Meraleethe smiled and waved a paw. "No insinuations intended. None. I'm just saying that if Taliopia expanded her social palette, it would aid her in her daily career. You know what they say about diversification and whatnot."
"It's too bad that the wyrms preaching that can't even take their eyes off the same color that's been in their face for decades." Morinth laughed, noticing Meraleethe's expression as it instantly darkened. "Hardly good conversation though, 'specially since it's otherdragons' problems."
"Tell us, Taliopia," Leetol shot the argument down before it could ramp up, gesturing to the nurse. "your quest in the South. I have heard strange tales of what your fellows have encountered."
"And what is this Fallen creature that all of my workers keep talking about?" Meraleethe grunted, tearing her gaze off of Morinth. "Ever since Lady Ignitia's words have reached the populace, it's all anyone speaks of. Ironically, the news has spread like wildfire."
"Most things flung through the muzzle of a Fire Dragon tend to do that." Leetol judgmentally smiled.
"My mother was a Fire." Morinth said, deadpanned. She shrugged. "-But, it's cheeky hard to get insulted about that, seeing as she was a bitch."
Taliopia couldn't turn white because, well, she was already white, but if there was a shade paler, she'd have become it. Noticeably, Leetol and Meraleethe looked quite perturbed by the vulgarity, in contrast to being terrified, like their daughter. Morinth just simply didn't care.
"Keeping the subject: the swamps aren't exactly a place I'd fancy for retirement. I think Tali' could agree with that." She sipped her glass.
"O-Oh yes." The medic shook her head earnestly. "…Uh… it's really smelly down there, and unpleasant."
"Of course of course." Meraleethe hummed. "As are most places outside our glorious walls." Her eyes flickered up at Morinth. "Or beneath them."
Morinth filled her glass nearly to the brim with the bottle the waiters had left, sending some drops flying from the neck when she put the latter back down roughly in its place, still all smiles.
"Captain Harad and Ignitia led us to the Dragon Temple, to search for any clues or relics the other teams hadn't found. But we didn't find anything." Taliopia explained as she took a meager sip of her wine. "-Actually, something found us."
"The Fallen and the Purple Dragon of legend." Morinth hopped a bit in her chair. "His name's the Fallen, and her name is Spyra! Both cheeky wonderful folks they are."
"Yeah, Spyra's the best." Taliopia nodded. "…T-Though, recently, we and her had a bit of a, uhm… falling out. B-But it's not a big deal! We just had a little argument. We're best friends with the Purple Dragon, mommy! Aren't you proud?"
"Hmm? Of course, love, of course." Meraleethe flashed an insincere grin and went back to looking for the waiter who still hadn't come back with their food. "Where is that blasted Mole?"
"Patience, my cherry blossom." Leetol sighed. "So the Purple Dragon. I saw her when the Council convened on the issue days ago. She seemed… fresh."
"Someone born in those marshes, would be." Meraleethe said under her breath. "Alas, if the legends are to be believed, then she is a sign of great hope."
"Spyra's amazing, mother! She can fight, and she's brave, and-"
"-It would be more tasteful if our hope understood the value of toiletries, but it is indeed hope." The matron wing-shrugged.
Morinth almost crushed her glass. Really, the only thing that kept her from lashing out, was Taliopia's tenuous, shy voice as she elaborated on everything that had happened during their perilous fight against Cynder and her Apes.
Both Leetol and Meraleethe actually dedicated a decent amount of focus on their own daughter when she recanted the deeds of Spyra and the Fallen. Morinth didn't think either of them believed half of it, but the details of the story captured their respect.
"When we came back to the city, Morinth was rushed to the castle healers." Taliopia said quietly, playing with her glass. "…When she got hurt like that, I… I was so afraid. I don't know what I would've done with myself if something happened to you, Morinth."
Morinth ignored Leetol and Meraleethe's disapproving gazes and craned over to give the nurse a quick peck on the snout.
"I'm not going anywhere, my doctoring 'ness. Ever."
"…Hmm." Leetol stared down at his lap. "The Dark Master herself, manifesting to do battle. I had not been expecting a story such as that tonight."
"Well at least Taliopia wasn't there for it." Meraleethe said. "…I do feel for your pain, Morinth. I really do."
Morinth growled.
A moment later, and a small team of Mole waitstaff hurried over with their dishes, depositing them one at a time in each appropriate spot. The meat sizzled and the vegetables glistened, all fresh from the kitchens. Despite her foul mood, even Morinth felt herself salivating when the delectable scents touched her snout.
"Lovely." Leetol sighed, tying his napkin as a bib at the base of his long neck. "-Quite a riveting tale indeed. Perhaps there is some hope in this war with two such warriors on our side. I would greatly like to meet this Fallen and the Purple Dragon face to face. The distant view in the Councilor Chambers was unsatisfactory for such a desire, I think."
"It is spectacular." Meraleethe agreed, taking a forks' nibble of some of the lettuce in her side-salad. "It would be more spectacular if our daughter was in her proper place, by my side in the merchants' waves." She ignored Leetol's annoyed glance and looked at Morinth again. "-And, it would be double the spectacular if she had a proper mate to stand beside it with."
Silverware clattered as Morinth brought a fist down beside her plate, she was quivering as her emerald eyes narrowed. Taliopia shrunk so much in her seat, that it looked like she had lost height. Some nearby patrons glanced over at the noise.
"Proper, Meraleethe? Oh my, what a hysterically ironic thing to hear from you." Morinth spat. "All because you can't accept me and your own daughter for who we are. Meanwhile, Leetol here looks like the life's been sapped out of him, like he's a cheeky prune! Let me ask you, pa, do you even remember what it's like to live without the headache of borderline slavery at your throat?"
Offended, Leetol opened his snout to rebuke her, but he hesitated, in an honest consideration to the question.
Meraleethe tisked and experienced a slight tremor in her wrists as she secured her own bib and continued harassing the edges of her food.
"It has always been, Morinth: that temper of yours came from somewhere in your rearing, and you and I both know that it isn't a specific event, but the entirety that is to blame. Look at your behavior right now. And then, you wonder why I do not consider you a good influence on my daughter."
"U-Uhm… m-mommy? Morinth, could we not-?" Taliopia was cut off the moment she started speaking.
"Look at your provoking me to such behavior." Morinth shot back, stabbing a chunk of steak roughly and jamming it in her mouth. "I left the lair tonight knowing I was going to have to deal with this, and by this, I mean you, and Councilor Leetol. I know how both of you just keep earning yourselves hatchling-guardians of the year awards in how you treat the love of my life, sending her off to the army,"
"-M-Morri-poo, please-"
"-a place she never has belonged, because she's not a warrior, and never will be! She can't even look at the training-mannequins in the barracks without tremoring on her own paws! And you both sent her out with the dragons who leave this city to fight against Grublins! And Orcs!" Morinth pointed her fork. "Have you ever seen what an Orc can do to a dragon, Meraleethe? Well I have! And now, Tali' has too! And you know what? Now she's even more vulnerable! Those nights, where she cries out to me, and sometimes even to you, in the midst of terrible dreams. All day, when she clings to me like a cheeky whelp to its mum because every corner and every turn hides something behind it for her.
"All because both of you couldn't deal with a youngling who didn't fit in with everyone around her, and couldn't be bothered to diverge from your perfect schedules, and your perfect lifestyles, to acclimate for her. If you would want to have a discussion about how I'm not good enough for Taliopia, then perhaps you should have thought about that before you let your hatchling out of the door without teaching her how the real world works! Or at least educating her to her own cheeky and well sexuality! …But oops, maybe not that last bit. Bloody hell, neither of you can know a lot about that, seeing as you obviously haven't laid a paw on each other since Meraleethe got that egg-gut from having Taliopia. It would explain your generous and accepting dispositions. Really, it would."
For a long while, nobody at the table said a word. It was notable, however, the varied silent reactions taking hold in each chair.
Leetol looked positively enraged, though his demeanor was shielded underneath a trained visage he had developed over a long career of politics. He strained himself as his brow twitched, and only held back a scathing torrent of his own by cleanly placing a slice of his food on his tongue to chew.
Meraleethe had eaten half her meal throughout Morinth's outburst. Though she too was no less offended, she only defied her daughter-in-law's words through a cold, unbroken stare.
Morinth grunted, calming herself after another tense minute of trying to defeat Meraleethe with her eyes. She sat back in her futon chair and drank the rest of her glass before slapping her chops and looking at Taliopia.
She sucked in her breath and held it.
Taliopia looked like a tremoring wreck. She had turned a bright pink, almost as rosy-colored as the interior of her wings or her eyes. She bit down on her lower chop tightly and was bundling herself up in her dress, crinkling the lace and bunching the corset.
"...Oh, Tali-wali', I-I'm-" Morinth reached out to her.
"I am not afraid of training mannequins."
Morinth retracted, like she'd touched a hot stove, when Taliopia's angry, and upset voice stabbed out at her from the silence. It was the first time in a long time she had ever heard the nurse sound so declarative of something.
However, that resolve withered in an instant when Taliopia sniffled, and wiped at her eye with a fist, desperately battling to rid herself of the oncoming tears.
"-I'm not afraid of mannequins, a-and I do not cling to you like a baby. I-I cling to you because you're the only dragon I've e-ever met who a-a-acts like they *snrrfff* -g-give a shit about me."
"Tali', I didn't mean to- I was- Let me explain-"
The chair's feet ground against the floor, and before Morinth could catch her, the nurse had hopped down and bustled away from the table, bowing her head to hide from other patrons and passing waiters as she headed for the building's lavatory.
"Taliopia." Leetol slipped out of his seat and hurried after her.
Meraleethe just kept on eating and staring at Morinth, making no effort to chase her own daughter.
"Well?" She asked, swallowing. "Are you pleased with the outcome you've created?"
"Ancestors, you are such a bloody cunt, Meraleethe." Morinth spat, sliding her chair back and rushing after the other two dragons.
{🐉}
The Dark Army ships pulled back maybe an hour after the victory in the Crownhorn Courtyard, harried by dragon airstrikes and pursuing Mole warships. Saxony's fleet was able to extricate faster than the Grublins, who wound up taking the brunt of the fallback attacks and suffered further losses. Urukal (after he had successfully slipped into the night) –would later bluntly, and loudly voice displeasure of the Ape Chieftain's cowardice when the Dark forces reconvened on the coast during their retreat.
Saxony- mourning the loss of Visigoth in his own way –would promptly respond by spitting on the Orc's boot, and proclaiming that he make love to an ox to relieve his distress. Thus, the argument was terminated, and seeing as both commanders were reeling from their own defeats, such a usual resultant infight was not forthcoming.
In the meantime: Oversight stank like death.
People were saying it would take weeks to clean up and burn all the dead Orcs and Grublins, and that it would take even longer to locate all the deceased dragons and Moles. Roughly a quarter of the city wound up burning down before the Ices and Earths got the flames under control with help from Mole relief teams.
The city wasn't the only one to survive the fight with scars, however.
By the time medics took a look at her, Spyra had a broken jaw, a sprained leg, at least two cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. That wasn't including all the cuts and bruises literally pockmarking her body like a grid of ruination and blood. It took the healers until late at night to fix most of her up, and even then, she still had to walk around with dressings over her face and chest. The feisty swamp hen had- between virulent bouts of profanity and whining -at least modestly admitted that she'd in-quote: "Dealt with the worst of it."
Maybe it was just the emotion of the moment talking, as after all, the medics had been poking her with needles to stitch up her slashes when she had belted it out in an unfortunate Mole's ear…
But she was still very wrong.
Ignitia was the one who had nearly died, and only survived due to Terradora's speed and valor.
She had a punctured lung and had nearly suffocated. Her shoulder had been impaled down to the bone, and the amount of lacerations and contusions had all combined to result in frightening levels of blood loss.
What terrified them all was when the healer- in shushed words -told them that one of her eyes had been damaged.
Thankfully, the potions and Mana Gems were able to save it.
However, the healers had said that despite all of the wonderful progress from the gems and elixirs, the scar that particular blow left across Ignitia's face would probably be permanent. Terradora earned many looks when she had answered such news with a rumbling, earth-tremoring chuckle.
"Me and her continue to grow closer each day." The Earth Guardian hummed, lovingly running a paw down some of the myriad scars and faded marks decorating her thorny hide.
Lastly, came the Fallen.
The healers had to make a list.
A minor concussion, a cracked rib, a sprained arm and an ankle, a neck injury that prevented him from raising his chin too high, and significant blood loss on account of the tens of cuts riddling his bruised body. If it hadn't been for the chemical injections he used on himself so frequently, his body would have otherwise given out under the tremendous pressure.
Despite this, the Fallen also had begun to slip into hyperventilation, and it taken over an hour to get his breathing back under proper control. Every single finger on his right hand was broken somewhere on account of all the swinging. The only reason he'd been able to hold his sword was because his hand had literally been crunched closed in a lock around the handle. He claimed not even to have noticed until the medics piprd up about it. Some potions and dressings were enough to get that problem on the road to recovery.
Meanwhile, it took the dragons and Moles treating him almost two hours to get all the disgusting filth and blood out of his hair, off his body and out of his crevices in a series of baths (of which, the teams were informed that no female dragons could participate, which they were fooled into believing was for modesty purposes. The Fallen was quite upset, and had outright refused help along his special alcove) –and that wasn't even including the state of his attire.
The Fallen's brand new suit of golden armor had been completely destroyed. The cuirass had been shredded, the pauldrons were gone, and the breaches looked like Swiss-cheese. The armshield was unrecognizable after it had been pounded into a vaguely bean-like shape that looked speckled, like a topographic map of a region covered in foothills. The Handcannon and the gladius sword both were buried somewhere in the courtyard outside under all the dead Grublins.
The medics couldn't understand how his and Spyra's bodies hadn't just given out.
Despite being in separate rooms, they said the exact same thing.
"I got style is all."
-She was being herself, and he was quoting her.
The evening rolled on into the night, and then it was all about waiting for the Mana Gems to fix Spyra and Ignitia, and the potions to slowly reknit the Fallen's body yet again.
Thankfully, this place had magic.
If he just had his damned gear back, it wouldn't have mattered.
But right now… he didn't like just how reliant he had become on these peoples' resources. It felt old. Like the old days, the first portals…
That was a time long forgotten and buried. He preferred to keep it that way, and so, he did his best to indulge himself in the room they'd given him.
The Fallen's chamber had a window overlooking the eastern portion of the city outside. He spent a really long time looking through it at the small sea of rooftops below, and over the cliff walls at the spanning coast and woodlands beyond.
The mountains capping Oversight's southern lands sprawled out and to the far right. According to some scouts, and Terradora, the Solemn Pass just near the city was still held by small remnants of Urukal's army that hadn't been crushed by Cyrila's ambush days prior. The Earth Guardian had muttered a promise to clear them herself before leaving the castle and returning an hour later, as bloodied as she'd been after the courtyard battle.
But she emerged relatively uninjured both from the siege and this skirmish.
She was certainly a fighter.
If he wasn't broken to high hell and in pain, he'd have sported a significant intimidation-boner.
Ah, well…
"The tales from Cyrila's unit hold credence." Terradora had quietly grumbled. "I could not locate her body among the dead."
Ignitia had determined that her reaction would be a tear-filled one no matter what extreme the news ended up becoming. Terradora was anathema in interaction with other dragons' emotions, so all she did was grunt, and mutter low, battle-oriented encouragements as she watched her fellow Guardian cry, unable to even lay a paw on her shoulder for reassurance.
Of course, the whole lung thing turned the majority of Ignitia's sobs into nothing but dry wheezes.
The Fallen could still hear her where they were working on him in the other chamber, and the sounds had driven a stake through his heart.
Later that night, it thundered out, and began to rain.
Spyra was actually sort of happy, and when asked why, she said:
"They're not gonna' have fireworks in Warfang with all the drizzle."
And indeed, she had been correct. The capital was stood to postpone the fireworks, and push the Comet Festival back until the storms stopped. In her eagerness over the subject, Spyra actually had begun to talk to the Fallen again, at least somewhat.
Still, things weren't entirely fixed yet.
His purple beastess hadn't challenged being put in a separate room.
Though, she did give him an appraising eye as she was being carried out on a cot via Mole team. So maybe she would reconsider…
He wasn't blaming her either way. Besides, her face was on fire, even if the jaw-thing had been mended by all the magic from the Gems and potions, it still hurt like a bitch, he knew. He had his own shit to mend. His right hand was completely balmed and he couldn't move it. His torso was mummified with dressings and periodically a healer would arrive to have him drink a potion that tasted like feet boiled in liquefied plastic.
He started taking it with milk after he almost threw up on the Mole nurse's blouse from the last dose.
When he found a flake of crusted blood in his hair, he took another bath, and became frustrated enough to yell when a few medics insisted on helping him.
Just because he was beaten to a pulp didn't mean he was a damned vegetable.
Get the fuck away from me…
Later, the Fallen sat up in his cot, with a blanket thrown over his now clean body. He sipped a cup of milk in his good hand and watched the raindrops patter down the glass of the window.
Lightning flashed, and when the resultant thunder boomed, he jumped and almost spilled his milk.
Damn it.
The swamps hadn't done it. They hadn't brought back the nasty past that fighting sometimes did. He supposed he and Spyra hadn't been desperate enough, or brutal enough back there, somehow. But old nested grimness was rearing its ugly head. Every shadow looked like a variety of opponents he'd faced in the past. Every loud noise was a threat. Every distant voice was a sign the enemy was near.
He would've said he'd kept his composure.
Which basically meant he didn't cry.
That wasn't including the hours he spent sitting up in his candle-lit chambers, hugging himself, rocking in fetal positions, mumbling nonsense as his eyes darted around like he was a paranoid sociopath.
He tried to distract himself with the castle he was staying in.
It was beautiful on the inside. Every tapestry was styled to have patterns resembling vines on them, of green and silver. Potted plants were everywhere and many of the walls were overtaken with thin sheets of creepers and roots. The hallways outside were populated by little hummingbirds zipping between the chambers and aisles, and according to the dragons he asked, they were sentient, and could speak. They were the guardians of Lilith's little abode, where they tended the artificial forest of greenery spread throughout the castle zealously, watering and pollinating all day and every day.
"It's awfully late. Don't aliens sleep?" A drake who'd brought him another potion asked as he deposited the little clay cup on the nightstand. He was a brilliant yellow-orange in scale color, and had crimson markings resembling dagger strikes gridded all over his face and chest, and his wings were a pure shade of ruby.
"All the people trying to kill me know that I'm human, and all my allies still think I'm E.T." The Fallen rolled his eyes. "You can pronounce hoo-man, right?"
"What's an 'E.T?'-"
"Forget it. Where'd the last guy go?"
"He's passed out in the medical wing, like most of my fellows. But I have the late shift, so here I am." The drake wing-shrugged, and it was only now that the Fallen noticed the terrible bags hanging under his yellow eyes. "You're by far not the worst I've had to treat. You just need potions and time. I have dragons down there missing limbs."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No offense-" The dragon started to laugh, eyes straying to the human's balmed hand and dressings.
"I had to ask." The Fallen laid back after drinking the horrible liquid. He snatched up the pitcher of milk sitting nearby and downed a quarter of it noisily. "I gotta' ask: can you bring me another one of these? I think I could drink a lake."
"Sure thing, now that the city's open we can start shipping in supplies from the east." The drake chuckled. "I didn't think alien- uhm, humans, liked buffalo milk so much."
The Fallen paused mid-sip, and stared inside the pitcher.
Huh.
He thought it had tasted a little… different. It was definitely thicker, now that he was thinking about it.
Buffalo…
He shrugged and downed the rest of it.
"How's Guardian Ignitia doing?"
"She's stable." The drake nodded. "It was… ehm… close. Lady Ignitia is tough. You should've seen how she looked a few years ago in another battle she fought…"
He could imagine.
The castle was abnormally quiet beside these few interactions, and frankly, it was the only part of the city he had seen that hadn't been ravaged by the fighting. Crownhorn hadn't even been touched by the horrors outside.
The Fallen had at least made himself present when the civilians sheltering in the catacombs and storage cellars were being led out and back into the city proper. Families of Moles were primarily the occupants, though there were some dragons, mostly elderly ones, pregnant females, and younglings. Many of them were crying. Quite a few had lost brothers, sons, daughters, and parents in the battle. There was talk going around that out of the defense garrison of over a thousand Moles native to Oversight, maybe a hundred and eighty were left after the final engagements, which had already nearly wiped the army out.
Times right now felt dark.
Luckily or unluckily, the Fallen had been through enough campaigns to be somewhat prepared for how that impacted him and the people around him.
But really, you never could be prepared for war, no matter how much of it you waged beforehand.
So after a while, the Fallen went to get up to see Ignitia and Spyra, to take his mind off the shit.
He was surprised when the door to his bedroom opened, and Spyra stepped through, almost bumping into him.
"Oh, uhm… -h-hey." He barely heard her say.
"Hey." He croaked. Spyra used her tail to quietly close the door, and she sat on the rug in front of him on her haunches, eyes sweeping around the décor of the bedroom silently. "…Yeah, it's a little, uh… regal, I know."
"They gave you drapes." She stuck her forked tongue out at the canopied large bed. "That's girly as fuck, dude."
"Drapes aren't too bad, and neither is a bed."
Spyra hummed and stood up, wandering past him to poke around the room.
"How's your jaw feeling?" He stiffly crossed over to the nightstand, plucking and eating a grape off the little vine the nurses had left him by the milk pitcher.
"Can't be too bad if I'm back to my usual riveting self." Spyra chuckled, giving her mandible a roll with a pained grunt. "It still hurts, though."
"I'm sorry."
"What about your hand?"
"Not broken anymore at least, thanks to the elixirs." He sat on the foot of the bed, watching her as she hiked on her hinds and peered out at the storm through the window. His eyes wandered down her back and settled on her swaying tail. "You heard that Terradora couldn't find heads or tails of Cyrila, right?"
"Ehhyepp. And that means what we've known already." Spyra sighed. "Unless Cynder's actually a cannibal and is planning on making Guardian-Stew, it's kind of hard to imagine what she'd want with them alive like that."
"She's a skilled magic-user, she's probably got some scheme mapped out."
"Yeah, and I'm sure it involves you." His heart started to sink before she glanced back at him and smirked. "And me. She's after both of us, regardless. Say, you should've seen me and Ignitia, we actually make a pretty good team."
"Ignitia's very good at what she does too." The Fallen nodded. "Plus, I hardly think Urukal's men have anything that can stop a pair of pissed off Fire Dragons."
"Hot to the touch." She licked her thumb-pad and made a hissing sound as she put it on her rear. "At this rate, I won't need any of that training back at the Academy, I'm gettin' more practice in hours than I've gotten in years with my Fire Breath. These Grublin things really pack a punch. …But hey, so do you, one-man-army-boi'."
She abandoned the sill and trotted over to him, the angry expression she'd been wearing lately being replaced by almost an idle beaming.
"I think that's the craziest shit I've seen you ever do, even in Cynder's tower."
"…Uh, I-I tried." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "You have to be passionate about your work, huh?"
"Hell yeah, dude, I feel ya'. After all, such work involves jumping around worlds, battling armies supposedly even nastier than the ass-faces we shredded today, getting loads of females under the sheets…" Spyra sat up on her hinds and rolled a forepaw. "…If I were that dragon, I'd fight pretty hard myself to keep it going, especially if it meant I could tow some hot-tail home afterward."
When he struggled to respond, she waved it off with an amused snicker and made him jump when her paws gripped his knees. The purple dragoness leaned her face closer, little trails of soot rolling out of her nostrils as her pink eyes scanned down his chest.
"Mmhmm, yeah, I was right. Up close it's even more obvious." Even though she was looking at him, she nodded to over his shoulder at the bed. "Those drapes are gay, dude, something I could see a 'ness using, not some interdimensional space-man. Besides, I thought you preferred nesting."
"I do." He looked at her chops.
The Fallen saw her roll her fixed jaw, and lick her muzzle, her gaze settling on him as her expression turned very serious, and stern.
"Nesting with a dragoness, I mean."
"…I do."
{🐉}
"-OooOOOHYEAH-~! Yeah~! Ooooorightthere~…."
Spyra ground her pelvis one last time and wailed as combined fluids began to run in reams from their link and pool in the blankets. The Fallen grunted like an animal, and chewed on her shoulder, as he pinned her down atop himself and impaled her deeply. She dipped her neck low and lapped at his hair with a pained look on her face.
"OoOOoooshit…" She moaned, getting his face,, she lightly bit his mouth, tugging at his lips. "…OooOohhyesss…. I-I needed that…"
He answered her with a growl and rolled his hips into her pelvis, making her squeak as his expended blade slid among the detritus inside her and tickled her oversensitive flesh.
"…I-I take it back… ice cream… is not better than this… not at all~…" She swooned.
"…W-What?" He tiredly blinked.
"…I'm still gonna' make you buy me a boat full of the stuff when we get back to Warfang…" She gave a satisfied mewl and rubbed her snout's nose over his own stubby, human one. "…Like, every single flavor they have too…"
"They have ice cream there?" The Fallen quietly gasped as he rubbed her hips. "Shit."
"That's what I said."
Eventually, she peeled herself out of his lap. The purple dragon flopped into the sheets by his side and spread her wings underneath herself, eyes locked on the roof of the room.
Neither of them said anything, though the Fallen did sneak his hand over and interlock his fingers in her paw's talons. Spyra took it and squeezed, her tail batting around between her moistened legs as she rode down the last of her sexual high.
The window flashed white after a roll of thunder, revealing in starkness the various dragon-sized pieces of furniture that had been observing their love-making in the dark.
"…So, like… are you gonna' say somethin', or…?" Spyra tiredly asked, raising her head and looking over at him. "They didn't bandage your mouth up. Trust me, I know, you just used it a whole bunch…"
"…Uhm…" He licked his lips, looked down at his soiled lap and then over at the nightstand beside the bed. The pitcher, the grapes, and some cups were still there. "…you want some milk?"
"You have milk?" She sat upright from where she'd been prodding her own dribbling vagina like it was some kind of science project.
"Yes, see? On the nightstand."
"Fuck yeah I want milk."
{Legend of Spyro: The Eternal Night OST: Dreams}
So then they drank milk. Sipping their cups, one after the other, and only glancing at one another every so often. The man and dragoness nestled into the sheets and let the storm talk for them.
They still had some time to get to the real conversation. As, after all, Spyra had basically come in here and jumped him only forty or so minutes ago. They'd gone a few rounds, hence the forty minutes. But after a while, it became too much. His ribs started to hurt and her mouth began to go numb.
The medics had said to take it easy.
It was torturous, particularly for her. The Fallen was impressed: perhaps, the purple heroine had an insatiable sex drive that even put his to shame.
"…That big, ugly, inbred Orc broke my jaw." Spyra put down her cup and rubbed at her mandible, as if this news was recent. "You believe that? That's some rank ass shit if you ask me. But did you see? I kicked his can too. I batted him around like he was a ball of yarn! The Electricity really did the trick. I wish we had Volteera so she could teach me some stuff."
"Yeah." He laughed, downing a last mouthful of milk and fiddling with his cup. "We'll get her back and she'll teach you everything she knows."
"Hey, did they leave you in here naked, or did you just…?"
"Huh? Oh, no, they, uh… they found a vest and a pair of trousers that fit me. I just didn't want them on. It felt stuffy. I was in that armor all day…"
"Oh, good. Good."
She started playing with something on the edge of her cup and he was tracing the decorative little vines that were carved on the outside of his.
"Y'know during the whole trip from Warfang I was thinking about ways I could, like, maim you, and shit." Spyra admitted.
"…Ah, well, I don't blame you. You're not the first." He mused.
"No, no way you should blame me, who the hell says something like that?"
"Remember whom you speak with." The Fallen quirked a brow at her and grinned. "You certainly wouldn't be the first lady to put my face through a wall. But then again, what are your alternatives? Corrinthol? Pah."
"…Yeah, haha, or, uh… s-someone like him, right?" Spyra looked away and cleared her throat. "…S-So, uh, do you like ice cream?"
"What?"
"Ice cream, you like it, right?"
The Fallen snickered awkwardly and flexed the wrist his cast was over.
"I haven't had ice cream in a long time." He hummed. "I'd wreck a kingdom for a bowl of that stuff."
"Well, you're gonna' buy me the whole market's worth in the city." She smiled nervously. "Uhm, m-make it up to me?"
"I'll get you whatever you want."
Spyra giggled and jammed her snout into the crook of his neck.
"Spyra?"
"Yep?"
"I'm sorry." He stroked the back of her neck. "For making you so upset."
She grunted, swallowing a comeback before shifting closer to him.
"…Yeah, just… f-forget it, alright? So… can I say what I wanted to say now?"
"I really don't want you to." He shook his head. "I'll talk to you about anything, Spyra, just… just not that."
"Well… like, what's the issue? You don't have a problem having multiple mates or nothin', so you shouldn't have a problem with multiple females sayin' it to you." Spyra put down her cup on the other nightstand and twisted over on her side, putting her chin in her paw and doting on him as her tail whipped under the blankets. "Varied sex, but no varied commitment? Look, this is all as batshit mad as it can get, dude, so why not take the full plunge after I just admit that I want you, like, really badly."
He huffed and discarded his own cup, leaning against the headboard and hissing at his injuries. He stared across the room and out the window nearby. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled soon after.
She followed his gaze and huffed.
"Terradora's still out there." Spyra sighed, stretching her wings. "She's leading the body clean-up teams. They're gonna' pile all the nasty shit outside the gate road and burn them when the storm stops. At least it'll make the smell go away a little quicker."
"Nothing makes that smell go away quicker." He muttered. "…It still isn't over. We have to find the Guardians, finish all the training Ignitia has in store for you, and I'm sure Terradora has things she can teach you too."
"Mmhm." Spyra sounded disinterested as her paw strayed up his arm and she nudged her snout into his shoulder. "…Yo: the 'ness wants some affection, so pay up."
"I just fucked you."
"You're the one who said I was your special spoon-derg."
She slid under the blankets until she was straddling him again, blocking out the rest of the room with her orange wingspan as the purple dragoness settled on his lap, minding her horns when she nestled her head under his chin, deflating like a bag full of air as she settled in the nook of his body. Her tail wound around his ankle.
"That Goth-bitch probably stuffed them in a cave somewhere." Spyra mumbled groggily. He rested his hands over her and idly pet down her spinal scutes. "…Ooo~ that's real nice… keep doing that, babe'…"
"It has to be somewhere relatively close. She couldn't have carried them across a whole continent. I bet Cyrila and Volteera are either in the forest or the mountains." He said lowly. "Those are the two places I'd hide someone. They're gigantic, hard to search, and they double as rough terrain. We should start looking tomorrow."
"…sounds like a plan for tomorrow…" Spyra yawned, scooting and wrapping her forepaws around him to shove as much of his body against her as was possible. "…honestly, I'm just stoked that we didn't die fighting an army. And it's good that Ignitia didn't… y'know…"
"She's too tough to get done in like that." He chuckled, scratching at the bases of her wings. Spyra purred and spread them upwards for him as he worked. "Did you get a chance to talk to Terradora at all?"
"…Nah, not really. She looked me over when the medics were fixing my mouth, but didn't say a whole lot. She looked like she was appraising a piece of hardware, and didn't seem impressed either."
"That doesn't bother you does it?"
"Wait- what-? No way dude, fuck her and fuck her face. I'm the shit. She's just too old and crusty to not be jealous of my rockin' hips."
Sounds like a good plan… she's not that old… His internal voice salivated.
"I think what does bother me is how Ignitia has been acting." Spyra said. "You know what I'm talking about, right? I mean, I get that my egg was all-important to her and everything, but…"
"It feels a little gross." He blurted.
"Yes! Yeah, like… totally gross." She sighed into his neck. "I already got a mom. She's back at the swamps knittin' shit and whatnot."
"You don't miss them at all? Your adoptive family?"
"Sure I do, but I know they're still back there, waiting for me, and when I beat the Dark Master and stop the war, I'll head down south and have a reunion party. It's not a big deal. My bro's probably having a field day without me beating him up and letting him get eaten by Toadworts."
He silently laughed.
Jeez', this dragon…
"I'm taking this means you're willing to talk to me agai-"
"…You make my nightmares stop." She informed him sheepishly, cutting him off. "They only started a few months ago, but they were the worst right before you crashed, and once I got to know you-" She wiggled her hips and giggled when he twitched underneath her. "-really really know you~, they stopped completely, and only came back when I knew we weren't on good terms."
"I'm glad to hear they stopped. Again." He rubbed her back. "…Uhm…"
Spyra sat up on his chest and touched his nose with the tip of her snout.
"Y'know, this whole time, I could've just said it whether you wanted me to or not. And frankly, seein' as I'm dealing with some shit that I don't like about you, if this is gonna' work, you'll need to deal with some shit you don't like either."
"But Spyra that isn't why I-"
"So shut the hell up-" She locked his lips in a brief muzzle-kiss and smacked free. "-and take it."
Spyra turned her head and dipped past his jaw so that her molten breath brushed over his ear.
The Fallen shut his eyes, and willed himself to simply let it happen.
"I kinda'… sorta'… well…"
He jumped when a set of draconic fangs nipped playfully at the side of his face. Spyra giggled and buried her nose in his neck, purring.
"…I might, y'know… love ya'. …Just a bit."
{🐉}
When morning came, a Mole cleaning lady went into the Fallen's chambers after receiving no response from her knocking, and promptly shrieked when she saw the human bedded with Spyra in a very exposed position. Spyra got startled and, of course, cast a few embers as she scrambled around like a panicking gerbil.
The Fallen covered himself up with a blanket and watched for the next fifteen minutes as another member of the cleaning staff and an Ice Dragon put the bed out. The latter looked between the two radically different occupants, and didn't know what else to say except "Please be more careful".
After that, the Fallen tried to use the room's chamberpot, and accidentally kicked the bucket over.
Spyra suggested they burn it to make it go away faster. He couldn't stop her fast enough.
The smell (and the smoke) didn't leave the room for the rest of the day. All the Fallen could do was open the window and fan the door. One of the hummingbirds zipping around the hall outside flew through the cloud, so to speak, and promptly crashlanded on the floor, comatose. A Mole came by later and scooped the poor thing up to take it to the medical bay.
After that fiasco was breakfast, which they chose to eat in the neighboring guest bedroom while theirs aired out.
It looked like something close to waffles, but with berry fillings and powdered sugar. There were sides of folded eggs, pan-fried ham slices, citrus jam and a muffin. He had two helpings. Spyra had eleven.
"Aren't the refugees eating rations?" The Fallen asked as the Mole nurses were departing. "I can't accept this food."
"Speahk fur yrseff." Spyra muffled, digging her face into the eggs.
"Not anymore, since the eastern supply routes are open again." One of the nurses smiled reassuringly. "Everyone's getting a good breakfast today now that the rationing is over, we just wanted to treat you both first."
"You're both heroes after all." The other quipped.
Spyra and the Fallen looked at each other as the door closed and they were sealed with the room's quiet.
"She called us heroes." She grinned maniacally. "I'm a hero! Hell yeah! I knew we'd win."
"Suurrrreee…" He teased, chuckling when she threw a napkin at him.
"I totally did." She winked, leaning over and giving him a restrained peck on the cheek, due to her mouth being full. "I'm glad you're alright, and stuff."
Halfway through, he wondered aloud: "How does it all fit inside of you?"
"I dunno', dude, how does all of you fit inside me, huh?" She whacked him with her tail as they sat on the foot of the bed, ringed by empty plates and bowls. "Call me Elastic-Fantastic."
"I see you both found the larder."
Spyra almost choked on a bite of eggs.
Standing in the doorframe was Ignitia.
She looked different.
"Let me guess: only two of those plates are yours, Fallen."
"Indeed they are." He grinned sadly, hiding any impact to himself. As he and Ignitia shared a laugh, Spyra tried to dig into her food more so she didn't have to look up.
Though, it could've been worse, the Mana Gems and the potions had done miracles as their magical natures should have. But still, Ignitia's torso was bandaged to high hell, her shoulder was thrice wrapped in dressings, which hid a line of stitches that had closed up the wound underneath.
The scar the medics had mentioned was there too, a little incision that was only noticeable if you got really close and sought it. It capped the top and bottom of her pretty amber eye like a pair of dagger blades. While certainly battered, at least Ignitia had come out of the ordeal in one piece.
The coughing was concerning, but that was to be expected, given the healing lung. The only thing both he and Spyra noted was that she didn't have her usual scent of cinnamon wafting off of her. Now, Ignitia smelled like a hospital room, he thought.
She looked sadder too.
"You would both be amazed at the amount of work Terradora and her teams got done last night and this morning. The courtyard is almost completely cleared of all those Grublin corpses." Ignitia explained later on, herself seated on a cot one of the cleaning staff had dragged inside as she nibbled on a breakfast muffin. She coughed, covering her snout with a paw politely. She gestured to the muffin. "…T-These are quite good. They use blueberries and raspberries grown inside the castle. There are vines and bushes completely covering some of the storage cellars in the lower levels, oranges and pears too. It's really amazing what the dragons of Oversight have crafted, given their ingenuity."
"At least I can see why everyone calls this place the Realm of Vines. It's like flower-fever here." The Fallen nodded, looking up and noticing a stray growth of pink flowers snaking out of minute cracks in the guestroom's corner ceiling. "Doesn't Oversight have a queen?"
"Yes, her name is Lilith." Ignitia dourly clicked her tongue. "She's… an interesting case."
"Is she inside the castle?"
"Yes, she's in a separate wing that is locked from the rest of the chambers. She resides on the Throne of Vines and tends to the rule and administration of Oversight and a number of nearby villages from there. She hasn't been seen leaving the throneroom in years." Ignitia took a sip of tea. "Terradora is disgusted by her, and thinks she should be removed due to her cowardice and weakness over… well, personal matters, things even I do not understand fully. But what Terra' is forgetting is that Lilith is responsible for the economic and cultural prosperity of the whole realm here, and she has led a number of successful defenses against Malefora's predations in the past, seeing as Oversight is a frontline barrier between the rest of the Dragon Realms and the Dark Continent. This city survived a constant siege for over a year when the first continental invasion happened a few years ago. The gates never fell then."
"So why'd they fall this time?" Spyra asked with her mouth full of eggs as she downed a thirteenth breakfast plate, leaving crumbs everywhere. "Didn't this siege only last like a few weeks or somethin'?"
"They fell this time because Urukal was leading the assault. He is Malefora's most skilled and infamous Orc officer in the entire Dark Army." Ignitia lowered her gaze. "He's the one who broke the gates of Warfang during the last invasion, and sacked many of the entrance districts around Immortal Square. He murdered hundreds of Dragons and Moles, and burned Castle Wyrm. The only reason me and the other Guardians were able to lead a counter-attack and push him back out of the city, was because his troops began to tire, and his siege engines ran out of ammunition. Even then, he escaped just as he did yesterday. He's not among the dead in the courtyard. He must have slipped through the gates in the night."
"Yeah, he's the douchebag who hit me in the face." Spyra grumbled, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. "Broke my kisser, that rat bastard."
"I heard that you both fought him personally. You've truly proven your skill in battle to have survived a duel with him and his entire army." Ignitia shook her head in wonder, suddenly sounding ashamed. "I wish I had been there to help you two."
"The rear assault wouldn't have happened if you hadn't rallied the rest of the survivors from the gate attack." The Fallen said. "And you protected Spyra long enough for her to reach me and help me defend the castle. You were integral."
"Yeah, against Night Dragons!" Spyra went wide-eyed. "And I didn't get to see 'em or kill 'em! Just wait until I get my claws on the ones who did that to you, Ignitia, I'll rip their spleens out!"
"I appreciate your concern, Spyra, but I'm okay now." Ignitia smiled. "It's just a near-death experience, right? Not unusual for those in our professions I'd think." She giggled. "What I really need is a nice, long vaca-"
The Guardian devolved into a series of violent coughs that saw her doubled over in the futon. Spyra leaned forwards, ready to jump off the bed and help her. The Fallen calmly put his plate down and crossed the floor, putting his hand on her shoulder and rubbing until the coughing stopped.
"-blast it." She wheezed, wincing as pain shot up her throat. "I've been like this a-all morning…"
"In a lot of the worlds I've been to, if you had a punctured lung, you would be even worse. Most people don't have magic so readily available to help them." The Fallen deposited the muffin he wasn't eating on Ignitia's plate and stepped back over to the bed. "Given that you guys have been fighting nonstop for over a thousand years, it's expected the response for injuries would be pretty solid by now."
"Our healers have certainly made their work cut out for them." Ignitia breathed. "…I haven't dueled another dragon in true battle in… a long time." Her eyes were distant in dreamy thought. "The Nightkin very rarely venture out of the Dark Continent these days: their numbers are too few."
"What's the deal with those scumbags anyhow?" Spyra chewed with her mouth open. "Why are there dragons working for Malefora?"
"They are the descendants of the earliest dragons Malefora promised power to." Ignitia grunted. "Before the war, when she was being groomed to be the new leader of all dragonkind, many began to view her abilities as those of a god's. There was a long seated, unspoken cult that had developed over the years. When she betrayed the Council and the Guardians, a whole army of dragons sided with their perceived diety because they believed that that was the right course of action, that Malefora truly knew what was best for our species to pursue its own destiny."
"What's the average lifespan of a dragon here?" The Fallen asked.
"…Oh, perhaps…" Ignitia thought for a second. "One hundred fifty, to two hundred maximum. The oldest dragon I recall reading of was two hundred and fifty-two."
"Who was that geezer?" Spyra belched.
"…Hmmph." Ignitia mused, picking crumbs off her fresher muffin and nibbling on them. "Guardian Scarla Razorwing, Lady of Embers and the One of Red Cloaked Wings. She was my predecessor, the Guardian of Fire before me."
"She disappeared." Spyra hummed. The Fallen stared at her.
"How the heck do you know that?" He blinked.
"She told me back home at my village." She pointed at Ignitia with a fork. "But not much else besides that."
"Scarla disappeared years before I was even born, leaving the Guardian of Fire's seat empty for a number of decades before I began to undertake my classes and training during my hatchlinghood." Ignitia explained. "I was the youngest of the four to begin my path. I was stationed at the Dragon Temple as early as seven years."
"Seven?" The Fallen looked flabbergasted. "Most seven-year-olds can't even stand up straight."
"Maybe in other species." Ignitia giggled. "But for dragons, speech and full locomotion are attained at ages three to four. We do not reach our fullest size of growth until about twenty to twenty-five." She gestured to Spyra with her finned tail. "Spyra is in her prime, as it were."
The Purple Dragoness beamed and scooted closer to him to nudge her hip into his, chewing happily on some ham with her tail whipping.
"See?" She muffled. "I toldh u I wuz hawt schitt."
"I dedicated my life to understanding the Element of Fire and attaining inner peace. The price for such a thing was… high, but ultimately worth it, I think." The Guardian flexed her wings, deep in thought. "But it was still hard. Life always is at the end of the day-" a cough "-b-but it was like that for all four of us. Cyrila lost everything slowly, like thawing ice. Terradora never saw eye to eye with her stubborn family, as stubborn as she was, stubborn like rock. Volteera was put into the world and thrust right into difficulty, speedily, like lightning. All Guardians have their lives reflected in one way or another through that of which they teach, it's what ultimately makes us choose our destiny before we actually step through the doors of the Guardian Temple itself."
"So how does your life mimic fire?" The Fallen asked. "Don't tell me it was a slow burn. I'm joking."
"Ugh, dude, I breathe fire and even I wouldn't touch that shit, going up in smoke like that." Spyra laughed. "Guess you got burned."
"My life is…" Ignitia rolled her tongue in her mouth. "…it's a question I haven't found the answer to yet. But I will, one day."
"Lady Ignitia!"
A dragon appeared in the doorway to the room, pointing down the hall outside.
"Guardian Terradora wants you to see something important! It's the enemy. They're moving outside the city again."
{🐉}
The storm had only devolved to a slight misting underneath an ugly, gray sky by the time all of them got outside, with only some distant beams of sunlight penetrating the blankets of clouds far east, towards the inner Dragon Realms.
However, none of that was the subject of interest.
Dreadwings.
A small flight of them in a standard wide-branch line were flying over the shallows of the coast. Their screeches echoed throughout the distant sky as they ringed around the city and headed for the mountains.
"It is a small detachment. I personally counted ten." Terradora mumbled, her imposingly large form seated beside that of Ignitia's. So far she hadn't bothered to turn around and look at either Spyra or the Fallen, both of whom lingered nearby with their gazes locked to the clouds. "They head for the mountains, over Solemn."
"There isn't a doubt in my mind as to the cause of why." Ignitia grimly noted, her eyes scanning the beasts as they shrank towards the peaks. "Cynder is keeping Cyrila close to where she was captured."
"If the Cloud Ripper wished for you not to know, she would not have ordered her lackeys to put on a show." Terradora quietly leanied closer to her. "If you follow them, you will be walking into a trap."
"What other choice is there? If Cynder kills the Guardians, Warfang will be helpless to raise new soldiers." Ignitia huffed. "Whatever she is doing requires Cyrila and Volteera to be alive. Our window is there, Terra', but it's closing."
"Me and my boi' are good enough to head up there and kick some tail." Spyra announced, wrapping the Fallen's good wrist in her tail and yanking him along to stand beside the Guardians. "Soon, we might even be able to get the cast off his hand."
The Fallen grinned down at her, and Spyra smiled.
Ah…
This was nice.
Familiar too.
"You, nor Ignitia, nor the-" Terradora paused, and her drab eyes settled angrily on the Fallen. He flicked a smile and waved cheaply.
"How are ya'?" He asked.
"-nor the parasite, are in any state to go out and fight again. I will lead a strike team, and we will get Cryrila back."
"Terra', none of the soldiers here have any chance against Cynder." Ignitia shook her head. "Only you do, and who do you think Cynder will have the Dreadwings focus on as she picks off your allies and leaves you alone, in the cold, against a flight of ravenous beasts and herself?"
"If the parasite can get two cents in: Cynder knows the only people who are going up into those mountains are us." The Fallen said. "She wants to capture the both of you in addition to Cyrila and Volteera, but most of all: she wants Spyra, for nothing good, I'd think."
"Pffft, don't be modest…" Spyra rolled her eyes and hip-bumped him. "She wants me dead, it's you she wants up there. Why do you think all of her monkeys have orders to take you alive?"
"What?" Terradora turned around and leaned over them both. "What do you mean the Cloud Ripper wants it alive?"
"It." The Fallen dug his fingers into his hair. "I'm an it now. Jesus Christ, lady, you're hotter than a sauna in July, but you've got a heart colder than all those snowy peaks back there. I think we got started on the wrong foot, so maybe we should shake on it!" He held up his hand.
"You little-"
"No~!" Ignitia squealed, propping up between Terradora and him, and smiling sheepishly at the prior. "I-I wouldn't recommend such action, for e-either of you…"
"Ignitia! Stand aside, so that I can paint the battlements with the alien's innards." Terradora tried to angle around her, snarling when the Fire Guardian stopped her with held out wings and paws each time. "Move!"
"I wouldn't advise touching the Fallen, Terra'! He has- u-uhm-"
"A lethal skin disease!" Spyra proclaimed. The Fallen gawked.
"What the fuck, no I do-"
"Real lethal, like, flesh-eating level." The purple dragon persisted. Terradora stopped struggling, and glared at her. "It's amazing he's still alive. Really. He's had his own life flash before his eyes a whole buncha' times now!"
"…Hmmph. If he is so lethal, than why are you unaffected, purple one?" Terradora snorted. "The parasite is practically smothered in your scent. You have obviously been quite… close with it as of late."
The Fallen giggled like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Spyra grinned through a blush and bumped him with her hip.
"You shut up~." She smiled, biting her lower chops. "Just 'cause I started that gravy train again don't mean I don't have my eye on you since Wyrm."
"What happened to Wyrm Castle?" Terradora blinked, looking to Ignitia.
"That was where our wounds were attended to after we came from the south-" Ignitia started to explain.
"Oh, everybody caught Sir-Stickem-All here bangin' Morinth and her lesbo nurse lover in the room." Spyra dismissively blathered out. "I guess I can't entirely blame him, in hindsight. Speakin' of hind, Taliopia does have a nice arse', now that ya' mention it."
"Too fine and too tight." The Fallen proudly put his hands on his hips. Spyra spit fire at his feet and made him dance. "The fuck?!"
"Just because I'm willing for some open-relations here doesn't mean you can be snide about it, either."
"That's a lot of prerequisites, girlie."
"I'm a high maintenance 'ness. Deal with it."
Terradora looked like she had just been told that the center of the world was made out of pure marmalade. Spyra could've sworn she heard an eagle cry out somewhere near the mountains in the backdrop.
"….T-The alien…" She croaked. "…h-has… engaged in physical relations with dragons?"
"I see myself as a bit of a connoisseur, if you can believe it." The Fallen shined his knuckles on his chest and sniggered childishly.
"-WHAT-?!" Ignitia slapped her paws over her snout as soon as the squawk left her mouth. "…n-nobody told me about… about that. Fallen! Y-You- You mated with Morinth?! And Taliopia?!"
"The lesbians?" Terradora gasped in disgust.
"Bygones." Spyra shrugged. "I'll admit, I mighta' overreacted a little, got a bit mad, burned some shit, but, honestly… I got human-fever~." She licked her chops and leant into the Fallen's leg. "Y'know when you have a good enough sense of self-satisfaction in your life, that you feel like your queefs will smell like mint?"
Ignitia landed on her rump and clawed at her face, distraught, and unsure of what else to do or say. She started coughing as her lung acted out. Terradora's eyes were glassy as she focused on something invisible to the rest of the party. Thusly, it was with shellshock that she rose and started trotting away.
"…Excuse me," The Earth Guardian growled, shouldering past Ignitia with a flush invading her green snout. "but I have to go somewhere else and vomit."
"So, does that mean we're sticking with the original plan of all four of us going, or are you sittin' it out, girlfriend?" Spyra called.
Terradora gave this mewling noise of rage but otherwise didn't respond. Ignitia was still holding her face and staring at the two of them in the meantime, even after the Guardian of Earth vanished inside one of the preliminary towers on the wall.
"Well, as long as nothing changes in the short time between then and now, I'm assuming we're all going to save Cyrila." The Fallen said. "I'll head to the medical wing and see if they can give me anything to get my hand under control quicker and we'll be of-"
"Just how many dragons have you mated with?!" Ignitia wailed.
The Fallen paused, looked at the sky, and then began to count his fingers.
When he got to the second hand, she whined and smacked his arms down with her paws, eliciting a little 'Ow' –from him when she hit the right one.
"That's horrendous! A-And immoral! And disgusting!" She cried.
"-And hot as hell." Conscience appeared behind her, offering addendum with a raised, inquisitive finger.
The Fallen's death-glare past her wing was enough to get the apparition to go scratch.
"Yeah, hits hard the first time ya' hear it." Spyra wing-shrugged as she glanced around the city below with interest. But mostly, it was to shield the light, pissed-off growl grumbling in the back of her throat. "By-gonnnessss…" She sang lowly, watching a few dragons zip over some roofs near the courtyard.
"T-This is unprecedented-! A-And foul-! And-" Ignitia's mouth was rolling so quickly that it escaped her control. "…and sweet dear Ancestors, y-yesterday I- I tried to-"
"Yeahyeah, listen, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Trust me, everyone's said everything to me, and my answer's still the same." The Fallen shrugged. "It all works out because me and my friends are just that badass and other people aren't."
Spyra snickered.
"Badass like me?" She grinned.
"Badass like you, my finely curvaceous source of derg-taco."
Ignitia's jaw dropped, and Spyra snorted in a violent, sudden giggling fit.
"-T-That's why you were so upset earlier…" The Guardian looked at her. "…T-That's why we battled one another in the Dark Army encampment, and that's why I've been experiencing-"
"-probably the first flow of a river in a valley so dry, cacti had grown?" Spyra chimed. "Yeah, Ignitia, everyone can tell."
"And a fine valley at that…" The Fallen hungrily blinked at Ignitia's hips.
The Guardian turned redder than her own scaley coat, before she squealed and ran away from them, a flustered mess.
"She'll be back." He winked at Spyra.
"Like I said, no snideness." She whacked his cast with her tail, and he painfully grunted. "So, off to save a Guardian, and right after the biggest battle I've ever been a part of, the only battle I've been a part of. Dang."
"In this line of work, breaks are something you'll soon learn to cherish. Kind of like ice cream. Except it melts. Really fast." He shivered, laying his good hand on her shoulder before spinning around and limping back down from the walls. "Have you ever fought in snow before?"
"It used to flurry during the cold seasons back home sometimes." Spyra mumbled, her gaze locked on the distant arrays of snow-capped mountains on the horizon. "All the dragonflies thought I was a super-dragon because they all couldn't move in the chill and I was always fine. Being a heat-based chick, and all that."
"Well, I hope that internal-oven of yours will help you through it." He called back. "You've gotten your taste of large-scale urban combat, Spyra, just be sure to keep your head on and be ready for Winterized war. It's two entirely different animals."
"B-But nothing I can't handle, right?" She shoved off from the merlons and ran after him. "Right?"
{🐉}
He'd ended the battle in one of the last street skirmishes that had bubbled out in the wake of Urukal's line breaking. When the Orcs' offensive against the castle had been shattered, thin bands of survivors had scattered throughout Oversight. Colcrus had led a Wing in charge of hunting Grublins.
He had been fighting while wounded for hours, it felt like. The drake had suffered a slash on his forearm, a bludgeoning impact across his face from an Orc's shield, and the tip of his snout-horn had been broken off during the disaster above the Pass.
Nobody seemed quite keen on whispering about anyone else in the Wing except for him, but mostly that was because word had gotten around that he'd engaged in melee combat with the Terror of the Skies, and had lived.
Now, Colcrus wouldn't have called what happened a 'melee fight' –merely because he'd stood up, and Cynder had practically bitch-smacked him from her path, like he had been nothing more than an annoying fly. But he didn't try to tell other dragons or the Moles about the truth.
Again, mostly that was because it gave them a small sliver of hope.
Hope, because someone, anyone, had stood up to Malefora's champion and lived to tell the tale.
He felt a little guilty accepting that title. It didn't sit right with him, especially after all the horrors his fellows had endured.
His original unit had been annihilated, and so the newer one was a conglomerate of remnants from over ten different Wings. Nobody had been officially named Captain. Colcrus only held leadership status because all the officers in these elements were either missing or had been killed.
That meant that he also technically was in charge of even Blizren, which was mad, because the mountain drake was almost twice as old as he was. That felt weird.
Yet Blizren had left the war relatively unscathed, minus a few bruises and scratches, so he supposed when it came to simple weight of numbers, Colcrus' youth had seen him through more frontline stress than the other drake had. This no doubt played a role in the attaining of his new position as squad leader. That, and because there were few other dragons of any leadership quality available as alternatives.
There was a drake named Ferrag who had lost an eye and one of his paws. He would probably never fight again. Another male, Losedva, was paralyzed from the hip down after a building had collapsed on top of him and his squad. A dragoness named Terea had to be held down as a team of healers literally scooped her intestines back inside of herself and sewed the incision that had gutted her closed. There were more injuries everywhere, but those three dragons were the only other ones Colcrus could think of that had any leadership experience.
Colcrus was a veteran of the war, and had been so for several years. Not once in his career had he been part of a battle so vicious and bloodthirsty. He had killed more Dark soldiers in a night than he had in his entire life up until that point.
His normally jocular attitude had turned into a more sterile shell of its earlier incarnation, and it seemed he was having difficulty smiling at anything.
That could've just been short-term trauma giving him shit, but something about it felt sticky… and that bothered him.
"-Guardian Terradora! I didn't see you-"
"Move."
Colcrus grunted when the huge dragoness shouldered him from her path as she stormed down a hallway. He narrowed his eyes and watched her depart with his tail looping bands in felinoid annoyance.
He knew it was unwarranted, as Terradora had gone through even more than he and his squads had during the battle, but still…
"Excuse me."
He gasped as Ignitia shoved him out of the way too and hurried down a different hallway.
"…Jeez'…" He muttered, turning a corner and getting on with his path. The Ice Dragon passed an arch and skirted one of the chambers being used as a medical shop. The pained moans of bleeding Moles on tarps lowly crept through the air. "Bliz'? Hey."
The older dragon turned around from where he'd been presiding over one of the wounded, and his eyes went wide when he met Colcrus' gaze.
"Colcrus!" He exclaimed, moving forwards and linking paws with him. "-I-I thought-"
"I wasn't so sure either. You don't have to worry about it." Colcrus grunted, nodding at him. "How are you?"
"Alive, and I'd greatly think of that as something to smile about." Blizren lowered his voice, giving a cautious eye to the wounded nearby. He angled his head for the door. "Let's talk somewhere else."
They came out onto the defense palisades topping the castle's many walls after a brief walk. The wind was cold and howled lowly as Colcrus mounted between a pair of merlons, and gazed mournfully down at the pillars of soot rising from the city below.
"The Dark Navy has retreated, so some of the Wings have started gathering seawater to put out the fires." Blizren said. "At least it's helping, a bit anyway. So, I heard you were promoted."
"…u-uhm…"
"Yeah, listen, I know. I'm not saying it's… good- well, it is, but… but not at the same time too, because… all those other officers..." Blizren coughed. "-It's war. Someone has to step up when the dragon you look up to isn't there anymore. You'll make a fine Captain."
"Nobody told me I was becoming a Captain." Colcrus snorted. "I'm refusing, you know, if someone does give the offer."
"I hardly think it'll be an offer." Blizren stretched his wings and grunted. "But, uh… everyone's doing things right now that they don't want to. It's the price of winning."
"Then why does it feel like we lost?" Colcrus pointed at the city below with his tail. "Look at this. We didn't win. We just stalled the Dark Army. All they're going to do is come back with even more Grublins, and they're going to finish the job. I was listening to what some of the scouts were saying. Didn't you hear? Lady Ignitia was attacked by a Wing of Nightkin. If those freaks are coming back, then this war is about to get even worse."
"Ignitia was attacked by Night Dragons, you were attacked by Cynder." Blizren shook his head. "It's a time of instances no one could dream of."
"So what?"
"So," Blizren put a claw on his shoulder. "you need to be resilient. Especially now, Colcrus. You have all kinds of dragons looking to you for leadership and guidance. While you were listening to the gossip, I'll have you know I heard a fair deal of mutterings myself. All the Wings speak highly of you. You kept a lot of wyrms alive yesterday."
"Tell that to the ones I lost." Colcrus huffed, pouting on his elbows. "…This is supposed to be Cyrila's unit, Bliz', not mine. I don't have the experience or tactical skills she does. I can't do this."
"Unless Cyrila miraculously comes back, you have to."
"Miraculously?"
The two dragons looked at one another.
Blizren broke the contact with a disparate huff and shifted on his feet.
"…I don't say that without caring." He murmured. "Lady Cyrila is very important to many of the dragons in our unit, as she is to me and you. But Colcrus, I've been doing this for a long time, and I need you to know that you have to be strong and prepared for the kind of possibilities we're dealing with here."
"So you think she's dead? Is that it?" Colcrus sneered, hopping down from the wall. "That's ludicrous."
"And unwanted, more unwanted than anything right now." Blizren said. "All I'm saying is that you need to be able to cope. I truly believe Cyrila is alive, and I also believe the Guardians and the Purple Dragon are going to find her. They're organizing a party to go out into the mountains. They think that's where Cynder is keeping her captive."
"What reason does the Cloud Ripper have to take a Guardian alive?" Colcrus blinked, and Blizren shrugged.
"I don't know, but they're bringing the alien."
Colcrus sat on his haunches and stared.
The alien. It took a second for him to piece together what Blizren was saying. Everybody was talking about the Fallen, the champion who had come from the sky.
"Did you see him fight? They're saying he and the Purple Dragon single-clawedly stopped Urukal's whole front line." Blizren continued. "I only got some glimpses myself, but… Ancestors, I've never seen anyone fight like those two before, not even Lady Cyrila, not even-" He paused, looking around to make sure he wasn't within hearing shot of anyone else. "-not even Terradora, I think, could pull that off."
"And the Fallen's going with them to find Lady Cyrila?"
"Yes." Blizren nodded. "They're literally our last hope here. None of the others can go. They're saying Cynder's preparing an ambush up in the peaks, and all the Wings have been shattered."
"Maybe they all have, but I'm still standing."
"Where are you going?" Blizren stepped aside as Colcrus trotted past him. "Colcrus?"
"I'm going to join that team and help find Lady Cyrila."
{🐉}
There was a quiet knock on the door.
"Terra'? Are you in there?" –Came Ignitia's muffled voice from the other side.
The immense Earth Guardian offered the archway a lazy glance, before grumbling out an affirmative grunt and nothing more.
Ignitia slipped into the room and shut it off behind herself with her tail. She turned to her comrade sister and beamed a warm, albeit timid smile.
"There you are." She said decidedly, still a little wavery from the exchange on the battlements.
"Here I am." Terradora mumbled, water slapping as she used her mouth to toss away a polishing rag back into a basin bowol. "Apologies, I had to rid myself of the stench. I have been hauling dead Orcs to the pyres for hours."
"A good leader always takes themselves to the same fronts and chores as those beneath them. It is this way unless we all want to sink into a pit of privilege, I'd say that making the sacrifice is the noblest thing we could do when we have no one to battle." Ignitia hummed, trotting closer and seating herself beside the larger Guardian.
"Then it is with great luck that there are no shortages of those to battle these days." Terradora huffed. "This minuscule labor is a flagrant waste of my applicative talent."
"The talent that had you murder that Nightkin with his own horn?"
"That talent that has assured you your own breath, and me your continued company." She nodded sagely. "But excuse me for mentioning breath. How's the lung?"
"Better, at least than it was when I first came to." Ignitia coughed a bit into her paw and cleared her throat. "How are you, Terra'?"
"Long and ready to leave this accursed place." Terradora grunted, eyeing some of the roots overgrowing her room's western wall. Somehow, none of the dustings of the wild clashed with the regal furnishings throughout the castle. "How we have reached a point where such delicate beauty has been entrusted to the stewardship of a perverted monkey from the sky, and a queen whose never even seen her own vagina is beyond me. We have truly sunken over the decades as a people, Ignitia. I swear that one day I will return the dragons to their rightful place as masters of this world."
"Perhaps such is a goal that must be worked towards collectively." Ignitia politely redirected the subject. Terradora had never written a manifesto only because she detested writing what was not already pre-written and ready to be read. "We've missed you at the Academy, and the courses of your Element have been substituted by Cyrila most of these days. I think she'd be grateful if the workload was lessened, and… I would be grateful to have such great company returned to my otherwise stressful days."
"Hmmph. How has the Hen of Winter taken to my pupils?" Terradora tried to ignore Ignitia's subtlety and flashed her a rare grin. "I am confident that her charming demeanor has earned her much love and affection from them."
"Actually, Guardian Cyrila has expressed that she likes your students better than her own. While the extra paperwork has been stressing her enough for her to put her horns through a wall, she's taken the second role with gusto." Ignitia chuckled. When Terradora looked at her incredulously, she wing-shrugged. "She claims that your zero-tolerance policies for shenanigans are quite effective in, and I quote: 'Grinding down their rambunctious, hormonal needs for disobedience.' -…I'd be inclined to agree with her."
"Mm. I am surprised. I thought you would dread the idea of myself manufacturing little me's to repopulate the realms." Terradora chuffed.
"Well, it'd help if you smiled more often. And if you stopped hitting people."
"I missed your consul more than home." The Guardian admitted as she sheepishly pawed the floor of her lavish room. She looked around, gesturing to the draped bed and the massive curios cabinets stocked with all kinds of elaborately colorful and feminine outfits. Dresses, gowns, blanket-cones for over a dragoness' haunches designed to accentuate the hips. "Do you see? The lovely Queen herself has banished me to a land of stereotypical objectification. I think she actually wants to spite me, probably because I can't stand her childish antics."
"Oh, goodness, Terra' I hardly think that was the intent." Ignitia tisked, and gave her a smile as she moved over to one of the cabinets and opened it. "As much as you would never offer the suggestion anything but spite: you know, you would look lovely in some of these dresses."
"….." Terradora blinked after a dreadfully long pause, sniffing, as she stepped over to a table and swung her tail around to start affixing the straps of the massive mace-head she normally kept there. "…I will do my utmost best to forget that you said that."
"I'm just teasing!" Ignitia laughed, shutting the cabinet. "Remember how I used to drive you insane when we were younger? Bringing you to those manicure stations in the markets back in Warfang? Your talons always looked so pretty back then, black, shiny, like pure onyx."
Terradora grunted when Ignitia reached over and took up one of her big, green paws in her palms and spread her fingers to examine her nails. Nowadays, they were a far-shoot from the times she spoke of. They were dulled, foggy with use and cracked. Terradora had taken to roughly filing them on grind-wheels to effective sharpness for use in battle.
"I was never meant for the life of a 'hen'." Terradora spat that last word out like it physically tasted sour, and took her paw from Ignitia as she finished strapping down her mace. The weapon swooshed as she brought her tail back to its normal place, and gave it a few testing whips, her unnatural strength making the large warhead look weightless. "Pretty dresses, kempt talons and teeth and polished scales. Bah. All hatchling riff-raff meant to appease to a male-dominant culture. One of the perks to being of my rank, is that even if I was weak enough to become such prey, everyone is barred from fucking me, and fucking with me, if you catch my drift."
"Ahem, err… yes, I-I understand." Ignitia blushed, coughing and looking back at the door with a nervous swallow.
"I imagine you have much to tell me, about your journey south, your encountering of that alien freak and that excuse of a savior."
"She's not an excuse." Ignitia quickly lashed, earning a glance from Terradora. "…I'm sorry. I know that your first impression of Spyra was less than shining, but she is golden of heart, and quite the fighter."
"I did not doubt her abilities in combat. She blunted the charge of over a thousand infantrymen with only one other warrior assisting her. By definition, she is of a level of skill where only the mad or foolish could assume weakness." Terradora said. "However, skill equals not who the dragon is in terms of identity."
"Sounds like someone I know." Ignitia smiled.
"If you say so." Terradora started strapping her pauldrons on. "The south?"
As Ignitia recounted everything that occurred, the Earth Guardian completed a transformation back into her usual armored, war-prepped self. Ignitia found it a miracle that she had been able to witness even briefly the un-adorned, true dragoness beneath all the metal and stubbornness.
"Maybe my opinion is not as low as it first was." Terradora admitted when Ignitia got to the parts about the Fallen's deeds. "But the hairless monkey is still a bastard."
"Y-Yes, i-in a sense."
"Ignitia? You are shivering. Should I hail the healers?"
"No! No, it's… ehm… q-quite alright, Terra', I'm just a bit tired, after all the fighting yesterday." Ignitia grinned awkwardly. "Not enough though that I'll sit out the excursion! I'm not letting anything stop me from rescuing Cyrila."
"I was not going to try and stop you." Terradora nodded.
"You're a dragon of few words normally, the pauses make it hard to tell." Ignitia teased, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Few words." The Earth Guardian sniffed, and looked down at the floor. "Indeed."
"…Maybe, for at least a little while, before we leave, it might be nice to take a walk through the County Hall? Check up on the wounded, stop by some windows for some tactical observations, yes?" Ignitia stood up and edged for the room's door. "What do you say?"
"I hardly have time for-"
"Terra'."
The two Guardians stared at one another for a moment. Ignitia smiled and nudged open the door, holding it ajar as she swept her tail for the space beyond.
"Did you have breakfast yet? The nurses are serving muffins in celebration of the relief."
"…Mm." Terradora narrowed her eyes at the southern wall. "I still must meditate before I am to take flight for war. It is standard ritual for my process after I have armored for the day."
"They have blueberry ones."
Terradora sniffed again, and- after a moment of pause- started walking towards the door.
"…But perhaps it would be… instructive to sample the muffin rations."
{🐉}
"-I found it!"
"Hold on, I'm coming to you."
The Fallen hiked through the mounds of stinking dead Grublins, waving flies from his face as he stepped over arms and used chests and guts as stairs.
"At least one part of it all didn't get completely ruined." The Fallen bent low and took the golden gladius blade from the Mole soldier's paws, giving it a studious twirl before testing the familiar weight. "Thanks for the help, sir."
The human trekked back through the mounds of corpses, his gaze sweeping appraisingly as he went, though not without a good tinge of mournful sadness.
Crows cawed as they frequented wherever cleanup crews vacated. The ugly buzz of flies was so consistent that it sounded like a constant drone of unnatural static on the wind, and the smell of opened flesh was appalling as it mixed with the salty tinge of hundreds of unwashed bodies piled in the same spot.
Teams of dragons wandered around tugging wagons that Moles rolled tens of dead Orcs and hundreds of dead Grublins into to form piles for the pyres outside the gates. True to earlier words from Ignitia and Spyra, a good portion of the square had been cleared of the dead, and at least by this point one could see the cobblestone underneath the blanket of death.
"I can't believe you found that thing." Spyra pinched her snout as he walked past her and started back towards the castle. She fell in step beside him with an annoyed snort. "-Ugh! Shit stinks out here…"
"The rain made it worse, but this is pretty tame. Just be thankful this battlefield hasn't had time to age." He shuddered. "Some smells were never meant to be around the living."
"I hear that." She nudged his flank. "So when are we leaving?"
"Soon, I think. We just need to find Terradora and Ignitia and we can get underway for the mountains." He paused as they walked. "And, I should talk to some of the armorers and see about a new suit, or at least some chainmail."
"It's too bad, that suit was radical." Spyra eyed his jump-sleeved chest, remembering all the bronze and golden colored plating. She sneered and stopped next to a mound of corpses, grunting as she wedged her claws under a body and flipped the diminutive thing over. "All thanks to these ugly bastards."
The Fallen peered over her and grimaced as he took his own chance to examine the enemy.
The Grublin was positively hideous. It was covered in green, clammy flesh riddled with moss, chunks of dirt and vines, all of which were ingrown and part of its very body. It didn't' have a mouth, but instead possessed a series of orifices across where its jaw and throat were supposed to be, sealed off from one another by bands of mossy roots.
Leather padding and cloth strappings concealed parts of its short form, and a pair of blood-red eyes stared emptily up at them from the top of its triangular skull.
"I didn't think it was possible for somethin' to smell worse than the Apes." Spyra huffed, crinkling her snout as she tore away with him. "You ever see anything like a Grublin before?"
"Similar shit." He muttered, thoughts straying as he looked at all the bodies.
A pair of Moles trudged in the opposite direction with a stretcher extended between the two of them. One of their fellows lie dead across the cloth, his limp arm dangling like the stick of a pendulum off the poleside.
Spyra glared grimly at the corpse as they passed, and for a long while her pink gaze appeared hazy as some unknown thoughts stormed around in her head. The Fallen looked at her.
She'd had a lot of time to change ever since he had found her in the swamps. It had been over a month since he had crashed here, and in that brief span, the purple dragon had characteristically shifted into something different.
Something more hardened.
"Hey," He said, earning her longing gaze. "never stop the ass-kick train for anything, you got that?"
Spyra's dreadful aura bled from her as a little bounce worked its way into her step. She giggled and brushed her hip across his own.
"Brutha', I don't think I could stop that shit even if I wanted to." She snarkily winked. "Besides, I totally killed more Dark soldiers yesterday than you did."
"Did not."
"Did too, don't be a sore loser."
"…did not." He muttered.
They reentered County Hall and passed through the stringent crowds of workers and soldiers going about. Dragons and Moles alike stared at them, mumbling all kinds of things such as recounts of their place at the front of the line in the last defense, the rumors that they had survived a personal engagement with Urukal the Orc Warlord himself.
The Fallen had to talk a few ears off, but eventually, after some time, he was able to get together a little group of blacksmiths who started taking measurements and scavenging for him.
Spyra watched from the background as one of the old, dusty forges underneath Crownhorn's very feet roared to life, and the Moles slapped together a quick solution with what they could.
"I know." He said, noticing the scrutinizing look she was giving him as he walked over. He patted the chainmail. "It certainly isn't what I showed up with."
A pair of pauldrons too small for a human, a vest of mail and breast padding, a chain skirt over greaves of plated knees and thick boots made the Fallen's new rig.
"For you? I don't think it'll matter." She grinned. "Though that gun-thing you had was the shit…"
A ragged cough caused them both to jump. It was enough that the Fallen subconsciously reached for his gladius.
In the corner of the forge chamber was an old, ratty-looking dragon who was missing an entire wing. He sneered at them as he nursed a diminishing series of hacks in his breast.
"Ew." Spyra mumbled, turning and trotting away. "Creepy old guy alert."
"Have you seen him before?" The Fallen fell into step beside her, glancing once back at the elder.
"I think I heard some of the others blabberin' that he's like the Queen's last royal guard or somethin'. I saw him lurking around County Hall last night after they patched me up and I was coming to your room." Spyra nodded. "I think Terradora mugged him or something, 'cause he glared at her when I saw them cross paths. I mean, he glares at everyone I think, but it looked worse with her. It's probably nothing. He's just one of those sorry windbags who wasted his glory years being a one-pump-chump, and is jealous of younger people for having full locomotion in their fingers."
"…No, there's something off about that fellow." The Fallen scratched the stubble on his chin. "I can't quite place it right now, but I have a feeling he knows this castle pretty well."
{🐉}
{Halo 4 OST: Never Forget}
It started to drizzle again as the mid-morning approached, and it coated Oversight in a thin glisten even through the soot rising from the extinguished fires.
The Fallen had insisted he help with body cleanup in the meantime it took the Guardians to prepare themselves, but Ignitia had popped out of the woodwork and had immediately shot down the suggestion.
"If you waste all of your energy on repair work, you'll have none left for the fight." She stiffy said. "Which you and I both know: there will be a fight up there."
"I didn't want to look lazy, I guess." He shrugged. "You look great, by the way. If I didn't know what happened yesterday, I wouldn't believe it."
Ignitia smiled weakly and bowed her crown, soot wafting from her snout.
"Fallen, I wanted to speak with you, about yesterday I mean." The Guardian admitted as the two of them walked along the top of the palisades, ignoring the water wetting their forms. "I feel that any strenuous efforts of apology would be unneeded, given the way our journey has gone from the beginning up 'till now."
"It's a lot for you to acclimate to." He stated, earning a surprised glance. "Me, and Spyra coming back, and even yourself."
"T-Things have certainly changed." She swallowed, her eyes dilating when he gestured with his hand at her. His toasty, soft, skin-covered hand that had electrocuted her with bolts of warmth hotter than her own fire. Against Ignitia's awareness, her tail swung over as she walked, and hovered in a slight curl behind his ankles, as if it was making to snake around his legs. "And I won't feign certainty with what has changed specifically inside myself. But about what happened: I'm willing to professionally see it off. T-To, ehm… ignore it's background commentary, i-if you will."
They both stopped along the embattlements, and she looked at him with a very fragile, stern expression.
The Fallen's eyes lowered when he saw her tail slowly curling around his ankle. Ignitia sneezed cutely and didn't seem to notice, soot now redoubling in its volume as it crawled out her nose.
"-P-Professionally, yes." She reiterated with another tiny sneeze.
He smiled.
"I have no issue with that at all, Ignitia."
"Good. Yes, very good." The Guardian shook her head more times and with more effort than was necessary. "Well, I also just wanted to say that you were right. We saved Terra', and we saved the city. You were the one who kept saying we'd do it, and so now it turns out that we have done it. A mighty feat, if I do say so myself."
"Listen," He put a hand on her finned shoulder, making the dragoness shudder, and gulp. "the valor of this goes to you and Spyra. Without you, the counter-attack would never have happened, and without Spyra, me and those pikemen couldn't have stopped Urukal. Really, the two of you won this fight, not me, I just helped by killing a few Orcs."
"And by bein' the cheerleader." Spyra quipped as she sauntered past them. "We should've grabbed you a pair of palm-palms from the market in Warfang while we were at it."
"Silence, you." He shook a fist at her as she cackled. The Fallen grinned at Ignitia. "I'll have to try harder this time. I can't let you ladies walk away with all the credit."
"Society's pillars are always female." Terradora growled as she trailed after Spyra. The Earth Guardian glared past her spiky wing. "And even when those pillars are not, there is always one not far away from it."
"We haven't had a moment for proper introductions, you and I, madame'." The Fallen called after her.
"You have introduced yourself enough."
"Give Terra' some time, to acclimate, as you said." Ignitia sheepishly chuckled. "She may not admit it, but she has been steaming over these stories about you and Spyra's battle skills."
"I respect only what I witness." Terradora snarled. "So far, all I have witnessed from the likes of you two is disrespect and adultery."
"God damn it, again with the adultery shit." The Fallen slapped his forehead. "What the fuck?"
"I won't even raise the poll seeing as no one else here but myself will carry you." Ignitia leaned down beside him, surprising the human by even going so far as to nudge him with her plump, umber hip. "Come along, Fallen, you promised to help save my sister, so now the time has come."
"Mm. Do, I uh…" He mumbled as he slowly crawled over her flank, and leaned his face closer to the side of her jaw. "…do I get a prize if I help you get her back?"
Ignitia paused, and for a moment, he was expecting the usual blunting of his advances.
To his amazement, the Fire Guardian hummed a bit of laughter and wiggled her waistline, grinding her scutes into his greaves as she nudged his face with hers.
"It depends~." She giggled, still a bit hesitantly. "On what you want."
"Brrrghhh~! This wind is gonna' turn my wings into wingsickles if we don't start flying!" Spyra shivered, shaking herself like a dog. Terradora growled some of the water being thrown around hit her. "So we're taking your lead, right, Terradora?"
"Indeed." The Earth Guardian nodded. "Solemn Pass was already unmissable. Now, you can just go to where all the bodies are."
"Spyra still has a lot of elemental training to undergo." The Fallen sat back and adjusted his armor. "Do you think you can teach her some things, Terradora?"
"Pah. Do I think." She chuffed. "We shall see if the legends speak the truth of a purple dragon who can master all elements. Earth is easy, like fire."
"Hey, my students struggle as much as yours or the other Guardians'." Ignitia smiled, spreading her massive, umber wings with a creak of leather membranes.
"Aw yeah, time for some more ass-whoopin'." Spyra wiggled her rump and reared back to jump into the air. "We're keeping count of kills this time so I can prove I get more than you, Fallen."
"Wait~!"
The party turned when a fifth soul sprinted across the battlements towards them.
It was an Ice Dragon, a drake, with a cracked snout-horn and dressings cast over his chest underneath stringent plates of armor.
"I'm coming too! Lady Cyrila was my commanding officer, and Cynder got through me to take her. I have to help."
"Colcrus." Terradora grunted, mimicking the same sizing-up motions that she had done with Spyra and the Fallen during their first meeting. As usual, she looked no more impressed. Which meant she wasn't at all. "I respect your bravery, but few can engage Cynder once and walk away, think about your odds if you meet her a second time."
"I have all of you supporting me, and I'm not staying here no matter what any of you say." Colcrus trotted closer, his icy eyes immediately darting between the Fallen and Spyra. He bowed a bit. "It's an honor to meet both of you. I'm Colcrus, I've taken unofficial command of the Ices here in Oversight in Lady Cyrila's stead. I humbly offer my services to the Purple Dragon of lege-"
"Yeahyeahyeah rhino-boy, you want in? Fantastic, lemme' wave my magic ass in the air and make you part of the gang. Wa-zing~!" Spyra twerked her hips. "Boom! Welcome to the club. Don't forget to grab a jacket and donate a few coins to our charitable douchebags jar. Any questions? No? A'ight. Get in formation, and just stay away from my kills."
Colcrus' mouth flapped a few times before the Fallen spoke to him too.
"Glad to have you on the team, guy." He gave a thumbs up.
"…I admit, that was quite commanding." Terradora muttered in Ignitia's ear-hole as the two Guardians trotted forwards.
"…u-uhm… right." Colcrus shook his head and jogged after them. "…right, so I guess I'm taking rearguard?"
"This guy talks a lot." Spyra quipped.
"Be thankful it isn't Corrinthol." The Fallen smirked. "I just might've punched some holes in his wings and watched him glide into a peak face-first for the hell of it."
Ignitia jumped when the most alien-sounding snicker crept out of Terradora's snout.
"Terra'." She gasped.
"W-What? It was nothing." The Earth Guardian blushed, stomping her foot. "Nothing I say. Mind your wingspace, Ignitia."
The dragons all took off after a brief run towards the merlons. Membranes creaked and the wind whistled as Terradora gave a summary flap, and jittered herself to the head of the arrow formation. The Fallen felt his breath stolen from him against the cold air and held on tight to Ignitia's neck.
"So the question is:" He called over the howling air. "where in these mountains would Cynder keep a Guardian?"
"There is only one location that Cynder's ego would lead her to here." Terradora replied over her wing. "What better place to humiliate and ultimately finish off Cyrila inside?"
"…Oh no." Ignitia breathed.
"You know I am right, Ignitia." Terradora blinked before returning her attention to the front of her flightpath. "Let it not daunt on you. We will still triumph."
"Ignitia?" The Fallen leaned closer.
"Crystal Tombs of Chrysalis." She told him. "There's nowhere else in these peaks Cynder could hold Cyrila. It's the largest Ice Dragon tomb in the Dragon Realms."
"Can somebody clue me in here?" Colcrus flapped, panicked, to keep up with them.
"Shut up, new guy!" Spyra barked. "You're crampin' our style!"
{🐉}
