A/N: Hey, look, I'm back! stoned to death for never updating... wait, that would require that people actually read this, which they don't...)
Eh, more discontent with what I'm writting; thankfully it'll all be over soon. I'm pretty sure only one more chapter.
Pennants fluttered in the wind, their colors complimenting, contrasting, and clashing with each other. Ever feeling the need to display themselves like strutting peacocks, the assembly milled about, trying to keep their expensive clothes out of the mud and ash. The congregation, sensing the gloom of the valley of Azarath, chattered almost nervously (although to show outright nervousness simply wouldn't do).
One area however was filled with silence and dead air. At its center, Slade knelt in the muck, running an ungloved hand through the indented dirt. Slowly he stood, wiping his hand off on the garish shirt of an aide hovering nearby. His dull copper and onyx colored body armor provided a stark contrast to the neon horrors of the aides.
"Well?" Rorek demanded from a safe distance, animosity dripping from his voice.
"..." Slade seemed to choose his words carefully, "Perhaps there was a dragon here."
"Are you mad?" Rorek spat. "Of course there was a dragon here! Or perhaps the blindness has spread to both your eyes!"
Slade's single eye moved to focus on the smaller silvery mage. "You'll pay for that, boy."
An almost physical presence filled the air and the commander took a leisurely step towards Rorek.
Realizing the impending doom, the young man scuttled backwards, attempted to join the crowd of mages and perhaps be lost in it. But a cowardly retreat was not to be his, as the other magic-users had the common sense to shift away and leave a healthy amount of space between themselves and the fledgling archmage.
Searching around desperately for an avenue of escape, Rorek suddenly threw his hand out towards the sky as a dark shadow passed over the throng. "Look!" he screamed. As if on cue, the shadow paused and a great gust of air slammed into the masses, kicking up mud, stones, and people.
The majestic black and purple figure rising above the ruins of Azarath dwarfed all sights seen in millennia. Its body defied all logic; nothing so massive should be able to take flight, even with a wingspan measured in mountain tops. Scales glittered in the midday sun, and immense arms and legs dangled about, seeming to suggest the creature would be much more fit for running to and fro on land, rather than soaring the skies.
An impossibly long neck snapped down from above and seized several bodies from among the stunned onlookers. In a single brutally graceful movement it threw the panicking men and women up into the air before catching them in its gaping maw and swallowing. Belching fire, the winged lizard gave a mighty shudder before beating its wings in a frenzied manner that lifted it up and pushed it away towards a distant forest.
"What are you fools waiting for? Follow it!" bellowed Slade, although he himself did not move to join the slowly milling crowd that was too frightened to make any headway on their own. Continuing his steady march towards Rorek, the commander finally halted a few feet away from his target. "You will not be coming with us."
Surprisingly, Rorek did not argue, merely hung his head and glared from the safety of a curtain of long white locks. "Then what are you waiting for?" he growled, "hurry up and kill that beast."
Not deigning to grace the insubordination with a reply, Slade turned on his heel and quickly strode towards the edge of the crowd of mages. Reaching into an unobtrusive belt, he pulled a small metal toy and placed it gently on the ground. As he held his gloved hand over it, the toy shot up in size until it was slightly larger than a full grown war horse. Its metal plating was not polished, and barely glinted under the harsh sunlight. Throwing its head back, the mechanical steed brayed and pawed the earth as Slade mounted it.
"I hope that your perhaps-dragon eats you, Slade." Rorek muttered as the rest of the mages summoned up mounts, clouds, carpets, and whatever else they felt was appropriate for a sorcerer to travel on.
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The already destroyed castle crumbled further under the strain of magic and the sheer physical presence of a full grown dragon. Dark stones were thrown from their places to hurl down into the surrounding waters, or to crash down the yawning chasm that had opened up and swallowed the flagstones. A sickly green tint overwhelmed the area, tainting the sky a menacing acidic color. Spent destructive magics were audibly finishing the work originally assigned to them, racing over the ruins extinguishing whatever life they brushed.
Dead bodies fluttered down the abyss like snow.
A bloodied hand rose up in a horror-movie cliche, grasping about until it found a purchase on a fallen boulder. The ragged hand was followed by another as slowly but surely Slade pulled himself up, nearly falling to his death every time he let go to swing an arm farther up the large stone.
Suddenly Slade's flailing arm was grasped by a pale hand. Not bothering to look up to see his savior, the commander snapped, "I ordered you to stay. You disobeyed. When we return you-"
"I don't take orders from dead men." A dark gray spark leapt from Slade's forearm into Rorek's thin hand. The solitary spark was followed by another, and another, and then a cascade of shadowed light gushed from the commander into the silvery mage. The older man visibly shrank, seeming to collapse into himself till he looked like a nothing more than an armor wearing skeleton.
Humming with stolen energy, Rorek let go of his former commander when the flow of power slowed to a thin trickle. The aristocratic mage sniffed in minor disgust as the body joined the many others in a plunge towards the center of the earth.
A heavy thud announced the arrival of the dragon. "Rrrrr..." the beast made a sound akin to boulders grinding against each other as tongues of flame jumped from its partially open mouth.
A light grayish bubble encased Rorek in its glow, protecting him from the darting fire.
"Rrrrrroarrrrrr..." the dragon ground out again.
"You're weren't a mage, you know. Any idiot should have known to double check that spell. And now you're nothing." Darker gray sparks played across Rorek's skin, creating a nearly opaque glow around his nose, eyes, and mouth.
"Rrrrroarrrrkkkk..."
"You've hurt Kyrie, you know – which makes you now less than nothing. I've come to avenge her, and I will not rest until you are dead." Slowly Rorek turned to face the dragon. "Now then. Pathetic excuse for whatever in hellfire's name you've become, fight me or give up, either way I shall slay you."
The dragon narrowed its red eyes to glower at the tiny mage before it. At last it reared back its head and unleashed a stream of golden red flames. Already prepared, Rorek conjured a white shield to absorb the impact and the unbearable heat. A second wave of fire slammed into the shield, breaking it, but leaving its creator unharmed in the rising dust cloud.
Retaliating, Rorek hurled a crackling sphere of power straight into the dragons chest, making the beast recoil from the impact. Swiftly recovering, it spewed out another gush of fire, forcing the mage to gracefully leap up and propel himself backward using the force of a destructive stream of white magic blasted at the lizard's head.
Shielding itself with a enormous wing, the dragon barely felt the effects of the blast, and lashed out with its tail from the cloud of dust to crash into the wizard's landing spot. Falling from his already precarious perch, Rorek slammed into the ground with only the strength of his armor to prevent outright broken ribs. Slowly he picked himself up to face the dragon once again.
"Necronom hezberek mortix!"