Fenris and Sebastian were filling flasks with dragon's blood. Get a hold on yourself. Suppressing the urge to laugh she pressed her shoulders against the teeth, buried her face into its muzzle and stretched her arms out to where the gland ought to be. This feels too much like a game to be real. Keeping the jaw open with his staff Anders called out directions for her wandering hands until her fingers found the fire gland. Wrapping her fist around it, she reached into her jerkin for her hunting knife. He guided her movements as she closed her eyes in concentration, the adrenalin and the after effects of the healing leaving her light headed, until she came away with a lump of something hard and bloodied in her hand.
She raised her firsts above her head, triumphant, "I killed a High-Dragon!" Today she felt like a Champion, today she felt like she'd achieved something tangible, like she could arm wrestle the Hero of Ferelden - 'The Archdemon Slayer' and win.
Fenris looked up with a frown, "We, Hawke." Not even that familiar grumble and the sight of the scarf he refused to return were going to put a damper on this.
"Hawke The Dragon Slayer!"
"Really it should be Anders the Dragon Slayer."
"Love, if it wasn't for me you'd have been eaten by those little ones hours ago."
And hours it had been. The smoke had been the first sign that something was wrong. Dark clouds hung over the mines, a trail of smouldering crates led them down toward the quarry itself and at the end of the path they halted, the archer scouted ahead and waved them in just in time for the dragon to return.
Maker's nut-sack, where to start?
In the time it took to rear its head at them she'd given a short burst of hand signals and they'd scrambled to position, she and Sebastian sprinting across the quarry floor to reach the far side.
Arrows and magic filled the air as they were joined by hundreds of smaller and, maker-take-them, faster dragons. They were too far from the other pair. I can make this work. Across the quarry floor a flurry of hand signals were exchanged and the rhythm of the fight altered. She and Fenris cut a swathe towards each other, trying to draw archer and mage to an easier to defend position. Or at least that was the plan right up until she saw the dragonling's race past Anders defence. As she twisted and sliced through the beasts in her path, as she looked back at the archer doing his best to pepper the approaching tide, she knew what she would do, and she knew what the trade-off would be. Save the healer, without the healer the unit's vulnerable. She planted her feet solidly on the ground and dropped a small phial, a cloud of acrid smoke erupted and she ran; shouldering through, vaulting, eyes locked on where she needed to be, mapping her movements two steps ahead, ignoring the desperate scream that rang out behind her. The shock on Fenris's face gave way to a snarl as she streaked past him to hack at the wave of dragons swarming around Anders; he's the only one left able to reach the dragon. The elf made to push towards the fallen archer but she called him back, if they had any hope of this working they needed to stand their ground. The Dragon was predictable enough, but the small ones, they were the ones doing the damage.
Glass bottles piled at their feet, the air bitter with the scent of elf-root.
The constant thrumming as Anders switched between attacking the dragon and healing them made her head buzz.
The sun began to set and the dragon finally looked like it was beginning to wane. As its head bowed low to the ground, she sprinted forward. The startled cries from both men were drowned out by the screech from the dragon. Grab the horn, stab the head, grab the horn, stab the head. As her daggers sank into its face, it reared up. Grab the horn, stab the head, grab the horn, stab the head. Maker this was easier on the ground. Swinging herself up she curled an arm around the horn only to find she couldn't pull the daggers out whilst its head whipped violently through the air. Grab the horn, stab the head, grab the horn, stab the head. Maker save me. She hooked her knee around the horn, freeing both hands to wrench one of the daggers free, as the head swung back up into the air she twisted round and drove it into the skull, the momentum of the Dragon driving the blade in to the hilt. Get off this blighted thing, now.