DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Name: Hida Arashi
Race: Human (Tian-Min)
Class: Paladin
Prestige Class: Exalted
Name: Dergir Forge-Fury
Race: Dwarf
Class: Barbarian (Armored Hulk)
Prestige Class: Sacred Sentinel
"Take care to hold your partner close, for having your toes tread upon is far superior to losing sight of how they step." - excerpt from "The Deadly Dance: An Analysis on the Choreography of Battle" by Vincenza Giordasius, Taldoran strategist
14th Rova, 4721 AR
Baleful Eyes territory, Hold of Belkzen
The day had come. They all knew it was that day. Battle awaited.
At the end of the Fifth Crusade, Temperance had allowed himself to believe, at least for a little bit, that his participation in mass battles was over. Sure, he couldn't call himself a Crimson Templar without continuing to fight evil, but to stand shoulder to shoulder in an army against an opposing formation of significant size? It had been easy to believe that, after fighting for years in Sarkoris, he would leave to find the world in some measure of peace. It had been easy to forget that, after so many years of Sarkoris being his entire world, that the rest of the world had been determined to put the looming threat of the Abyss out of their minds completely and focus on their own conflicts.
And so, here Tem was, fully clad in plate armor, kneeling in his tent, with Forbearance planted in the earth before him. He was afraid, but it was a familiar fear, one he'd long since learned to live with like a chronic pain flaring up. As he heard the sounds of the allied army preparing around him, Temperance uttered a prayer, holding Forbearance by the blade in gauntleted hands.
"General of Vengeance, hear me now as I prepare to face enemies of all that is good." The tiefling intoned, his eyes closed. "Watch over us as we fight to protect this world. Guide my sword in the destruction of evil and the defense of the innocent. Safeguard my friends, my dear oathsworn kin, as they fight beside me. And should my end come today, grant that I might face it with courage in my heart, Forbearance in my hand, and the corpses of my foes at my feet." He opened his eyes, "may the sinners find peace upon my blade. Amen."
Standing and taking Forbearance in hand, Temperance left his tent. His companions, both old and new, were waiting outside, all of them fully equipped and ready for battle. The fact he was going to war alongside Dergir and Arashi again ensured that Violetta's absence was keenly felt in that moment. Tem asserted to himself that they would all live to see their old friend again, and his new friends would get to meet her.
"Well, Sir Tem, whatcha think?" Dhrak asked as he inspected the edge of his dueling sword. The goblin's red Aldori jacket was spotless, as was the white feather in his wide-brimmed hat.
"I think there's going to be a lot of dead dragonborn before the sun sets." Temperance asserted, sheathing his sword across his back.
"Will you stand with us at the front, Tem?" Dergir asked as if the answer was a foregone conclusion.
"Of course. Scaelia, you can ride Oath. With how good you are with a bow, you'll be useful on horseback." Tem said.
Scaelia nodded, but didn't answer. Asaf and she were both lacking their usual cheer. Tem realized that neither of them had probably been in a pitched battle between armies before.
"It's going to be alright." He said to both of them. "It's just another fight. We'll get through it."
"The Dawnflower's light shines on us. We won't fail." Scaelia agreed.
"And I suppose it will be nice to finally have my own war stories to tell around the fire." Asaf managed a wan smile.
Some quiet laughter rippled around the group. Satisfied with his blade, Dhrak sheathed it.
"I know for a fact we ain't got a thing to worry about." Dhrak assured them.
"Aye, for a fact? How's that?" Dergir asked. The heavily armored dwarf rattled and clanked with every movement.
"Because we're heroes." Dhrak informed the dwarf as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Heh, you're damn right!" Dergir said, clapping the goblin on the back.
The group began making their way through the camp to join the war council.
"Messer Dhrak, I have to say, you remind me of just about every Caydenite cleric and paladin I've ever met", Arashi noted, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana as he walked. "Have you never taken vows to the Accidental God?"
"Eh, in my own way, I s'pose." Dhrak shrugged. "I ain't got the mind for magic and such, just the ale and adventure. Mayhap one day Cayden'll grace me by making me his avatar for a bit." The goblin chuckled at his joke, then went on. "Ah, sweet barelybrew, but Cayden's given me a damn sight more 'n' I ever expected. I ain't about to ask more of 'im."
"I see. Well, I'm honored to fight beside you today all the same." Arashi assured the Swordlord.
"Feeling's mutual…uh…ain't samurai lords? Are you a 'my lord?'" Dhrak queried.
A small, almost dainty laugh from Arashi. "Technically, yes, I am. But I'm the lowest of the low as far as Minkaian nobility. I'm a ronin; a samurai with no master. Not that I care much about it", he smiled over at Dergir, "I've found everything I need here in Avistan."
"Ah, hells, don't make me fuckin' blush right before a battle, Mithi." Dergir rumbled, bashfully plucking at his auburn beard.
"Forgive me, Adi; just reminding you that you have to live through it our I'll be very angry with you." Arashi replied.
As always, seeing the love the Dergir and Arashi shared lifted Tem's spirits. They weren't a likely pair, but their bond had been made, forged, and tested in the fires of the Fifth Crusade and not been found wanting. Temperance would sooner fall in battle himself than allow either of his old friends to fall, forcing the other to live without their other half.
They gathered in Ardax's tent, which had been rearranged to accommodate a large table in its center. Of the many projects he had seen to as Overlord, a more thorough mapping of Belkzen was among them, and at present several maps were spread across this table. Ardax and Brinod stood across the table from each other, the immediate underlings of both leaders filled in around them. Kososh and Madalak were among Ardax's subordinates. Temperance and his group joined them at the table.
Temperance inspected the map of the battlefield. The allied camp was in the extreme southeast of it, the Ancalagon camp in the middling west. Temperance was unfamiliar with the orc methods of cartography so wasn't sure what terrain was represented by what symbols.
"Scouts tell us the enemy army is mostly infantry. Their only cavalry are kobold wolf riders, harriers and skirmishers but won't stand up to a charge of our boar riders." Ardax began planning. "Thane Brinod, your warriors will be anchoring our center. If there's one thing the orcs of Belkzen know, it's how hard it is to break a dwarven shieldwall."
"Aye, and in Torag's sight, it will not break this day." Brinod agreed.
Ardax was actually making quite a concession. Allowing the dwarves to be the front and center of the army would mean, in the common perception of warriors, that a greater share of the glory would be theirs. Among a culture like the orcs', it bordered on insulting to concede it. Temperance was losing track of the number of times he was impressed by the White-Hair's wisdom.
"My warriors will cover the flanks and stand in reserve." Ardax went on.
"I believe it would be prudent to assume the enemy knows of any secret paths or unlikely hiding spots, mighty Chief." Asaf put in. "Kobolds are crafty creatures. It is difficult to outwit their cunning."
Ardax nodded. "My thoughts exactly. No, this one won't be won through ambush or cunning. It will be won with maneuvers and timing, then blade to blade."
"Are they magic users? Our druids are too few for anything but staying in reserve to heal the wounded." Madalak observed.
"We didn't see any of them use magic in Varisia." Temperance noted.
"Sir Temperance is correct, Chief of Chiefs. I have my suspicions that the dragonborn are incapable of it. Perhaps a kobold shaman or two will be present." Asaf said, idly scratching the stubble growing on his cheeks. "No, I suspect they will have two primary strengths; one, they strike me as a group that will have ironclad discipline once able to gather in formation. Two, they will have at least one dragon on their side, and gods know just how much even one such creature could turn the tide of any battle."
"My kin have not dwelt in the mountains for thousands of years without knowing how to knock a dragon from the sky." Brinod said proudly. "Our bolt throwers will clip their wings."
"Do we know if the Ancalagon have war machines of their own, Overlord?" Tem asked.
Ardax shook his head. "No. If they do, they're hidden behind the walls of Reave's Rise, the Baleful Eyes' settlement where they made camp." He pointed to the spot in the west. "It's not suited for defense, though. If they don't want to be bottled up and slaughtered they'll march out and meet us."
The Overlord picked up a large gourd flask, taking several swallows of whatever spirit was within, then continued, pointing just east of Reave's Rise.
"They'll be about here. Our numbers are near equal but if they've got that Elf Gate, they may be able to bring reinforcements." Ardax said. "We'll have to go on the offensive with that in mind."
"Our shieldwall will hold them. Your riders can see off those of the enemy and circle around them to strike from behind." Brinod suggested.
It was an old trick, but it was a trick that still worked. In fact, to call it a trick implied subterfuge that simply wasn't there. Bite and hold with the infantry. Deliver the blow that would break the enemy with cavalry, then ride them down as they flee. It was a strategy that had been used for as long as wars had been fought.
There was also the age old truth of warfare to consider, though. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."
"That'll work as a starting point." Ardax decided. "We'll have to see how they form up to figure out more. Let's move out."
"Aye, khazuk!" Brinod declared.
"Khazuk!" The other dwarves mimicked the dwarven exultation.
All in the camp made ready to move out. As they left the tent, Temperance turned to Asaf.
"Bet you weren't expecting this when I dragged out of your room in Absalom." Tem said.
"Not in the slightest." Asaf agreed, looking nervous. "But, you know, this will be a fight I can take pride in joining. Perhaps I'm beginning to understand why your sort went and joined the Crusades, after all."
"It's…maybe not a good feeling, but it is a satisfying one." Tem said, holding out a hand. "Thanks for coming this far with me, Halo."
"And here's to going even further once it's done, Sir Temperance." Asaf replied. "May the Five Wings be your shield."
They grasped each others' forearms.
"May the light of Sarenrae guide you through, my friend", Temperance bid the aasimar.
They parted ways.
The Sphere-Gate came to life as two figures and their retinues of dragonborn warriors in full glaurung plate. One took the form of a human man with unnaturally blue flesh. He was tall and proud, wearing a toga with fringed sleeves belted loosely at his waist. The other wore the guise of a red dragonborn, which really wasn't much of a guise, when one thought about it. She, like Vesperex and the retinue following her, also wore full-body glaurung armor.
The two new arrivals approached Vesperex as the Sphere-Gate shut down behind them. The man was bald, but he had a long, thin mustache that drooped past his chin, which he was currently twiddling between his fingers. The red dragonborn stopped before Vesperex and stood stock still.
"Zarvonyr", Vesperex said to the man, then to the woman, "Rhotanyr. Welcome."
"The quality of your home has diminished somewhat, it seems, dear Mistress." Zarvonyr noted, observing the ruined orc settlement turned dragonborn camp around them. "Earning rapport with the troops by roughing it with them, I take it?"
"Do not disrespect our Mistress or you will answer to me." Rhotanyr snapped, claws extending from her fingers.
Zarvonyr merely gave her a half-smirk, the charged feeling of prepared magic causing the air to practically vibrate around him. The dozen-strong retinues of the two dragons shifted uneasily.
"Cease your bickering." Vesperex commanded. "We have no time for your silly games. I did not go through the trouble of having the Sphere-Gate activated just for pleasantries and pedantic taunts."
"Please, Mistress, by all means, we are at your whim." Zarvonyr said without a trace of obeisance in his voice.
Vesperex grit her teeth. Zarvonyr knew full well just how poor Vesperex's fortunes were among the dragon nobility of the Ancalagon Imperium. To think she had fallen so far that one of her only two remaining Scalebound vassals would feel secure in flagrant insubordination…
"I have brought you here because a battle is about to take place. It is a battle of the utmost importance. If I lose here, then you will both lose your Scalebound liege, and you will be rebound into the very bottom rungs of service to another when I am executed."
"It will not happen! Not as long as I draw breath!" Rhotanyr declared, slamming her fist against her breastplate.
In truth, Rhotanyr's mindless servility was almost as annoying as Zarvonyr's defiance, but Vesperex didn't have time to deal with either thing right now. In fact, if all went well, she'd never have to again.
"Then you will aid me in this battle. See it through to the very end and your Scalebonds will be severed. You will answer directly to Prime Koilnyr, may his name be on Dahak's lips." Vesperex said.
Zarvonyr and Rhotanyr looked at each other, both of them surprised.
"On pain of a reversal of the Bond." Vesperex added, using fingernail morphed into a talon to draw blood from her palm and drip it upon the ground, sealing the commitment. Of course, that would mean the two dragons would have to fight to see who would be Vesperex's new liege, but that was a future problem that had an infinitesimal chance of actually coming to pass. She would have to renege the deal she had just made them for it to happen, which Vesperex had no intention of doing. "But we must win, you understand? We must win this battle."
Zarvonyr laughed, "ah, what a glorious day! Here I always thought severing my binding was going to be a chore. But here you're making it fun instead! I always said we were lucky for such a generous Mistress."
"You've never said a good thing of our Mistress in your life." Rhotanyr complained, then to Vesperex. "Rest assured that I will be among your closest allies once the Scalebond is dissolved."
"Very good. Now go. Prepare yourselves and await my orders. The enemy army will be here shortly." Vesperex waved for her subordinates to leave her be.
The two lesser dragons did so. Vesperex looked away from them, out across the landscape outside of Reave's Rise, her slit eyes locking on a large dust cloud that was drawing closer and closer.
"Hopefully you both fall in battle", Vesperex muttered to herself. "Killing you myself will be tiresome." After all, the deal had been that the two of them must see this battle through to the very end, and "the very end" would only arrive when Vesperex declared it so.
The ground outside of Reave's Rise was mostly flat, as was the majority of the country. Upon the plain, the army of dwarves and orcs formed up.
Rather than form up in a single solid block, the dwarves of High Helm formed up in forty maniples of one-hundred, each one twenty soldiers across and five deep. This allowed them to break apart and form up at will as the frontline situation demanded, granting flexibility. The manipular formation held the center, as planned. The orcs were gathered in much less organized formations on the wings, while a few maniples of dwarven arbalists were gathered with orc archers just in front of the dwarven bolt thrower machines. The cavalry, which was all orcs on dire boars save for Asaf and Scaelia on Khamsa and Oath, were gathered on the far right flank.
Across from them, just beyond the range of the bolt throwers, as the army of Ancalagos. Kobolds were gathered in a mob at the front, poorly armed and armored, placed there to tire enemy sword arms and expend ammunition. Behind the kobolds were a line of dragonborn holding greatbows, then two more lines of infantry armed with spears, shields, swords, and daggers. The dragonborn each had a shirt of scales of the odd bronze metal, with leather guards on their limbs.
Above them all, the sky was bright but cloudy. A hot wind whipped across the plain. Voices coughed, laughed, and boasted. Metal clinked and feet crunched in the dust. The two forces stared at each other, watching. Waiting.
Temperance stood with the orcs on the left flank alongside Dergir, Arashi, and Dhrak. Tem was too tall for the dwarven shieldwall, and none of the others carried shields. They stood at the front of the group.
"Good day for a fight." Dergir decided, looking up at the sky.
"Have you encountered a bad day for a fight, Adi?" Arashi asked him.
"Heh. Not yet." Dergir chortled.
While those two spoke, Tem looked to Dhrak. "Feeling alright, Dhrak?"
The goblin nodded and smiled. "Oh, don't ya worry about me, Tem. I been in a few scraps like this before. Just a few years ago, was fighting with most of House Aldori alongside an army from one of the River Kingdoms. King Gitsnic and Queen Kalikke of Galavantia, to be exact, against the warlord Armag. A goblin like me, iffin' you'd believe it. Er, King Gitsnic, not Armag. And, I s'pose Kalikke weren't a queen at the time." The goblin shrugged. "Point is, I been in the cut and thrust of it like this before. Like I said at Wayfarer's Field", he flourished his dueling sword for emphasis, "the Curtain o' Steel never drops."
Temperance nodded and tapped a comradely fist against Dhrak's shoulder.
"Ah, I'd say just like old times, Tem, but these fuckin' lizards are somehow even uglier than the beasts of the Abyss." Dergir grunted, causing some of the surrounding orcs to laugh.
"And I have a feeling none of these dragonborn are a succubus in disguise about to get Tem to dance with them." Arashi added slyly.
More laughter from the orcs as Tem went bug-eyed.
"Succubus?" Dhrak asked.
"It was an easy mistake!" Tem snapped.
"Lucky Vivi was there to cut the beastie's head off." Dergir sighed wistfully. "Ah, Vivi. Miss that lass. Would say I wished she were here to round out the group. But methinks our new friend Dhrak'll do just fine."
"Will do my best, master dwarf. Long as Tem ain't gonna start writing me angsty letters." Dhrak commented.
"Can we just get on this with godsdamned battle already?" Tem bemoaned, looking down the line.
Ardax had come to the front of the army, riding on the back of a mighty bulette; a twenty-foot long beast with broad limbs, razor claws, and stony shell. The Overlord of Belkzen held his great axe high over his head. Tem was expecting a rousing speech of some kind, or at least a brief chant. Instead, Ardax let his axe fall, ordering the army forward.
"Five-Winged Knight be praised." Tem said with relief as horns were blown and the allied army began the forward march.
"Only you would welcome the march into battle as the end to your troubles, Tem." Arashi said with noted endearment.
"I don't have to come up with responses to teasing in battle, I can just stick a sword through someone and call it good." Temperance said.
"As the Forge-Fire likes it!" Dergir barked.
Angradd the Forge-Fire was the brother of the chief deity of the dwarves, Torag. Angradd's domains were war, fire, and tradition. Where Torag was patient, doughty, and strategic, Angradd was a brash, fiery fighter who actively sought out evil to destroy. In this way, Angradd was incredibly similar to Ragathiel. Indeed, both Ragathiel's and Angradd's heavenly realms stood guard against Heaven's border with the Abyss and Maelstrom from different vectors, one above and one below. As such, the two gods were close allies, their worldly servants often finding common cause. It was this brotherhood that first brought Temperance and Dergir together in Sarkoris. Arashi would come about a month later, and Violetta not long after that.
The dragonborn did not move. The kobolds, however, began to advance.
"Almost feel sorry for the little bastards", Dergir mused.
"They've been coerced into dying for a cause they will never benefit from." Temperance said. "It's a tragedy, but we can't let them stop us."
More horns blew. The orc formations on the wings moved outward as the dwarven maniples advanced to form a single, unbroken line five dwarves deep. In this way, they would take the advancing kobolds head on. Once the dwarves engaged this inferior foe, the orcs could advance and engage the flanks of the dragonborn, preventing them from using the kobolds as a chance to flank or move freely. Once the kobolds were dealt with, the dwarves would strike the main force.
The archers of both sides began firing. It was a harrowing ordeal to be targeted by the dragonborn greatbows. It felt like having javelins shot at you from a bow. Tem raised Blackbole as the storm of missiles came down. The edges twisted out and expanded, blocking a swathe of his formation. The teeth-clenching crunch of an arrow finding a target behind them was unmistakable.
"Useful." Dergir commented easily. Tem could see the fire in his eyes. His battle rage was near at hand.
"Thanks be to Arjyk Prow-Breaker." Tem said in reply.
The kobolds were loping nearer, building up to a charge. Their only hope would be to smash into the relatively thin dwarven line, hoping to overcome heavy armor and stout fortitude with the sheer volume of their numbers.
Then Ardax sprang his trap.
Shielded under an overhanging segment of the bulette's shell, the Overlord was able to remain in the saddle as the beast burrowed into the earth. Bulette's could implacably sense vibrations, and so a mere one-hundred feet from the dwarves. Ardax's bulette ripped up from the ground among their ranks. Scaled bodies, limbs, and entrails flew about in bloody swatches across the dust as the bulette lashed out this way and that, eating entire kobolds, slashing them to pieces. Their poor excuses for weapons could barely scratch the hide of the great beast, while Ardax stabbed down into the mob with a pike.
The dwarves didn't run. They barely picked up their pace. They simply closed with the stymied, confused kobolds, and the butchery began in earnest. Temperance felt a true pang of sympathy for the creatures, but they served the cause of evil, and it was ever the way of Ragathiel to acknowledge when such sacrifices had to be made.
Their morale already poor, the kobolds broke and scattered almost at first contact with the dwarves. Dozens of them were left dead or wounded on the field, with very few dwarf corpses to join them. The easy part was over.
There were no more words for the moment. Another horn signal told the allied army to advance at a jog. Temperance watched the dragonborn drawing nearer, waiting on the defensive for them, missiles still falling from both sides, and steeled himself.
Asaf had never felt his heart hammer like it did at that moment. But, a signal had been given, and it was time to see off the enemy cavalry. He and Scaelia had said very little, both of them at a loss, it seemed. Asaf was grateful for the drow's reassuring presence, if nothing else. Both Asaf and Scaelia had been compelled to wear the mark of a red painted hand across their faces; a sign they were favored by Ardax for saving his life, affording them both respect from their boar riding comrades that perhaps would not have been there otherwise.
And now, with but the blast of a horn, they were riding forward in a thundering tide, directly toward the wolf riders of the Ancalagon army. Asaf's bracelet was in the form of cavalry lance, which he had held up at the moment. Beside Asaf, Scaelia rode Oath as if the horse had been hers all along, Tem's divine steed galloping with undeterred momentum. Beneath Asaf, Khamsa was of a similar mind, magic horse tireless and without fear of the larger boars around them. Nearest to them was Kososh, the Captain of the Razorboars bearing an expression fixed in fierce rage. They had their huge axes in each hand, guiding their painted boar with only their knees and verbal commands.
The wolf riders skirmished away, firing shortbows at the heavy cavalry charging them. As soon as the volley went skyborne, the allied cavalry moved by prearranged planning. Catching the must faster and more agile wolf riders was out of the question, but their missiles would do less harm to the larger and tougher boars than they would traditional horses. Instead, Kososh lead the cavalry in as tight a turn as the big animals could manage, heading for the dragonborn archers' right flank.
The Ancalagon archers saw the incoming cavalry. The discipline of the dragonborn was incredibly impressive as the line of spearmen behind them opened ranks to allow the archers to pass through their lines at a run. The spearmen closed up once the last archer was through, the entire process taking very little time. The allies would have to be content with the trade off of forcing the archers to stop firing for a bit, letting the infantry close.
The new dragonborn frontline interlocked their shields and formed a schiltron, their spears making any approach a hazardous affair at best. However, this was something Asaf, Scaelia, and Kososh had planned for.
As the cavalry drew within range, the orc riders started hurling javelins into the formation of dragonborn. Scaelia fired arrow after arrow. These missiles inflicted few casualties thanks to the tall dragonborn shields, but served to get stuck in the shields and make them awkward to hold and handle in close formation. What the shields could do nothing about, however, were the twin blasts of fire that engulfed a thirty-foot swathe of the dragonborns' first few lines. One was a fireball hurled by Asaf, the other a column of divine fire called down by Scaelia. It was not a large gap, by the measuring scale of an entire army, but it was large enough for several riders to storm abreast into the breach.
Asaf let out a battle cry he hadn't even meant to give voice to as he couched his lance under his arm and felt it judder with the impact and sundering through an Ancalagon shield and into the body behind it. Sunlight flashed as Scaelia's scimitar slashed downward, taking off the top half of a dragonborn's head. Asaf dismissed his lance, taking up a cavalry mace to smash down upon the dragonborn.
The cacophony of the boar riders slamming into the dragonborn lines was, quite literally, the loudest thing Asaf had ever heard. It drowned out all else, and for several seconds all Asaf knew was the rise and fall of his mace and the gruesome feeling of Khamsa trampling over fallen dragonborn. As they reached a midpoint through the Ancalagon lines, Asaf turned right, looking down the long block of dragonborn warriors, and threw out his hand. A lightning bolt sprang from Asaf's fingers, reaving a line for over one-hundred feet. So many were taken by the spell that Asaf was momentarily stunned by the toll of bodies, and would have received a spear in the gut for his hesitation if not for the tusks of Kososh's boar smashing into the spearmen and hurling them into the air.
And then they were through the enemy formation, coming out between the lines of dragonborn. The enemy archers would like fall back once again…
A flight of great arrows came whickering into the orc cavalry. It was only at the last moment that Asaf was able to raise an arcane shield over himself and Scaelia. Kososh's boar was hit in the flank, a deep squeal of enraged pain marking moment. Several orcs fell from the saddle, shot through with large arrows. Others had their mounts go beserk beneath them, the dire boars flailing at friend and foe alike. Scaelia summoned a burst of positive energy that radiated out among the nearby boar riders, healing orc and dire boar alike.
One of the dragonborn archers suddenly jerked and fell. Seconds later, another fell with an arrow in its chest. Scaelia kept firing as quickly as her magic bow would allow.
"Skirmish pass! Return fire!" Kososh commanded.
"May the Everlight shine and guide our aim!" Scaelia intoned as they began the pass, her battle prayer giving surety to the aim of the boar riders and throwing off the nearest of the dragonborn.
The allied riders passed the archers in a wide arc, throwing the last of their javelins and throwing axes into the greatbow wielders. The heavy missiles bore Ancalagon soldiers to the ground, breaking apart bow staves instinctively brought up in defense. Of course, they weren't idle, and while the charge through the enemy spearmen could easily be called a point in favor of the allied army, neither side seemed to win the exchanged volleys. Dozens of fallen were left behind as the cavalry broke off the attack. Given the larger volume of dragonborn, it was perhaps in thanks to Scaelia battle prayer the results were not more one-sided.
Asaf looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the sky darken in a rain of large arrows as the Ancalagon archers fired into their backs. This was not the case, however, as the cavalry had done their part. The allied infantry were about to reach the dragonborn frontlines, and the archers were pulling back to the rear of their army. As expected, not only had the wolf riders proven ineffectual, but upon seeing their footbound kin utterly butchered, they lost all heart and quit the field in a panic.
And so the allied cavalry stopped outside of bowshot, watching the infantry battle unfold. Ardax approached them on his bulette, exchanging words with Kososh in their native tongue.
Asaf turned to look over at Scaelia, who was wide eyed and stained with the blood of those she had struck down, but otherwise fine for the moment. All Asaf could do was nod his head to her and offer an encouraging smile that did not reach his eyes. He had a newfound respect for those who made it their entire job to be involved in such battles.
In that vein, he saw a burst of fire on the far right flank, and he knew a servant of Ragathiel had just entered the fray.
The hedgerow of dragonborn spears drew closer and closer. Temperance was running now, feeling the ground shake with the tread of thousands of hurrying feet. War cries were raised to Gorum, the Lord in Iron, as the orcs neared their prey.
Beside Temperance, the blade of Dergir's greataxe was coated in flame, joined by the smell of soot and hot metal that accompanied a dwarven foundry. Forbearance was shrouded in Ragathiel's divine, scarlet fire, and Tem could see that same fire streaming from his eyes in his peripheral vision. The dragonborn were unmoved, their wall of spears holding steady.
"Now, Der!" Temperance barked.
Dergir, who was skating the edge of his battle fury, produced a potion from his belt and drank it. At the same time, Temperance allowed his burning wings to unfurl. The two of them were about to pull a maneuver they had done a dozen times in Sarkoris.
Tem lifted off the ground. Dergir leapt, the potion he just drank augmenting the jump to superhuman levels. The two heavily armored, flame-shrouded warriors arced over schiltron of spears. The two of them fell upon the dragonborn, spittle flying from Dergir's mouth as he finally relinquished himself to the battle rage, his burning axe cleaving a dragonborn from crown to crotch, splitting the warrior in two in a spray of blood and bronze armor scales. Temperance surprised his nearest target by punching them in the face with Blackbole's rim, dislocating the Ancalagon's jaw and dropping them to the ground.
The two former Crusaders landed, standing back to back as they laid about themselves. Temperance fought with wide, sweeping strikes of both shield and sword, easily knocking aside spears not suited for these close quarters. When a dragonborn would drop their spear to reach for a blade, Forbearance would lash out, and another corpse would join the ring slowly forming around Temperance and Dergir. Dergir, meanwhile, trusted his armor of enchanted adamantine, the dark green plate making a mockery of every spear thrust and sword cut that attempted to breach it. The meteoric strikes of his axe cleft through the ranks of dragonborn. All the while, Dergir was spitting oaths and invectives, condemning the enemy in the most explicit terms and honoring Angradd the Forge-Fire with this bloody harvest.
Of course, they were only a few lines back from the front, and mere seconds after the duo landed the allied infantry began crashing into the dragonborn frontlines. Not even the dwarves could pass unscathed through a tightly held schiltron, and for the first few moments, the casualties were incredibly one-sided as dragonborn spears formed a barrier of deadly points that needed to be hacked, blocked, and weaved through. The dwarves had fallen out of their long line and were now sending joined, deeply stacked maniples into the spearwall like massives hammers. A fell line of fallen orcs and dwarves formed before the schiltron before breaches began to be made and the melee began in earnest.
Luckily, the dragonborn near Temperance and Dergir had been disrupted. Arashi drew his katana in an upward slash, cutting away the spearheads from the dragonborn weapons in front of him. Into this gap went diminutive Dhrak, whose dueling sword whirled, opening bellies and hacking at knees.
And there it was; a sublime, terrible moment as Tem raised Forbearance and slashed it high and horizontal, cutting off the sword arm of a dragonborn who had been about to brain Arashi. Stuck in against evil, his life on the line, his sword burning, his armor sprayed with steaming blood, Temperance found himself in the temple of the General of Vengeance. Tem's fighting stance was his pose of supplication, his slain foes his offering upon the altar, his allies the congregation. Temperance laid himself bare before the Five-Winged Knight and held nothing back as he cleaved his way through these otherworldly invaders.
"Ragathiel! Ragathiel!" Temperance allowed his devotion to tear free in an ecstatic shout.
And Ragathiel was pleased. Judging by the even orange-hot fires coiling around Dergir's limbs, Angradd was himself far from disappointed.
"Empress of Heaven! Sun and Sword!" Arashi cried as he hacked his way through to link up with Tem and Dergir. Such entreaties to their respective deities were a method that had organically developed among the group in Sarkoris for keeping track of each other in battle.
Either Dhrak picked up on that, or was caught up in the spirit of the moment as he added, "by the grace of Cayden go I!" He followed this by sliding on his knees through the blood-slick earth, going between the legs of the last dragonborn between himself and his companions, leaving a pile of dragonborn entrails behind with a single upward slash.
The four adventurers formed up with each other in the press of the melee, all sheened with sweat, splattered with gore, and breathing heavily, but determined to continue slaying. While this was happening, the battlelines were beginning to blur as the orcs hacked deeper into the dragonborn lines. Even the doughty dwarven formations were starting to disperse into a more general melee. Temperance could not stop to see which side was winning the greater battle, but he was quite assured of local superiority when he could see some dragonborn starting to pull back. From the battle in the forests of Varisia, Tem already knew these dragonborn to give way to panic and disorganization just like any living army, but unlike the kobolds, it had taken a great deal of bloodshed and effort to force what was a withdrawal, not a rout.
"Hold!" Temperance shouted, not wanting his allies to overextend in the chase.
Arashi's voice specifically was required to halt Dergir, but halt the dwarf Arashi's well-practiced entreaties did. A few orcs ignored the tiefling and kept after the dragonborn, but for the most part, they stayed. The field around them was littered with corpses and twitching, groaning wounded. What had once been dry, dusty earth was now churned up mud thanks to the gallons of blood now soaking into it.
Temperance looked down the battle line. The withdrawal on the right flank had started a chain reaction, as was so common in battle, and the Ancalagon were beginning to pull back, forming up with their now advancing reserves under the cover of arrow fire from the greatbowmen. The allied archers had followed the advance of the infantry and drew within range, counter firing against the dragonborn to safeguard the main advance. Ardax was in the very center of it all, his bulette wreaking havoc upon the enemy.
All in all, the battle was proceeding as well as could be hoped. Some allied of the orc reserves were moving up, but half remained behind to guard the bolt throwers. The cavalry, led by Kososh, was circling wide, preparing to swoop in and sweep the enemy archers away once the dragonborn reserves were engaged. Temperance took a moment to look up to their end goal, the looming settlement of Reave's Rise.
And there he saw the three winged forms descending upon them.
Dragons.
"Vesperex!" Asaf snarled as he saw the largest of the incoming dragons.
The three dragons descended with a fell certainty, splitting off from each other in what must have been a prearranged strategy. The red and blue dragon flanking Vesperex, themselves "only" about half the size of the sixty foot green, veered straight for their targets. The blue flew swiftly over the clashing armies, bound of the rear of the allies where the reserves and bolt throwers were located.
The red dragon was coming straight at the cavalry.
"Not sure I can take this one in the eye, Halo." Scaelia said, her face set in consternation.
"Cat's grace." Asaf said quickly.
"What?" Scaelia asked,
"The spell, cast it on me, now!" Asaf rattled off. They had mere seconds.
Scaelia, may Sarenrae bless her, didn't hesitate. She cast the enhancement on Asaf just as the aasimar was casting a spell upon himself. Then, just as the red dragon was dipping in its flight path, fire gathering in its mouth, Asaf flew up out of his saddle, dismissing Khamsa as the magical horseshoe that summoned the horse materialized in his hand. He had just enough time to tuck the horseshoe away before his trajectory allowed him to intercept the red dragon. He hoped to reach its head but the dragon was moving too fast for such precision. Asaf whipped his horseman's mace about with all the force he could muster, drubbing the winged beast a blow to the shoulder with the mace, channeling a thunderwave spell through the head of the mace in an attempt to drive the red dragon from its course.
Asaf felt the ambient heat of the dragon's fire breath but did not have the chance to see if he had spared the boar riders from the gout of flames as he was bounced down along the dragon's back. Knowing he could not catch the beast in flight, Asaf made his mace into a shortsword and stabbed the dragon in the back, anchoring himself. The dragon roared and bucked, trying to throw Asaf off, but thanks to his flight spell, he could keep himself weightless, preventing him from being repeatedly slammed into the dragon's scales.
Not knowing what else to do, Asaf channeled a shocking grasp spell through his sword, then another thunderwave, then a chill touch. The torrent of magic rippled through the red dragon's body, causing the creature to spasm and err in its flight. Taking a great risk, he released his sword with one hand and launched a lightning bolt at the dragon's nearest wing. The muscles in the great wing seized up as the electricity coursed through it, causing the dragon to begin falling from the sky. Smiling in triumph even as the creature started to fall, Asaf tugged once, then twice to try to free his sword, then remembered he could just dismiss it to bracelet form. Asaf turned in the air, intending to fly back to the cavalry and join them in finishing the dragon off.
Then his flight spell suddenly fizzled out.
In that weightless moment, Asaf remembered all too late that dragons learned innate magic as they matured. The eldest dragons were some of the most powerful spellcasters in the world.
This one had just dispelled Asaf's flight.
The aasimar tried to cast the spell again, but his concentration was lost in a sudden onset of panic as he plummeted end over end to the unforgiving ground.
The blue dragon shrieked as the dozen dwarven bolt throwers harried it with seven foot long javelins tipped with adamantine. These were no mere ballistae, but of dwarven engineering. Each bolt thrower had four "barrels" and was crewed by four dwarf engineers. Two turned large cranks that pulled back a spring and slowly rotated the barrels with the same action. One loaded new bolts into spent barrels, while the last aimed and fired the machine.
Seeing that staying skyward was bad for its health, the blue dragon landed among the orc reserves amid a blast of lightning breath. The engineers stopped shooting, not wanting to hit their allies, but the damage was done, the dragon successfully grounded. With the red one down as well, the dwarves were focused on the green dragon, waiting for it to come within range, or waiting for one of the nearer dragons to take flight again.
There was a tumult of snarling and shouting. The engineers turned around and saw, to their complete horror, that the kobold wolf riders had not fled, but circled far around the battlefield. With the orc reserves engaged with the blue dragon, the engineers were hopelessly outnumbered and killed to the last.
The kobolds had no interest in doing battle after seeing what had happened to their footbound kin, however. They, instead, dismounted, hurriedly disassembled the bolt throwers, and made off with them. Perhaps other kobold tribes elsewhere on Golarion would be happy to serve this "Ancalagon Throne" that threw them away like garbage, but this group had decided otherwise now that they were in possession of weapons that could deal with dragons.
Vesperex flew among a storm of missile fire from the allied archers. And Vesperex it most certainly was, for Temperance recognized the green dragon quite well. He watched in horror as she made a low pass over the half of the reserves that had been coming to reinforce the front like, flooding their ranks with a cone of acid that send orcs screaming to the ground en masse.
Tem threw himself against the nearest dragonborn, ignoring the growing ache in his sword arm and the blood running down his thigh from a spearhead that had found a gap in the chausses and tassets of his armor. The tiefling had lost track of the number of dragonborn he had cut down, his entire being devoted to the sequence of block, strike, advance. Tem, Dergir, Arashi, and Dhrak were the spearhead piercing through the heart of the Ancalagon right flank, the rampaging orcs filling out behind them fighting with renewed fury upon seeing the arrival of the dragons.
Suddenly, Tem was through the enemy lines. He did not stop, for the dragonborn greatbowmen were no longer receiving counter-fire and thus shooting unimpeded. Temperance lifted Blackbole and once again summoned the shield's few moments of extended protection as a volley was sent his way, and then he was among the archers, who were armored just like the spearmen, but carried only swords for close combat. A few of the nearest dragonborn actually took a few steps back, having witnessed a being as tall as them, bearing horns, fiery eyes, a lashing tail, and a burning blade carve his way through rank upon rank of warriors without stopping.
Tem barely noticed their trepidation, and together with his companions, hacked down a score of archers in less than a minute. The orcs had wheeled left, attempting to roll up the flank of the Ancalagon spearmen, while the surviving reserves exploited the breach and made for the archers. As much as Tem wanted to turn and face Vesperex, it would have been foolhardy to try while the Ancalagon archers were raining great arrows upon them.
Having already borne witness to one retreat and now attacked directly, the archers started trying to pull back up to Reave's Rise in twos and threes, which as always, began a larger exodus. So, too, was the main body of Ancalagon troops faltering, thanks in no small part to the facts that one of their flanks was being rolled up and Ardax's bulette had punched right through their center. Temperance was heartened. They could do this. They could win.
A shadow swooped overhead. The ground shook as Vesperex landed between the fleeing dragonborn and Reave's Rise. She crushed several of them beneath her, then swiped her clawed forelimb to several more. The dragon was riddled with arrows and arbalist quarrels that looked pitifully small when compared to her great bulk.
"All who retreat will be nothing more than fuel for the forge-wombs!" Vesperex warned in an outraged roar. "If you will not fight, I will make your corpses into someone that will!"
So it was that the dragonborn turned back around, and almost the entirety of the remaining infantry of both armies once again clashed. Even the allied archers had to commit to the melee, their missiles spent.
Vesperex bulled her way through her own forces, unleashing another torrent of acid upon the allied army. So many fell at once from this that it looked like the Ancalagon would surge into the gap and split the orcs and dwarves in twain, but it was then Ardax emerged from under the ground once more, his bulette slamming into Vesperex's belly, claws lashing and slicing the dragon's vulnerable underbelly.
Vesperex wailed and turned back and inward, jaws opening wide. Ardax had only a moment to leap from the back of his monstrous mount before Vesperex's fanged maw closed around the bulette's blunt hand and started to squeeze. With a sickening series of cracks and pops, the bulette's hard shell gave way, and Vesperex bit its head off. The dragon disdainfully tossed the broken corpse aside and spat the head out.
Ardax landed and fell to the ground, and would have been set upon by a forest of dragonborn spears if not for a stout battering ram of a dwarf plowing through to his defense.
"TORAAAG!" Thane Brinod cried as he slammed into the dragonborn with his shield, smashing them away with a warhammer shrouded in lightning.
Ardax shoved himself up, his axe glowing green with baleful energy as he bisected two dragonborn that had been about to attack Brinod from behind with a single swing. This heartening display was threatened, however, as Vesperex started to turn her attention upon the two leaders.
"We have to kill the fuckin' thing!" Dergir spat as he yanked his axe from the skull of a still twitching dragonborn.
"I know how to get her attention!" Temperance replied, summoning his wings and taking off before anyone could stop him.
He flew straight at Vesperex, skimming over the top of the raging battle, well aware of how foolish this course of action was.
Asaf's world went from a pained, blurry morass to one of sharp brightness and clamoring sound, and he wondered if he had descended into the Abyss.
"Halo! Halo, you're alright!" A familiar voice filtered down to Asaf. His eyes fluttered open and there was Scaelia, healing magic fading from her hands as she started helping the aasimar up. "C'mon, they need our help!"
"What's…where…?" Asaf spluttered.
Then it all came back to him; the battle, the dragons, falling from the sky.
"Merciful Sarenrae." The Pathfinder swore, looking to Scaelia. She was standing next to him with Oath just behind her. Her normally tied-back white hair was a bedraggled mess. Sweat cut channels through the dust and grime on her face.
Nearby, Kososh was leading their surviving cavalry in a harrying circle around the grounded red dragon. A gout of flame breath consumed several orcs, but those not targeted charged in to hack at the beast as they passed. In the rear, the orc reserves were in a similar situation with the blue dragon. Many would die, but it seemed like the beasts would be slain.
Up at the frontline was another story. Vesperex had just killed Ardax's bulette mount and was tearing into orc and dwarf alike, along with her remaining foot soldiers.
"We kill that beast, we win this battle." Asaf declared, fishing out his magic horseshoe and summoning Khamsa. The aasimar leapt into the saddle, almost slipping off the other side as a wave of dizziness struck him. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Asaf spurred Khamsa on, bolting across the battlefield toward Vesperex. Behind him, he heard the "hyah! Hyah!" of Scaelia urging Oath onward.
Asaf once again saw Tem's wings coming to life and knew they were almost out of time.
Hold on, my friend. Asaf thought urgently as he tapped his heels against Khamsa's flanks, the corpse strewn battlefield blurring past him.
Temperance flew straight for Vesperex, Forbearance leaving a trail of crimson flame behind him as he soared.
"Vesperex!" The tiefling shouted. "We beat you once, we'll be you again!"
The dragon's head whipped around, her fanged maw twisting into a snarl of fury. "YOU!" She roared, and immediately unleashed her acid breath at him.
Temperance lifted Blackbole, using its extended protection for the third and final time he could that day. Soldiers from both armies were caught in the spray, their screams trailing Temperance as he flew, but the tiefling was unscathed by acid for the moment.
Tem passed through the acid cloud and slashed with Forbearance, tracing a ruddy line across Vesperex's face, but missing her eyes, which had been his target. The dragon snapped its jaws at him but Tem let himself drop under the bite, then sliced at Vesperex's throat. The blow was too shallow to do real damage and the move put Temperance in range of the dragon's claws. The tiefling was in no position to dodge as Vesperex lifted a forelimb and swatted him out of the air. Tem was hurled through the air, passing over dwarf and orc alike before slamming into the ground and rolling. He lost Blackbole, but his instinct to hold onto Forbearance at all costs kept the holy blade in his grasp.
When Tem came to a rest on his back, he felt where his armor had been dented across his chest. One claw had rent open a line across his chest, tearing through the gambeson beneath and drawing blood. It didn't look like it would be a deadly wound, but when Temperance breathed in, he could certainly feel the injury.
Vesperex was consumed by rage, barreling through the orcs and dwarves to chase after her prey, blind to everything else. Temperance seeing such a massive creature charging directly at him, wanting to kill him specifically, spawned a fear he had not felt since holding the line at Threshold back during the Crusade. But just like back then, Temperance would not allow himself to take a single step back, not when Ragathiel's eyes were on him.
"General of Vengeance, all I ask is that you help me die well." Tem prayed as he raised Forbearance in both hands and stormed ahead, making what was almost certainly going to be a suicidal attack. He was oddly at peace with the idea of dying. Perhaps it was because Temperance had been so sure he would die in the Worldwound, now every day felt like it was an extra. A bonus, of sorts. He would regret never confessing his feelings to Violetta, and the pain it would cause his friends to go out here, but in the end, a death in service to Ragathiel was a good death, indeed.
Temperance and Vesperex were almost in striking distance.
"Ragathiel!" The tiefling declared, rearing back to swing, watching Vesperex raise a claw to smite him…
An arrow sank into the lower part of the dragon's throat, flashing with radiant energy as it struck home. It threw off Vesperex's attack, allowing Temperance to dodge and slash the offending paw.
"Fear no darkness, for we bring the dawn!" Scaelia intoned as she rode around Vesperex's left flank on Oath's back, continuing to fire arrows blessed by divine magic.
"Know the wrath of a son of Al Tamaya!" Asaf added, darting left on Khamsa and speeding a fireball to slam into Vesperex's flank and char her hide.
Temperance used the chance to get close and thrust Forbearance up to the hilt into Vesperex's chest. The dragon thrashed, which caused Tem's feet to leave the ground. His weight pulled Forbearance free and he was thrown once more to the ground, but now Vesperex was following the two riders that were circling her.
"Insects! Vermin! Chaff not worthy of recycling! You will never see the rise of the Ancalagon Imperium!" Vesperex condemned them, spraying acid breath at Scaelia. The drow's wail of pain was lost by Vesperex's continuous snarls and invectives, but Oath was banished by the attack. Suddenly going from riding at full tilt to falling at speed, Scaelia hit the ground in a bone jarring tangle of limbs, her form smoking as the acid ate at her armor and flesh.
"NO!" Asaf screamed, and without a second thought he jumped from Khamsa's saddle, his spear stabbing deep into Vesperex's back, lightning flaring from the wound as Asaf channeled his rapidly dwindling magic through the weapon.
Vesperex tried to shake Asaf off, violently swiping her tail at Temperance at the same time. Tem, who had been in the process of standing up, was forced to lay flat to get out of the way of the attack. He crawled forward to then get up into a low run, hacking into Vesperex's hindquarters. Tem knew that he and Asaf alone would not be enough to kill this beast.
And they wouldn't have to be.
A throwing axe crunched into Vesperex's ribs, hurled by Dergir, who was on a collision course with Vesperex. Dhrak and Arashi were right behind him, undeterred by the mighty foe before them.
"Vile wyrm! Spawn of serpents!" Dergir leveled at the dragon, his burning axe reaving through the dragon's form, scattering pieces of broken scales. Dhrak's sword sliced furrows through Vesperex's back right leg, while Arashi skidded to a half at Scaelia's side and began channeling the power of Shizuru to heal the curled up drow.
Vesperex's outrage was plain. She lashed out wildly around her, kicking Dhrak away with her back leg, slamming Dergir aside with her bulk as she spun to deliver an acidic torrent upon both Arashi and Scaelia. The dragon's tail snatched Temperance and wrapped him up, beginning to squeeze the life out of the tiefling.
Asaf ran along the thrashing dragon's back, turning his spear into a warpick and jumping from Vesperex's undulating neck. He levered the pick down with all his strength and weight. The weapon pierced Vesperex's hide at the base of her skull, yanking her head sideways enough to cause her acid breath to spray harmlessly across the ground. Scaelia rose shakily but undaunted beside Arashi, her arrows resuming, one after the other sinking into Vesperex's chest. Arashi's katana fileted pieces from the forelimb Temperance had injured earlier.
Temperance felt the grip on him weaken, giving him the breath to reverse Forbearance, stab it down through Vesperex's tail, and flare its flames with all his will. The holy fire of Ragathiel burned clean through the tail and caused the back quarter of it to simply break like a burnt twig. Tem landed on his feet and resumed hacking into Vesperex's rump; not the most glorious place to wound a dragon, but all the better to divide her attention across her entire form.
Vesperex struggled, but she was weakening, her efforts becoming more and more sluggish as her countless wounds took their toll. Dergir and Dhrak resumed their feet and their assault on the dragon. Asaf continued clinging to his warpick, Vesperex's struggles only serving to drag the aasimar's weapon further through her scaly flesh. Finally, as Vesperex whipped her head about to try to shake Asaf free, she only served to cause the aasimar to tear a full foot through her neck and rip away in a spray of blood. Though Asaf fell, so, too, did Vesperex. The dragon's legs gave out and she slumped to the ground, a pitiful rumble vibrating through her.
"You…cannot stop…us…", Vesperex croaked, trying in vain to rise again. "The shadow of the…Ancalagon Throne…will fall across…all worlds…"
The adventurers gathered around Vesperex's head. It was Scaelia, her skin pocked and uneven from freshly healed acid burns, who approached the dragon's head and nocked an arrow upon her bowstring.
"And when that shadow comes here, I will meet it with the Dawnflower's light." The drow promised her.
Scaelia sped home the arrow, a final act of mercy for this most bitter foe. It drove in between Vesperex's eyes. With one final thrash, the dragon fell still.
Almost as one, the six adventurers collapsed to their knees or onto their backsides, all exhausted and hurting from various injuries. In the distance, the dragonborn broke and tried to flee up to Reave's Rise, pursued by vengeful dwarves and orcs. The other two dragons had already fallen, the great mounds that were their bodies surrounded by the corpses of those whose lives had been spent to bring them down.
As a cheer went up among the surviving allies, Asaf lay down on his back in the dust and said, "I have…a dreadful feeling that this is not the last we'll see of the Ancalagon."
Tem was on his knees, propped up by Forbearance as Arashi shuffled over to heal him. "No." The tiefling agreed with his partner. "But it won't be the last they see of us, either."
Unknown Date
Unknown Location
Koilnyr Holds-the-Stars-in-His-Claws stood looking out a large window, a pensive expression on his draconic face. He held a goblet of wine in his claws that was closer to a mixing bowl in size. The Prime of Ancalagos could not get drunk, could not get any sort of intoxicated, without expressly created substances that were many times distilled and undiluted. Other dragon nobles of Ancalagos may have enjoyed wiling their hours away in the throes of such enjoyments, but not Koilnyr. He wouldn't want to even if he could have afforded the time.
The chamber Koilnyr stood in was a meeting hall, its tiers of chairs sinking down into the floor, surrounding a central dais at the very bottom. It was quite obvious that the chair currently in place were not the originals. They were noticeably wider than the bolt holes in the floor that had held the old ones. The seats of the old masters, they were. It was in that very chamber those masters made decisions that sent dragons and dragonborn alike to toil for the enrichment of those in charge, or to die in distant wars.
But now the masters were dead, by the grace of Dahak. Now, in that room, those who were once slaves were now masters of their own fate.
The door to the meeting chamber opened. A brass dragonborn in the loose fitting garb of an Imperial messenger hurried around the rim of the sunken tiers, approached Koilnyr, and fell to one knee.
The messenger waited.
"Speak." Koilnyr commanded.
"Your Power." The messenger acknowledged. "I bring word from Golarion."
"Has Vesperex done as commanded?" Koilnyr asked.
"N-...No, Your Power. She has fallen, as have both her Scalebound." The messenger relayed. "Their army was routed. As far as we are aware, none survived."
"I see." Koilnyr said slowly. "Thank you. You may go."
The messenger put a fist against his chest. "Your Power." Then he left the room.
Koilnyr took another drink of wine.
Then he hurled the goblet against the floor, the crystal vessel shattering, wine splattering against the Prime's leg armor. Koilnyr's bellow was deafening, echoing in the meeting chamber.
Catching his breath, Koilnyr rubbed a hand across his face. At least the treacherous bitch was dead. He could be glad for that much. Her incompetence and ambitions would no longer threaten the Ancalagon Imperium. Such relief came at far too great of a cost. Koilnyr was only glad that her corpse would remain out of reach, left as Chaff to rot on Golarion. Or, perhaps, to be devoured by those countless species of barbarians that inhabited that world.
Koilnyr would have to reconsider his strategy. It seemed obvious to him that the people of Golarion were well suited for dealing with the small incursions the Ancalagon had tried thus far. It was apparent that they lacked the monolithic centralization that had allowed the dragons and dragonborn to overthrow the masters through countless small uprisings and guerilla actions across their empire. But such a status was a double-edged sword. It also meant that, if faced with a larger danger, the people of Golarion would not be prepared to face the threat with a unified front.
The presence of magic was also beginning to become a problem. Dragonborn could not use magic of any kind; the masters did not want their servants to have that power. The masters had left behind other things that might counter Golarion's surprisingly common magic users. Koilnyr had been hoping to save those devices and artifacts, but they would do no good of the Imperium failed here, would they?
The time was fast approaching where the nascent Ancalagon Imperium was going to face its first gotterdammerung. It was earlier than Koilnyr would have liked, far earlier, but it was obvious to him now that the alternative was slowly feeding irreplaceable dragonborn and dragon nobles into a meat grinder.
A breath huffed through Koilnyr's nostrils, fogging the glass of the window he looked through. Outside, on a massive, flat parade ground, were tens of thousands of dragonborn, all standing at attention for their monthly inspection. Many would die, if Golarion were conquered, Ancalagos would have their first source of renewable raw materials for the forge-wombs. From that foundation, further conquests would not only be possible, but inevitable.
Above the gathered host was a star-dusted tapestry. Koilnyr looked at those stars with envy, with anticipation, with unease. Victory or failure would depend almost entirely upon the decisions the Prime made over the coming weeks.
With a thought, Koilnyr summoned another messenger, this one a bronze dragonborn, who approached and knelt just as the first did.
"Spread the word. I want the regiments mustered when parade inspection is over." Koilnyr said. It would take time. Research would have to be augmented, items distributed, plans drawn up, stockpiles made around the Sphere-Gates.
"Which ones, Your Power?" The messenger queried.
Koilnyr turned from the messenger, looking out over his dragonborn warriors, the heart and soul of the Imperium that was to come.
"All of them." The Prime commanded.