Snippet #1608205

Seven miles north of Herrick

"How many can you make out from here, Musanthiss?" the largest of the reds flared his nostrils in irritation, wishing that she could join the fray sooner rather than having to rely on planning, and tactics. Although Iridanias did little to help the Red Dragons' reputation for simplistic brutality and their all too willingness to resort to violence as the first and only resort, the elder dragon was a credit to her race an veteran warrior. When her youngest brother did not immediately answer her querie, the lead red uttered a warning growl. it yielded immediate results.

"Some three-thousand...maybe twenty-five hundred legionnaires, and nine whites." Musanthiss closed his eyes in concentration and furrowed his scaled brow. After a moment, he shook his head and looked towards Iridanias. "I cannot tell how many are dead. The scent of charred wood and blood is thick."

"Damn...that's more than we expected," another large red stated quietly, "Let us pray that we make it in time." Iridanias scoffed at this.

"To whom?"

---

Herrick, Interior

The Reds approach.

Wrath looked to the sky, wondering where exactly that mentally intrusive little dragonfly of a woman was. They were going to have a chat about personal space later, right after they were done surviving this travesty of a siege. Breaking off the train of thought, the general ducked under the jab of a pike and hooked his own curved swords around each of the offending soldier's ankles. With one vicious yank, tendons severed and the orc went down rather soundlessly for a man who should have been in immense pain. Wrath lashed out with a kick to the temple that sent a deep human sprawling onto the cobbles amongst the corpses. When he made to sprint again, a beefy hand clutched Wrath's calf in an iron grip.

Unsurprisingly, it was the hamstrung orc that was pushing past the pain using his race's natural tenacity. Why were these cultists so damned determined to hold on to one measley plot of land? Wrath brought his heel down in a way that snapped the man's neck with little effort. Since when did I become so good at martial arts?

The thought could not be pondered further as the press of enemies began to crush on Wrath and his small squad of golems. An indeterminable amount of time passed in which the halfbreed hacked, slashed, kicked and heaved out burning breaths. Somehow though, he found himself shuffling through the ragged ranks of legionnaires. Some recognized him and called out his name, others cheered. Most simply fought on. Wrath too, found himself not caring for the reunion as much as he should have. Slowly, now safely behind an advancing line of legionnaires, Wrath kneeled down next to Faera. That crazy old(well, she did not look particularly old at the moment) warlock had finally done herself in. The woman's breathing was shallow, and Wrath could not tell if she would survive or not. He patted Faera's shoulder, hefted his swords once more and turned back towards the battle.

"Casualties are a very real, very necessary aspect of war." as if to punctuate his point, a pained roar sounded off somewhere above the city.

---

Flying around in a tangle of psionic energy and flailing limbs, Hasseka'ja was still piecing together what the hell had just happened. Mental chains were bonds of servitude, unable to be broken by will alone. How in the Burning Dark did some backwater dark elf manage such a feet without any sort of outside intervention? Shouldn't she have felt any prior tests to break the chains? All these thoughts wheeled through her mind as the small white dragon desparately erected barrier after barrier to defend herself against a two-pronged assault.

"You will pay for this, vermin! I enslaved you once, and I can damn well do it again!" the dragon cried as she reversed a psychic pulse of Xeron's into a net that would dig into the dark elf's mind like razorwire, reducing him to a quivering pile of nonsense-spewing meat. The mental mesh dissipated in fine red mist before it could even fully form. Xeron grinned like a madman andpointed at his slightly edged teeth.

"Look at them, Hasseka! Pearly whites! I have not seen them in so long! And by the dead gods! Did you know I sounded this...erotic?" the former silenced looked to Neira and flexed. "Wadd'ya think, my little butterfly? Brains, body and a voice that makes ladies moist. It's just plain unfair, is it not?"

Hasseka'ja displaced her corporeal form and reappeared behind Xeron, snapping her jaws shut so quickly it rattled the dragon's skull. SHe was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of bone and the taste of blood. Halfling blood? What? A few feet away, snickering in delight, Xeron dismissed the conjured illusion and waved at Hasseka'ja. This was summarily followed by a glowing red field of pain-inducing needles that sent the dragon into another fit of spasms. "Good ol' fashion fun."

---

Urantonon roared at the indignity of being cornered by glorified apes and slashed about in an attempt to keep the vermin clear. Upon feeling the boldest of them make a break for his neck, the hatchling snapped his wings up, smacking the human to the ground. The dragon immediately pinned Caine with one great claw and moved to pulp his head with the other. He would kill this human, if it was the last thing he did.

---

With hyper-hieghtened senses, the small white Yaeral whipped his head away just before Kisikoni could bury his weapons into flesh. The dragon leaned heavily on his side to shake off the crushing grip of the simulacrum and smashed it's now dented chest into the ground for good measure. Yaeral had made the mistake of underestimating the durability of the deep human, and resolved to slay him outright this time. Wheeling on Kisikoni, Yaeral found that his vision was slowly going red on the left side. He cursed loudly in draconic upon probing the area, having found one butterfly sword lodged deep into the tissue of his right eye. "Little, pale, monkey..."

---

A sudden, massive pain flowered in Egalister's maw that caused the dragon to recoil in agony. The makeshift bomb had detonated directly upon the roof of the dragon's mouth, causing more pain that any real damage. Dragon anatomy would have a bone plate separating the tissue between brain and palate. A very solid bone. Egalister felt that several teeth had been blown clean out of his mouth, as his tongue was little more than a scorched hunk of raw meat. The dragon wheeled on Talae and raised his hand in an odd gesture. A blast of shredding ice was summoned forth to engulf the bulk of Talae's unit. Egalister spat out blood and some more teeth. "Yeah, bish. I'b a b'age."

By that, of course, the dragon was stating that he was also a mage. Odd for one that resisted arcane attacks, but nightmarians did it quite often.

---

Unfortunately for the Legion, the other three dragons were tearing holes into their formations. One had even gotten as far back as the wall which Sid's original squad had deployed from, and was now attacking Legion troops from behind.