Korrin broke out of his trance with a start. “NO!” he yelled in disbelief. The soldiers around him on the south wall looked at him curiously. The vision slipped through his mind again. Tyrael can’t die…I won’t let it happen!
You must login to vote
He drew his brilliant elven blade, Avaril. “Quickly! We must save him!” echoed a voice inside his head. With a nervous but determined voice, he started chanting the words to a teleportation spell. He pictured the battlefield he had seen in his vision.
Tyrael spun left with the grace of a dancer, avoiding a slash and simultaneously parrying another attack from Deathwing with Tyrelax. Spell Mist reached out and scored a hit on his foe’s shoulder. A hiss of pain from his foe told him it was a deep gash.
He continued his spin until he and Deathwing had switched places. His foe sidestepped slowly, reptilian slits filled with hatred stared hard at him. In a sudden rush Deathwing attacked, both blades coming up high.
The king answered, Spell Mist and Tyrelax moving in different directions, parrying the strikes. Tyrelax rolled over his opponent’s blade and sparks flew as it failed to penetrate his foe’s armored forearm. Deathwing snarled and brought around his other blade and stabbed at Tyrael’s gut. Spell Mist was there, coming from above and knocking the attack low with such force that his dragon opponent lost his grip on the weapon.
Before Tyrael could reverse the momentum on Spell Mist, the dragon warrior freed his blade from Tyrelax and slashed horizontally, connecting with his glorious white Zodar armor. Sparks flew and Tyrael cried out in pain as he felt the razor sharp blade cause a deep scratch along his stomach.
He backpedaled and his foe did the same. They were both breathing heavy but Tyrael had the worst injury so far. Deathwing Blackspitter stood triumphantly in his jet black spiky armor. Their eyes met as his foe brought his single blade to bear, sticking out his forked tongue and licking some of the blood on it.
“Delicious,” the dragon in elven form smiled evilly, his yellow slits narrowed.
Tyrael took a few more heavy breaths. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a human soldier slice into the back of an elven warrior. The man cried out triumphantly and rose his sword into the air. Looking for another foe to kill, he looked directly at Tyrael and charged.
The king’s eyes looked back at Deathwing who still stood there, watching and waiting with an amused expression. As the heavy footsteps got closer, Tyrael turned and Tyrelax and Spell Mist reached out, their pommels close together in his hands.
In a scissor like motion, he caught the man’s sword between his own and spun
it. Surprised and having nowhere near the amount of strength the elven warrior had; the human watched stupidly as his trusty sword was wrenched from his hand and flew into the air.
Tyrael brought his leg around and lashed out with a roundhouse kick, his armored leg connecting cleanly with the man’s side. The cavalier heard the wind rush out of his foe’s lungs and his eyes bug out in disbelief that he could be kicked that hard with chainmail on. The human doubled over and fell back, grasping for breath.
The elven king turned his attention back to his real opponent, who had now began casting a spell with one hand. He cursed and crossed his elven blades in front of him, readying Spell Mist.
With a flourish, Deathwing created a wide circle in the air and spat out the last draconic syllable; focusing on the fool in front of him. The clouds darkened the sky just a bit and thunder sounded. Screams of terror erupted and Tyrael was forced to look up; it seemed all of the fighting stopped as friend and foe alike turned their attention upward.
Multiple large meteor’s rocketed towards the battlefield from the sky above. They were at least ten feet in diameter and he counted five or six. They screamed towards him and he knew almost none of the common soldiers would survive such a powerful spell.
Tyrael cursed and focused his will on Spell Mist. He looked up at the balls of fire and twirled Spell Mist in the air. With gritted teeth, he saw three of the meteors changing their direction. He continued his efforts and three of the meteors started to curve downward more. A gasp escaped his mouth as his concentration broke, feeling the force of multiple blue unerring missiles slamming into him.
The king looked towards Deathwing who smiled evilly and wriggled his fingers. “You would kill everyone on this field of battle just at a chance it would hurt me?” Tyrael gritted his teeth.
“Yesss, much more than just the thousands of little ants on this field,” his foe answered with a smirk.
Feeling disgusted, Tyrael could only hope his battalion had withdrawn. Long had his attention moved from hearing orders and watching his soldiers. He crossed his blades in front of him and tensed and the heat became tangible. The last thing he saw before the meteors hit his position was an evil grin from Deathwing Blackspitter.
The dust and smoke was intense. For once, Tyrael was immensely glad to be wearing his helm. Just seeing the dust made him want to cough. His lungs burned from holding his breath and his eyes began to tear a bit. Tyrael stood up and sheathed Tyrelax, grabbing onto a bandanna he had tied around his neck. He willed the magic to activate and felt instantly more comfortable; no longer needing to breath.
The king no longer heard the screams of battle and battle cries. He shook his helmeted head and knowing he wasn’t alone, redrew Tyrelax who whistled brilliantly as it came free of its sheath. His bandanna keeping him from needing oxygen, Tyrael twirled his blades in front of him in arcane gestures and began speaking the words of a spell. A strong wind blew from behind him as he finished his spell. It was a simple one to most mages but he was still a novice, it was one of the more powerful spells he could cast.
The powerful gust of wind picked up and cleared the dust and smoke away. He looked around at the battlefield, seeing it littered with burning corpses. In the distance the dust was still lingering and he couldn’t see more than a hundred feet away despite his spell. In front of him and to his left were large smoking craters, with the meteors still somewhat intact.
Deathwing Blackspitter watched with glee as a smoking Tyrael came into view, his white armor covered in a thin layer of soot. I guess the rumors are true, he is immune to most elements with all of his protections. How interesting…
The dragon smiled evilly and stalked forward, appearing from the dust like the specter of death. Tyrael gritted his teeth as his foe came into view.
The dragon had destroyed everything outside of Safehaven’s walls. The soldiers of the Great Kingdom had been decimated by the powerful spell, but so had Safehaven’s defenders as well as his own elven soldiers. The price was too great. It was his fault for bringing his troop into the field of battle, and none of them would see the Bronzewood again.
Tyrael tried to hold back the tears but couldn’t. He had failed his people. As the king, he was supposed to defend and protect them. Instead he had gotten the best killed, all because he was too weak to stop Deathwing Blackspitter when he had the chance. I’m not worthy of the title ‘King,’ Tyrael thought to himself.
His pain turned to anger as his foe re-entered his vision. Deathwing Blackspitter laughed manically, “Well done king. Not many can survive a draconic meteor swarm. Well that should be obvious,” he said as the evil dragon made a show of looking around at the wasteland around them.
With a defiant roar, Tyrael rushed forward; blades spinning. Deathwing Blackspitter somersaulted backwards and stabbed out towards him. The enraged king batted away the strike and kept moving forward.
The dragon warrior landed gracefully, stabbing out three times but Tyrelax and Spell Mist were ready, keeping the sword out wide. Tyrael counter attacked with Spell Mist, making Deathwing parry and Tyrelax swept in seeing the opening.
His opponent wrenched to the side but couldn’t get away from the sharp blue blade. It penetrated the black Zodar armor and black blood gushed from the wound in his foe’s side. With a hiss of anger, Deathwing kicked out, forcing Tyrael to lift his knee to block the attack. Simultaneously the injured dragon lashed out from above with his single blade, creating a giant slash across the king’s shoulder and upper arm.
Tyrael fell back in pain as his shoulder erupted in fiery pain. He fell to one knee and dropped Tyrelax, grabbing the wound on his shoulder with his free hand.
Deathwing Blackspitter stumbled back, grasping his side that was oozing black blood. His hissed in agony and coughed. He fell hard, landing on his back but he kept his grip on his blade.
“Ah…fool,” he managed to stutter as he lost consciousness.
Tyrael struggled through the pain. He dropped Spell Mist as well and removed his suffocating helmet, taking deep breaths. The king examined the wound on his shoulder that still felt like it was on fire. The enchanted blade had ripped through his white Zodar armor creating a gash that went from his shoulder down to his forearm. The wound dripped with blood and he started feeling dizzy seeing the bright red liquid on his snow-like armor.
“Well it seems that-“
“No, your services are not needed here Zaxin,” came another voice.
Tyrael gasped at the pain and saw two new figures staring each other down. To his right was Zaxin, the mysterious and stealthy human. He wore his signature black chainmail over a dark blue tunic. His brown eyes were surprised as they looked over the other figure, to Tyrael’s left.
Tyrael blinked and pain shot through his stomach, his hard breathing had reopened the wound. He stayed on one knee and looked to his left, where a very familiar figure stood. The elf wore a winged dragon helm adorned with a red glass visor. His armor was golden chain mail and he wore a blue mage’s robe that blew in the slight wind along with his dark bluish hair.
“Korrin,” Tyrael smiled through the pain. He grabbed the pommels of Spell Mist and Tyrelax and tried to stand up but felt drained.
The newly crowned king of Safehaven focused on the short dark haired human. In his hand Avaril screamed to attack but he held, the words to a spell on his lips.
“Ah, Korrin, the legendary Bladesinger himself? Well, I suppose my surprise attack has been foiled. The foolish dragon is yours to do what you will. Your time will come Korrin, of that I am certain,” the short human smiled. With a flourish, he disappeared.
Korrin cursed. It must have been an item that let him teleport, he didn’t cast a spell. He quickly started chanting an incantation, blocking incoming teleportation. The king of Safehaven sheathed Avaril and willed his visor to let him see hidden or invisible figures. He took a look around the battlefield and saw nothing. Activating another power of his visor, he squinted as his eyesight became as accurate as an eagle’s. He focused on seeing distance and saw some Great Kingdom soldiers milling about a few miles north.
He moved over to his dear friend Tyrael who was struggling to get up. His wounds certainly weren’t superficial, but he had seen the cavalier with much worse.
“Tyrael, are you alright?”
Sweat matted his golden hair and his breathing was heavy. “My arm burns where his sword slashed me. I am so numb,” Tyrael answered. It felt like his arm was ice and the feeling was slowly extending to the rest of his body.
“It is probably poison. The clerics will be able to help,” Korrin grabbed a staff from his quiver. “Stay with me!” he yelled as Tyrael’s head drooped. He whispered the word of power and the two of them disappeared.