[Quest] Enter the Dragon

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Ash 85, 122
8:00 AM

Cold winds blew across the lands of Karnor signaling the arrival of the winter chill. It had been a hard season. The city had seen no moment of reprieve since the devastation that had been unleashed the season prior. Factions had risen up across the city and the territory formerly controlled by Zaichaer in totality. Uncertainty hung over the heads of those aligned with Zaichaer, with rumors circulating that some of the Brass City’s former allies contemplating throwing their lot in with Kalzasi in order to avoid annihilation. All of these questions pressed upon the minds of Zaichaer’s citizenry, weighing on morale as many wondered if the city was even worth saving.

And then the dragon showed up.

A sign of ill omen, the white dragon had not made its presence a secret. It brought with it chilling winds of icy death. Scouts had reported finding entire villages covered in ice with people frozen in place, faces forever locked in expressions of terror. The white dragon had been seen soaring through the skies not far from Zaichaeri proper. Signs of mist corruption heavy on its form. Some wondered if this were not a sign of the coming winter and the toll it would take on what was left of the city.

The various factions of the city, what was left of them, had all agreed that the dragon needed to be put down. Madness was clear in its form and actions with any hope of convincing it to peacefully leave the area far from an option. Calls across the territory had been put out to persuade able bodied to come together in order to deal with the threat that the dragon posed. Whether it was the Coalition, the Citizen’s Alliance, the Covens or the Anarchists, there was plenty being offered to those who might succeed. The various factions had enough to deal with trying to deal with one another while also preventing the Rift from unleashing its devastation back onto the area.

He sat quietly upon what must have once been the remains of a building. He was a bear of a man who looked as though he likely had a touch of Moratallen in him. Slung across his back was a mighty greatsword. At his hip were two skulls that looked to be the remains of some creatures that had been slain long ago. He was older, with a scarred appearance and a plethora of runic markings scrawled across the parts of his body that were visible. Long white hair blew lightly in the wind. He had been given his task, to guide whomever the city managed to put forth to the dragon and help them kill it.

The man bit into the flesh of an apple, chewing quietly to himself as his eyes remained trained on the horizon ahead of him. Nearby his horse was tethered to a crooked lamp post. There was naught to do but wait. If no one showed, he would set out on his own. They had until the noon day sun was high in the sky. One way or another, the dragon was going to die. Whether by his hand alone or alongside others, he would make sure of it.

Off Topic

Welcome to the Dragon Hunt! Participants have until September 21, 2022 @11:59 PM EST to make their entry post. Please list very clearly what you are bringing with you in your introductory post. You will only be allowed to draw from your character's personal skillset and the supplies that you and your teammates have personally brought with you.

Best of luck to all of you and may the odds be in your favor!

[Vanessa Quill]

The Every Waking Moment sheared through the skies, nimble despite the biting cold that had so suddenly come to her domain. When news had come of the dragon's arrival, it had been a forgone conclusion that Anton and Vanessa would attempt to stop the beast. Despite some of the motley crew's desire to see the beast cured rather than culled, Vanessa had loaded the ship with weapons of war. Swivel cannons had been affixed to the deck, one each at port, starboard and the fore of the ship. Sitting beside each was a small pile of ten greater caster shells arranged into a stable pyramid.

Below deck, the once sealed gunports of the condor-class airship had been filled with something a tad less wrathful than cannons, but far more in supply in the still-ravaged Zaichaer. Ten ballistae sat ready on either side of the Every Waking Moment. The lot of them already sat loaded with broad-headed bolts, Vanessa having refused to wade into battle unprepared. More bolts sat in barrels once filled with food or water, at least twenty bolts in arm's reach of every station, with some wound in rope to serve as makeshift harpoons. Was it overkill? Vanessa didn't believe such a term applied when hunting dragons. Such was why she'd also had the naval ram hastily sharpened to an uneven, jagged edge on the underside.

She flew the airship shorthanded, handling the sails on her own and leaving the aethertank engine to hum along quietly. No sense overworking it now before they'd even initiated a fight with the damned thing. Manning the sails was far easier now, what with her jacket of flying allowing her to bypass the ratlines entirely, and she easily slowed the airship over the frozen wastes that had once been a city.

She kicked down a rope ladder, then ignored it to instead float to the ground. She was dressed well enough for the cold, wearing the uniform of an esteemed hussar, though this time she actually wore the pelisse like a jacket instead of fashionably over one shoulder. At her hip hung two swords. One a mundane cutlass, and another a runeforged executioner's blade imbued with magebane visible in its pommel. A brace of pistols hung over her chest, and a rifle slung over her back. A small amount of ammunition was carried at her waist, with the rest being kept at the helm of the ship.

"First, you tell us how we kill this thing." Vanessa said, skipping the smalltalk around someone who she didn't think found much value in it. "Second, my lord has a proposal, and needs to hear it from you if it holds any weight." She wasn't going to be the one to suggest they try and cure whatever madness had taken the beast, but neither would she stand in Anton's way should he think it earnestly worth pursuing after the ruin they'd witnessed on their journey so far out. She had mistaken his careful analyses for youthful optimism enough times by now to not presume to lecture him. Whatever his choice, she would fulfill it unto the ending of the world.

... But she still would prefer to kill the dragon.

[Imogen]

A hulking mound of fur slowly descended the rope ladder behind Captain Quill, trundling slowly from bar to bar, until it landed on the cracked pavement below with a solid Thunk!

Imogen Ward stood for a moment, then slowly turned, looking absolutely miserable. Small for an Ork, but still looming over Vanessa, the Sunsinger woman was clad in an unusual assortment of clothes- sturdy leather boots, thick, fleece-lined pants, a light and airy shirt, and three separate winter coats. Two scarves trailed behind her as she approached, and a large, fluffy hat kept the wind from tugging at her hair. Her arms were invisible underneath her layers of outerwear as she rubbed them against each other.

She still appeared to be shivering.

"They cannot be serious about this." Imogen muttered to herself. This wasn't a real denial, just an expression of deep-seated, spiteful annoyance. The coven had known her hatred for the cold, and what did they do with that information? Send her off to kill a damned ice dragon?

Actually, come to think of it, she might not have volunteered that information to her superior officers. Or her master, Gerhard. Or, indeed, anyone at all aside from Carina, whom she'd hassled for weeks about the icy Frost nights in Kalzasi a year prior. Hm. Maybe there was something to be said for open and honest communication after all?

No. That kind of self-reflection would only make her mood marginally less obnoxious, and obnoxious was how she wanted feel, just then.

The Orkhan woman trudged up towards Vanessa Quill and the strange man. The load wasn't that heavy, really, but she wasn't in a hurry. The only weapon she'd brought--physically, at any rate--was a small bow and quiver on her back, which she'd fancied might be useful for... something. Shooting the dragon, maybe? Other than that, she was weighed down only by a small tin of insect repellant (you could not be too careful), the third compass she'd had to buy in a single year, two coils of rope, a nautical spyglass, her bedroll, and ten blankets.

(She'd wanted to buy more, but they were on ration throughout the area around Zaichaer, with the threat of the early snows.)

When she finally arrived, Imogen looked their guide up and down, brow furrowing. "Good, uh, morning." she announced, her voice as chipper as usual, even though it was no such morning, "I'm Imogen, this is Captain Vanessa-" there was a rebuke in Imogen's tone for ignoring the pleasantries of introduction, though she didn't expect Vanessa to care, "-and I take it you are the guide the nobs hired? Lovely to meet you."

As she spoke, curiosity overtook her, finally overcoming her deeply-ingrained politeness.

"So, ah, why... precisely are you wearing skulls on your belt?"

[Anton]

Searing had been filled with sorrows, but Ash was spent in constant action. Anton and Vanessa had carved a path through a large chunk of the known world in the past season, all in the name of gathering resources and supplies for his corner of the world. Some would consider him insane for avoiding the comforts he was due in the Imperium, but his father had assigned him an estate to govern, and by the gods he intended on following through with that charge. Even when it was freezing out, he had to suffer the indignity of climbing down a rope ladder, and there was an ice dragon on the loose.

Contacts in both the ZCA, who had created an informal bottom up network of the militias sprouting across the city-state's nominal territory and gotten in touch with the farmers he had mustering in the south, as well as the ZCF, who still considered the name Michaelis synonymous with military service no matter what Anton was getting up to, had informed him of both the dire threat as well as the plan to deal with it. He and Vanessa had stumbled upon Imogen almost on accident, having received a similar charge from the Covens to do what she may against the dread wyrm. It seemed that the factions dueling over Zaichaer's corpse could only agree on one thing.

The dragon must die.

Naturally, Anton being Anton, he wondered if that had to be the case. In his conversations with Imogen he had grown increasingly curious about the restorative powers of her blade, and if the dragon's ill was truly wrought by aetheric corruption, than theoretically...

His musings were cut to an immediate halt as he finally felt his feet touch solid ground, the lordling having descended from the Every Waking Moment last. He had brought with him from the airship a heavy winter coat, along with an Imperial made six shooter and runeforged blade. Beneath the heavy furs, he wore a similarly enchanted breastplate, not willing to die so ignominous a death that mere arcane steel could have saved him.

"Anton Michaelis," he said, introducing himself to the man as curtly as possible. He doubted that he cared for titles, not a man like that. "I'll be brief. Everyone agrees the dragon has mistborn corruption, I've seen Imogen's magic burn away the Mists, stands to reason we might be able to purge whatever's wrong with it. Since Imogen'll be the one putting herself in danger for this, I leave the call to her on whether or not to try it, but if she does go for it, everyone needs to be on the same page about what we're trying to accomplish."

"That all said, you're the expert," he said with a nod to the massive man.

[Laveriel]

Even Iselya had heard of the white dragon that had been terrorizing Zaichaer for a while. It was difficult to believe at first, but then she saw it with her own eyes about a week ago. The terrifying, magnificent creature flew across the sky, its scales glistening under the autumn sun. For the decade she spent traveling Karnor, this was the first time she ever encountered a dragon here. Perhaps after what the city had gone through, she shouldn’t be surprised that all sorts of beasts would reveal themselves.

Snow had begun falling from the skies, the sharp taste of winter lingering in the winds. Iselya hugged her fur-lined cloak closer to herself as she walked through the ruins of Zaichaer. The cold was still bearable, but she imagined it would only become worse should they find the dragon. Even from a distance, it was hard to miss the giant of a man who sat and ate an apple nonchalantly. There was no doubt he was the man she was told to find.

Once she got closer, the siltori pushed her hood back, revealing her face. Per usual, her pitch black hair was let down, mostly covering the affliction rune drawn on the back of her neck. Underneath her dark cloak, Iselya was wearing plain leather armor. She had a small bag with her, carrying her necromantic tools, one jar of sinew threads, and another for blood liqueur. Just in case she also brought a bit of ration and her waterskin.

As far as one could tell, the only weapon Iselya had was a small dagger strapped to her waist. It wouldn’t seem noteworthy, but those who paid attention would notice that the blade seemed to be decorated by unsettling etchings - her Morbus Domicillius. Unfortunately, the elf had only heard of this expedition a few days prior and the affliction she prepared wasn’t as much as she wanted them to be. But it would do.

Above her, the now-familiar sound of an airship thundered. It seemed to be heading in the direction that she was going. Sure enough, it hovered and a rope ladder rolled down. A brown-haired woman leaped down from the ship and was soon followed by two other individuals. The orc she recognized as one of the Sunsingers, but the pale man that followed suit was unfamiliar. They were certainly quite the fascinating bunch.

She reached the group just in time to hear their introductions. Her eyes glimmered with interest as she listened to what the man called Anton had in mind. The Sunsingers’ magic was certainly unforgettable and the first time she saw it, it definitely reminded her of dawnfire. For their members to manifest such a flame without needing the mark of Arcas was impressive. But even so, cleansing an entire dragon with magic… It would be quite the feat.

“Killing the dragon would be a lot less trouble,” Iselya pointed out once she heard the man’s suggestion. “But if we are really trying this, will burning away its corruption truly stop it from continuing its rampage?”

Realizing she hadn’t introduced herself, the elf added, “You can call me Iselya.”

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

He bit into his apple as Vanessa made her way over to him. Steel grey eyes observed the woman, her ship, and her weaponry with the slightest arching of an eyebrow. This one was bold. Good. He did not answer her immediately as the others quickly followed in their introductions. His eyes briefly passed over Imogen, her question noted, no answer immediately given. He settled upon Anton and his proposal. There was a slow blink of the eyes as he bit into the last mouthful of his apple then tossed the core away.

“Subdue it. That is the only hope there is in trying to purify the dragon.” His voice was deep, with an accent that suggested he hailed from one of the Free Cities that lay further east. There were hints of more local dialect however, as though he had picked up the pronunciation of some words and the Common tongue was not his first.

“White Dragons are the Dragons of Mother Naori, She Who Is Chaos. For a white dragon to have fallen to corruption could mean any number of things, madness being the least of them.” He looked up at the sky ship, processing its presence then gauging it against the assembled in front of him. He rubbed his chin then turned to his warhorse. The beast was certainly large enough to carry one such as him. He stroked along its mane with a steady hand as he leaned in and murmured a few words into one of its ears. He removed a pack from the saddle and slung it over his shoulder before patting the great animal’s side. The horse nudged his arm then began meandering off. The man did not appear concerned.

“Killing a dragon has consequences. Either road will be filled with trouble neither easier than the other.” His gaze lingered on Iselya before passing over the group. “If you wish to kill it, I will help you kill it. If you wish to save it, I will help you save it. That choice is up to you.”

He stepped forward, one hand coming to rest upon one of the skulls at his hip.

“It does not matter to me. A dragon is suffering. I have come to end that suffering, one way or another.” In the distance the frigid winds picked up, sending dirt and debris into the air. The faint rumble of a large beast could be heard far off, beyond the trees. He shrugged his pack more securely onto his shoulder.

“I am Jac.” He made his way past them and hoisted himself up onto the ladder. “And the skulls are to collect your souls when one of you dies.”

He made his way up the rope ladder with a surprising amount of dexterity for a man so large. As soon as he was on the deck of the ship he turned around, offering a hand to those who followed after him, hauling them up the rest of the way with ease. When everyone was on the deck of the ship, he looked at Vanessa.

“You have anti-frost on this ship? White dragons are bringers of ice, shadows and chaos. Anti-frost will protect you from at least getting impaled by an ice spike. At least until it decides it is no longer amused.”

Off Topic

Please post by Monday, October 10, 2022.

[Vanessa Quill]

Vanessa looked over at Imogen when the ork decided to introduce her to Jac on a first name basis. Imogen was right though that Vanessa hadn't cared about the tone of the ork's voice, but instead Vanessa took issue with the words themselves. "Captain Quill, thank you." She corrected, not seeming to notice or care that she'd now given out her full name when she'd intended to give out none at all. A small price to pay to make a point.

Thankfully, any further butting of heads was cut short by Jac as he responded to their questions about the beast's fate in turn. It was enough that Vanessa heard their gambit was possible. That it would be dangerous, or why the madness had settled in, these things mattered little to her. Knights did as their lords commanded, and Anton saw value in the dragon's life. Besides, the greatest stories ever told were of gallant knights setting out against all odds to bring low a dragon. They didn't usually bring an airship or attempt to leave the beast alive, but that just gave their own story a unique flair.

"If we die." Vanessa corrected Jac almost as soon as he finished explaining the meaning behind his skulls. "I ain't dug a grave yet, so we're not going to talk like I have." There a hardness to her voice, but not anger. As a captain, she had learned to cut off doomsayers before their ruinous thoughts could linger among the crew. The same had served her well among the militias. It was a small thing truly, which was why she did not wait for Jac's acquiescence. Instead she offered her hand to Anton and then floated back onto the deck of the ship.

Once aboard, Vanessa moved to the quarterdeck and stood behind the wheel. On either side of the wheel sat levers and knobs. Some whose uses seemed obvious, while others seemed almost intentionally obtuse in form and function. "Aye, we've got frost wards." She pushed forward on a lever at her side, and the magitek engine below shifted from a low hum of idleness to something resembling a great cat's purr. Six flat wards sprung up on all sides of the ship in a cube, each tasked against keeping out the Frost's chill, ice, and snow. The snow and ice that had already accumulated on the railings slowly began to melt as the temperature rose. The wards had endured blizzards before, but Vanessa wondered how they'd hold up against a directed assault. Not well, she figured, but better than nothing.

She waited for everyone to board before She loosed all the sails and set the ship cutting forward through the skies once more. "Lead the way, Jac."

[Imogen]

Tragically for Captain Quill's rebuke, Imogen was far too preoccupied with the cold and the skulls to absorb the subtilties of rank and station. She followed the group back to the Every Waking Moment, taking just a second to watch Iselya's approach. She wondered vaguely which faction in the city had hired her for such an undertaking, and how they'd known to do so.

The Orkhan woman trudged back up to the rope ladder and clambered up, accepting Jac's assistance in clearing the last few rows. She might have made her way up much faster through the invocation of a totem, but Imogen was a veteran of the school of thought which advocated for expending as little effort as humanly (orkhan-ly?) possible in every endeavor. Her uncle would be proud, assuming he wasn't presently dead.

And that was not at all certain. Still, this was no time for intrusive thoughts.

Once she was back up on deck, the Sunsinger found her way to a warm object--some sort of radiator or exhaust, perhaps, but she was no engineer--and pressed up to it, arching her back slightly as she enjoyed the feeling of warmth spreading through her torso. The feeling improved her mood immediately, and so she ventured to address Anton's proposal:

"To level with you, it's a purely academic distinction." Perhaps that was the appropriate kind of distinction for Anton, who practically oozed scholarship. "Purification and execution are potential outcomes of the same motions, as it were. Given time, the fire will burn away any impurity. What remains..."

Imogen shrugged, enjoying the radiator's heat against the back of one hand. "That which cannot live will die, and those who will not die must live."

The words sounded harsh, but so were many of the truths which underlay the world. Her control of the Sunsinger magic had improved considerably since her time in Ecith and the breaking of the river Gihah's curse, but no amount of Reaving would suffice to restore a mind completely lost to ruin, or a body twisted past the point of survival. She'd stabbed more than one of the mist-twisted mutants since her return to the High City, and the flame certainly had not returned any of them to life.

"But that brings us to Iselya's question, and Jac's observation. To attempt to purify an adult dragon is going to take time and power both. If we cannot paralyze it, we're going to need to kill it."

She recalled the huge red dragon in the cavern of the Librarians of Drathera and tried to imagine how to attempt the feat. It was daunting. Not only did adult dragons dwarf any of her own forms, whatever the flight, the raw power the Librarians had possessed had been palpable, even to her. It wouldn't surprise her if the wyrm was capable of feats of magic which could overcome her spells with ease.

[Laveriel]

Iselya couldn’t help raising an eyebrow when he told them about the skulls. It was most certainly a fun answer, but she wondered if the words held any truth to it. “I see you’re not feeling optimistic about our chances.” Well, she could not blame him. Five individuals against a frost dragon on the precipice of winter.

The siltori had seen dragons before, but she couldn’t claim ever trying to subdue one. It did not seem the wisest of decisions. They were revered and feared in Ecith, so she tried to steer clear of one if she could. And if what he said was true about white dragons, it was even more worrying.

Climbing up after Jac, Iselya stared down at the ground once she almost reached the ship. She never liked heights. She would even go as far as saying that she used to fear it. But a dawnmartyr had no use for such irrational fears and so it had been hammered out of her forcefully. They had made her stand on the edges of the highest towers, made her fly with the avialae knights. For an order that spread hope, their training was rigorous and merciless. She had been taught that there was no room for weaknesses.

Still, it did not stop her from being slightly dizzy as she clung to the swaying rope ladder. She uttered a quiet prayer to Naori in silandris as she hoisted herself up to the airship. The frost ward was definitely working as Iselya felt the tips of her fingers warming up.

“I suppose we probably need a plan,” Iselya pointed, looking at each of her companions. “I can’t claim to have the most strategic mind, but this is one of the few times I’d rather not improvise on the field. Hopefully at least.” Of course, battles never work out quite the way you wanted, but they could try to make the best of it.

Iselya pursed her lips in thought before summoning Iratallin in her right hand, the sword etched with indecipherable markings that would bring discomfort to most. The trio had come together so she guessed that they would know each other well enough. But for them to properly they needed to know her too, what she could do.

She turned to the man named Anton. “You spoke of Imogen’s magic burning away mists, I assume you’re talking about the Sunsingers’ fire.” Upon the slightest twitch of her thumb, her blade lit up with dawnfire, its silvery light dancing brilliantly. Once she was sure that they had caught a glimpse of it, the elf dismissed the blade. Something told her that she would need every last bit of aether she had for this excursion and she’s rather not waste it on a show. “What I have isn’t quite the same, but I’m guessing we’ll need all the fire we can get.”

[Anton]

There had been very few pleasant surprises in Anton's life in the past few months. He was not expecting to receive one today of all days, but it seemed that the gods had a sense of caprice about such things. An unbidden sigh of relief escaped him before he realized what he was doing, but the young lord endeavored to not be embarrassed by the laxness on his part. It was not every day that one set off to free a dragon, or slay as the case may be, and he was relieved to have not been taken by a fool by the expert.

Even more relieved at the fact that this Jac seemed to be an expert in truth, and not a mere slayer who had come to bathe in dragon blood. As he ascended the ladder back up to the deck of the Every Waking Moment, Anton felt a measure of hope stir in his breast. Perhaps this wasn't an insane errand, a quixotic quest that would only end in his death, perhaps he could actually succeed. He wouldn't have changed his decision either way however.

Where Jac may have resolved himself to relieve a dragon's suffering, Anton was dead set upon relieving the people's. After all, what use was he if he didn't at least try? As far as his death went, he was rather nonplussed, but at the talk of wards and Vanessa exhibiting what the airship had, he idly considered that this particular adventure might just end it. They were commercial wards, prepared by Imperial wage mages, designed to give Gelerian grandees freedom to roam the deck despite the exigencies of the weather. Dragon breath was a stronger song, and its fury faster, than the tinny music of those protections.

Imogen had absolutely read Anton correctly however, and his mood cheered at the mere words 'academic distinction' as he sought to determine an appropriate line of questioning. Iselya's note about needing a plan forestalled that however, and he instead gave a decisive nod, opening his mouth to speak. "We'll need to determine where the dragon is lairing to fo- by the Gods," he began, cutting himself off at the flash of Dawnfire.

Divine flame sung with a note so pure that no earthly instrument or voice could hope to recreate it, soaring above and beyond mere music as it settled into Anton's very soul. "Yes. All we can get," he managed dumbly while attempting to piece together his psyche. That it was a more pure and powerful expression of will than he had ever seen before was not in question, but he had a responsibility to tend to, and forced himself to ignore the holy refrains. "As... as I was saying, we're very short on information to begin planning. What do you know of our quarry, Jac? I would like, if possible, to engage it away from settlements."