When In Dragonhead

Garflex was not exactly in love with the idea of waiting for Shane and Urumi to return. To be clear, he hated the act of waiting in general, especially when things seemed to be escalating. The conjurer had no choice but to busy himself with a perplexed mind, going over the victories and defeats of the past, trying to gauge what outcome was in store for the entire group.

Rha'qa, on the other hand, had found plenty of foolhardy adventurers to play at Triple Triad. His deck was deceptive, holding few rare cards, and yet still besting the seemingly stacked odds. He was at twelve wins when he glanced over his shoulder at his traveling companion.

"'Ey Garfy, come on and play a hand. No challenge with these mooks, ya." The mi'qote monk patted the stool next to him, grinning madly.

Having been annoyed by Rha'qa's smooth transition from dire situation to all around lollygagger, Garflex scowled back, but with the edge of a smile. "I would if you weren't known for cheating the game, sir monk."

From the sprawling tables and chairs to the spiraling stone steps at the back wall, Dragonhead's raucous tavern smelled of mead, roasted lamb's meat, and a particular brand of body odor born of strife and war. Underneath the aroma was the constant chatter and banter of lancers, sharing a pint and the battle stories to go with it. Above all, there was an unspoken oath of honor, broken only by the vilest of transgressors.

Rha'qa frowned back at the lalafell, suddenly noting the odd quiet, and then the approach of tall, looming shadows of particularly cross elezen men and women. When he took a look at the scene behind him, he shot his eyes forward, instantly recognizing the countenance of death glares abound.

"Cheatin' lot, are ye?" said the tallest and most unfriendly-looking one of the bunch.

Rha'qa was already shaking his head and cursing Garflex for having him dull his knuckles for a simple tavern brawl. "I don't cheat, ya. Just my friend here bein' a right and good cunt is all."

The white mage was beside himself with joy, already having taken a seat at the back of the hall, a most anticipating audience.

"Better safe than sorry, ere we sully the grounds of Dragonhead proper," said one of the slender women, taking spear in-hand.

"It's just a building. I'm sure we can--"

The fwap of spear rushing against the wind sent Rha'qa's reflexes on end, and within the twitching of an ear, he had bound himself off his stool and atop an adjacent table.

The spear had shattered his former seat.

He took stock: six elezen; four male, two female, all armed with a lancer's skill and weapon of choice.

They were upon him, all charging at once with spears going for the kill. They certainly did take honor seriously, even over a Triple Triad game.

The monk closed his eyes, feeling out the motions of his erratic - and likely drunk - opponents, rather than using the fullness of his abilities. If anything, he would make a game out of this to spite Garflex.

Six spears, all in seemingly random directions, all coming in at the same time. The monk tapped into training outside of his school, and what seemed to be an accepted end to his life turned around almost completely.

Every lance felt to have stricken true, stopping somewhere between mortal flesh.

But the mi'qote's uncanny agility said otherwise.

One spear was caught in the underside of his knee, two in his armpits, two his hands, and the metal of the longest spear right between his teeth. Though awkward in his new position, oddly sprawled out like a majestic Shroud deer, he seemed completely in control of his body.

Lost in a difficult place of stupefaction and frustration, the six lancers tried wrenching their weapons from the clutches of their opponent. When pulling out seemed an impossible option they tried left and right, up and down, availing them little more than further resistance from the monk. The makeshift holes were at once too tight and too soft to be suitably fought against.

Too late the realization dawned upon the lancers, as Rha'qa began to spin against the grips of his assailants. Like toothpicks caught in the teeth of a whirling, shaking head, every spear flung outward to random directions about the hall, their steel tips supplanting stone wall.

The six denizens of Dragonhead were too dumbfounded to remember that they were attacking someone, at which point the monk punched and kicked his way through them in short order.

Neck punch to the tallest one - for being an instigator.

Twin snakes to the shoulder blades for the lad - a lesson for hanging with the wrong crowd.

A demolishing heel to the lower spine for the middle-aged female - you should have continued your training as a black mage.

A true strike to the gut of the other female - because you should expect no mercy on any battlefield, especially those that you make for yourself.

A sweep into dragon kick for the eldest male - just retire already, old man.

It did not take much searching to find the last lancer making for the exit. Rha'qa shoulder tackled him right on out the double doors, breaking its hinges - a lesson for those onlookers outside.

The fury of battle quelled, the monk breathed in with both fists stylistically extended before him, held for a few seconds, and breathed out, unwinding whatever tightness remained in his joints. Every skirmish, no matter the size, had a lesson to be learned and one to be taught.

He reopened his eyes, a tinge of ire in his expression. "That wasn't funny."

Garflex was as shameless in his enjoyment as he knew he would be. "Yes. It was."

"No. It wasn'it."

"It was to me, and that's all that matters."

The monk looked sidelong at the white mage. "Haurchefant isn't gonna like this, ya. Second time we started something in hear."

"I had to do something keep myself entertained." Garflex joined his companion's side, knowing without words that they were about to take leave of the towering hall.

"I was right entertained just now. Did you have to ruin it for me?"

"You already know the answer to that one."

When both Vagrants exited the hall, still exchanging banter between wit and anger, they were greeted with more than the unconscious body Rha'qa had sent clamoring out the door. Someone was kneeling over said body.

A... man? Perhaps. Mortal to be sure, but greatly removed from the norms in Eorzea. Horns in the shape of a ram's broke through dusky auburn flesh, and adorned between them was a head of smooth black hair running down steel-clade shoulders. Aside from the thick, burly appeal of the man, one immediately noticed the great handle of a thick, coal-colored blade at his back.

Before either of them could form words, he stood up, wearing an expression that betrayed no particular sense of alarm, but also denoted lacking warmth. "Yeah, definitely them," he muttered to himself. "Would you boys happen to know where my son is?"

Garflex and Rha'qa exchanged a look, shrugging.

The white replied, shaking his head. "Your son have a name?"

The dragon-like man rolled his shoulders and stroked his chin with a thumb, making his many-barbed armor creak and scrape against itself.

His expression brightened. "Ah, yes. Of course. His name is Shane."

Snows so diluted to mist, yet so adamant along the harsh winds could detract any casual stroll, any willful trudge through Coerthas. Night or day, it was nigh-impossible to tell which with gusts so white and clouds so gray. It was a time of withheld turmoil in the troubled lands of Eorzea, soon to unfold a mighty, shadowy torrent.

After treading deep snows, braving a number of native hostile creatures, and assuring his allies of the relevance of his planning, Shane was confident that perishing just beyond his destination was the least of his worries. If he could not make it just past the Gates of Judgement, he could confirm the very real threat to the integrity of the realm. Yes, it seemed a trifle thing simply to see with his own eyes, but he was a scholar first, and warrior second. Saving Eorzea meant studying it and all that could put it in harm's way.

He tried explaining this to Urumi during the readying process, but it fell on deaf ears more suited to battle trumpets and riposted swords. Where Shane explained findings of a deeper conflict, the paladin could ill see more than a possible enemy in need of a sword to the jugular.

As the elezen scholar pulled the cloak further upon his shoulders, he understood why.

The Gates were open when they arrived. For a point of interest so heavily kept under surveillance, it was an eerily quiet site to see when no guards harried their arrival. Considering the recent developments in draconian assaults and Ishgardian politics, one would be hard-pressed to excuse such a massive drop in the only vanguard for a skyward paradise.

The wind was too thick, and would drown out words to put to the phenomenon, so they opted to share a cautionary nod and venture forth through the Gates of Judgement.

Too soon, the pair would find that the ancient passage was so aptly named.

The misty snows were less thick along the bridge, being dissipated by a newly risen heat. The closer they got, the more intense the strange humidity grew, somehow cutting through what should have been the coldest season in Coerthas.

The answer to the question on both their tongues was a sea of fire atop streaks of fresh gore. Bodies strewn in pieces, flung to the edges of the bridge like refuse tossed out a window. What should have been a battle was a massacre drowned out by a squarely superior force.

With the falling snow an afterthought, and the strong winds eerily ceased, Urumi and Shane removed the cowls of their cloaks.

"These are... the guards?" The scholar could not get close enough to immediately tell what lay beneath the seething fire, but he recognized the armor and spears of men who once barred him from entry.

Urumi's augmented plate greaves were able to snuff out some of the flames and reveal the charred visage of an elezen female. Even with most of her facial faculties burnt away, it was clear by the tenacious expression that only a defensive could be mounted in response to whatever caused this. "This is the work of a dragon."

"Like Bahamut?" Asked Shane, standing and stroking his chin hairs.

The lalafell shook his head, hardened sobriety molding into his features. "Far worse, I fear."

The scholar did not seem particularly sullen by the thought. "It doesn't get much worse than that."

"Not as powerful as Bahamut..."

"Then what have we to--"

"... but traveling in numbers to far succeed him," finished Urumi, his gaze now taking to the sky. "This one dragon is only a few steps below an elder primal, but there are far more than just this one."

A shiver ran down Shane's spine, and it was not from the errant cold still present. "You can tell by just looking at them?"

"You never took Bahamut's flare breath head on." Urumi closed his eyes, recollecting a personal trial. Though everyone of Shane's crew had shared the fight against Bahamut, only Urumi and Sean could say they withstood the full brunt of his power. "Even with shield upraised, standing upon self-made hallowed ground, I knew there was no reason for me to have survived such an assault. And now," he looked to Shane. "Now something worse is coming. Look around and tell me what you see."

The elezen did so, at first perplexed by the suggestion, and then recalling that the paladin's perspective in battle far outstripped his own. A dragon nearly as powerful as Bahamut could have burned these bodies enough to leave no recognizable features, armor, flesh, and all. All of this, without exercising a fraction of its full strength. The realm's citizenry would have one believe that a dragon's tenacity and animalistic traits outweighed any sense of judgment, but if Bahamut and his ilk were any indication, they were all but senseless in their fury.

"It's a message. A warning." Shane's eyes went heavesward as well, now aware of what Urumi was looking for.

When the shriek of a dragon came not seconds later, both knew there was no turning back from the trap that they had unknowingly sprung.

Shane opened his codex, quickly scribbling in another pact with Eos with his quill. The aetherial fairy fluttered into existence, heralded by the sparkle and shimmer of benevolent tidings.

The lalafell whispered the age old oath of self-defense and steeled himself for war.

Dravanian, both knew the instant they saw it. Red scales, demon-like horns, a long snout of a bloodied fangs, and a breath-taking wingspan that buffeted them back a step upon its arrival. Its long neck reared back, and like a cauldron of pure magma, it brewed a sinister fire.

Even mildly prepared, the two could only defend from the swath of concentrated hells that spewed from the beast's mouth. Their thick cloaks were burned away instantly, and their flesh was protected by Eos's fey covenant, a magicked, unseen barrier that prevented the full harm of the attack. Even so, both paladin and scholar were left breathless by the choking heat.

The dragon flew onward, and started circling back around, already gargling up another great gout of flame, intending to make another message to those with plans to enter Ishgard.

Shane and Urumi shared another nod, the situation having so quickly and completely turned dire. Once Shane had an adloquium encircled on the two of them, they sprinted to the other end of the bridge, knowing the intent of the attack was to prevent them from going further.

The dragon cut them off with a wall of flame just beyond the steps into the silent city. It was thick enough to melt through any armor, and just thin enough for them to see how close they had come.

This draconic assailant was as malefic as the stories claimed Dravanians to be.

Elezen and lalafell looked back, knowing the dragon was on its way a final time to finish the deed it had started on the gate guards.

"Eos, illuminate," said Shane, aught resigned to the obvious fate. The miniscule, pale apparition lofting at his shoulder nodded to his command. Complimenting its obedience was a spherical dome, alight with sacred protective magicks produced from the open codex in the elezen's fingers.

Urumi understood, as he always did when death seemed to be of a certainty.

No Vendor ever went down without weapons raised and full efforts known to their enemy.

The monstrous tyrant's incoming form and menacing roar brought the very environment to a trembling kneel. The day's prey had no longer provided suitable challenge, and it was time to end its struggle for life. One more rearing back of its head, one more conjuring of fire from its throat...

But the wave of heat never came, the grip of death stayed by a sudden turn of fate.

A rapid, unseen impact collided against the dragon's spine, proceeded by a white hot, spirit-like flow of energy. The intended fires slid back down the neck of the beast, and something like the choking of suffering resounded upon every present ear.

Another blow was struck, and this time it was the viewable force of a great stone from somewhere high and beyond the bridge, followed up by thrashing winds from seemingly every direction.

Shane caught sight of something atop the dragon's back, the one who had struck the first blow. He was putting it all together with his experiences. It was familiar, and welcome, yet deadly with its intent.

The dragon was fading from view, put down by the assault, flailing in the cloak of snow for life that could not be reached. One could pinpoint the moment its last breath was taken.

What Shane had seen bounded off the dragon just before its fatal plummet to the depths below and landed at a kneel before him.

Both he and Urumi raised brows at the revelation of none other than Rha'qa, once again defying directives.

"Thank me later, ya? We got some ground to cover before we're in the clear." He swiped a thumb over his nose, walked passed the two of them, and appraised the wall of fire that the now dead dragon had breathed onto the entrance. His arms swept out in all directions, gathering force and momentum with each wave, each flourish, and each connection to his core. In a final calculated move, he extended his palm in the practiced form of the monk's true strike, instantly extinguishing the fires before him. He glanced over his shoulder at paladin and scholar. "Got some friends wanting to meet you, Shane."

Neither party had objections.

Only questions.