Rorshawd could barely see out of the eye that had been blinded by that flash. He looked venomously upon those who had despoiled his form and seethed. The star of hatred for the one known as Murdon now outshone Daniel’s, for it was the Knight who had descended from that which should have been his domain and brought this pain. The constant needling of his wing preventing any kind of flight was merely the background to the agony in his forelimbs.
Fire. Yet another aspect he should be the master of turned against him. Nothing made sense. He had slain their strongest! Brought down the vast majority of their number until all that was left were the scraps! His Lord was but a short flight away and yet it did nothing to answer his pleas for help. He was going to die. No! But how could he escape?
The mortals that had easily fallen to fire and claw now evaded him. Even the one in full plate, the hated Murdon, he could not touch. Once Rorshawd thought he had finally brought the man to an end, though that only left a score in the armor rather than a mortal wound. Slowly, they wore him down. With only dregs of mana left there was not much Rorshawd could do. He had only one last desperate move.
Now was the time for it. The elbows of his forelimbs bent like a mortal’s, and he was forced to rest on them now that the flesh was compromised. It was almost like he was kneeling for execution, and there was the man with the ax. Rorshawd knew what would happen next. They’d try to sever his neck or hack until they broke his skull. It would be a slow death. The ants in front of him weren’t powerful enough to even kill him quickly. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair! Rorshawd, among all of his kin, had surpassed them all. He had found his way to his Lord and been given this beautiful, tarnished form. He smiled. Murdon, even within his helmet, recognized first the look and then the significance before Rorshawd curled the words out from his mouth. “Too slow.”
Dawn had come. With it was the daily reset, granting mana to those at rest and clearing away any features that had been heightened. This crippled Rorshawd’s Regeneration, though the effect on his enemies was more pronounced.
The nature of features on the Octyrrum was a nuisance for many. Acquiring a very useful feature at lower levels was the opposite of good luck due to the mana cost needed to enable their most important effects. Outside of those able to afford spurious use of potions, management of one’s mana was a critical part of having a class. Optimal strategies were as numerous as theories on the best attribute advancement path, though there weren’t many that took the permanent penalty involved with commitment of a feature to a higher level. Only a few here could even do that considering you had to be two levels above a feature to make use of this quirk. That left everyone in the square at a sudden and significant disadvantage against a foe whose natural attributes trumped theirs.
Murdon was about to order a retreat when the dragon took the opportunity to bite him.
…
By all the gods and the terrors of the Crest, why now? Murdon thought as the gift of Agility dwindled to level one. The weight of his armor once more hindered him. There was a look of delight and menace in the dragon’s one good eye that was directed only at Murdon.
Standing in front of the injured beast, there were only two ways it could make good on the implicit threat. Fire, or its maw. He would be too slow to dodge either since the dragon’s head was undamaged and he’d been mid-stride to lead the attack on it. Murdon was the closest to the danger. In a way, that felt right, despite the personal hazard.
Murdon had mana left, he could try to Jump out of the way. Too slow. Like a snake, the dragon’s head flashed out, tilted slightly away from his ax arm. He knew his armor would not be able to withstand the force of even a young dragon’s bite. Not enough time to Jump, but he could still-
The Knight was lifted out of the air, pierced in two places by the dragon’s teeth. Not in the abdomen, as had been the intent, but through a foot and a hand. Saliva, heated by the dragon’s internal energy, burned the wounds as it mixed with his exposed flesh. Crushing force tried to crumple him, resisted as much by metal as it was muscle.
Then, it relaxed. Not enough to allow escape, but the dragon wasn’t trying to close its mouth anymore. Voices of his allies called to him, but they were filtered out when Murdon’s senses focused on a growing point of light within the dragon’s throat. Fire. Surely the beast didn’t have enough mana for a full breath, but if it poured the rest it had into it? Maybe enough to kill him. Murdon recognized the spite this creature must have for him. The arrogance. And the inspiration that this granted him.
Drawing in air of his own, stealing it from the dragon, Murdon began charging Midnight Breath. It was the best he could make of this dire situation. Even if his ability resolved before the dragon’s it wouldn’t guarantee he would survive. I probably won’t, Murdon realized soberly. That didn’t change anything. If he was going to lose his life no matter what, why lose his resolve with it?
Their relative sizes and levels proved crucial. Despite Murdon using a larger percentage of his mana in this last play compared to the dragon, Rorshawd was using more in an absolute sense and required more air to propel his fire. The cloud of blue and gold-dotted black fog descended into the beast and caused an immediate reaction.
First, the creature’s self-healing ceased. At level 5 Regeneration would have continued to function, though dawn had robbed Rorshawd of that. He was still building fire within him, but the damage within his throat provoked a particular reflex that ejected Murdon out of his mouth just before the flames filled it. Rorshawd was too new to this body to suppress the instinct. His summoned flames didn’t pass far beyond his teeth, still hot enough to immolate Murdon had he been there.
Murdon ignored the pain and looked around. His mind flared, working to reassess the situation. It wasn’t good for either side. No one was delivering ammunition to the archers anymore, those who could attack at range with magic were now out of mana, and those that couldn’t do either? Those bodies were the most recognizable of the ones the dragon had killed. There were so few left from a population that had started above one hundred.
Their slayer was not better off. Necrotic energy ate at it from the inside. It was a heavy fog that collected in the dragon’s neck and bowels, having not been destroyed or even dispersed by the fire. Would it last long enough to finish the dragon? Murdon wasn’t sure, but he knew they couldn’t stay to kill it themselves. Damn it. Damn it! A few more minutes… But dawn had changed everything. Even weakened, dying from the inside, the dragon could still instantly kill any of them. By the same token, the dragon was beyond the point of chasing them. It was time to go.
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“Retreat! Cease fire!” he bellowed, forestalling those still fighting and backing away from the dragon.
“Murdon, we can kill it!” Lograve protested.
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“But-”
“I used Midnight Breath on it.” The confusion on Lograve’s face was only temporary, guessing what he meant. “The dragon might die. It might barely survive. Either way, we cannot lose any more people to it. There’s a reason I’m here and not in Hagain,” he said slowly, glancing at those nearby to see if there was a reaction.
“My books!” A lone avianoid cried out that Murdon only registered as a librarian hailing from Threst. “Please, we cannot lose them.”
Murson was about to deny the request out of hand, furious at the thoughtlessness until he saw the look of sympathy on Lograve’s face. Now able to outmatch the choking roar the dragon tried to bellow, he shouted, “Everyone! We are evacuating now! Wounded first, then any magical equipment or supplies still here.” With this, he added a glare to Alost and his magical arrows. “Then rations, then… any books you can still carry.” The dragon feebly tried to lunge towards Murdon, only to temporarily collapse before assuming a defensive pose. There was hatred in its eyes, held only for Murdon. “Move!”
…
There would have been a search for any survivors on the way out, given that the dragon could not chase them and there were no other monsters keen on attacking the city at the moment. Daniel’s feature made that tragically pointless. Only when leaving the walls behind did it fully impact the survivors that if someone wasn’t with them, then they were no longer on the Octyrrum.
Daniel was still focused ahead toward the spot where Claire, Hunter, and Tlara waited. And Janice, a woman he faintly remembered from somewhere. The Artificer was in no state to make full use of his memory.
Parduc. He’d promised Claire to protect him, get him out at least, but… he hadn’t. The moment of Kob, and those he protected, dying in the final blaze repeated in his mind. Murdon had been so close, but it hadn’t mattered.
Hunter’s aura blinked a few times, the ringcat toggling the tag on himself. Daniel reciprocated and bitterly mused about developing some form of morse code to use with this. Hunter probably couldn’t learn it even if he could remember the signal for each letter.
No one talked during the exodus from Roost’s Peak. Like its walls, their spirits were broken. Even Lograve, walking next to Murdon, was silent. The dragon’s cries were the only ones that colored the early morning, fading roars mixed in with the cursing of Murdon’s name.
Daniel walked alone among the crowd, though Khare clung to him like the stone armor that had broken when Parduc died. The gestalt had taken a few things into itself when the garrison was gathering supplies, but that was it. Having a mass of vines that was also a sentient creature live on your chest was disconcerting. He might have protested by now if Khare didn’t give him the impression of a shivering dog. Fear? Grief? He couldn’t tell. Eventually, Daniel would have to sleep, and Khare would have to come off at that point. Confronting Claire with the truth of what happened would be first, regardless of how far in the future he’d put that off if he could.
“Wyverns ahead!” someone called out. Tlara, and most noticeably her wyverns, had set up a makeshift camp on a flat stretch in the foothills.
“They’re friendly,” Murdon shouted over the sudden panic. “We make camp here for the day. Rest and prepare. There is much to discuss once everyone has had a few hour’s rest.” People shifted, a combination of stowing weapons and unease amongst those members of the garrison. It was clear to Daniel that something more was going on.
You survived. Hunter thought to Daniel when they were within range. There was a distance to the mental voice.
Something inside of Daniel crumpled as he reflected on the night’s events. Trying to summarize them, even in a few words to explain to Hunter, was too much. How could he relive what it felt like to watch people die, to know that he could have joined them if Rorshawd had prioritized his targets differently? To see the strongest warrior they had fall without even injuring the dragon, and with the one Daniel was supposed to protect. Now more than ever he wanted to go back home, even if it was too late to prevent him from seeing what he had.
Hunter was staring at him as he approached, waiting for an answer. Worse was Claire, alternating glances between him and the crowd. Her movements were twitchy, breathing fast, and she was huddled close to the ringcat as if for protection. Did she already know? Is Claire ok?
No.
Does, does she know? Did Hunter know? The question assumed much on the part of the ringcat, but-
No. They were almost at arms-breadth. Hunter put his head down as sadness entered his thoughts. She began to fear suddenly. Do not know why, but she said her mana is too low.
Hunter, I can’t tell her, Daniel pleaded, as if the ringcat could pardon him from the duty.
Many died. You did your best. She will understand, or she will-
“Daniel, where’s Parduc?” Claire asked, still hyperventilating. When he didn’t answer, she brought herself unsteadily to her feet. “Where is he?!”
Another of the garrison spared Daniel from answering. “Claire, if he’s not with us, he didn’t make it out. I’m sorry. We lost almost everyone, even Yedra and Kob, but-”
Claire collapsed. Not into unconsciousness, she merely mimicked Daniel's spirits. She did not make a sound, did not scream, did not, as Daniel feared, charge him with Parduc’s death or just straight up charge him. She didn’t do anything but breathe far too fast. Daniel tried to say something but the words caught in his throat. He could only watch as she fully collapsed.
“Healer!” the one from the garrison cried, and Quala was there in seconds.
The avianoid felt at Claire’s neck and sighed. “She passed out. Let’s move her with the wounded so I can observe her.”
“I couldn’t…”
“What?” Quala looked up at Daniel’s words.
They were the ones he’d tried to say at the beginning, coming out far too late. “I couldn’t save him.” Every death he’d seen weighed on him in that moment. Whatever protection his attributes might have given him from fully realizing the horrors of the night was undone by the disparity he was still afflicted with. It was the same thing that had killed Kob. “I just watched him die.”
Quala’s face, so alien and unnatural, took on a soft look as she reached for one of his hands. “You did nothing wrong. The fault lies with only one and it is not you. Rest, now. What you have experienced would weigh on anyone and you are no lesser for what you now feel. Just know there is a future full of brighter days than this.”
The words calmed him, slightly. There was still roiling emotion within Daniel, not diminished at all, but it seemed more distant now. Quala had used no power, mana, or anything magical to do this. Just kindness. Daniel nodded wearily and sat in the dirt, barely feeling Khare crawl off of him. They had no tents or even bedrolls, so here was as good as anything. Quala looked at him for a moment more, then helped take Claire to where Tak and Sigron had been carried.
We need to talk, Hunter thought in a serious tone as the ringcat stood and began to circle Daniel. The movement was almost hostile. Daniel would have questioned that more if he wasn’t so numb from both exhaustion and emotion. Later, Hunter added, as he finally laid down around Daniel. Sleep now.
And he did.