Hideous storm clouds broiled in the skies and the heavy rain was blown sideways by the constant winds. Commander Bridge flew low through the storm on his feathered wings, keeping a close eye on the wyvern far to his right. It was merely a faint silhouette in the storm, but still loomed large and menacing. Several champions with flight powers flew with him, dispersed around the wyvern in a careful formation. It was aware of their presence, but if they were careful it wouldn't suspect an attack until they had it in position.
The rest of the formation followed subtle shifts in the commander's flight path. The wyvern, likely trying to avoid conflict and return to its nest to weather the storm, would shift its own heading to avoid converging with any of the adventurers in the sky around it. They had to use the technique subtly and sparingly, and could only manage small adjustments to the wyvern's path, but with heavy rains blocking out visibility to the ground below they were able to drive the creature further and further off track without it realizing.
Commander bridge was grateful for the boon the unseasonal storm had been so far, but deeply worried about what more it had to bring. Even now, the words of the Agent of Morose echoed in his mind.
"Armageddon nears. Morose observes."
He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a bright light piercing the rains from the ground below. That was the cue. He banked hard towards the wyvern, flapping his wings to climb higher. The adventurer in his same position on the opposite side of the formation did the same, and they both converged on and just above the wyvern. The wyvern interpreted this as an attack, and dove down to avoid them. They dove after it, chasing it towards the unseen ground.
As the ground came into view through the rain, the wyvern sharply leveled out and flew parallel to the ground. Harpoons launched out of a dark ravine and fired high into the air. The wyvern banked left and right to dodge the strikes as they punched past it. Another volley launched from a second ravine, and the wyvern rolled hard to the right to dodge. It lost altitude in the maneuver, bringing it dangerously close to the ground and directly over the third ravine. Most harpoons fired too early or too late, but two harpoons hit their target -- each piercing either wing.
The wyvern released a deep, guttural screech and desperately flapped to gain altitude, but the harpoons were soon reeling it in. It pulled hard against them, using all its strength to flap its wings despite the tethers. One of the ballista came dislodged from the rock and rapidly unspooled its line, causing the wyvern in swing a wide, lopsided arc as one wing was still pulled by a reeling line.
The beast screeched again as it lost control and plummeted to the ground. It landed hard but on its feet, slipping on the slick clay mud and still trying to yank its wing free of the line. It saw silhouettes land one-by-one all around it, and stepped back in apprehension. It eyed the silhouette of Commander Bridge, sensing his power to be the strongest amongst the gathered warriors. The wyvern took another two steps back, rumbling a low growl in its throat as it briefly pointed its head towards the ground, indicating it didn't want a fight.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
To most the beast was a dark grey silhouette hulking in a sea of not-quite-as-dark grey rain. To the commander's superior perception, however, the wyvern was mostly visible. It stood on two thick, muscular legs that supported a slender, aerodynamic body covered in brown and tan scales. Instead of front legs or arms it had wide, membranous wings supported by long, boney fingers. It had a short serpentine neck, and pointed, angular head framed by boney ridges and swept-back spikes. To a layman, the beast might as well have been a dragon.
Commander Bridge whistled sharply, and a javelin pierced the wyvern's neck.
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An adventurer cowered beneath a tree in the woods with shaking arms curled tight around his legs and his face buried behind his knees. His left arm was slick with blood from the puncture wounds of a spider bite, and his cloak was soaked through with rain. He jolted and screamed as a figure approached him, holding out his hands in a futile attempt to shield himself from harm.
"No! No!" the adventurer screamed, "I won't go with you! Leave me alone!"
"Shhhh," the Dreamweaver said softly as she approached, her voice louder and clearer than any of the sounds of battle, "you are in safe hands."
"Get away!" the adventurer frantically pulled a dagger from his waist and held it out towards her with a quivering arm.
She knelt in front of him, effortlessly reaching around the knife to gently grab his wrist and move his arm aside, "no one wants to hurt you."
His eyes locked with hers, and he saw the ocean. He felt a cool breeze drift past him, and heard the sounds of gentle crashing waves and distant sea gulls. He dropped the dagger and his quivering slowed.
"What do you fear?" She asked as he gazed into her eyes.
"Bandits," he said with a tremor, "they took the village, I hid-- they've found me. If they catch me they'll--"
"Calm," the Dreamweaver spoke the word as a command, but it felt like a loving embrace, "there are no bandits here. Look," she pointed to his left, where adventurers fought against the remaining horde of spiders, "can you see the monsters?"
The adventurer stared in that direction for a moment, then shakily nodded his head, "y-yes. Spiders, they're everywhere, they're attacking the bandits!"
"Those aren't bandits, those are your friends, your family, the other villagers. Do you want to protect your village?"
"Yes!" The adventurer snapped his attention back to her eyes and nodded vigorously, "then go. Do not fear the villagers, you must slay the monsters to protect them."
"Yes," the adventurer nodded, picking up his dagger and pushing himself to his feet, "I must."
"Good," the Dreamweaver smiled, "go now."
She watched for a moment as the adventurer charged off to battle. She couldn't cure him of the venom that filled his veins, but overpowering the hallucinations with illusions of her own was a trivial task.
Lieutenant Kerrick sprinted up to her, deftly sliding to a stop on the slippery roots, "Ma'am, Ash Druga's been bitten by the Matriarch."
"Fuck," she hissed. This would not be as trivial.