Well, this is going about as badly as I figured it would, Drenar!

Alex hadn’t been letting up on the non-stop ‘I told you so’s’ for the past several minutes, and he is now engaged in a battle against an Alterian Nightwing, who has a clear advantage of not being run ragged for the entire afternoon, and having an exhaustion inducing Awakening in the process. Drenar’s only advantage is that Crosomer absolutely sucks at close-range combat, and he manages several superficial wounds on him, bypassing the arcane barrier. He may have been extremely good with a sword, but brawling is a different skill altogether.

His state of well-being is trending towards exhaustion and the wing wound hasn’t fully healed yet. Crosomer beckons him forward, and he’s glad that Angela and Julia are out of the line of fire. He thought he’d caught Julia’s voice screaming out the warning about the fire blast, but the spark of warning down his spine had been more than enough. They had smashed through what was left of the ground floor of the warehouse, and it’s a stately mess.

“Lesson…whatever the hell number it is. Dragons have difficulty fighting other dragons. We’re too stubborn to die to one another, and you really have to work for it. Except for the Saharan Shrike. Poor things got the worst draconic evolutionary tools ever.”

“Fates, do you ever stop doing that professor schtick!?” He doesn’t mean to snarl, but given that he hit his hard cap of near-death encounters for the day, he’s getting mighty pissed off that this overgrown kobold still hasn’t given up the combat lesson.

Reel him in and give him a beating, will you? I'm pretty sure he was there for my demise, because I remember hearing him!

Wish granted! Drenar had been observing Angela's motions and body pose when she'd used her telekinetics, and Drenar flings a wide cast to pull Crosomer off balance. He sees the silver shimmer, and it's like he gets jerked forward, and stumbles. Drenar instantly closes the distance to clothesline him, and follows up with a stomp. Crosomer is faster on his claws than he anticipated, and topples Drenar. It's several seconds of tense grappling, and Crosomer is pulling out all the stops.

Drenar is getting frustrated. All of his attacks are barely deterring the onyx-scaled dragon he is trying to beat into submission, and he's running on adrenaline and willpower that isn't going to last. “You know what, let's step outside!”

What actually happens is that he grabs Crosomer by his torso and one of his horns, and uses a telekinetic enhanced throw to send him through the exterior wall of the warehouse, smashing through bricks and metal siding. The arcane barrier didn't do much to soften the blow. He groans and peels himself away from the debris, and rubs gingerly at one of his horns.

“For someone who just Awakened, you seem to have picked up on this awfully fast–”

“Ah shut up and take your beating like a dragon!” It's far easier to picture this as a brawl with Julia or her other friends at the dojo, though he hadn't been there quite as often as her, or her friend Kelly.

Quick strikes, force him to defend, hitting him with closed fists. Get every opening he can.

His claws aren't doing much damage against his scales, anyway. That's another round of draconic anatomy training, if he lives past this. But bones could be broken, he thinks in a moment of alacrity. And soft tissue below can still take damage that way with the massive force.

Crosomer thrusts out a ray of fire that catches Drenar off guard. A reinforcement of his barrier deflects some of it, but it still singes his torso. It hurts, and the scales are sooty. The heavy rainfall leaves him steaming, both externally, and internally. He feels his danger sense kick in and he dodges the second jet and closes the distance.

“Hey jackass, if you really want to knock me down, pick something that works!” Drenar launches his way past Crosomer's block, kicks out his knee from under him and lands a heavy blow.

Crack. Drenar feels those teeth come loose when he smashes his clawed fists into Crosomer's face, all while keeping him from returning the favor multiple times. When he's staggered, he grips a wing and throws him over his shoulder, and hears a sickening crunch. The limb is bent, and Crosomer's mood of jubilee becomes one of pain. He doesn't waste the time to kick him down to the ground, heaving in exhaustion. Meanwhile, Crosomer is laughing, even with a few teeth hanging loose and one broken wing.

“Haha. You know I had it wrong, I didn't think you'd last in a fight, but you're pretty good! More than one fighting style between the lot of you, I like it!” Drenar grabs him by a wing, and leers at him.

“What's so funny?”

“This.”

Drenar is revolted and shocked when Crosomer lurches back and spits on Drenar, and the sting of the green goo immediately seizes up his muscles, and he gasps and scrabbles backwards. He can barely move, his limbs are slow to react!

“Eww, did you just…spit mucus at me?!”

“Paralytic enzymes,” Crosomer corrected politely. His bull rush and slamming Drenar into the side of a steel container wasn't so polite. His wings are jarred from the impact, and he's slow to react against the barrage of attacks. His arcane barrier is also doing nothing to keep him from getting cut up or soften the blows, and he falls to the ground. “Sure it's unprofessional, but you can't argue with the effectiveness.”

Damn it, Drenar, you even read about the Alterian’s abilities!

Thanks, Alex, this is so great to know while I'm taking a beating, take crib notes next time! Drenar kicks out with what remaining limb control he's got and knocks Crosomer over, and he tries to claw at him–unfortunately, his talons bounce off the heavier armor scales. Crosomer simply laughs, even as he's panting for breath. He's winded too, and he doesn't have much strength left, and a splitting headache has been distracting his focus.

Stop trying to claw him, that isn't working! Bite him!

Alex’s advice is less than useful, and Drenar feels his thoughts drifting towards instinctive fight or flight methods, like there's a current of fury that he could tap into. He shakes his head vigorously to keep his focus. Not a fan of chomping on something living–

It's almost a fitting irony when Crosomer pins him down and he is still struggling to move and hinges his jaw wide. Drenar breaks free just long enough to thrust his forearm in front and protect his neck, but the sheer agony of those teeth sinking in removes whatever limiters he's got left, and he twists his arm, tearing scales and flesh to try to gouge Crosomer's face. He withstands the pain, but loses his grip on Drenar's arm.

Pain-fueled fury drives Drenar to slam his free claw into the side of his face, assisted by a massive telekinetic slam as his fist makes contact. It takes three blows to knock Crosomer away and send him staggering backward, and Drenar grabs his mangled forearm. The wound is deep and the scales are compromised. A shudder of pain runs down his arm, and the blood flow is significant.

Told you.

You're chastising me when my arm is mangled? Some help you are! Drenar retorts internally. Crosomer rights himself, and Drenar swears he hears wing beats.

“Oh, does that hurt? You're half Maridian at least, rub some dirt in it,” Crosomer sneers before his expression softens. He doesn't attack though, and he now has some wounds of his own that aren't scratch damage. A few teeth dangle from his jaw.

“Ahh…are you ready to call this a draw? We're both at our limits, and you're gonna need a dentist,” Drenar snarls. Crosomer responds by twisting the loose teeth and throwing them to the ground in a sickening moment of stoicism and offers a bloody grin. “Oh, I'm keeping those, asshole. Thanks for giving me a consolation prize, I'll be sure to start a necklace.”

“They'll grow back. That reminds me, from what I gathered I thought you were human only. But yet, you display two species of draconic lineage. Why is that?”

“Aren't you the one with all the answers?”

“Well, not all of them. I think someone has not been candid about their research–oh for the love of Gaia, who's interrupting–”

Drenar sees the motion before Crosomer, and a giant green scaled and feathered dragon strikes in a driving blow with their legs, bowling Crosomer over and sending him spinning from head to tail. The second dragon lands right by Drenar, and he swears he's seen those hazel eyes and calm demeanor before–

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“Oh. Hey Nick. I'm guessing you're a little pissed at us,” he states nonchalantly while waving his good hand at him.

“How'd you get that right in one go?” Nick doesn't even try to deny it.

“Your scalp feathers are still arranged in that weirdly out-of-date beach boy style you've got.” Nick grunts audibly at this.

“It's not out of date.” He hasn't bothered to mention the complicated jacket with armor inserts he's wearing or the form-fitting leggings he's wearing, and it is another reminder that Drenar has been fighting buck naked for several minutes. “Who’s the plus one?”

“Robespierre Crosomer. We aren't friends.” Nick does a double-take.

“Isn't he supposed to be dead?”

“Yes, I get that. A lot,” Crosomer growls. Nick grabs a roll of gauze from a pack and hands it to Drenar. He doesn't hesitate to wrap the injured arm, and he feels a calming, cooling sensation as he wraps it tight and then ties it off. Crosomer is still sitting there, staring at them.

“Oh, this is just getting awkward now. Where's the introduction?” he huffs. “You know what, forget it. Time to leave this party, you pass, Drenar. So do your lovely female associates. Someone's been training you three, and they did a damn fine job.”

“You're not going anywhere –”

Crosomer grabs a canister from his satchel and flings it at Nick at incredible speed, and that locking foam airbursts just before he can evade and tethers him to Drenar, and they're stuck together. “Uh, hang on, let's see…there's a line for this from some bad theatrical motion film Nigel brought in. ‘Stick around,’ I think?” he grins.

“You are bad and should feel bad for even saying that!” Drenar growls while trying to claw at the foam–it's surprisingly resistant to his efforts. Crosomer grabs a series of folded metal plates and places them down, and soft glowing runes light the outer perimeter, and the center charges with a low humming noise, and starts to glow with a white light. “Nick, what is that?”

“One-time-use teleportal pad, stop him!” Nick and Drenar both try to pry apart, but this foam seems to be tougher to break than the last time he saw it. Crosomer sighs and smoothes his scalp feathers crest.

“Nah. I have other things to attend to. Greg, I'm scuttling the mountain, are you clear?” he barks into a headset that has been partially obscured by his feathers.

“We’re clear. I'm assuming that Val’s men are clear?”

“Unfortunately,” he snaps before gesturing to Drenar. “A bit of parting advice for you two. Don't trust the Conclave. After all, I'm sure everything is sunshine and roses with the way they've been managing things. And go tell Zacharias she's getting knocked off that throne in due time. I figure it would be fashionable if the descendants of the biggest defenders of her reign were there to inform the usurper that her little dystopian experiment is about to come to a screeching–”

A gunshot rings out and a round smacks right into Crosomer. His arcane barrier flares and he staggers backwards, away from the plate. Drenar echo locates the source and sees Julia bracing a massive rifle on a railing, raining down a barrage of heavy weapons fire. Crosomer reinforces his barrier, but one round smashes through it, hitting him in the arm and he screams in pain.

“Take that, you giant murder lizard!” Julia screams out even as she pulls out the empty magazine and slams in a full one with fluid motion. “Wait until I awaken, you and I are gonna do another dance, and you better freaking deliver!”

“Ow.” Drenar found it just a little disturbing that a gunshot from a heavy caliber sniper rifle elicited little more than ‘ow’ from a dragon. “I kinda like her, she's feisty there Rashalda. Well, gotta go, but thanks for the reminiscing. Just don't get in my way when I really get to work, because there won't be any holding back next time. We’ll be in touch soon, ta-taa!”

He steps onto the platform, and there's a shimmer in the air around him that erupts into a burst of white light. Drenar shields his eyes and feels a blast of air from the platform, and when the bright spots in his eyes fade, Crosomer is gone. The platform is smoking and sparking, and silvery material is running molten onto the ground, where it cools and solidifies into a fractal mess. He turns to Nick, who's got a bottle of some alchemical substance he is using that is slowly dissolving the foam.

The fight is over. Unfortunately, the action isn't over, Because there is a massive tremor and a sharp series of cracks. The mine head entrance collapses, and a cloud of debris emanates from within. Based on the possible explosives he'd seen in the mine, they must have all gone off at once, and Nick looked dismayed at the destruction.

“Tell me that all our evidence isn't buried in there.” The feathers on his head crest are on edge in an amusing emotional tell. For once, Drenar can actually give him some good news.

“Oh, we got tons. Hard drives, photos, video. Ah crap, my go-pro is in the shredded remains of my clothes.” Drenar feels a burning pain in his chest, and he winces at it, along with the numerous other injuries. “Uh, can we talk later? Because I'm kind of in pain. And I'm still lacking pants.” Nick glances at him and sighs.

“Yeah, I think we'd better get home. You're one stiff breeze from–”

He feels woozy, and his legs buckle out from beneath him. Sitting is very much preferable, and the rest of his friends slowly gather around them.

“So uh, hi, Drenar, how are you?” James asks while wearing a nervous smile. Drenar feels a little lightheaded, and focuses on him.

“Kinda awful. You?”

“Terrified beyond measure,” he replies with resignation. Julia looks like she's in rough shape, her arms still look scarred, and there are faint blue and black lines on her skin. Angela is nursing her arm, and she's letting Julia lean on her a little. “So I'm guessing that we're in the clear for now?”

“Yeah. For now.” He examines his left arm. Chomped on by a dragon. It’s still immensely painful, along with the lesser injuries. “I'm a freaking dragon, James. They're gonna have to try a lot harder to knock me down now.”

“Oh, Fates, don't let it get to your head,” Angela sighs. “Let's just get home and start figuring things out.”

“Holy fates Drenar, that was badass!” Julia roars more fiercely than him, and he's the dragon out of the two of them. She’s clutching onto that new rifle like it’s her favorite toy ever. “I like this version of you better!”

“Are you saying you have a thing for scales? I’m not judgy.” Based on her extremely flustered response, he might have accidentally hit a little too close to home. “You know what, we need to uh…probably call the wizard police or something.”

“Yes, that would be a wonderful idea,” Nick states irritably. “I'm soaked, and I almost broke Veil protocol getting here. And you are in for a rough round of triage,” he adds while pointing sternly at Drenar. “You also need to transform back. You're not walking back like that.”

“You mean I don't get to assert my awesomeness?” Nick simply shakes his head and looks unamused. His cheek feathers are tightly pressed to his face, further accentuating his response. “Alright, fine. Let's get this over with and head home.”

One quick explanation of transformation later, Drenar is sitting naked, and James luckily has a set of spare clothes to save himself from the indignity, and he quickly gets dressed. He's looking forward to getting answers as they head back to the car further down the road, but fatigue finally catches up with him. He hears Nick sigh, then lends him a shoulder to lean on when he transforms back to his human body, in his typical bomber jacket and jeans, plus some tactical gear.

It's going to be a long trek home.

“So uh…thanks,” Drenar says quietly. Julia is being assisted by James and Angela, and if he wasn't at the literal limits of endurance, he’d be doing it himself.

“Don't thank me yet. I think this is just getting started,” Nick replies wearily. “So, let me see if I got this right. You started a cave-in. Fought through a dozen Talons soldiers.”

“Yep.”

“And were re-enacting a mine cart ride escape straight out of Indiana Jones?”

“Yep,” Julia, Drenar, and Angela reply in tandem.

“And then, you fought one of the most renowned mage knights in arcanist history, the guy who almost brought the Conclave to its knees, and held your own?”

“Yep.”

“I call bullshit.” For some reason, Angela breaks out in uncontained laughter, and everyone stares at her for a good number of seconds.

“You can call it whatever you want after you sift through that immensely priceless data and video feed,” Angela rebukes while trying to suppress a giggle. “Spoilers, you won't believe what we went through.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is shaping up to be an unfathomable amount of paperwork, and the start of a ‘save the world’ scenario.” Nick runs his fingers through this hair.

“Actually, Nick, we just call it a baller Friday night with the Radiant Delvers,” Julia quips.

“Seriously, where did the silly title come from?” Nick asks with curiosity.

“Oh you know, it’s just the product of breaking two of my best friends out of chronic depression,” Angela answers testily. Nick sighs in resignation.

“You are such a weird group of people.”

“The ranger slot still needs filling, Nick. You game?” Drenar grunts.

“Tabletop, or a literal representation of where my professional skills lie in this increasingly madhouse scenario?”

“Take your pick.”