Dragons once held dominion over the land, sea, and sky until a foul god deposed and devoured them. Their terrifying strength and all-consuming breath allowed them to roam freely and pillage the world with voracious hunger and maligned greed. So great was their girth they could cover a town in their darkness. While their absence had liberated the people of the world from draconic tyranny, a prolific number of hybrid offspring remained behind.

The Swamp Tyrant was one such dragon-blooded descendant.

It rose ever higher from the filth of the moat; the water level hastily retreated in its wake.

Yellowed spear-like teeth festooned an enormous jaw; bits and pieces of Captain Morlech still hung from between them. A thick skull like that of a prehistoric dinosaur sprouted a pair of massive horns twisting backwards in an intimidating display, protecting a pair of dark eyes that sparkled with cruel animal intelligence. The beast’s hide was thick with protective osteoderm, subdermal plates of armor that ran all along its back and sides like the skin of a crocodile.

Stalking forwards with prideful confidence, its tall fan waved in a display of intimidation and might as the muffled sounds of heavy steps echoed from underwater. Slowly, four tree-trunk-like legs broke the murky surface one after the other until all four limbs of keen claws bit deeply into the wood of the dead roots. It drew its heavy bulk further into the small grove; the root lattice below groaning under the weight.

The vast creature was the size of a building. In fact, it was eerily similar in form to the Drowned Tyrant Inn. Perhaps the same family of creatures that stood before them now contributed its bleached bones to form the peculiarly striped inn.

A mace-like tail was last to leave the water, swaying side to side as it prowled aggressively towards the adventurers on the relatively dry land.

Hunger glinted in its small, dark eyes.

Autumn held her breath as a cloying blanket of fear suffocated the air. Her fingers clenched tightly around her weapons as her mind desperately sought for her repertoire of magical might. While she was growing more confident in her strength, she didn’t think it’d be enough to combat the half-dragon before her. Autumn strangled the nascent fear inside of her beating chest, wrestling it into a source of power.

Around her, the dismayed and stunned adventurers and guardsmen uttered quiet prayers to deities they hoped would listen.

Suddenly, Captain Arsit’s voice cut through the shocked silence. “Move! Get your spears up into phalanx before it charges!”

Autumn jolted alongside the others at the sound.

Like a well-oiled machine, the still-standing and unharmed guards and adventurers followed his shouted commands, forming up into a bristling wall of spears and pole-arms as the Tyrant stormed towards them. Crudely made huts and walkways broke apart before its bulk as it charged at the nervous warriors with a rumbling growl.

Autumn almost stumbled to the bucking ground, but a powerful grip bore her to her feet and steadied her. Nethlia practically dragged her along the writhing roots as her party and the bards fled to the sides. Glancing around, Autumn didn’t spot neither hide nor hair of their party’s rogue; Liddie having disappeared with nobody the wiser. Despite the unease in her gut, Autumn hoped the vanished pirate was simply laying in wait.

Upon the phalanx of bristling spears, the Tyrant fell with an almighty crash. To Autumn's horror, the weapons splintered and broke as they impacted the tough hide of the beast, horns and claws swept away the sharp points. Only a few found their marks to carve grooves between scales and bone plating.

With terrified haste, the fighters dodged out of the way of the multi-tonne beast, leaving their weapons behind braced against the roots. The spears extolled a debt of blood from the dragon-blood before they exploded in a shower of wood, unable to cope with the pressure and weight.

A roar of pain and anger ripped free of the Tyrant as it thrashed its mighty head; waves of spellcraft splashed against it in an attempt to distract it from the fleeing front-line fighters.

While most escaped the stomping feet, a few weren’t so lucky and met their end beneath clawed feet. Silk and bone armor offered little protection from the tonnage crushing down upon them. Blood and guts scattered across the roots in a spray of gore.

Hot blood coated Autumn’s face as she staggered back, stunned by fright and shock.

Autumn’s hands shook as she continued casting and the Tyrant continued killing. The cries of pain and horror reverberated across the grove amongst the triumphant roars of the king of the swamps and mires. Spears and pole-arms skittered and broke as they tried to find weaknesses or gaps; very few scored wounds in the gaps between thick scales.

Pyre pushed herself into the fray to aid the wounded. Desperate souls wailed in pain as she poured splashes of healing potion on the worst of the wounds, drawing them back from death’s grip. Autumn discarded her ineffectual assault to aid where she could; her Delay Death providing time for those more versed in the healing arts.

“Autumn! Hold them down, I need to stitch an artery up first!”

Pyre’s blood-soaked hands clutched tightly to the arm of a thrashing guard. Blood was gushing out in spurts as Autumn rushed over. The guard cried out and bucked as Autumn held them down until she pulsed a blast of fear to freeze them in place; their eyes rolled up till the whites showed as it flooded their mind, but at least they were still.

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Again and again the pair rushed about the crumpled bodies in a desperate triage, but many still lay dead despite their best efforts.

A roar of anger shook Autumn to her bones. Casting a quick glance, she observed the Tyrant standing proudly in the center of the grove, having chased the adventurers and inadvertently disadvantaged itself; the grand, heavy sail upon its back preventing it from turning freely within the cluster of boughs and branches.

A disadvantage that the bloodied adventurers were keen to exploit.

In unison they attacked with renewed savagery.

From above came the Umbra assassins with poisoned blades and from below came heavy axes and piercing spears. Thick black blood ran freely from between scales as blades bit deep while its prided sail was slashed and cut. Ekrus laid into the foreleg of the beast alongside his sons with an unrelenting fury; scales bucked and split under the driving force, halting only when bone caught the wetted blades.

The tyrant roared once more in a fresh agony. It trashed about seeking to crush, stomp, or bite those waylaying it, but they’d found themselves in spots the beast couldn’t easily reach.

However, not all were so lucky.

Arvius’ axe had bit too deep into the Tyrant’s limb and as it thrashed, yanking him off of his feet as he instinctively held onto his weapon. The limb whipped him about until his blood-slick grip slipped and sent him flying. Head over heels, the berserker tumbled until he crashed heavily into a thick tree root, cracking it. Arvius groaned as he tried to stagger to his feet, but the very limb that had sent him flying crushed him back down and when it lifted once more, only a crumpled form and a smear of blood remained.

Wide, blank eyes stared up at the sky.

“NOO!!!” Captain Ekrus bellowed in anguish and rage.

The grieving father and weathered adventurer entered a pulsing, blinding rage. He rushed forth to once more savage the wounded limb he’d carved into before. With mighty swings as if he was merely chopping down a tree, he cleaved the Tyrant’s foot from the trunk-like leg; the keen blade of a thousand battles finally cracked as it broke the dragon-beast’s bones.

With thunderous force that shook the ground and sent them all stumbling, the titanic beast crashed down into the matted roots as its leg no longer supported it. The heavy impact splintered the roots and sent the rocks held between plunging into an endless dark hollow below.

Shock tempered Autumn’s burgeoning hope as the Tyrant snapped out balefully at Ekrus with lightning-fast speed. A pair of legs stood where the proud warrior and father had once, still pumping lifesblood from the last heartbeat.

Captain Ekrus was gone, crushed and devoured.

Fear began suffocating the warriors, almost drowning Autumn in the rush. Bloodshot and wide eyes flickered back and forth as feet began creeping backwards; it’d only take one to flee before they’d all rout. The fear in their hearts was that potent.

Autumn was no different.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on that blanket of fear cloying everyone’s throats. Reaching out with her magic and will, she grasped onto that blanking feeling. Witch Augus had in her tome warned of stealing emotions from others willfully, but right now, if she did nothing, it was likely more would die from the flight; the swamps outside were no less dangerous than in here.

Exerting a powerful flex of her will and mind, Autumn twisted the fear around herself like a vortex, pulling the horror out of everyone and into her depthless well.

Pain soured her nose; blood dripped freely as vessels burst under the strain.

Her mind burned.

Unbeknown to her, darkness clung to her form like a second skin and her eyes bled black beneath her closed eyelids. All around her darkened form, the shadow of fear retreated from the minds and bodies of the guards and adventurers, allowing courage to take hold in its place. Limbs quelled in their shaking and feet held firm as they ceased their involuntary retreat.

“Don’t let it off! Surround it! We’ve got it on the ropes!!”

Captain Arsit’s voice cut through the air, jolting the warriors from their inaction. A rising warcry shook off the last of the fear and restored bravery in their hearts alongside the crush of anger and grief. Spears lashed out as arrows sunk into ripped open wounds and blades sought to bring it back low with heavy, bulging strikes to its hamstrings.

Autumn’s group leapt into the fray where they could; Nethlia doing the heavy work of cracking scales for Nelva to cut into flesh with viper-like strikes. While Edwyn and Pyre aided where they could with their brand of magic, Autumn couldn’t see any sight of Liddie; occasionally she’d get a glimmer of a white-gold blade, but by the time she looked, it was gone.

With her mind overburdened with the pulse of magic and siphon of fear, it was all she could do to cast her blackcraft into the fray. Splashes of deepest violent violet crashed into the Tyrant, enraging it as the fear crept at the edges of its mind like baying hounds Autumn had heard not all that long ago.

Wounded and aching, the Tyrant tried to stagger to its remaining limbs as the adventurers savaged it. Ropes wound themselves around the Tyrant’s horns and began pulling its head down against its will. Never had this king of the mires been so hurt, so challenged, so humiliated. Enraged, it pulled against the ropes, and no match for its strength, the adventurers holding them had to let go, lest they too were dragged into its maw.

Despite the tight crush of the trees surrounding its enormous body, the tyrant twisted in place, tearing the already tattered and torn sail upon its back further. Swinging fast enough to cut the air with a whistle came the beast’s armored, club-like tail. Like a cannonball meeting the deck of a ship, the tail crashed into the side of a tree and sent an explosion of shrapnel splinters scything across the battlefield.

The air wailed.

Before Autumn’s wide eyes, they cut ranks of guards and adventurers down as she hastily conjured her magical shield with a ragged scream. She was just in time; a forearm-length splinter hung suspended in the glowing purple field, a bare inch from her face.

Sweat pooled on Autumn’s forehead from the close call.

“Pyre? Are you alright—”

Autumn’s voice cut off as she turned to teammate and friend. A spike of wood protruded from the alchemist’s face, carved through her nose and embedded just below her eye, deep within her skull. Blood dripped freely down as wide eyes stared.

“...Pyre?” Autumn whispered.

A familiar roar of rage drew Autumn’s attention away and she whipped her head back around to the battle.

Nethlia leapt from the breaking boughs above the Tyrant’s head. In Autumn’s vision, she hung suspended in the golden rays of peeking sunlight like a heroic painting, her war-hammer brought to touch her heels as she bent back. The berserker’s face pulled into an expression of fury; her white fanged grin bared back in a snarl.

Down she came, like an angel of vengeance.

The hammer blow struck the Tyrant’s head with a tremendous crash, sending it staggering on already unstable footing and it tumbled onto the roots which let out a deafening ‘CRACK’...

…and the floor gave way.