Interlude DCCXXX: A Vested Interest
A Vested Interest
Thirteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
The Shadow of Old Sarnor, Plane of Shadow
Idrylion the Dream-Breaker had not grown so old nor so wise in the ways of magic where others of his kindred had withered and died by being first to the attack not last to the retreat in the face of the foe. With one of his vassals slain by the god-slave and his campaign of harassment having failed to do lasting harm to the half-breed's attempt he would have been entirely content to slip back into the ever-shifting shadows, after visiting the treasury of course, but the brand of Tiamat burned above his heart. The Dark Queen did not hold him as deeply enthralled as the mortals' gods did their puppets of course, but ill luck and black misfortune would surely trail his steps were he to abandon the battle.
Follow the plan he must. Summon reinforcements from the guard chambers, cast breath and spells upon them from the shadows. Easily said, not so easily done when they had Devils with them. He bound the metal one and the half-dead woman with tentacles of shadow and frost, but the one who was of Shadow was not so easily snared. He slipped through them, and not even young Xeresys' breath could do more than slow him, even stripped of his ward. Haste to fight and haste to flight, the elder Dragon cast upon himself. Perhaps he could still catch up with the rotund magister Illyrio, the crimson hatchling had revealed more than she intended of where his lairs might be on the material plane.
Then the Scarred Ones struck. Fanatics and more than fanatics, their minds just as mutilated as their flesh in their adoration of Tiamat's glory, these once-mortals could not be trusted in the world of their birth, nothing but a Dragon or a priest of the Goddess could appear in their presence without being attacked on sight that the fanatics might beat upon their hearts, or perhaps burn them as offerings. Ritual consistency was not their finest skill either. They showed that now, carving their way through the Unliving with serrated blades and unmatched savagery.
Perhaps they might yet be trapped here... Idrylion briefly considered the more pleasing alternative of all his foes being slain and having the first pick of their corpses, alas that was not how the battle was progressing.
Xeresys was fighting with his claws now, dueling the Sea Dragon, dueling and faring poorly. He should have invested more of his hoard into keeping himself alive, or taken advantage of the chamber's hidden passages and cunningly disguised eye-slits to cast through a doppelganger. I will not be able to keep this up much longer, the Devils are still not dead, the elder Shadow Dragon thought. Had his nature been fire he would have raged and roared. But as he was a creature of shadow and spite, the fact was a painful irritation, like ground glass under his scales.
He triggered one of the last traps, a concussive scream wrung from the lips of a thousand sacrifices until it would reduce all but the strongest to their knees. Only the god-slave and the half-dead fell and the shadow-born was there in an instant to defend them, keeping the Scarred Ones from performing the decapitation their simple minds took so much pleasure in. I need to get out now, he thought, tail lashing so violently he almost struck the stone and gave his true position away. Yet I cannot...
An idea came to him, bold yes, but not as assured in defeat as lingering here once the last of the Scarred had been slain. "Oh Great Tiamat, let me pass from this citadel to raid the lair of your foes," he called, out focusing on the cold hiss of the mark.
"Very well," a voice trailing echoes beyond count hissed in his mind, "let us see if you are more skilled in attacking then defending."
So passed Idrylion the Shadow Wyrm by swift and secret ways from the fortress of shadows to the world under the sun... to Sorcerer's Deep.
OOC: Our friend the Shadow Dragon here is built as an Eldritch Thurge like Maelor instead of straight sorcerer and Tiamat is his patron so he can't just bail in the fortress like Illyrio did. The Scarred Ones are what they sound like, glass cannon eternally raging barbarians that hit like a truck and can be mass-produced in exchange for being utterly insane and burning out physically in a matter of years.
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