By Brightest Flames
Thirteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
"You have been useful to me, Jon Connington," the blue head wreathed in electricity utters the words clear as lightning writ upon the darkened sky, even through the curse the man so addressed had cast upon you. Even as Clegane's sword descends upon his head the old knight is filled with a new surge of life, flesh stitching itself together in lightning patterns across his body. You wonder if Ashara hears the obvious implication, that she has not been useful enough to save in her accursed state. Does she understand now, in the end, how she has damned herself?
"No!" Dany calls out, motioning with her thrice forged seal to unravel the magic, but here in Her place of power in the presence of Her Champion, not even Dany's defiance is enough to undo the Dark Goddess' will.
Tiamat is laughing, her voice like thunder across the field of war, caring nothing for Soallae diving besides Ashara to take her away to her death.
"I call forth the guardian of the orb, the Worm, bane of magic, titan's chain," you intone the words to summon the Worm in your mind. The thing should burst from the earth in a few heartbeats.
Never one to leave a task half done, Sandor simply shifts his weight and strikes Connington thrice around the back and shoulders, spellsteel scraping against spellsteel. The nearness of death thankfully seems to have tempered the old knight's vicious attacks enough that his next blow slides harmlessly across your cloak.
Ser Richard, by contrast, is emboldened into a rush of impossible speed by the sight of looming danger, one that does not slow in the slightest as he reaches Aegon. Oathkeeper rises and falls, deadly as it has ever been, ringing against metal, tearing flesh and cracking bone. A moment later a black-armored arm torn off at the shoulder slides across the temple stones.
So small... a part of you notes with the beginnings of pity, but you remember the other bodies in the room, the sacrifices slain for no reason than to appease his patron's thirst for blood.
Although her voice shakes ever so slightly in trepidation, Teana attempts to repeat the curse afflicting Ashara, this time upon the flesh-smith, but he proves more resistant to the call of bewitching shadows. Yet as he flings a
curse at you, Lya counters it with a single syllable and in return binds him into a familiar
amber prison.
The sound of amber crashing against stone is lost in the roar of Tiamat's rage that something would dare to challenge Her. By the looks of it it is the
Moonchaser's launchers and beetle bombs.
The crimson head spits but one word in a torrent of hate,
"Die." From her jaws emerges something that seems at once ice, fire, lightning, vitriol, and poisoned gas, though you know instinctively is none of those things but rather the dark goddess' desire to destroy made manifest upon the earth.
This time Dany is ready for her, a dome of
gleaming True Silver shielding all of you from the blow, though the metal blackens and weeps foul oil from thin cracks when it is struck. "This might hold for one more blow, but I would not bet on it," your sister admits with a grimace.
Only fair to show her your own fire then, you think grimly. Between thought and deed there is no word or gesture to make and so the curse upon you means nothing, as for one terrible moment you bring an echo of Valyria's doom to the shattered temple and the avatar above.
As your flame reaches across earth and sky something reaches for you, at first you think it is some sly trap of Tiamat, but no, you have felt this sort of communion before, if not with so vast a being,
"Hail, dragon, know that we will add our flame to yours." the kami are waking for their ritual, though you suspect it will not be aimed at the drakes as first planned. Not with
Her in the sky.
You look around the temple room, the lesser priests are all statues just as you had expected. Aegon's survival, looking not even singed, is worse news that you would have hoped for, but at least the charred body of Ser Jon Connington finally lies at your feet for all the trouble he has made for you.
"No! Jon!" Aegon seems more distraught at his death than at losing a limb. His eyes turn skywards to the literal incarnation of his goddess. "Bring him back!" It is more a demand than a prayer, though his voice shakes.
"Kill them all and I shall," the Avatar replies in tones of honeyed poison. There are a few burned patches in her scales, but she seems far indeed from defeat.
What do you do next?
[] Reply to the kami
-[] Ask them to hold off so that the magics on the field to not risk mingling in unexpected ways
-[] Ask for an explanation
-[] Thank them for their aid
[] Concentrate on your enemies, you still have the Chosen of Tiamat and her avatar to deal with
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: Good idea with that Wall of Mithral, most traditional barriers would not have blocked that breath.