Of Dread Words and Baneful Silence
Thirteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
The world twists and writhes around you, images of battle and faces of friends fracturing and reforming without rhyme or reason. You cannot fight this way, but no spell you consider could restore what the blow had cast asunder save perhaps a miracle woven of will alone, but you dare not risk that here and now. Nothing but time would mend it... In a flash of insight you see the answer clear as lightning among the haze the world has become, for once not born of elder dreams, but Lya's musings one rainy day staring out over the sea, book in hand.
The soul need not experience time as the body does, else all manner of arcane contingencies against death would end only in madness...
So it is that your next spell is not cast upon the looking horror above, not upon Aegon wounded but still deadly, Blackfyre in hand, but upon yourself
sliding downwards and inwards, to the depths of your own mind. You are not certain what you had expected when you open your 'eyes' upon the vista constructed from your instinctive notion of 'sanctuary'. Maybe some subtle revelation about yourself and your place in the world? Instead you find yourself in a mental replica of your solar, the desk is still stacked high with parchments
You laugh, nervous energy flowing out of you like water from a broken damn. This place feels strange and disjointed, and not just from the curse you have come here to escape. Those nearest to you are fighting for their lives and here you are, at peace beyond the boundaries of time.
The kami are still waiting for an answer, you realize,
you might as well take the time to formulate one that would be most fair in their hearing as well as useful in the battle. Glancing down at the stack of parchment you consider poetry...
Ser Richard is standing between you and the enemy... of course he is. Of the kami you ask that they do their best to keep Tiamat from summoning yet more of her brood to her side, the battle in the sky is already perilous enough as is.
In one long exhalation you leave the chamber in your mind and once more find yourself in the midst of battle. You see Nirath wreathed in his god's
favor, hissing a word of power in a tongue long dead, a
proclamation of doom. No lesser fiend is Tiamat to be bound or banished by it, but the words of Yss will not be lightly forgotten, six heads shake with rage before the deafening echoes of the word.
Blood-red jaws spit out a
curse fit to send the champion quaking, cowering back to his lord, but even She of Many Colors still needs to hear herself casting to do so reliably, at least in this guise.
"Perhaps it would have worked better if you were not so in love with the sound of your own voice," Dany calls out scornfully over the sounds of battle.
Alas that not all her magics are so easily undone. As Lya tries to
trap Aegon, not in amber but a black diamond of Sothoryos, the white head hisses a single syllable in denial and the spell shatters before it can touch him. Dany's
spell, light racing on the heels of the incantation, spills into harmless luminescence over the boy's
spell-ward.
Black is the head that turns towards Teana and black as burning coals its gaze:
"To ashes fall!"
The sorceress motions abruptly with her against the spell, the ring smoking and burning itself into her flesh with the power needed to counter a godless' will, but Lya's enchantment holds fast, this time at least.
Tiamat can work far more spells than such bound enchantments can hope to match.
Taking advantage of the moment's distraction the dark goddess calls out with deceptive softness something one might almost mistake for kindness:
"You do not seem to be doing well there, Aegon," The Chosen vanished in a ripple of cerulean light. It would be too much to expect that Sandor's final slash had killed him, though more of his blood stains the temple.
"Where is the boy," you send into the ether, what to others might have been a prayer, knowing the kami have an eye in every flicker of flame.
"Atop one the the lesser dragons," comes the crackling reply and you breathe a sigh of relief. Tiamat was not usually one to see to the safety of her pawns, but you would have hated to be wrong now of all times. She does not know about the Well, about the pacts you have made...
The earth shakes beneath your feet and it is not Tiamat's doing... the Worm is coming, it is near. You will not have to last much longer.
What do you do next?
[] Write in (One more round until the worm arrives)
OOC: You guys are out of easy spell counters, but on the plus side you rolled 2 on the turns to worm arrival, 1 now and Tiamat is deaf (20% Arcane spell failure). Since it was the Champion of another god that dealt it, she cannot just trivially restore it. Of course, Nriah could only do that by using the Crown of the Serpent Lord's 1/day buff, he can't normally match the avatar in spellcasting. 
