By Fire and Steel
Sixth Day of the Second Month 294 AC
Once, long ago, beyond the histories of mortal men, dragons red of scale and red in tooth and claw flew to the world's defense against armies that marched beneath the banners of night. They did not fight to shield the weak, they did not die valiant heroes. They fought for greed and died in wrath and spite. The Void burned upon the pyre then and now they will just the same.
And you remember it.
As time lurches into movement again,
blood-red flame envelopes the reaper and from its heart a
spear of light bursts forth to burn clear through the ceiling. An echo only of those age old powers woven under the Fourteen Fires in the days before Valyria.
Even that is enough to makes your enemy scream in agony beyond what flesh could contain. Perhaps some part of it was on the field that day, for now you see rage where before there had been only pitiless will to destroy. As the scythe descends a storm of blades rises to meet it, some
conjured by your hand, but one above all others reaping a terrible toll. Ser Richard strikes once, twice, each blow tearing great rents in the midnight robes to reveal a deeper darkness underneath.
One final twist of your magic is enough to guard Dany from the enemy's wrath, by
hand of warding stone, but not alas not the knight. The scythe falls, tearing into the his shoulder and back as he only just gets his head clear, the cursed blade cutting though blessed steel as though it were little more than parchment.
Ser Richard takes 97 Damage
A wave of blood flowing from his wounds, Ser Richard grits his teeth and strikes a third time, Oathkeeper twisting like a serpent in his hand to slam into the luminous void beneath the reaper's tattered hood.
The enemy died, not with a scream but with a hiss like air escaping from a distant tomb. For just a moment you see a faint image of the daemon, outlined in its own fel light, a thing of blackened horns and eyes like festering pits, but before you can muster a spell to strike at it, it vanishes from sight, unbound in spirit by the spell that bound it in unliving flesh.
You would be meeting that thing again and soon, of that you are certain, but for now your gaze moves to the chamber's door where guards are already marching up to find whatever had disturbed the wards and bindings. On the one hand you are standing over manifest proof of everything you told the Lord Protector about the dangers of the Void, on the other hand you are currently standing in a prison entered under false pretenses, not far from prince you should not, by Mardoshi custom, even know exists.
What do you do?
[] Stay where you are and try to explain your presence
-[] Write in
[] Grab the Doom Weaver's remains and weapon and run. Attempt to present them to the Lord Protector under different circumstances
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: The blow to Ser Richard is actually multiple attacks, but is just felt better in fluff as a single near-crippling blow. Not yet edited.
