Black Wings Rising
Twentieth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
Light as a reed is the staff of weirwood in your hand, yet still through scales warded by arcane powers you still feel the strength within it, the magics of the earth mated with the yearning for the sky. "Play your games, wretched pawn, and I shall play mine. If the aspect of the Bitch Queen of Dragons cannot lay me low, what hope does a creature so debased as you have?"
So saying you strike the ground with the staff and for just a moment it sings in your hand, the merest echo of the Great Song. Upon a hundred wings an unkindness of ravens rises, black wings against the storm of white, and through a hundred pairs of eyes you see the worlds yet your mind is not clouded.
Is this how Bloodraven sees the world? you wonder.
Heedless of peril are your spies as they ascend for they are not creatures of flesh but sorcery made manifest, a raucous cacophony flying into the eye of howling white.
Seek you bid them and so they do. Where one pair of eyes may be blinded by swirling snow, a dozen or a score are not so easily fooled.
Here a flash of white shining too bright... there the veil of a wing cutting almost soundlessly though the cold mist.
Through eyes not your own you cast a veil of fire, tinged in blood, and out of the cold heavens a scream of pain echoes upon the wind, like ice shattering.
You take 5 Damage
The Dragon that dives at you jaws agape is not merely white of scale, it is wrought of purest ice as though carved from some ancient glacier. Its scales a thousand shimmering shades as they reflect the fire that torments it: from pale blue to frigid green to crystalline white, its form lithe and graceful in the air. Only its eyes belie its deceptive beauty: blacker than night they are, an emptiness that is more than darkness, a hunger without end that you had seen but once before in far Volantis.
It breathes upon you a cone of icy wind laced with darkness that pulls at your very soul and screams of death beyond death, but against both you are warded. Seals of power flash into incandescence against the darkness, and so you stand unharmed save for the blood still trickling from your hand where you had pried open the scales to work your magics.
Seeing her chance Dany rushes in, hand glowing with pulsing blood-red
light like a star of ill omen, and with it she strikes the beast as a hammer blow from the blue. Cracks begin to show in the icy scales, showing the writhing void beneath.
What do you do next?
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OOC: Viserys did not roll high enough to identify the dragon, but Dany did, which is why she knew it is a living creature and would be harmed by negative energy.