Fate Unwound
Twenty Sixth Day of the Fourth Month 293 AC
Malarys' magic rolls over Tor like the very breath of the Fourteen, stripping away wards and protections in chaotic displays of light and sound, just as Vee utters doom over him, her voice growing cold and sibilant: "Egg breaker, mind twister, bone turner you are, and the reckoning comes in full!"
The scaled sorcerer falters as though struck, the motion just enough to throw him off balance as Lya's voice resounds once more over the field of battle from the midst of time's tangled skeins, casting dozens of luminous chains about his form, holding him fast where he stands. Thus too you act weaving two spells, two
wishes end over end, one to ward you against the bone serpents' smoking gaze and the other to rob Tor of his wits without even having to waste his first skull.
The pair of them will look so lovely side by side, the darkly amused thought flutters over your mind.
Yet somehow as you meet the old mage's eyes that same terrible will you glimpsed long ago in the hidden chamber beneath his house endures: "You have no power over me,
boy!" he spits, forked tongue darting between his lips.
Maelor's spell strikes Tor in the chest, but it glances off his scales like light off a silvered mirror. Seeing this, Waymar decides to rush back to slay the injured death serpent menacing Lya and Tyene rather than try to exchange spells with Tor. The creature goes down with a hissing sigh that seems to pull away the attention of its two fellows from you for a moment.
As Xor manages to ensnare the last mostly unharmed archer, Garin slips once more into darkness, to emerge behind Tor like the very shadow of the reaper, enchanted steel flashing as it bites through scale and into the flesh beneath revealing blood that froths pink under the blows. The mage weathers them, but it is clear he has not much life left in him and the chains hold him fast as he struggles.
Through all this Tyene does not speak, she does not move, no words of power pass her lips, no subtle movement to mark drawing a hidden vial of poison. Instead she merely...
glows ever brighter, and as the light grows past candle flame, then a torch, she finally begins to walk slowly towards one of the horrors flanking you. Bright and commanding as a figure of spun gold she is amid the light as she raises a hand, and for just a moment you spy a spear of light as that which lies on the banner of House Martell in her hand, its tip pointing into the earth. Thus the monster crumbles into white chalky ash.
Shielding his eyes against the light, Ser Richard pushes Bronn aside while shouting for him to get out of Tor's way and sweeps Oathkeeper in to end the magus as he had once before. Alas his blow fails against
impenetrable serpentine coils.
The bands of light flicker and die as he slips them, and you can see the struggle in his eyes as he looks about the battlefield where all but one of his allies had fallen, but knowing that while he may be able to run he would not be able to hide for long. With a chilling baleful utterance he casts a line of pulsing green
light, the stuff of primal chaos itself, directly at Lya as she stands stock still, paying time's price even as you do.
Lya stumbles back in horror as the dreadful light illuminates her features, and for one poisoned instant they seem to fall apart into a cloud of dust upon the wind.
"Change!" Vee shouts desperately,
motioning in Tor's direction, doubling over in pain at having plucked the threads of fate twice too swiftly.
Hardly paying any mind to the sting of the last abomination's fangs or the lash of its tail, you have eyes only for Lya who now stands unharmed if shaken, warded by Dany's blessing and Vee's quick thinking. Never have you felt such sweet relief at the spell undone and burning hatred at the one who cast it all at once, never have you raged harder against time's shackles.
You take 2 Damage
Malarys tries to bind Tor to his will, rooting him in pace once more, but the old sorcerer slips the noose. Instead he draw his dagger, the blade held strangely. He means to turn it on himself you know. He never has the chance as Bronn, Garin, and Ser Richard together simply bludgeon him into unconsciousness, the last blow dealt with Oathkeeper's pommel in contempt.
Between you, Waymar, and a wave of sorcerous fire from Maelor that only tickles your scales, you slay the last unliving abomination easily, though perhaps more viciously than even it deserves.
"I going to need to learn that wing spell you use," Lya says, her voice admirably calm. "Maybe meddle with time a little less also so that I'll never be without the option to use it."
For a moment silence lies thick save for the muffled sounds of Garin binding and gagging the unconscious Tor as you instinctively rush towards her to ensure that she is safe, forgetting for a moment that a dragon's bulk is far from graceful on the ground. Thankfully you manage to change shape before uprooting any trees.
"It almost feels as though utter oblivion of the soul is too good for him," you finally say, looking over Tor's body. "It will have to do, though. I would hate to meet him in yet a third life."
"What about these," Xor pipes up motioning, to the serpent archers with his eye-stalks. Four of the five still breathed.
What do you do next?
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OOC: Lya was literally two points on the second caster level roll from being a pile of dust after Tor rolled consistently well throughout. It's nice not to have my boss NPCs flub their rolls constantly for once.