Draconnic Shenanigans - Episode 37

Chapter Thirty Seven: Eight Legged Shrieks 

 

 (Artwork not mine, all rights go to slothbeing)

 "Ah puphed!" Tikrumpdel yawned, "Ah, what's the point anyway? It's not like I have much of a hoard left to defend any way." He sighed, ruffling their hair with a breath that smelt in equal parts of hot metal and flame grilled meat. "Some days I wonder why I keep trying. Guess the old instincts just won't shut up and go away. All I want is to be left in peace but people keep coming on by to try and poke me in the eye. I don't see why they just can't leave a body well enough be."

He tried to scratch an itch on his back, making his whole body wobble as his back foot tried to reach up and round the continental sized paunch to reach the space between his puny looking wings. Wings that would have shaded acres on a sleeker dragon looked like they didn't belong to Tikrumpdel, move like they had been graphed on as an after thought. He grunted in irritation, fighting his own love of a buffet to reach the annoying twitch. With a grumbled he rolled sideways, the cavern groaning with the shift of weigh and started rubbing his back on what was left of the block house on the left hand side of the King's Special's view. Ulrich and Quenril backed up as the walls cracked and crumbled as Tikrumpdel rippled his bulk back and forth, the battered remains of the building crashing and tumbling to the ground, some of it sliding off the cliff to splash in the river below. The ground shuddered as Tikrumpdel rolled back to the upright position so he could look down on them and see them the right way up.

Kaelin staggered and tripped, biting her lip as her knee cap smacked into the floor. She wasn't sure it whether it was broken or not. She fought the urge to swear as the floor stopped its bucking and shuddering.

"Well as I said before, Great One," Ulrich bowed to the ancient red dragon, "We had no idea that you had claimed this land or that your hoard was located here. I merely checked the entrance to your home to determine whether its residence was someone we should be worried about and having determined that you were a mighty personage, I was going to suggest to my companions that we should not disturb your rest and move on a quietly as possible. It was the personage of the Bat Clan up there who disturbed your rest and it occurs to me that if you ate him then you won't be bothered again."

 Tikrumpdel turned an eye up the cliff edge. The Bat Clan member froze where they were trying to unobtrusively scramble backwards, having been knocked off their feet much the same way that Kaelin had been.

"We were just passing through," said shape changer called from where she was standing up, bowed over to rub at her wounded knee, "It was that git up there that started shouting."

"Why are you all the way back there?" Tikrumpdel frowned at her but then looked up at the Bat Clan Elf who had scuttled back a little further. He froze again.

"The real question is can I be bothered to climb up there?" he yawned again and stretched, spreading out as he came. The whole of the King's Special and their allies backed up at that. Tikrumpdel might have been too heavy to fly and was certainly out of shape but his claws where still bigger than Thorian. Spread out he could have seized four of them in a grab with those claws.

"Well," Ulrich swallowed as Tikrumpdel relaxed, "Well, it occurs to me, why bother climbing up there when you can incinerate him from here?"

The chorus of running feet echoed around the cavern as the Bat Clan Elf gave up all semblance of caution and bolted for the unseen exit of the higher cave, his panicked whimpering whispering to them as he fled.

"He seems to be in a hurry," Thorian observed, "Wonder if he left the kettle on."

The Bat Clan Elf wasn't the only one, it was just that Kaelin was a lot quieter about it. Ulrich was bloody well insane. You don't try to control a dragon that size, to them small people were just insects, small, buzzing, irritating and invoking about much the same amount of feeling when they burnt up in a flame. Oh sorry, that's too bad, still what's the fuss?

"Gah," Tikrumpdel rumbled up at the cliff edge, "Pests! Tics! Vermin! Lice! Parasites!"

He burped a breath of hot air that made the steams of the cavern roll and billow, the edge of the cliff wavering in the blast of heat. Still grumbling in his throat he shuffled back around to look at that King's Special, grinding his belly against the rumble pile, rock groaning and squeaking as it was crushed together with pellets of compressed armor.

"That's what you get for having a reputation as the richest, most powerful dragon to ever fly," he sighed, "Everyone believes it, even when they should know its no longer true. I would just like to be left alone. I just want to hibernate, you know, sleep at least some of this off." He smacked himself on the chest, making ripples the size of ocean waves travel across his flesh. He flopped his chins on to the ground, the impact of it bouncing the King's Special and their allies off the ground, making them stagger and fight to keep their footing. Tikrumpdel didn't notice, sighing up from the depth of his being, a great shuddering ripple that made his whole body droop, piggy little eyes watering dolefully as he sniffed, his puny wings hanging limp over his sides like the sails of a ship with a broken mast.

Ulrich stepped carefully to one side and sat down on a chunk of rock, hooking one leg over the other, his foot dangling in midair.

"It seems to me that you really rather need a listening ear old boy," he smiled indulgently up at the huge dragon, "And seeing as I have two ears available, I'm free to listen."

Tikrumpdel shifted his head to glare at Ulrich.

"Do you take me for a fool?" he rumbled, little eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Only an idiot would do so," Ulrich reassured but his silver tongue seemed to have tarnished. With a rattle of shifting stones, Tikrumpdel's head lifted, the heat rolling of his hide increasing as the glow of the well banked fire in his nostrils flared up.

"You really think you can string me along?" he rumbled, the thunder of an avalanche rolling through his voice, "Like a little creature like you has the time to listen to my tail. I have lived since before the time of your grandfather's grandfather! I have seen kingdom's start in the mud and crumble into dust! I have seen generations of elves and dwarfs come and go and you think that you, the smallest of the smallest people has enough heart beats to hear one tenth of my tail?"

"I was merely trying to be companionable," Ulrich began, uncrossing his leg, "I meant no disrespect for your vast..."

That was probably the wrong word to use, Ulrich conceded that point later.

Tikrumpdel's fist crashed into ground with the force of a falling anvil, bouncing the rock and therefore Ulrich, into the air. Ulrich smashed down on his butt and had to manage a very undignified roll to avoid the crushing weight of the rock slamming back down. Quenril scrabbled forward and heaved him to his feet, pulling him away, eyes wide as he watched for the dragon's next move.

Tikrumpdel snorted and then sniggered as Ulrich spat dust and tried to wipe grim from his face as Quenril continued to pull him backwards. He sniggered and then chuckled, his jowls shaking his glee.

"Oh I'd forgotten how careless you small things were, even when you think you are being careful," he sniggered again, "I haven't talked with small creatures for..." He trailed off looking off to the right, staring at the swirling mists for a moment, frowning. He hummed and hawed in his throat for a moment and finally snorted a small puff of flame in annoyance.

"What year is it?" he demanded, slapping his meaty tail on the ground. A wall of the much abused block house cracked. It groaned and shifted for a moment and then gave up the fight, surrendering to time, gravity and much draconnic abuse. With a stony grumble it collapsed and rained down in fist sized lumps that bounced off of Tikrumpdel's hunch with less effect than a rain of hail stones on a rubble sheet. Tikrumpdel peered over the rolls of one shoulder.

"I've been meaning to fix that," he grunted.

"It is the year twenty one fifty seven of the Fourth Era," Ulrich answered the question, straightening up and frowning at Quenril until his Ash Elf body guard finally let his arm go.

"Three hundred years," Tikrumpdel settled back, "Now that's what I call a nap." He yawned and stretched again, making the rumble pile wheeze and pop with his shifting weight. "Still, would have slept better if those ruddy adventures would stop trying to steal my stuff. Do you have any idea how fattening adventures are?"

"I would guess that they are extremely fattening," Ulrich stared up at the scaly mound that was Tikrumpdel's girth, "And that kind of makes sense, seeing as it not only the adventures themselves but also all their supplies."

"Not to mention their beasts," Tikrumpdel grumble, "I am so fed up of the taste of spider. It was a novelty to beginning with but now it is just boring and those lizard things are just as bad. What I wouldn't give for a nice roast horse. Or a mountain thunderer. Not that I could catch one but oh my word, it has been so long since I tasted mountain thunderer."

"You like them too," Thorian broke into a huge grin.

"Who doesn't?" Tikrumpdel grinned back, "Mountain Thunderer roasted until its juices bubble and the crust just starts to form." He made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat.

"Or snow pigs," Thorian beamed, "Snow pigs are good to."

"Snow pigs?" Tikrumpdel asked, swinging his head sideways to peer out of one eye at Thorian, "Don't think I know them."

"Above this size," Thorian held his hands apart, "Short little legs, round bodies like great big meat potatoes but they can be right quick. Long shaggy hair that makes pretty good rope when its braided and they squeak a lot like this 'week, week, week'."

"Do they taste good?" Tikrumpdel sniffed with interest.

"Like rabbit but not as strong," Thorian nodded, "Pretty good when stuffed with apples."

Tikrumpdel made a noise of interest. It appeared that despite his protests of wanting to sleep off some of the years of gluttony, he was still very much ruled by his stomach. 

"It's tempting," he rumbled, "Very tempting. Only problem is deciding whether or not I would have even more bother with the adventurers up in the surface world than I have down here in the dark. That and that bunch of young upstarts. Would they leave a body alone if I decide to see the sun again?" He ground his belly on the rock fall again, making it squeak and grind with the sound of mill stones. "I miss the sun..."

"So who are these young upstarts?" Jeremiah asked as innocently as could be, his wings flicking. There were possibilities here, he could smell them. As fat and lazy Tikrumpdel had proven to be, if he could be goaded into finally shaking off the centuries of inaction then it could be come a war with this consortium of other dragons. A war of dragons? Such a thing had not truly been seen since the days of the God war and that had been... what? Roughly eleven thousand years ago? A resurgence of such an ancient conflict would certainly humble some of the current rulers of the world and open up new opportunities in the chaos that would follow such an event. After all, when the world goes to complete and utter smash around people, they cry out for answers and who better to sooth their fears than the One True God?

Jeremiah tried to hide his frown as he looked at Tikrumpdel. It was hard to imagine him being able to combat one young, health and above all fit opposing dragon, let a alone a whole group of them. But there again, his weight could play to the defense. There was so much of him that if they could trap the opponents on the ground, disable their wings somehow, then Tikrumpdel's weigh could become the deciding factor as he would be more used to ground based movement and his sheer mass would help protect his vital organs from blows and piercing teeth. Jeremiah doubted that there were many dragons who would be able to get their gape open wide enough to seize Tikrumpdel's throat in a choke hold and if they tried then all Tikrumpdel would have to do was roll and that would be the end of the story for the other dragon. But how to convince him to put out the effort? Cajoling probably wouldn't work after Tikrumpdel had measured up Ulrich's attempt and ordering would just get Jeremiah reduced to a mouthful. If dragons had gods then it was unknown and they probably didn't. Only little people needed someone to pray to so trying to convert him to the worship of the One True God was probably a nonstarter.

"Well," Ulrich rubbed his chin like his was thinking out loud, "Our King is pretty open to immigration as long as they work to prove that they are going to be valuable members of society. After all, we did  have an Ash Elf in the position of a provincial governor long before anyone else would consider every trusting anyone of their race, so if you were to say, help out with, I don't know... Maybe that monster that is in the great lake, I think the King might be willing to help out with any dragon that comes nosing around trying to cause you trouble. Maybe."

"Your King?" Tikrumpdel sniffed, swinging his head to look at Ulrich out of the out eye, "Who's your king?"

"King Tatsuya, the twelfth of his line," Ulrich reported, "He son, Prince Relian, has been well trained to take the throne after his father and continue the legacy of common sense and frugal use of resources."

He did his best to project pride in his country and Kings. He wasn't sure what was going on behind the dragon's eyes but if there was some thought as to judging Ulrich's home country then by gollies Ulrich was going to do his best to make it sound like he had the best country in the world and he did admit that a unbroken line of King's stretching back twelve generation was no mean feat.

"You look capable enough," Tikrumpdel rumbled, "How long have you been down here?"

"Phew, now you're asking," Ulrich puffed out his cheeks and then let them down again, "Um." He rubbed his chin again, seriously thinking this time.

"What do you think chaps?" he turned to the others, "How long do you think we have been down here?"

"Well there were the two weeks in the realm of the dwergs," Jeremiah noted, "And we have had two, no three sleeps since then. There was also the time we spent at the Snake Clan hold and then there was..."

"Three tens," Thorian stated, "Must be three tens at least."

"I'd agreed with that," Estella nodded her agreement, speaking up for the first time.

"Other than that the answer really could be the same as the one for how long is a ball of string?" Ulrich admitted, "I have to admit I haven't been keeping track that well. Been a little too busy convincing the local wildlife that we are not a dinner option."

 Tikrumpdel actually seemed impressed with that answer but seeing as his sleep seemed to have been disturbed by the local wildlife an awful lot so he probably understood how persistent the creatures of the Underworld could be.

"Do you know some where on the surface that could be safe for my hoard?" Tikrumpdel rumbled, the vibrations of it trembling through the bedrock beneath their feet as he slid further down the rubble slope to the point at least part of his chest was resting on the solid stone, "Somewhere that I can turn my back on it for more than five minutes and not have some annoying pesky little flea tampering with it."

"As matter of fact we do, old boy!" Ulrich exclaimed, an inspiration particular smacking him between the eyes full force, "We happen to know a gentleman who has an extremely well protected fastness on the surface world. He was forming the front line of defense when we left to come down here and discover what all the fuss was about. It is built out of stone and magic and set in a swamp that other people don't tend to come to that often. He defeated a powerful wizard to claim it so he's no slouch himself and his... people are loyal and powerful in their own right."

Tikrumpdel frowned, considering the pause in Ulrich's words.

Kaelin decided that was her cue to exit. She'd taken shelter in the shadows near the bridge, waiting for the moment when Tikrumpdel would be fully focus on the others before she tried to cross that open span and now she dashed out, ready for the sprint.

She stumbled to a halt, eyes wide and mouth dry as the legs and furry, low slung bodies bustled out of the shadows on either side of the bridge, eyes, so many eyes, blinking as they sized her up, paps fidgeting.

Jeremiah turned his head, narrowing his eyes at the dark. There was definitely something in the shadows but he wasn't sure what. He lifted a hand and started muttering the words to a prayer, threads of power curling around his fingers, wings shifting uneasily.

"Oh," Thorian muttered, stepping towards the wall below the mouth of the high cave, hand going back over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword, "Oh that's not good." 

Ulrich looked up, following the direction of Thorian's gaze. His elven swords whispered from their scabbards.

"People," he snapped, "We have company and it is not the sort you want round for dinner."

The Ash Elves lining the edge of the group, grinned back, their teeth pearly white in the dark, their faces unsettlingly similar to those of skulls, their savagely reshaped noses ghoulish with their gaping nostrils.

Out on her own, Kaelin looked from side to side. Two on the right, two on the left and they were bigger than the small ones they had fought up on the surface. Those had been the size of Alsatians, these were the size of miniature horses, which only sounded pathetic until you were the one stood there trying to stare down their multiple eyes and clicking fangs.

"Spiders," she muttered, "Why does it always have to be spiders?"

With a grunt she let the wolf out of its cage. Her bones bubbled and stretched, pain lancing through her muscles as they reconfigure to take the extra long jaws, her claws forcing their way out of the tips of her fingers, pushing her fingernails out of the way. Her shoulders surged, taking on more mass, as the fur colonized her skin. She growled at her foes as her eyes finished turning tawny.

Ulrich whistled and Peter responded, flowing to his master's side and Ulrich swung on to him without breaking stride.

"Weatherall to me!" He commanded. Weatherall thought about, thought about running but then Sabal scrambled on to his shell, lacking some of the grace usual for an elf but seeing as the bandages loaded with for healing potion still restricted his motion that was to be forgiven. Weatherall wiggled his eye stalks at the blade held in Sabal's hand and thought better of it, scuttling into position to his master's left. Marmaduke bonged like a dropped soup kettle as he stepped up to Ulrich's right, Thorian stepping with him to anchor the right flank.

Jeremiah frowned, distracted for a second by his companions odd behavior. Anyone would think that they were about to launch into battle and with something other than that over bloated corpse of a dragon. There was something much more interesting over in the shadows and...

"Let's... have... some..." Thorian riled himself up, "WAAAAAARRRRRRR! WAAAAAAARRRRRR!"

The Bat Clans grinning smiles faltered as Thorian's battle cry echoed and re-echoed through the cavern, sounding like an entire tribe of orc crossbreeds were about to boil out of the stone work at them, screaming and waving their over sized chopping swords at them.

The last of the block house gave up the fight with a snap and crumbled into dust, adding the thunder of its collapse to Thorian's battle cry.

"Oh for night's sake," a clear voice rang out as an Ash Elf noblewoman, her cut nose revealing that she two was Bat Clan, pushing her way between the ranks of the massed elves, "We're not here to gather humans people."

Tikrumpdel growled, recognizing trouble when he saw it, making the cavern tremble as he shuffled his massive girth round to face the cliff, chin angled up so he could see the clan members, tickles of flame beginning to form around his teeth.

The Bat Clan Noble lifted her hand and barked a string of words that made the skin crawl. Thick white webbing whipped out of the air and wound themselves tight around Tikrumpdel's muzzle, cracking his teeth together. He let loose a muffled yelled and sent rubble cascading off of the lower cliff edge as he backed away, swinging his head from side to side, pawing at the sticky stuff smoothing his face.

"Eyeeeeee," Tasnar let out a long scream of fear, "Disgraced! Disgraced and defiled! Eyeeee!"

The Ash Elf false widow spider centaur thing turned her head to glare at him, lips parting to reveal mobile pap like fangs, face mark with the scarification tattoo of the Spider Clan, revealing her original clan affiliation despite despite her reshaped nose.

Her sister abomination, a Ash Elf lace web spider centaur, anchoring the flank closer to Tikrumpdel was more concentrated on her work, a rope of silk lashing out and entangling one of Tikrumpdel's forefoot, preventing him from clawing at the webbing on his face. He vented a muffled roar. She bared sharpened teeth, displaying her Rat Clan origins.

The Ash Elves tossed reels of rope of the cliff edge and were coming down the lines before they had finished unspooling, some firing as they came, spiders the size of small ponies swarming down the cliff as well towards Tikrumpdel as well. A bolt thudded into Thorian's armor but bounced of the dragon hide layers. Thorian took a step back from the impact but then stepped forwards, the red beginning to build in his gaze.

Ulrich didn't duck by effort of will as a bolt parted his hair with the wind of its passage.

"For Portasia!" he roared, leveling a sword at the descending foes.

Estella spread her feet wide, half crouching in the horse straddle stance, her extended fore and middle fingers describing two circles, one clockwise and one counter clock, the talismans echoing her gestures in a horizontal figure of eight behind her head, the sparks of power flowing in their wake. The circles where draw and drawn again thickening their outline and then Estella chopped both hands down, flat palmed and the power rippled as it was unleashed. Bat Clan members still on the line juddered to a halt, eyes wide, twisting and turning as they shouted about something in the air, something they feared. The ones already on the ground turned, hand bows tracking something in the air above the head's of the King's Special and their allies, voices not quite on the verge of panic.

The Noble turned her head, face twisting with anger as she glared down at Estella, rage coloring her skin, furious that this pretty little girl could have thrown her people in to confusion with nothing more than a light show.

Estella smiled back up at her, then lifted the first and middle finger of her left hand to her lips to kiss the knuckles and then tip them in salute to the Ash Elf Noble.

The Noble's lip twisted and she opened her mouth to scream a curse.

Still smiling, Estella leaned over and opened her mouth, stream of thick, black oil jetting from her in one huge flood that looked like it should turn her inside out. It didn't, the ropes of it spiraling together, wrapping into columns that smoothed out to form the muscular black limbs of a dragon speckled with the explosions of solar systems.

Valodrael grinned up at the Noble and the growl that rumbled in his throat made more than one Ash Elf cringe, terror over riding the fear of their leader. Said leader herself took a step back, the curse dying on her lips before it could be spoken.

The distraction was to cost some more than others. Sabal had experienced what could only be called a bad day. He'd been dragged on a wild goose chase, he'd nearly fallen in lava, been crushed by a size changing dragon and had nearly cracked his head open falling into a hidden sink hole. He had been having a bad day and among the Ash Elves the acceptable response to having a bad day was finding someone else to have an even worse day.

Weatherall waggled his eye stalks as Sabal goaded him into a charge. Sabal was shrieking like a banshee as he lashed out.

A Bat Clan Elf span away, his face split. Another fell shrieking, clutching the stump of his arm. A third had an expression of surprise cross his face as his arms fell limp, Sabal's sword having crashed through his eye socket. The broken unit of Bat Clan Ash Elves fell back in two separate squads, their cohesion broken.

Kaelin, alone, unable to turn and see what was going on behind her, bunched herself and leaped at the spiders to her left as they were the ones closest to her. Her raking claws missed the hit, these spiders apparently more than ready to dodge and duck to avoid her attack. Kaelin landed and slide, turning slightly to try and keep them in her sights, fur bristling as she growled.

"Parp!" Haggis agreed, his grey furred wind bag shaking.

Quenril leveled his hand bow, sighted down the arrow and breathed out before his finger tightened on the trigger. The bolt whistled passed Ulrich's ear, threading the space between him and Sabal to shatter on the wall beside a Bat Clam member, making him flinch. Quenril breathed a prayer of thanks, his stomach still noted with the fear he'd shoot Ulrich in the back.

Jeremiah frowned at the two swarms of Ash Elves as they began shake free of Estella's influence. They kept being interrupted by these inconsiderate wretches who obviously had no idea that they should bow before their betters. That being the case, he supposed that he, Jeremiah, would have to deal with the issue. If he left it up to the rest of the King's Special they would still be here in a month's time.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together in prayer, lips moving as he offered up his worship of praise to the great god Klu'ga-nath.

Nanny Tatters' bones creaked and groaned as she swelled and expanded. Jeremiah frowned, wondering how he had displeased his god as she was not the impressive size that she should have been. He had envisioned her being the lithe, agile version of Tikrumpdel's size to shame the old beast into compliance. Instead she was the size of a Clydesdale horse, the most common size that Valodrael used. Jeremiah thinned his mouth, not impressed. Still trying to come up with suitable words of thanks for what he'd gotten, he stepped back, waving his remaining Ash Elf puppet forward, the vigor beside it to form a meat shield between him and the Bat Clan.

Valodrael glanced at Nanny Tatters' expanded form, looked at Jeremiah's unimpressed face and suppressed a smirk. It was obvious that the priest hadn't received what he wanted. Maybe that would teach him to worship a guileful god. A bolt thudded into Valodrael's neck. He swung his head to look, a long flat stare, at the southern troop of Ash Elves. The shooter swallowed.

Valodrael reached up and plucked the bolt from his oily substance. It came out with a greasy sucking sound. He looked at it, pinched between two claws and then looked at the shooter. The shooters face fell as they felt the full weight of having done something really rather stupid.

Valodrael's inhale rattled like hail over ice in a storm thrashing a great northern lake to cold rage.

The shooter drew breath to scream but never made it that far as the Chill of the Void scoured across the ground, rocks shattering under its freezing touch, the shooter and those both to the sides and behind him locking into place as icicles of red and black ruptured from their flesh, skin blackening as capillaries ruptured below the surface, their last screams frozen in time forever, or at least until they defrosted later.

 The survivors fell away to either side of the frozen statues, crying out in horror as one wavered and then toppled, snapping off at the ankles and smashing to pieces on the floor, the shards of froze tissue ringing like water ice across the stones. Valodrael grinned and then flicked the bolt that had hit him with two talons. The frozen statue that had been the shooter cracked as the bolt sheered through its solid neck and its head plunged to the floor to burst into slivers and chunks.

Someone screamed but the pain wasn't done yet, their distraction having given Tasnar time to line up the perfect shot. The bolt whistle. The rappel lines parted with whip cracks. The Bat Clan members toppled in slow motion in mid-air, mouths opening in startled O's of horror and then gravity speeded up and they dropped. One managed a high scream of horror as they plummeted and then they met the ground with stomach turning cracks as their skulls shattered and their brains mushed against the stones.

The Bat Clan southern unit had been cut in two and one of its squads reduced to individuals who backed towards to the cliff, looking for a rappel line that was still complete enough to get them out of their. They had come to subdue an old, fat, lazy dragon and raid his horde. Now they had suddenly had three dragons facing them and two of them were not old, not fat and certainly not lazy. This was decidedly above their pay grade.

"For the King! For Portasia! For Freedom! Charge!" Ulrich brandished his fae gifted, elf made sword and set his heels to Peter's flanks. Whistling like one of the dwerg's locomotives, Peter rippled forward, mouth parts sheering open and closed. They crashed into the second squad of the now broken northern unit. Ulrich was laughing as his swords whipped and sliced through the air. The hiss of cut air and the ring of steel on steel. Every year of training and schooling working in one seamless whole as he clashed with the skill of the Bat Clan Elves, the hours he had spent learning from Quenril and his kin coming together, fencing the Bat Clan Member directly in front of him in a cage of hissing steel.

The Bat Clan Elf went from snarling to grimacing with the effort of keeping up with Ulrich's blows to sweating. He took a step back. Peter punished that mistake with insect wrath, his mandibles sheering through the elf's leg at the thigh. He sheered again, severing the arm at the elbow. He sheered again, cutting off the Elf's scream of pain even as the red splashed, snipping the head off the falling body like a butcher preparing a chicken.

Jeremiah sniffed. It had to be a sign of his companions lack of quality that they had to spend so much unnecessary effort to try and impress their audience when there were much more efficient methods of dealing with the problem at hand.

"Deal with that lot there," he commanded Nanny Tatters, gesturing to the unmolested squad that had come to be when the northern unit broke down. It was best to have a clean canvas when one was doing a demonstration for the benefit of others.

Nanny Tatters opened her wings and flapped them. Jeremiah raised an eyebrow as she revealed that she actually now had the beginnings of webbing between the bony span of her wing fingers. She lunged forward, jumped and managed to chicken flutter over the messy knot of combatants in the way. She stumbled with the landing and then steadied, her half length tail flicking behind her.

Tikrumpdel thrashed and tugged against his bounds, his territory suddenly invaded by not one but two dragons. Nanny Tatters didn't even glance at him with her one eye. She blinked her side ways eyelids instead at the squad of Bat Clan Elves that her Master had indicated. She opened her mouth and... coughed.

The Bat Clan Elves flinched and then grinned, hefting their swords back to the ready.

Nanny Tatters inhaled, the noise of a ghost ship creaking in the night, a desiccating wind filling her sails and the Bat Clan Elves screamed, screams that went hoarse and croaky and reedy. The outliers of the unit dived out of the stream, one of them clutching his face after landing, the flesh sagging and liver spotted. The others struggled trying to escape as well but their knees gave way as their muscles went thin, their knees swelling with the joint ail. Hair dropped out in handfuls as skin creased and wrinkled, teeth cracking or falling out entirely.

The skeletons fell, hands held out in supplication to the ravages of time itself, shattering on the stones, the dust of their flesh billowing in the wind.

Nanny Tatters licked her chops and the hiccuped slightly. She blinked, her now full length tail twitching behind her, dragging its length over the rock. The claws of one hand tapped against the floor, the inner workings of tendon and bone no longer on show, her once transparent hide having darkened to a pale, muddy brown. She still did not have scales but she no longer looked like an walking anatomy lesson.

Jeremiah smiled at how well the lesson had been demonstrated, not questioning Nanny Tatters'... recovery.

Kaelin swiveled an ear in that direction, recognizing the sound of Nanny Tatters' terrifying breath weapon but she didn't have tie to look. She could only hope that Jeremiah hadn't decided that this was the moment he was going to betray the King's Special and turn them all into food for his horror show of a dragon. The damn thing was healing itself. She was damn  sure of it but she didn't have time!

She dodged the first scuttling lunge, dodged the second, kicked out at that one and...

She screamed as the fangs of one of the ones from the other side of the bridge, the ones she hadn't managed to keep an eye on for five bloody seconds, puncture the small of her back. She screamed again, knees threatening to buckle, boiling hot and freezing cold flushes racing through her nervous system, sweat plastering her fur to her skin. She fought the need to heave as she twisted hard enough to rip the fangs out of her flesh, the breath burning in her lungs. She turned as the group of four spiders closed in around her and in a flash of inspiration stopped fighting her roiling stomach. The spiders backed up as the projectile vomit splashed across the stones, some of them shaking fastidiously as droplets of stinking gunk splattered their bristles.

Kaelin gasped, her mouth rank and her vision blurring, shaking as she stayed standing.

Marmaduke clanged as he lunged forward, his round feet punching the stone as he stood beside his master. His bronze sword whizzed through the air and... The Bat Clan Elf ducked, grinning as he came up, long steel sword ready to sheer Marmaduke's blade into. His last standing squad mate blinked as he smacked into the cliff face hard enough to shatter bone and leave him dropping to the floor as limp as a rag doll. Marmaduke buzzed quietly with satisfaction. He might not have been the best swordsman that had ever been forged in bronze but he could shield bash with his buckler like a god's thunder bolt.

Tikrumpdel wriggled, flexing against the bound that held him. The two spider centaur things paced down the wall of the cliff towards him, a cluster of spiders tapping in their wake, their flat, clustered eyes fixed on the writhing old king of the skies. His nostrils flared, once, twice, as he sucked in air. He bunched and surged, proving that unlike a crocodile his jaw opening muscles were just as strong. Silk ripped with a fluid tearing noise and Tikrumpdel reared back, the fire flaring at the back of his throat.

The roar was volcanic in its power, heat rippling across the stones making as many of them pop in miniature explosions as Valodrael's breath of the Void had done. The cliff face glowed as rappel line fizzed as they sparked and smoked into ash.

The False Widow Ash Elf spider centaur tried to scream but all that came out was a weird clicking as she stumbled and span, arms held out before her, hair scorched off, skin cracked, the bloated bulk of her spider body split and leaking. She was whimpering as she gasped.

Kaelin wished she could turn and see. She wished she could cry out for help. She wished that she could swallow, her tongue thick and dry in her mouth. She sank to her knees, trying to focus on the spiders in front of her. They seemed to be wavered as if she was seeing them through a sheet of water. One of them reared, paps ready to strike. One of the others bullied into it, pushing it off balance while the other two were swaying back and forth, front legs held up and out, sizing up against each other. In short they were squabbling over who got to eat her first. Of all the ways she thought she would die, being squabbled over by a pack of eight legged shrieks had not ever been on her list. Her stomach heaved again and she wretched, a thin stream of yellow acid coming up but there was nothing else in there to shift. Her feathery wings drooped to the floor, feathers drenched with sweat.

Tikrumpdel roared, thrashing, rubble launched into the cavern to crash against walls and tumble down into the river below, flung by his smashing tail. The four spiders that scuttled around the feet of the spider centaurs strained against the webbing lines they had flung, trying to hold down his limbs. One was flung into the air, whipping on the end of the line, squalling as it snapped back and forth on the end of its own rope.

The burned black spider centaur thing turned her head to the noise and proved that, heavily injured as she was, she was still capable of fighting, a rope of silk lashing out to wrapping around his left foreleg and pin it to the ground. The cavern shuddered.

Fire licked round Tikrumpdel's fangs but the lace web spider centaur lashed out with a whip of silk and muzzled him. His roar, muffled as it was shook the air and caused rock slides in the distance. He reared and body slammed the floor, shaking the cavern. He reared and slammed again, heaving his bulk in the manner of a seal, rock cracking and tumbling beneath his bulk. Spiders and spider centaurs strained to restrain him.

Ulrich nodded with satisfaction over Marmaduke's shield bashing success. Leaving him to mop up the last survivor of that group, Ulrich turned to the squad that was blocking his plan to charge to Tikrumpdel's aid. Peter reared and shrilled, legs raking the air, rippling in an almost fluid pattern. They crashed into the squad of Bat Clan Elves, Peter's mandibles scissoring, Ulrich's blades flashing. These ones however proved to be much faster, holding them at bay, skull like faces snarling, savagely reshaped noses gaping in the shadows, appearing like holes in their faces, making the skin crawl with the sight of them.

Jeremiah hooded his eyes with a bored expression. Really this whole thing was a waste of time and if his companions weren't so lazy it would be over and done by now. He sighed. Once again he would have to do something spectacular and that was always such a trail, having to use the glory of Klu'ga-nath for such a paltry matter. He was blessed that his god didn't take it as an insult to his glory but seeing as it did offer up a spectacular sacrifice unto him, Jeremiah supposed that why his god was prepared to stretch the point.

He readied his wings and leapt into the air. The Bat Clan noble stepped back again, confusion marring her face. Oh really, did she think that these wings were solely for decoration? Jeremiah shook his head sadly at her ignorance. He considered revealing unto her the full blessing of his god but that would have only been one life held up in sacrifice whereas there were more numerous offerings available. Jeremiah swooped, pleased with how soon he had mastered his wings. He opened his mouth but it was not a prayer that erupted into the air.

Ulrich flinched and nearly closed his eyes, only holding them open by the necessity of not receiving a sword to the rib cage. It was there again, dear gods, it was there again, the dragon of shadow and diseased light that coiled in the pattern of Jeremiah's breath weapon. He clenched his teeth to hold his lunch were it should stay.

The false widow spider centaur didn't make a sound as the light engulfed her, leaving behind a perfect copy of her burnt form carved in salt, every split and crack in her charred form depicted, even the shriveled stubs of her eyes in their scorched sockets.

The spiders didn't fair much better, a couple flinching back, one rearing up before the light engulfed them, leaving them carved from salt in every perfect detail, every hair in place but without color, carved in beautiful white. There was nothing in this world that said perfection quite like pure white salt and the glory of details that it preserved.

The lace web spider centaur managed to scream as she half turned to stare at the fate engulfing her companions a heartbeat before it swallowed her. Her last scream was so perfect in its horror, the crystals of salt fixing the details in place, giving one time to study it minutia of despair before subtle shifts in the air currents began to erode the beauty of her frozen face. A couple of salt crystals moved and then a heartbeat later, a leg cracked and ground, crystals shifting to the floor, the salt unable to hold up the weight of the bulk above it.

Tikrumpdel shuffled backwards, tugging the last surviving spider with him, his tail flopping over the edge of the cliff above the river, rubble splashing down into the flowing water his back claws scratching at the edge.

 "Let's. Have. Some. WAAAAAARRRRRRR!" Thorian roared and charged the squad of the southern unit that was left. His bull rush scattered them, the elves leaping or twisting out of the way, swords forgotten in the face of just trying to not be the one trampled beneath those thundering feet. The Bat Clan elves were definitely rethinking their life choices at this moment in time and were caught between their newly blossoming fear of the King's Special and the punishment that they would suffer at the hands of their Matriarch for failing their mission.

One of them suddenly screamed, yanked into the air. Valodrael shook him, snapped him back and forth like a terrier with a rat, trying to flick him high enough that Valodrael would be able to have him half way down his throat before the Bat Clan Elf could scream. The elf screamed again and taking a risk inspired only by sheer desperation, used the edge of his sword to cut through his cloak, risking cutting his own throat as he tumbled to the floor.

Kaelin dragged a deep breath that choked her lungs like liquid and threw herself at the nearest spider. Her fangs clacked together without connecting but her hands grabbed.

It shrilled, hissing at her, paps waving in her face as she lifted it into the air. She smashed it down on the floor, hefting it and smashing again then yanking left and right, smashing and bashing until it came apart and splattered its companions with yellow fluid. She was shaking and gasping but she was back on her feet.

Jeremiah turned and hovered, pleased with himself. The wall of sound nearly knocked him out of the air. He clutched his ears, his head ringing like a struck bell. He managed to regain control in the air and looked around.

The half a dozen vigor snarled and glared up at him, their huge bat ears flapping in the breeze, their upturned noses an echo of the Bat Clan's savagely reshaped noses. There was no mistaking that the little purple goblins were the creations of these degenerate people. 

Quenril lunged into the gap that Peter's charge had opened and defected the blow aimed at Ulrich's back. Sword to sword, face to face, he and the Bat Clan member snarled at each other, generations of hate and conditioning boiling to the surface.

Marmaduke swung at the other Ash Elf that was left of the second squad of the northern unit and his bronze sword missed, hissing through the air. His buckler did not.

The Bat Clan Elf went up, punted into the air by the colossal blow and what went up had to come down. The crunch echoed round the cavern and then Bat Clan Elf laid still.

Estella took a deep breath, arms tracing the circles in the air but for the first time the fizzing trails of power refuse to linger in the air. The Talismans chirruped and twittered, their flights scattered irregular. Estella frown, trying to find the flow of power but it just wasn't coming. One of the last Bat Clan elves of the squad that had been the first of the southern unit to be mauled grinned as his spotted a target for his vengeance. If he could do nothing else, he could make this little girl wish that she had stayed in her hovel and not interfered with the affairs of her betters.

Estella lifted one of the small axes that Myslynn had given her from her belt and threw it, flipping end over end at at him. He twisted to one side, grinning. This was going to be fun.

The squad that Thorian had charged, closed ranks around him, battering at him. If he had been catch like that in the early days of their travels then he would have gone under within moments but now? Now he wore armor made of dragon hide and tooled by dwergs, re-enforced by the runes of Kronzyn and the Bat Clan Elves found their blows turned aside by it, the force of their own blows jarring up their arms as their blades came to dead stops.

The tatters of the other units tried to pick off their foes, bolts whistling passed Jeremiah as he hovered, Quenril ducking as another pierced the air by his ear. Nanny Tatters blinked her side ways eyes as a bolt skittered off the stones between her feet. Even the unit that Ulrich fought couldn't seem to get the range on him, maybe afraid of missing as Peter bucked and  curved and rippled, Ulrich somehow riding the motion and cutting out with slashing blows that kept them at bay.

The Bat Clan Noble scowled. Everything, everything she had worked for was coming apart at the seams and she hated it! These pathetic, worthless, valueless surface animals were destroying her life's work with their selfish savagery. If they were proper people they would have bowed down and licked the stones, begging her forgiveness for defiling the world with their useless existences. If they were proper people they would have known the only decent thing they could ever do was gut the squealing pigs who were referred to as mothers for squeezing their filth into the world and then fall upon the same knives and even then they would not have made recompense for merely existing.

She lifted a hand and screamed the words of the spell, the webs of spider silk lashing through the air, trying to entangle Jeremiah and break his wings, smash him to the ground and shatter him.

Jeremiah ducked and twisted in the air, flicking through the mass of silk ropes that tried to snare him.

"Now my dear," he said, "Did you really think that you could do that to someone like me? Your are nothing but a petulant child next to a servant of the One True God." He ducked as another slashing web whipped towards him. "You are nothing, you a non-entity. You have no worth at all, save sacrificing your life, your soul and your very existence to the great glory that is Klu'ga-nath!"

She screamed and she wasn't the only one, the blackness closing in on all of them, even dimming the light of Tikrumpdel's flames. It shuddered with a power that crawled over the skin, stilled the breath in the lungs and only released them slowly. 

"I wish he would stop saying that name!" Quenril exclaimed.

Weatherall snipped and grabbed at the squad of Bat Clan elves trying to surround Ulrich and Peter. He didn't manage to seize any of them but he did manage to break up their ranks as they ducked and scrambled to get out of his way.

Nanny Tatters turned her head to stare at Ulrich's progress and the fact that it wasn't exactly impressive. She blinked her single sideways eye and then padded forward. Peter lurched sideways as Nanny Tatters' head suddenly appeared beside him. Ulrich decided that he was glad that Nanny Tatters' head was there when she opened her mouth and the chilling, dry rattle of a breeze through a dry and brittle forest rang out because if her head hadn't been there it would have meant that her head would have been behind him and he would have been trapped in the same fate as the two that writhed and screamed and shuddered as they crumbled. They literately crumbled, their flesh drying and crumpling and crumbling, falling to dust and dirt upon the floor. They screamed the entire time. That was what made Ulrich shudder. The pair of Bat Clan Elves that were caught in the effects of Nanny Tatters' breath weapon screamed and screamed as their flesh crumbled off their bones. He was fairly certain that he could still hear them screaming even after their bones cracked and disintegrated into dust.

Nanny Tatters stopped inhaling and burped slightly. Her hide was a darker shade of brown and there was a faint gleam to it, the slightest shine of health. She shuffled her wings, the membranes between the fingers thicker and broader, looking less a mat of stretched tissue threads and more like a smooth stretch of wing skin.

Sabal struck out with his sword, trying to capitalize on the panic that Nanny Tatters' breath weapon had caused as the squad disintegrated into the surviving members that were left. The Bat Clan member managed to duck but he didn't strike back, confusion and fear ruling his reactions, eyes darting hither and tither, trying to find an escape route, a direction to run in, feeling the chill filling up his limbs every time he met Sabal's eyes. He had been taught from birth that the Elves of the other clans were weak, small minded, jealous, easy to trick and beguile, that they had driven out the Bat Clan because they were afraid of their more powerful superiors but this one, this one had a power he couldn't name and couldn't face. Every time he tried, he felt his limbs growing weak and his breath turning cold in his lungs.

Tasnar charged but his opponent also ducked and dodged, slashing back, a feral sounding growl rising as they clashed, neither backing down, neither giving quarter, desperation giving strength. All the Bat Clan Elves knew what would happen to them if they went back as failures, Tasnar knew what would happen to him if he went back to Lady Zilvra as a failure. They broke and slashed, balanced despite their desperation, graceful despite their anger. Failure was not an option, not when the skinny knife hovered over that path. There was only one way this fight was going to play out and that was with one of them laying bleeding on the rocks while the other walked away.

Tasnar's opponent shrieked as a red line opened up on his arm, Ulrich's sword scoring a bloody trail that lifted the skin off the muscle below. He span away from both of them, breath hissing in short gasps taken through the teeth, eyes darting back and forth. There was no way out, going through lead to the edge of the cliff, going right led passed the heaving, slamming bulk of the ancient red dragon and the flying priest thing that pulled on a power that crawled through the mind, left led passed everyone else and behind him was the cliff, sheer, towering, seeming taller with every second. There wasn't any way out and his breath went thinner as panic rose.

Estella changed her stance, shifting her feet, stepping sideways, moving with the flow, pulling on the energy of the battle. Anger gave strength to blows, fury was the power of survival. She pulled on it, felt it, remember her most precious treasure that she had left behind and now her hands were fists as she punched the power through the air. Her treasure maybe safe but that didn't mean that she didn't feel the separation. She was a dragon, parted from her horde and now she was feeling more than a little tetchy. The music of the talismans turned dark and fierce. She kicked. Not high kicks as if she was aiming for a body but a low kick, like kicking up a wave and a wave she did kick. The ground rippled, not with rock but with light. The Bat Clan Elf that had been closing with her, dodging her blows of magic sudden reeled back, snarling at something no other could see, sword slashing out.

"Where are you!?!" he screamed, "Come out you worthless coward! Come out and die like the worm you are! Come out and die! Come out, Mother of beasts! Coward! Scum! Wench! Bitch! Daughter of pigs! Mother of swine! You filthy, rutting... ugh!"

His eyes went wide as Estella's small axe smashed his collar bone and cracked his breast bone, severing the big arteries at the base of his neck and splitting his wind pipe. He blinked down at her snarling face, small, elfin, refined with its tip tilted nose and almond shaped eyes. She yanked at the handle of her axe. He tried to lift his blade. Her left fist smashed into his shoulder as the other hand didn't break its grip on her ax. His sword clattered away as his arm went limp to its finger tips. The talismans pecked as his eyes and yanked at his hair until his legs gave out and Estella succeeded in yanking the axe head free. She was shaking, teeth chattering but she did not look away as the light faded from his eyes, as he died.

Valodrael glanced at the depleted Ash Elves and decided that he had something more important to deal with. Shrinking from battle size to his more restful Clydesdale horse size, he padded over and nudged Estella with his nose. She dropped the axe as she wilted and then turned to burying her face against his nebula speckled hide. He sat and mantled her with his wings. He had no problem with the kill but he had seen enough of Estella's kind to known that they often found the first time that they killed to be distressing and he could keep her safe while she worked through the shock of it. She was his horde and a dragon always keeps his horde safe.

Sabal grinned as Weatherall managed to snatch a Bat Clan Elf up in his claws. Unlike his shell bound cast brother, Weatherall did not waste time slowly squeezing his prey to see if it was palatable, he finished the job in one swift pinch that had the Bat Clan Elf  laying in two different places at once, with barely a chance to scream.

The vigor snarled and chattered up at Jeremiah, their long ears twitching as they zeroed in on the sound of his beating wings, their pale eyes narrowed as they tracked the shadow of his outline in their strange sight. They drew their arms back then hurled their short javelins.

Jeremiah smiled. Honestly, some people had such an over inflated opinion of their own abilities, they actually believed that they could possibly come close to... 

 He yowled, faltering in the air, his wing hampered by the sharp, hot pain of the javelin piercing through the membrane. Dropping more than he liked, he managed to grab the offending weapon and between a quick yank and the back beat of his wing, pull it free. He spiraled higher, glaring at the repulsive little gremlins as a second and then a third javelin fell short of his form, a reedy whistling sound ringing out as the air blew through the hole in his wing.

"Nice tune Jerries," Thorian called up to the hovering priest, grinning as he swung his sword again and again at what was left of the Bat Clan Elves. Jeremiah glared and then managed to bat the next javelin that came close away with a wing edge. The buffet of wind sent the last javelin tumbling in the air and as javelins are pointed at both ends, that had some what dire results for the last vigor standing, piercing through his chest. She swayed, her own javelin tumbling from nerveless fingers as her eyes gazed over and she tumbled to the floor. The vigor screamed, not the concentrated power of their sonic shock but still enough to make the cavern ring and trigger rock falls in the distance, tugging and pulling at their ears as they wept for their fallen comrade. Jeremiah smiled even more. It was always so; the witless, brute beasts forgot what their purpose was and therefore went to pieces when they were reminded of their proper position in the world.

Kaelin beat her wings, unable to force herself into the air while the wound in her back burned, feeling like someone was digging a hole either side of her spine with flaming torches but the clouting weight of her pinions kept the spiders at bay, their fangs have no effect on her feathers. They lunged, one after another, legs scraping and rubbing over the stones, bristling urticating hairs lodging in the vanes of her wings as they flicked their last weapon of attack at her. Sweat ran down Kaelin's face. She wasn't going to be able to kept this up much longer.

The last spider left alive scuttled in a circle, paps waving to and fro, abdomen shaking with confusion. 

 "What are you waiting for?" the Bat Clan Noble snarled, "Bind him!" She jabbed a finger at Tikrumpdel, words and gesture loaded with power. The giant spider jerked and turned, legs gathering bundles of silk from its spinnerets and flicking them over the massive dragon, anchoring him over and over again to the rocks.

"It's Thorian time!" said orc crossbreed billowed, sword crashing down through the air, snapping the elf blade raised in resistance in two. The elf splashed apart, chopping to the waist by Thorian's prodigious strength.

"One to me!" Thorian bellow.

"Well done Sir!" Tasnar snapped, face tight as he battled his own foe, not gaining ground and injury only heartbeats away. His blade twisted in nimble fingers but his arms were beginning to burn. He ducked under a blow, lashed out at knee height, forced his foe back, lunged, turned and came up between the Bat Clan Elf and the cliff face. He struck out, a series of blows that had speed but lacked an elf's usual grace. His foe backed away, grinning, believing Tasnar to have stupidly put himself on the worse ground, flagging and running out of energy. The Bat Clan Elf only had to avoid him for a little longer and then he'd be able to stick Tasnar like a bug on a pin.

He felt the movement behind him but did not turn. Then Tasnar jumped back, wincing as he thudded into the cliff but grinning as he gave something else the space it needed. The Bat Clan Elf had only half turned when Nanny Tatters' front feet crashed down, elbows locked, her whole weight behind them.

The Ash Elf burst like an over ripe plum smacked with a mallet.

Nanny Tatters lifted a foot and shook it slightly, shaking at the gunk that dripped from her paw. She sniffed it and then started wiping her feet across the floor, leaving smears of blood and worse across the stones.

"Scrape it off Jim!" Ulrich laughed as he closed with the last Bat Clan elf of the Northern squad.

"You what?" Thorian asked, confusion wrinkling his nose but Ulrich was whooping too hard to notice. Peter bit at the Ash Elf but desperation was making the bat nosed elf fast on his feet, staying just ahead of Peter's scissoring mandibles.

It wasn't helped by Peter being throw off by Tikrumpdel's latest heave. Silk strands creaked and groaned, filaments popping free as the massive dragon strained his bulk against the bounds entangling him. A rope pinning him to the floor snapped, cracking back with the force of a whip, another fraying, threads popping free along much of its length. Tikrumpdel strained his jaws, silk tearing as his teeth began to part.

"You there," Jeremiah barked, commanding his Ash Elf puppet, "Deal with these vermin." He flicked dismissive fingers at the vigor.

The puppet shuffled away from Jeremiah's vigor pack barer, shambling towards the wailing group of vigor. They turned to this new threat, teeth bared in snarls, hands reaching for more javelins.

One of them fell back, hand clammed to the side of its head as its ear bled. It opened its mouth to scream at the Ash Elf Puppet. The puppet shot it through the mouth with its hand bow, the bolt tearing through its spinal cord and smashing into the eyes socket of the vigor behind it.

Jeremiah grinned. It was gratifying to finally have some proper servants, even if his wing was still whistling through that stupid hole.

Seeing that Ulrich and the others had the northern unit of Bat Clan all neatly wrapped up, Sabal turned to the shuddering bulk of the dragon that they had been trying to make an ally of. He looked at his sword. The blades of the Ash Elves where only edged on one side, so if he made sure to keep the dull side against Tikrumpdel's hide there should be no risk of cutting him. He guided and goaded Weatherall up to Tikrumpdel's side and tried to thread his blade between the white net of spider web and Tikrumpdel's scales. He managed to do so but when he went to saw through the filaments his sword stuck, the webs clinging to the blade. He yanked at it, struggling to pull it free. The last Bat Clan Elf of the northern squad saw his chance and charged.

Quenril was there first, his blade cutting across the Bat Clan Elf's path, keeping him from his cousin's back. They crossed, block and cut, blow and guard, the Bat Clan snarling with fear and fury in equal measure, Quenril frowning with concentration, he only needed to keep the Bat Clan Elf busy for a few more minutes and then he would be so out numbered it wouldn't be funny any more. It crossed Quenril's mind that if his foe broke and ran he, Quenril, didn't feel the need to chance him down and kill him to prove he was better any more. For some reason that knowledge actually felt good, it appeared that hatred was a weight that you didn't realize that you were carrying until you dropped it on the floor. The bat Clan Elf won't run though, he couldn't think of the alternative, there was only victory or death, years of being told that life wasn't worth living if you ran, that surrender was the path of the weak and worthless ruled his mind completely. He was frantic, feral, unable to break a life time of conditioning.

Ulrich's blade whistled, light flashing off the length of the blade.

The Bat Clan elf turned, ready to strike, then his arm parted company from the rest of him. His head wobbled for a  moment and then it fell off backwards, tipping off his neck to bounce on the floor and roll away in two halves.

"Thank you Nabob," Quenril inclined his head to Ulrich.

"Think nothing of it, old boy," Ulrich grinned, "You've done the same for me more times than I care to think about."

Quenril inclined his head, a silent acknowledgement that Ulrich had changed so many things among the Snake Clan Ash Elves. It was strange to realize that they had learnt so much from a non-elf, a possibility that they had never considered before, one that would have seemed blasphemous not that many candle times before.

Kaelin could hear the battle behind her winding down and could only hope that they realized that she was in trouble soon. Her back felt strange, like the pain was beginning to drain out of it but she knew from experience that was not a good sign. If she didn't get help soon she'd either be taking the bony ones hand or she'd be at the mercy of Jeremiah's attention. She had seen how Ulrich flinched at odd moment and the smell of his fear bloomed at odd moments, as if he was seeing something the rest of them were missing and that had only started since Jeremiah had healed him while they were in the dwerg's city.

A spider once again rushed her, trying to bite at her, to get another mouthful out of her. She didn't hide. Oh, she let it rake its fangs down her feathers again but as it reached the bottom of its blow, when it was at its most unbalanced, she snapped her wings open and lunged.

The spider squealed as her fangs clamped down, seizing it between its first and second leg. Ignoring her screaming back she ripped her head back and forth, lifting it from the floor, shaking and shaking again as she squeezed her teeth down harder and harder. With a crackly squish, spider came apart in a flying splatter. It was not a quiet process.

"Marmaduke!" Ulrich barked, "Help her!"

He had finally seen Kaelin's peril and he silently cursed that she had some how wound up so far away. Just what had she been thinking? Trying to hold the right flank that far out! There was being a perilous beast and then there was being just damn reckless!

The last Ash Elf took advantage of the distraction that Ulrich's shout had caused but not in the way that had been hammered into him since birth. He turned on his heel and sprinted back to the cliff face, leaping to grab a hanging line, swarming up it hand over hand, sobbing with the effort, crying out as he thought he felt someone's sword whisper passed his foot. He should not have worried about blades. Unfortunately, for him, death sometimes wore a scaly face and was controlled by someone who had a prevented sense of humor.

"Nanny Tatters?" Jeremiah called, "Do clean that up, would you? There's a good girl."

The Bat Clan Ash Elf scrambled, sobbing as he tried to get high effort.

He screamed, once, a sound that cut of abruptly as Nanny Tatters' nipped his head off, like a cat nipping off a flower from its stem.

"Oh seriously!" Ulrich called up to Jeremiah, "Did you have to do that? He was retreating!"

"Best time to make sure that they are dead then," Jeremiah called back, hovering just out of the reach of the vigors' javelins, "This way we do not have to worry about him coming back with more of his friends." He ignored Nanny Tatters delicately picking at the still twitching corpse with the precise, almost delicate motions of a Corvus pitching over one of the fallen in a battle. Ulrich frowned. An undead creature shouldn't be interested in eating, they had no need of it, they were dead, by their very nature they had no need for sustenance. Jeremiah should be worried about this development, especially as Nanny Tatters now seemed to be almost whole again, almost.

"Now, one last job to attend to," Jeremiah smiled and looked for the Bat Clan Noble but the edge of the cliff was empty.

The sound of running footsteps echoed from the upper cave. The Bat Clan Noble was bunking for it, her panicked flight resounding behind her.

"Oh dear," Jeremiah smiled, "Tell me, good Quenril what will be done to a Noble who has failed such a mission as this?"

Quenril looked thoroughly uncomfortable about either the question or the answer.

"She will most likely be turned into one of the Disgraced," he shuddered.

"Ah and here was I only going to kill her," Jeremiah smiled, "Shame she didn't think about the offer."

"Indeed," Quenril muttered and then turned, heading towards where Kaelin faced down the last two of her spiders at a trot.

Valodrael opened his wings as Quenril jogged passed.

"Are you recovered, my dear one?" he rumbled. Estella nodded after a moment, rubbing her eyes, still slightly shaken by the violence that she had found herself capable of.

"Would you mind then if I help with finishing the clean up?" he asked.

"Of course not," she smiled.

"Then with my lady's permission," he inclined his head to her and then turned to spread his wings.

Tikrumpdel drew back, growling through his muzzle of spider silk, making the fibers rasp and squeal but Valodrael did not have eyes for him, what he was interested in had eight legs and confusion filling its eyes as its mistress had abandoned it.

Valodrael opened his maw and struck.

Tikrumpdel's eyes opened wide as Valodrael's head whipped back and forth, the spider's legs thrashing in the air, its abdomen wriggling frantically between Valodrael's teeth. Valodrael tipped his head back and began gulping. The spider slowly slipped out of view, legs wriggling and kicking to the very last. Valodrael lifted a finger and pocked the last one in as a shape that may have been a mass of thrashing legs bulged under his hide. He smacked his lips.

"Hmmmm," he rumbled appreciatively, "Now there's a new flavor. Something chard and smoky, hints of chicken and nuts. I think I like it."

Tikrumpdel growled. 

"My apologies for invading your territory," Valodrael turned, inclining his head and opening his wings into a tilt that was most decidedly a bow in Tikrumpdel's direction, "But I have to go where my hoard goes and I did rather believe that you wouldn't begrudge me a little snack along the way."

Tikrumpdel's snout wriggled in a frown under his layers of swaddling.

The vigor squeaked and jumped about, dodging Valodrael's slowly waving tail, ears fluttering and squashed, puggish faces snarling but not one of them dared to strike at it.

"Oh please," Jeremiah called, "This is the point you... people are supposed to run away. Going on, shoe."

"They're not shoes," Thorian called, "They have bare feet."

Jeremiah closed his eyes and began counting slowly to ten then snapped his eyes open again a javelin hissed passed him.

"Seems they have joined the 'I hate Jair-e-my-ha' club," Thorian grinned as he cleaned off his sword and stuffed it back into its scabbard, "What do you reckon the mem-ber-ship price is?"

Jeremiah glared.

Tikrumpdel gathered himself and heaved again. Silk tore with a liquid sound, ropes of it parting. One wing tore free, a leg shredded its way out of the swaddling bindings, sheets of the stuff flapped loose. He yanked his head side ways and a rip opened up along his neck, his chins beginning to fall free.

Weatherall lifted his claws and tired to snip apart some of the stuff coating Tikrumpdel but then discovered a problem. Despite what they look like, crab claws are not actually like scissors, they have no sharp cutting edge to slice through any substance. Instead they crush their prey until flesh gives up and parts under pressure. It turned out that strategy didn't work on spider silk as the fibers didn't crush under the pressure they just bent. Weatherall waggled his eye stalks. He opened his pinching claws. He waggled his eye stalks again. He waved his claw but the white mat of stuff stayed stuck on his claw. He plucked it off his claw with the other claw. He waggled his eye stalks again. He waved his other set of claws but the white mat of stuff stuck to that set now. He plucked it off with the original set of claws and then waggled his eye stalks again. It was stuck there now!

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. Such little things pleased little minds. A javelin scorched passed his back side and he turned in the air to glare passed his feet at the pack of vigor who were jabbering and howling up at him. There was still five of the little pests and he was bored of dealing with their antics. His wing whistled, a permanent reminder of these irritating little vermin and their disregard for the glory for his god. He narrowed his eyes and beat higher into the air, lips moving in his beard as he whispered the prayer to his god, the syllables of power mixed with spite and vanity. The glow built between his fingers.

The blast of cinders and embers giggled through the air, casing shadows that dancing with limbs that were native somewhere in the uncanny valley.

Valodrael narrowed his eyes. He was sure one of those shadows was too long in the arm and leg whilst also being too narrow in the waist, its head crown with a pair of stick like antlers, a dark night carnival mask brought to life as it crawled over the rocks towards the frantically cringing vigor.

The vigor screamed as the giggling, crackling embers peeled them out of their skins, one scrap at a time. Fat bubbled, flesh sloughed off the bone, skeletons lost cohesion.

"Accept the offering made unto you, Mighty Klu'ga-nath," Jeremiah muttered, "May the sacrifice made by my hands be acceptable unto you for the praise and glory of your name, for good and the good of all your church."

The cinders and shadows writhed as, one by one, the vigor fell, the impossible substance of Jeremiah's spell curling into the shape of an impossible dragon, its form warping the air around it, reality curdling up at the edges and weeping with the strain. Valodrael backed away from it, mouth opening in a warning hiss. Tikrumpdel heaved his bulk and shuffled backwards away from the glowing, darkening form. It didn't bother to look at him, the old dragon a non entity as far as this thing was concerned. Instead it turned its gaze of Valodrael, an aura of threat rolling off the insanity of its form.

Reality creaked at the seams as, without changing size, Valodrael expanded to face this insubstantial foe, teeth bared, eyes shining with power, snow flakes forming and falling round his mouth as the steams and fogs of the cavern drifted into the Chill of the Void, even while the index claw on his left 'hand' lengthen and throbbed with the red hot heat of a sun.

"Make it stop!" Ulrich yelled, "Make it stop!"

It looked like he was about to throw up.

"Why Ulrich, you look positively ill," Jeremiah drifted down to land near him, "Do you need me to ask the One True God for your healing again?" 

"Not on your nelly," Ulrich exclaimed, dashing sweat from his brow, "You have provided the cure by stopping what ever it was you were flaming well doing! Just about everyone on this team would feel a lot better if you would stop opening the door for that... personage that you call your god."

"But Ulrich," Jeremiah bowed, "Surely you would ask a man to abandon the care of his god? To come out from under the umbrella of protection? Have you forgotten about all the great and marvelous things the One True God has done for us? You must realize that without his aid we would not have made it this far."

"Oh Aye," Ulrich agreed, "He may have given us a fine lot help but I'm still wondering when he is going to demand the payment for all his help."

"My dear Ulrich," Jeremiah smiled, basking in the warmth radiating from the books at his back, "Gods do not ask for payment, if you love them, fear them, do as they say, then they give you everything that you need."

"Really?" Ulrich asked, "So you needed to be kicked out of your abbey did you?"

He turned away to go and help Weatherall, leaving Jeremiah to grind his teeth behind him.

The spiders were pushing Kaelin back now. She was tired, her head hurt and she could feel... well it felt like the breeze was inside her back, which could not be a good sign. She retreated, stepping back slowly, keeping her wings in play, buffeting the spiders aside every time they lunged. They were persistent buggers, she had to given them that. The battle behind her had gone quiet so she hoped that it meant that some of the rest of the King's Special would be coming to help her out. She hoped, but there again it could be that the reason it had gone quiet was that she had died without noticing it and this was her hell. She'd heard a preacher some where say that hell was being trapped forever doing what you were doing the moment that you died, tormented by you last moments over and over again. Was this her hell, constantly fight with a pair of giant spiders, cursed for there to be always two of them, no matter however many she cut down? To battle forever with this pain in her head, her eyes trying to shut, exhaustion dragging at her limbs until she wanted to just lay down on the stones and sleep?

 Tasnar tried to tear at the spider webbing encasing the big dragon but the stuff stuck and clung, clung like bad news, clung like the black ooze that bubbled out of the ground in some places of Hestia.

Ulrich sized up the mass of white webbing and the shifting, straining bulk trapped within. He hefted his sword as Peter trundled them nearer and then struck out. A rope of silk parted, a cable snapped, smaller strands tearing as the tension rippled through the web, pieces ripping loose as the support structure began to come undone.

 Sabal stumbled back, his sword no longer trapped against Tikrumpdel's side but still unable to help as the spider silk clung on the blade, flapping in the breeze as Sabal tugged and pulled. Sabal backed up and backed up again, ripping more and more of it loose as he pulled and tugged and yanked, his blade still tangled in the stuff.

"Will you let the feck go!?!" he demanded, trying, unsuccessfully to shake the stuff loose.

"You do know that talking to possessions  is the first sign of madness?" Ulrich asked as he came over to help Sabal.

"If that is the case I've been mad for quite a while, haven't I?" Sabal grunted, "I'm talking to you."

Ulrich blinked.

"Favorites are possessions of their lady," Sabal explained. Ulrich blinked again and blushed, trying to squeeze his brain through the idea of being a kept man. That was a bit of a shock.

Kaelin growled. Her stomach was feeling sick again and nobody seemed to notice the fact that she was still in trouble. With a snarl she jerked her wings up, unbalancing her foes and struck out. One spider scuttled back, squealing as the yellow goo dripped from its ruptured eye, the other gathered its split leg and held it close as it backed away.

Kaelin snarled as she crouched, spreading her claws.

"Go away!" she spat, "Go on! Go! Just push off and leave me be!"

It was only half way serious threat, a great part of it was bluff. She was sick and tired and she hurt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed some where and slept it off for about six weeks. Now she could thoroughly understand why Tikrumpdel had been trying to sleep it off for two or three centuries. If she had a life span that long she would have been thoroughly tempted to do the same.

Jeremiah turned his head and looked back towards the bridge. Ah that explained why Kaelin hadn't been with them, she been holding a party all of her very own with an exclusive guest list. Jeremiah tugged his beard. It was really rather rude of her to not invite them to her party but it did rather look like she was having trouble with some of her guests. The question was, therefore, did he bother to play the part of a bouncer?

A nasty sounding crunch rang out.

Jeremiah glanced side ways and saw that Nanny Tatters was busy cleaning up the battle field by nipping the heads off the fallen. He smiled indulgently and then turned back to the problem of Kaelin. Nanny Tatters was busy but he still had two other assets and one of them he hadn't fully tested out its capabilities. He smiled and drifted over to his Ash Elf Puppet on a couple of wing beats. He whispered something in its ear.

Kaelin looked with resignation as the giant spiders facing her as they rallied. This really didn't seem to be ending, one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you run you never manage to out pace the monster that was following you. She knew that it was a common nightmare though, for her, the monster always following her was her grandfather. Funny what the brain thought about when it was about to die.

The spider furthest away from her popped, goo and pieces flying in all directions, splashing the stones with yellow paste. Jeremiah smiled as his Ash Elf Puppet lower its hand bow to hang at its side as it slumped, held up only by its master's will.

Kaelin blinked. The last spider tensed, torn between leaping on her distraction and trying to work out what had just happened to its last companion.

Marmaduke arrived with the weight of an entire consignment of brass kettles, feet first.

Kaelin reached a hand up and wiped the goo from her eyes and Marmaduke continued to jump up and down on the luckless spider, making absolutely sure that it was well and truly ground into the ground. Kaelin was, one had to say, well and truly covered in spider gloop, it was practically dripping off of her. Somehow that was completely and utterly funny and Kaelin bit her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing. Maybe it was realizing that her friends hadn't forgotten her as much as she thought they had. Then a truly wicked idea crossed her mind and some days, days such as this when she was tried and in pain, Kaelin's impulse control wasn't the best that it could be.

Ignoring the stabs of red hot pain in her back she beat into the air and dived towards Ulrich.

"Thanks for sending the help! Big hugs!" she yelled as she came towards him.

Ulrich told one look at the gloop covered thing that swooped towards him and threw himself off of Peter's back to avoid it. Kaelin tripped and stumbled as she landed but thankfully Ulrich had still been fairly close to Tikrumpdel so instead of face planting into solid stone, Kaelin face planted into the vast dragon's side, which was, it must be said, fairly bouncy. She stumbled back but kept her footing.

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment Kaelin," Ulrich said as he stood back up on his own two feet, "I would prefer it after you have had a chance to bathe and be slightly less loaded with, shall we say, grunge."

"Oh, you have a problem with this goo your help managed to coat me in?" Kaelin smiled, keeping down the urge to scream. Her back really did have a problem, "As you wish."

Ulrich only just managed to get his arms up in time to prevent it from splattering his face as Kaelin shook herself vigorously. He lowered his arms and looked at his sleeves. He sighed.

Sabal blinked and lifted a finger to wipe a droplet of gunge off his cheek.

The last of the silk wrappings burst as Tikrumpdel started laughing. He laughed until he wobbled with it. He laughed until the cavern rang. He laughed until he cried. He rolled over sideways, thankfully away from the King's Special, clutching his paunch until he finally managed to get himself under control. The rock slope groaned under his weight.

"That was completely vulgar," a voice said from around Kaelin's neck. Kaelin looked down to see that her locket had been knocked open during the fight and the painted lady, Charlotte Darling, peering out of the little canvas that was usually hidden within.

"You have an inkling of my childhood,"Kaelin said deadpan, "Are you surprised?"

Charlotte thought about and then sighed.

"No I suppose not."