Grimoires and Gunsmoke

Looking up at the alien night sky, Yzael and Gideon saw the formidable forms of dragon flights fresh from their realm soaring overhead. The two felt a distinct unease after seeing such power concentrated in one area. Even just one of these monsters were enough to bring a city to its knees and here they saw a veritable horde flying over the lands of these realms…

And they were trouble.

“I bet ya an entire gold we won’t live to see the morrow.” Gideon said through a derisive laugh, his gruff voice cutting through the silence. He might have continued his pessimistic musing, but Yzael's sharp reprimand interrupted him.

"Be silent, brute!" she barked, her eyes focusing on the sky.

While the vast majority of the flights went to reinforce their brethren much further in the sky, the mage noticed that a fair number of the dragons were lingering just a ways in front of the barrier and the outpost that was being constructed. The majestic beast’s were fixated on the horizon as if anticipating something, their thick necks craned, and their eyes shimmering with a spectral glow. The sight filled the troops on the ground with a cold, unsettling expectation.

“What are they waiting for?” Gideon muttered, disregarding Yzael’s earlier admonition. His eyes squinted towards the distance, trying to discern what had captivated the dragons' attention.

“Hush!” Yzael hissed, her hands clutching her grimoire tightly to her chest as she too attempted to pierce the distant haze. The smoke from the still burning town filled the night sky, leaving visibly much to be desired for.

As they all watched in silence, one of the dragons' deafening roars cut through the night as it hurled itself towards the horizon with frightening speed. One powerful bat of its wings and it was gone like a comet, Others quickly followed suit, their forms growing small into the distant gloom, leaving only the beating of their wings echoing in the air.

The troops watched the breathtaking scene unfold as each dragon unleashed its own unique might upon an unseen adversary. Through the murky air, a spectacular array of colors blossomed. Fiery plumes of red and orange mingled with vibrant torrents of icy blue and white, while bolts of lightning interlaced them all, stitching the sky together with threads of electric gold.

Yzael's eyes widened at the mesmerizing spectacle, displaying a dance of beauty and destruction. “By the ancients…” she whispered in awe. Despite the grave circumstance, the sight held an elegance, a testament to the diverse might of the dragons as they wielded their elemental fury.

But soon, the mesmerizing lights ended and the low roar of something… alien took its place.

Suddenly Yzael and the other spotted them. Uncountable amounts of metallic creatures, their bodies narrow and arrow-like with stubby wings, silhouetted by the otherworldly moon as they sped across the night sky. Yzael's heart pounded against her chest as the world around her seemingly drowned in the ominous roar of these impossibly fast, alien entities.

They darted through the air with an unnatural, mechanical precision, moving in unison like a school of fish. Half as long as a wyvern, the entities emitted no aura of life, and their cold, metallic bodies seemed to suck the very warmth from the air as they passed.

As the swift metallic creatures reached the barrier, their advance was halted by the ethereal shimmer of the barrier that the mages had hastily erected. Upon contact, enormous explosions bloomed against the barrier, each detonation casting violent ripples of blue energy to ripple across the barrier.

The luminescent shield absorbed most of the impacts, its hue flickering erratically with each successive strike, however, the sheer magnitude and frequency of these explosions began to take their toll. Fissures of raw magical energy started to form, spider webbing across the barrier's surface. Soldiers, mages, and all onlookers watched in horror as the protective wall's briefly flickered out.

With a sound akin to shattering crystal, a section of the barrier faltered and collapsed and a new wave of metallic entities broke through, with dragons hot on their heels. The advancing legions watched in horror as explosions ripped through the staging area just in front of the rift.

Yzael nearly fell to her knees after witnessing the sheer destruction those things caused. She couldn’t imagine the loss of mages they must have sustained, let alone the loss of life. The barrier should have been near impenetrable with the amount of magic being forced into it by powerful sorcerers and wizards.

Gideon was the first to react as his voice roared above the maelstrom, attempting to bring order to the disarray, "Rally! Form ranks, we need to end whatever is spitting such hatred!” He ordered amidst the cacophony of explosions and the incessant shrieks of the alien projectiles still streaming in and the dragons desperately chasing them.

The commanders of the retinue echoed the command, their voices amplified by magic, reverberating with urgency.

“Keep moving, we aren’t the targets!” Their commander, Lysandra clad in her magic armor, commanded. “But be prepared to erect a barrier on my command!”

The legions, shaking with a mixture of fear and anticipation, gathered their wits at the orders of their commanders. The indomitable will of Gideon and Lysandra shone like a beacon through the chaos as they approached the town.

Heaving a deep breath, Yzael moved to the front and started chanting. A strange energy started building around the tips of her fingers as they moved deftly in the air, weaving intricate patterns as she recited her spell. A slight whistling sound grew louder and louder until the smoke started to shift.

What started as a gentle breeze swiftly transformed into gusts that pushed back against the smoky tendrils that sought to obscure their path, showing a scene of carnage. The acrid scent of burnt wood and liquified metal filled everyone’s nostrils.

“What do ya think this was?” Gideon asked, pushing to the front next to stand by Yzael, his heavy boots crunched against someone's broken, charred remains.

An equally curious look colored Yzael’s face as her eyes fell upon a burned-out, misshapen metal hulk. "I even cannot fathom," Yzael said, her voice somber. The outline was odd, alien to their realm and was marked by strange symbols scorched and barely visible on the malformed metal. “This… thing seems to be wheeled, so some vehicle or carriage of some sort?”

Gideon's eyes followed the shrunken and burnt frame of what appeared to be wheels, now mere molten blobs beneath the monolithic hulk. "Where would one latch the beasts to pull?" he mused aloud, "Seems awfully inefficient for a carriage.”

Yzael furrowed her brow and looked around for their commander until her eyes finally fell upon Lysandra and her brilliant magic armor. The domineering woman was deeply engrossed in a conversation with a Drakonic Commander, their large form towering over her. The dragonborn was clad in dark earthly scales, his voice a deep, thrumming resonance, spoken in urgent tones.

Lysandra’s face was drawn in a worried and tense expression as the dragonborn spoke and frantically. Yzael had never seen a being of their species look so… panicked before in her life, and that just added to her growing anxiety of this operation. Her and Gideon finally made their way towards them, their steps hesitant as they approached the duo.

“If you hear the whistling of the wind, you must take shelter! If out in the open, you must seek any cover possible, be it a ditch or depression in the land! Spread out your ranks! Bunching together will end in catastrophe for your formations!” The Drakonic Commander's voice spoke with urgency, a sharp contrast to their usually calm and composed demeanor. His vibrant, golden eyes flicked from face to face, ensuring his words sank deep into the hearts of the other two commanders in front of him.

“If there is no shelter or cover, dig holes as fast as you can and stay low. Do not linger out in the open, and above all, keep communication as quiet as possible! Those… THINGS lurk in the shadows. They can see in the night as if it were day!”

Lysandra hands clenched tightly as she listened to every word with a difficult look on her face. If this came out of anyone or anything else, the woman would have marked this up to the raving of a mad man, but coming from one Drakonics… made it all the more credible. The Drakonics were already known for their unyielding bravery and stoic demeanor, but with their servitude branding, made their advice and word of caution extremely unsettling.

“Thank you for the warning my liege,” Lysandra said, her voice full of skepticism yet layered with a deep respect. “We will take your advice to heart. Our people and our realm are unfamiliar with these...adversaries and their methods of warfare. We must rely on each other's strengths and knowledge if we are to protect our lands.”

The Drakonic Commander nodded, seemingly expecting her skepticism. “You do not believe me… I too was in disbelief when I first faced these creatures, but I've witnessed the devastation they can bring firsthand. Trust in the experiences of those who have faced them. They are unlike any foe our world has ever seen."

Gideon, with a hard expression, asked, “What are these 'THINGS' you speak of? Are they the reason behind the mangled remnants we found earlier?”

“Gideon, know your place!” Lysandra snapped as she clutched her sword tightly, giving Gideon a stern look.

The Drakonic Commander intervened, sensing the mounting tension. "No, it is quite alright. I take no offense." His eyes remained locked on Gideon as he took a few steps closer.

A maddened look took root in the dragonborn’s eyes.”They take the shape of humans, like yourself.” He said darkly, maintaining eye contact with Gideon

A deep silence enshrouded the group as everyone felt as if they were just slapped in the face. The flickering light of the burning town cast long, eerie shadows around them as the Drakonic Commander’s words hung in the air.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The commander stepped past them, with a limp. “I must see to the wounded.” His massive frame moved with a surprising grace despite his injury, his scaled tail leaving a shallow trail in the dusty earth.

An uncomfortable pause followed his departure. The silence of the group was amplified by the distant cries and whimpers of the wounded seeking attention and the constant thunderous booms in the distance. The imposing presence of the Drakonic Commander had been a temporary barrier to those outside noises, now they seeped back into their awareness.

Lysandra's gaze followed the commander as he limped away, the sturdy thud of his footfalls in sync with the heartbeats echoing in her ears. The whiff of charred wood and the pungent smell of blood wafted in the air, permeating the atmosphere with a grim reminder of their situation. The destroyed village, now a shadow of its former self, seemed to weep silently under the bright moonlight, its agony merging with the desolate landscape around.

Gideon broke the silence, his voice strained but steady. "What do ya think?." He asked, anxiously rubbing the leather strap of his axe. "Do any of you think the lizard is talkin’ crazy-like?”

No one said anything about Gideon’s insubordination as his words hung in the air while the legion of Freelancers and Volunteers shifted nervously in the background.

Yzael, her face shrouded in thought, finally spoke, her voice a soft whisper amidst the chilling breeze. "Whether a flight of madness or an unsettling truth, there’s a resonance in his words that we cannot simply ignore.” She said grimly while turning towards the rift. “We all saw those… projectiles or whatever they were slam into the barrier.”

Her finger pointed towards the dim, shimmering rift that hung in the air, the barrier holding back unknown darkness and despair. The ethereal glow emitted eerie shadows, casting gaunt silhouettes upon the broken earth, their forms a spectral dance of despair. Yzael continued, “There is a power here beyond our understanding, a malevolence that even sends the dragons into a panic.” She continued with fear in her voice. “The commander speaks of iron beasts, fearsome foes hidden in the guise of man and I, for one, believe him."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered warriors, a current of unease weaving its thread through the crowd. The air hummed with tension and the echoes of bombardment in the distance, painting the sky orange with each explosion.

Lysandra's mind was in turmoil as she grappled with the weight of leadership. A scowl spread across her face and her hand clutched the pommel of her blade as the commander was faced with an impossible decision. Every fiber of her being told her to turn back before it was too late, but she was bound by contract and oath to march on and subjugate whatever lay on the other side.

However, her contract never mentioned metallic horrors and magic that could contend with a damned sovereign, she sighed and looked up at the night sky. The majestic golden dragon the size of a mountain twisted and turned in the sky, fighting a swarm of almost imperceptible enemies in comparison to its size.

Explosions against it’s brilliant feather lit up the darkness. The dragon roared, a sound that vibrated through the bones of every being within miles, a haunting echo of fury. Amidst the dazzling dance, some of the sovereigns glimmering feathers fell like molten gold, scorching the land as it tried desperately to protect its horde from the relentless assault.

Gideon's hand rested on her shoulder, a solid, warm presence in the cold, chaotic night. “We never signed up for this, Captain,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, mirroring the distant, ominous booms.

“No, we did not,” she whispered back, her gaze still fixed on the aerial tragedy. “But here we are, nonetheless. Bound by words inked on parchment and coin.”

Lysandra could feel the eyes of her men and women on her, their uncertainty and fear mirroring her own, their need for direction a palpable weight on her already burdened shoulders.

She turned from the celestial carnage, her gaze sweeping over the anxious faces of the freelancers in her employ. “We will make contact,” she declared, her voice unwavering, her stance unyielding. “Be it monsters of iron or flesh.”

The woman spun hot on her heels and marched in the direction of the other legions, her cape billowing behind her as she moved with purposeful strides. The rhythmic tramp of her company's boots followed, towards the horizon alight with the glow of explosions.

Yzael reached in her pocket and pulled a single gold coin, an entire month's pay and placed it into Gideon’s hand. “I haven’t agreed to your little wager, but it seems you’ve won.”

-

Sitting in the cockpit of an F-16C, Captain Kai “Skunk” Wu tapped his fingers impatiently on the side of the cockpit while his plane idled on the highway of a makeshift runway. “C’mon, C’mon, hurry the fuck up!” Captain Wu growled to himself as he watched the ground crew scramble to rearm and refuel his plane.

The Captain watched as his wingmen taxied down the improvised tarmac, an orchestra of men and machines under still burning flares acting as runway lights. His eyes darted to his right where a small makeshift control tower had been hastily set up, and combat controllers worked frantically to manage the chaotic ballet of landing and launching aircraft.

Headsets clamped to their ears, their voices never wavered as they directed pilots, coordinating the organized chaos with a calm precision that belied the dire circumstances. "Skunk 2, you're clear for takeoff on Runway One. Skunk 4, taxi to holding area. Skunk 3, prepare for immediate launch after Skunk 2." Captain Wu’s headset blared to life.

Despite the chaos, there was a semblance of order as the roar of jet engines drowned out every other sound possible. Bright orange flames jutted out of the F-16 as it lurched forward, causing the highway beneath the aircraft to become a blur of gray and white.

Wu shot a restless look at the ground crew still working to mount missiles on to his fighter as the rest of his flight took off one by one. The air vibrated with the hum of machinery and the crackle of communication devices. Despite his impatience, Wu couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for the ground crew and combat controllers. They worked like a well-oiled machine, each moving with purpose amidst the orchestration of warfare.

His attention snapped back as he felt the final click of his armaments being secured. The crew chief signaled their completion with a thumbs up followed quickly with a salute. The Captain returned the favor as his canopy closed and his gloved hand gripped the throttle.

Noticing the last plane of the flight was ready to go, Control radioed in, “Skunk 1 runway 2, cleared for unrestricted take off. Happy hunting, dragon slayers.”