Mildenhaul's Battle of Red & Gold, Book 3
By Xothor Gorrat Ironweaver,
Templar in the Brogendenstein Temple of the
Morndinsamman & Apprentice with Bahamut’s Talons of Justice
Coming out of the portal, I realized we were standing in the main square of the citadel, surrounded by a mob of orcs, goblins and dwarves in a heated battle. The chaos was almost overwhelming and I had difficulty getting my bearings until Glognar, standing next to me, pointed to a strange purple glow that hung over the gates of the merchant district. Not understanding what I was witnessing, I then heard a tremendous crashing of glass as one of the many massive skyline windows was bashed in, sending glass and rubble falling on top of the soldiers in battle. It was then that I finally saw what truly was behind this horrendous attack; an ancient Red Wyrm, Korthal himself. The massive Dragon surveyed the situation and then drew in a deep breath and let loose a colossal cone of fire, melting the glass, cracking the stone and destroying everything it reached. Even a hundred feet below the plume of fire, the heat was tremendous and I felt my vision wavering as I staggered on my feet.
Again, Glognar pushed me forward before staying back to herd the students and teachers toward the purple glow of the merchant district, and only then did I realize that we were not surrounded by orcs, goblins and dwarves as I had thought, but only orcs and goblins, as the enemy forces were actually battling each other. Our group made up the only dwarves, gnomes or other allies in the square, and we were not targeted. Casting away caution with the threat of Korthal’s breath on my neck, I saw a clear path, a glowing purple tunnel, that almost looked like a wall but was also see through, and I ran forward, urging the others to follow me. At the end of this tunnel, I saw a familiar heavy set dwarf who was staring right at us, his hands held high as he chanted illusion magic. It was Hurndor Duran Braidstone, the eldest of the Braidstone siblings, providing us safe passage through the chaos and into the protected merchant district while the orcs and goblins slaughtered each other.
With Glognar’s and some of the professors’ aid, we managed to race through the din of battle with minimal injury and past the district gates before the Hurndor, with a blast of force, slammed the gate shut and urged us quickly into the vault building, shouting at us the entire time to keep going while he held the illusion.
Once inside the vault proper, Duran’s wife, Master Jeweler Abigetain Braidstone, herded us all in through the massive steel door of the vault room and we joined many Mildenhaul civilians already there. As Glognar was the last of the group, he called back to the Hurndor and it was then that Duran also joined us, before Abigetain slammed and locked the vault door. Several hundred of us were assembled in this spacious area, containing the bulk of Mildenhaul’s wealth, and Duran explained to us all that there were leylines leading out to different areas of the citadel. I will never forget the strange feeling of being surrounded by so much wealth in jewels, relics and coin while being so terrified for my life.
I then realized that Duran and his wife had no idea that their relatives had perished. My emotions broke like a wave over me and I blubbered that Deedle, Hera and Harran were all dead, falling into Abigetain’s arms and sobbing. While weeping on her shoulder and holding her in a vice grip, Duran and Glognar organized the civilians as best as they could, encouraging the elderly and youth to remain there, as it was the safest room in the entire citadel. Those who were battle ready began heading through leylines to various areas of the halls. Glognar took the leyline that led straight to the main gates.
As I regained my composure, Duran took me by the shoulders, a mountain of a dwarf, taller than me by at least 6 inches, and forced me to look into his gray eyes.
“Xothor, now is not the time to grieve. We will survive this and you will have time to grieve, as will I, as will we all. Your Dragon needs you now. You’re her apprentice and She needs you. Focus now. Think of nothing else but getting to your Silver. She will know what to do.” He then led me to the leyline that opened to the Golden Roost and then touched me once more, on the forehead, infusing me with clarity of mind, never breaking eye contact.
Stepping through the golden light of the portal, I felt steady, confident even, emerging atop the mountain into the pillared cathedral that our Gold Council used as a landing platform. At first all I could hear was the wind; all I could feel was the icy cold of the Spine of the World. And then, the sound of battle grew in my ears until I could hear nothing else. I saw Dragons everywhere; Gold, Silver, White and Red but Korthal was nowhere in sight, likely still ripping the sky windows to pieces down below.
As a large Red cruised toward me, I saw Sister attack him from above, breathing her icy breath upon him and disabling him enough to rip one of his wings in half with her talons, sending him flapping clumsily into the mountain side and crashing into the valley below. She then landed next to me and urged me into the saddle, which, I noticed, was magically warmed.
Now mounted, we took off and I got a better view of the sheer number of enemy forces Mildenhaul was dealing with. Down below at the main gates, two huge White Dragons were bashing the outer wall of the citadel as the gnomish bombards fired upon them in force. Dwarven archers stood atop the wall firing bolts, arrows and fire bombs into the orc and goblin ranks that attempted to climb the walls. The Matron and Patron Gold Council members, with their Dragon riders, were running sweeping fire breath attacks into the hoard of enemies that crowded against the outer wall, setting hundreds aflame in their efforts. Sister spotted some dark archers, drow most likely, along the back lines that were taking aim at the metallic Dragons. Diving upon them, breathing her icy death, she froze many where they stood before having to pull back up as the survivors started firing upon us.
That was when I saw our Patron Gold and his rider hit hard from above by two huge Red beasts, tumbling him midair and grabbing his rider, Bloodmaiden and Gate Sargent Kerga Brokenstone, with their toothy maws and flinging her into the side of the mountain. Sister swooped down to aid our Patron Gold and managed to grab one of the Red’s heads in her talons, gouging out its eyes and sending it crashing into a group of orcs below. She then followed our Patron as he righted himself and coasted toward a calmer location atop the outer wall.
I then saw Korthal, standing atop the citadel proper, some few hundred yards away, after destroying our many sky windows, looking across the battle toward us momentarily before taking wing and lifting off in the opposite direction. I assessed we might not have that much time before he decided to take advantage of our Patron’s momentary weakness as Sister landed atop the outer wall next to a battalion of dwarves. Our Patron Gold coasted down next to us, as did several other Mildenhaul Dragons and their riders, and all sent fiery or icy breath upon the hoard of goblins and orcs climbing siege ladders.
I took that moment to cast Dugmaren’s storm to give us a few seconds to heal the wounded and consider our options. Soon a black cloud extended out from me by a hundred feet, sending lighting bolts and acid rain down upon our enemies, while the Dragons cast healing spells on the haggard warriors.
Master Trapsmith Doili Troff, formerly Thane of Brogendenstein, was heavily wounded and leaning on the stone wall, trying to catch his breath, a few arrows sticking out of his chest. The Patron Gold looked over the battered warriors, dragons and their riders, feeling their collective sense of dread and his expression softened. Speaking in his rich baritone, in eloquent Draconic, he drew from his many years of care leading the clan-hold of Mildenhaul.
“Long have you served my family and His Resplendence. Long have you held your oaths and honor to our kin, your clans and our allies, and you all have garnered my respect. For this I award you the knowledge of my true name, Athrostruth the Mighty, Guardian and Ruler of Mildenhaul, Talon of Justice and father of mine children, Daughter Gold and Son Alastor and mate of Her Majesty, Valencar’s heir and Daughter, the Matron Gold Empress of these glorious halls.”
“Do not let your hearts grow weary, for Justice’s Light is Everbright.” He dipped his head and added, “Leave me blind to all but true light of justice, o Valiant One.”
Pausing to assess the chaotic skies above them, he nodded to Master Trapsmith Doili Troff, whose injuries were evident in the blood pooling in the snow at his feat. With the most gentle caress of a single talon, he healed the elder dwarf completely with restorative magic, dissolving the arrows protruding from the dwarf’s chest, and lowering his body to the ground, extended a wing like a ladder to the weary rogue.
“My rider has perished, good dwarf, and I need your strong arm if we are to distract Korthal long enough to weaken him.” Doili looked over the worn saddle on the dragon’s back, still equipped with enchanted javelins. “I request your aid in this task, as your throwing arm has always been true.”
Doili stammered, his Draconic rusty.
“Majesty, I … I am no rider. I would not know how to stay on your back.”
The great Gold Wyrm chuckled, smoke plumes rising from his nostrils and gave Doili a wink. “All that is important is that you trust me, good dwarf. I will keep you seated.”
And with that Doili climbed into the saddle and adjusted the harness as best he could, before Athrostruth took a great leap and rose off the wall, his wing gusts blasting the few orcs, goblins and siege towers that remained. Sister then leapt after him as did the rest of the Dragons and collectively, all twelve of us pairs, followed our Patron into the skies in search of Korthal.
We encountered a few adult Reds and one solitary White, before the Patron shouted that Korthal was spotted and climbed higher and higher through the cloud tops. While some of the other Dragons took after the smaller Reds, Sister Silver and myself, and Sister Gold, ridden by Bloodmaiden Freida Blackhammer, both followed the Patron and soon we were above the clouds. The wind was so strong I had to lay down close to Sister’s back, I was afraid I would be ripped from the saddle. Never in my life have I seen such an enormous Wyrm, of any color. Korthal was flying toward us at alarming speed and blasted the first few Dragons coming close to him with fiery breath, doing little harm as he only hit the Patron and Sister Golds, protective magics shielding their riders.
Sister Silver was pulling out of a climb to avoid the cone of fire when I saw Doili stand up in the saddle and hurl a javelin at Korthal’s head as the Red Wyrm passed near them. The javelin flew straight through the narrow opening between Korthal’s horns, missing him entirely, if only by inches. Then the Patron Gold barrel rolled out of the way of the massive Red Dragon, with Doili shrinking down close to the Gold’s neck and holding on.
Sister and I then were faced with an approaching adult Red who was inhaling deeply, ready to blast us with fire. Without thinking I cast Dugmaren’s Hammer on the Red, stunning it long enough that it lost its momentum, the fire dyeing in its throat. Sister took advantage and hit it straight on with a blast of icy breath, freezing the already stunned beast and causing it to fall down through the canopy of clouds and out of sight. Rolling to the side, she was able to turn back around and follow Sister Gold and we climbed back to altitude to follow the Patron for another round at Korthal.
Korthal then dropped back down past us, forcing Sister to turn sharply. As we dove, breaking through the cloud cover, I could see our Matron Gold igniting the mountain side in fire, blasting lines of trees, orcs, goblins, drow and anything else in her way. Korthal was diving straight down toward her and the Patron and Doili picked up speed, gaining on the beast quickly and again, Doili took a shot with an enchanted javelin. While the javelin bounced harmlessly against the Wyrms’ back, the shot distracted Korthal enough that he pulled up from his dive against the Matron. Sister Gold reached Korthal first, and Freida hurled a javelin at him, striking him solidly in the neck. At that point, Silver Sister and I were attacked by another smaller red and we pulled up from our dive to again, avoid dragon fire and I lost sight of the Patron and Korthal momentarily.
When we came back around for our final shot at Korthal, Doili stood tall in the saddle and hurled his last javelin at the approaching Ancient Red, striking him perfectly in the left eye. Korthal let out a roar that shook the mountain side and the Patron Gold was able to grapple the massive Red Wyrm mid air, biting into his throat where Freida’s javelin struck, sending blood cascading like rain. Sister let out a roar of triumph before seeing our Patron Gold caught in Korthal’s huge talons as the Red ripped our Patron’s Wing quite badly. The two massive dragons fell together, tangled, blood flying everywhere. I tried to hit Korthal with Dugmaren’s Hammer but missed, sending the hammer crashing into the valley below with a tremendous smashing of timber. Sister dove after the tumbling Dragons, trying to to assist the Patron, but Korthal was able to shred Athrostruth’s right wing and then, disembowel him.
The last thing I heard as I helplessly watched the glorious Gold Wyrm and his rider, Doili Troff, crash into the valley below, was;
“You must warn Brogendenstein.”
Korthal was then able to untangle himself from our Patron’s grasp and, despite bleeding profusely, level out his flight and coast down the valley toward the south until he was well out of mine and Sister’s sight. Sister Gold and her rider too could do nothing to help the Great Gold, and they turned back toward Mildenhaul, to aid with any surviving hostile forces, while Sister Silver took Athrostruth’s words literally, and we turned and headed south towards Sailor’s Rook.
I urged her many times to turn back so that we could assess the wounded; to follow Korthal’s path and perhaps finish him off, or even to stop and rest for just an hour. She wouldn’t listen to anything I said and declared that we would not stop flight for any reason until we reached the Valkurian monestary, before continuing on to Arelith.
I spent the remainder of our flight scanning the horizon for hostile dragons and regretting every mistake I had made since first getting Hera’s letter in Thornhold about Darnoth’s concerns; a considerable number of failures by my reckoning.