Sunday, May 20, 2012

A Night of Dragons (The Fields of Triumph)



Cyric sat amongst the blood stained benches of the Fields of Triumph. The fields have hosted many events over its long and brutal history. The gladiatorial arena was once a place where warriors and knights could prove their mettle against the fearsome foes and monsters assembled by the Brokengulf family. Lately, it seems there has been more blood spilled in the seats than on the sands.

“You should be dead,” Cyric said to his cohort, the disgust in his tone entertained no rebuttals. The man sported injuries that were slow to mend. “Why do think that is?” The bitter cold was brisk off the coast this day.

“You are not the only one who sees the value of my skills Sai.” The man said with a smugish grin.

“Indeed, I am lending your services to that one. Serve her as you would me until such time as I decide your services are required elsewhere.” Cyric finished.

“Your words, my hand Sai.” The man said as holding up his palm.

Cyric watched the man, walking with noticeable pain, exit the arena then turned his attention to the sky. He had another appointment that would soon to arrive.

Thoughts began to formulate behind his tombstone shaped eyes, he needed one more aspect to become the most powerful of the Godson’s pantheon. The only one who could challenge him was…

The sun was blotted out for a moment, snapping Cyric from his thoughts. He stood, muscles flexing; he dawned his black hat and regarded his visitor some would call an angel. She was lithe, athletic, tall, and sensual—not in a seductive way but brutal and cruel. Her black feathered wings and well as her scantly clad form had an oily quality that was both inviting and nightmarish…

Sorvani had been cautious as of late. The coordinated attacks from: first the chromatic dragons, then days later—metallic scaled terrors. The carpet balked Sorvani when he attempted to make his way on foot or horseback when conducting city business; hence the mage found himself traversing among the towers of Waterdeep. 

Shortly after coming to Waterdeep his carpet drew him to a pair of astral travelers, Eldred Treydarr and his companion Orderkeeper Versa. It would seem that their fates: Sorvani, Eldred, Versa, and the Carpet—were linked. It was a mystery and they needed answers but the Oracle required a Pearl of the Sirines to obtain some insight where others have failed. 
 
Then came the all too familiar sound of a dragon’s roar. 

“Perfect.” Sorvani said in a sarcastic sigh. Then an explosion rocked the city’s west side as half of the Fields of Triumph were blown apart. Lightining flashed and thunder boomed as it seemed to Sorvani, some brave—and foolish—ffolk have responded in due coarse to what will now be seen as the third attack on the city. 

Sorvani directed Carpet cautiously to the Arena and what he saw made him cower in shock and awe. 

…After coming to an accord and after the hastily following consummation, Cyric and the Avatar of Darkness and Loss reaffirmed their plans one final time, when an all too familiar sound of a dragon’s roar ceased their palaver. Plans seldom go accordingly.

From the sky, descending in a pulsating flash of lightning was a sizable blue dragon. The dragon immediately began to defile the Fields of Triumph, using first her dragon breath to un-encumber the arena of its north-eastern wall then going as far as to defecate and scatter debris about.


Cyric and the woman exchanged glances and watched the dragon as she toiled and destroyed—if she had noticed them, she did not concern herself.



“There are people coming, Clerics and Gunslingers.” The mistress of the Night said.

“I hear them my precious; we will wait until we have a proper audience before we rid the city of this loathsome dragon.” Cyric said, his voice low as he called upon his divine strength.

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