Wednesday, May 9, 2012
A Night of Dragons (Quinornim)
The forest rolled out before her leaving the Sword Coast far behind; riding the thermals, the gold dragon climbed higher—higher than all other flying races could go—where conditions for long distance travel are best.
Below her, coniferous landscape transformed into snowy foothills and finally the windswept peaks and grey angles of HIS territory—HIS domain. She narrowed her focus to a colony of various colored shapes dotting an area of the mountain range. It was then she began her death-dive.
Ice began to form at the edge of her eye lids as the snow covered ground rushed up towards her. Cold air stiffened her limbs threatening to paralyze her. Several of the previous pinpoints of color she now recognized as his harem of dragons. Then she saw him: the Storm Dragon, the Great Destroyer. His alabaster scales rendered him nearly invisible against the snow and ice. He raised his head to Quinornim’s death-dive and roared, his dragon harem scattering to the mountain reaches fearing his storm-rage. Quinornim exhaled her dragon fire in a concentrated line of white-hot energy, but before it could burn him to cinders the Storm Dragon countered with his own breath—foiling her obvious first attack.
The Storm Dragon then turned towards the closest mountain slope and began to climb with nimble speed using his great wings to aid in the process. Quinornim banked to come around the mountain and behind him as he climbed, but when she did an impossible wall of ice and snow consumed her sweeping her down the rough mountain.
After causing the avalanche, the Storm Dragon leaped into the air and called down thick pulses of lightning upon the incapacitated gold dragon. Snow exploded as Quinornim evaded the attack; her wings grasped the air for flight and in a few short moments of searching spotted the Storm Dragon.
Dragon fire burned Quinornim’s tree into a serviceable lance while Frostburn focused on closing the distance from him and the treacherous gold bitch. More lightning flashed as they soared toward each other. Seconds now separated the two dragons. Quinornim gripped her lance with deadly purpose—Frostburn, his eyes red in the anticipation of bloodshed.
At the last possible moment, Frostburn produced a shield of ice that deflected Quinornim’s makeshift weapon harmlessly aside. Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized she was already dead. Pain exploded in her neck as Frostburn bit savagely into her flesh— piercing her arteries and closing her windpipe. He pinned Quinornim’s wings with his powerful arms and they began to plummet. Teeth still tearing at her scales and muscle Frostburn positioned himself with her under his perfect form so that she would break their… his fall.
Fire gushed from the deepening wound in Quinornim’s neck as well as her nostrils and eyes as she flailed her arms and legs about looking for purchase. Frostburn angled their decent toward a valley where jagged, uneven ice had naturally formed—he would kill her by propelling her into the ice. The ground fast approached with deadly speed.
The last thing Quinornim felt of before she died was sorrow. Sorrow for the race of men—their fate would not be as merciful as hers.