[IP] Dragon

...

"ARCHERS READY"

The General's shout raised high above the rapports of Doterra's Holy City of Light, bowmen lofting their devices toward the angle of their practice, arms pulling under the tension of force. Each and every one of them had been trained since their youngest ages to hold the prized weapons of wood and cable, precious soldiers of the faith. Should they fall, those ordinary soldiers beside them would not so much as draw back the strings on their weapons.

Of those many lessers, most watched with fear. They were little more than drafted conscripts, majority of which barely trained to fit into the substandard and misfitting armor. Their hands clutched dry-wooden crossbows with a desperation of men over-board clinging to rope, each block and groove pointed over-side of the the thick city walls at the approaching creature. Deep within the walled heartland of Doterra's Eastern Territories, from the unholy woods of Heresy, a massive Dragon had emerged: The likes of which had no been seen since before the Church's holy Formation.

"AIM!"

The General shouted again, command mere formality to those longbow that held lofted. The soldiers of faith had aimed long ago, fearless beside the frantic men resting behind battlements, crouched with hoarse breath and whispers of terror. Those of the faith did not need fear.

What was there to fear, when the Gods of light watched over their chosen?

The beast approached further, storm of sands and trees whipping up beneath the massive wings. It was as if a sandstorm of magic and earth were erupting under its belly and span, clouds of dust settling behind it like a massive snake as it plowed forward with tremendous speed. Above the din, a shout was raised.

"BOWMEN LOOSE!"

Three hundred arrows of long and perfect make, flew off into the sky. Up an up their fletchings rode the winds, spinning their structure by design as they reached the highest moment of their ascension, piercing the clouds before the descend of violence started in earnest.

They crashed down to earth, a reckoning of wood, feather and iron.

Their points might glide through armor, pierce through full inches of oak, chip stone, and crush helms: but all this true, it mattered for naught. All of the holy City's Garrison watched in horror as the most esteemed of soldier's efforts shattered upon tremendous impacts to splinters. Even beneath the blessing of light, performed by the most devote of warriors: The beast's wrath was great.

They had failed.

"CROSSBOWS LOOSE!"

The General's order shouted again, faithful bowmen already nocked once more as their lessers unleashed a far greater barrage of disorder into the sky.

"BOWMEN LOOSE!"

Another, and another followed, as the General's voice shouted itself to a fierce growling tone that spoke of far too many days of pipe, and far too few afield.

"KNIGHTS ADVANCE!"

Below, emboldened by the magics of dozens within holy-circles of white magics, Doterra's Holy Knights drew steel and advanced afoot. Behind they left horses abandoned, creatures unwilling or unable to overcome the fear of such a terrible creature approaching with grim certainty.

"HUZZAAAAAAAAAAH!" Their shouts went up in a fierce cheif of bravado as they ran to meet their maker, ready for the certain death that would be granted as the dragon came ever closer, storming tempest of wind and debris lifted like chaos emboldened beneath its mighty breast. This would be a battle for legends, for ballads, for lutes and singers at hearths in the centuries to come. With it came glory, even in death: They charged together, glowing in the holy spirit of mana itself.

Then the Dragon halted, and it roared.

It roared true.

For what sound pierced through the air, all will tell it differently. For some, it might have been a bellow of noise, for others a chorus of Angels's trumpets, or a shout from another world. Perhaps even a reckoning of the gods themselves.

It matters naught.

Men fell to their knees, the bravest were blown paces back to stumble and crash amongst their peers like bumbling fools. Priests bowed backwards, robes blown back to tumble in messes of disarray. Arrows still in flight were burst to flame and cinder upon the wind, as bow-strings snapped like whips, and wooden crossbow shattered atop battlements with cries of shock and awe.

A single instant, and an entire army of the finest warriors known to the Eastern lands were thrown to soil and pushed aside, as if nothing more than rowdy drunks out front a late-hour tavern.

Horror for all that stared into the great beasts eyes found itself sparked anew, Holy assembly of light and faith visibly no match for the tangible nature of an awesome power in the flesh. What legends sparked faith, stood before them indifferent of their cries, and more than capable of ending them.

Then, with a voice that quaked even the stone of earth beneath, and a tone of no language past magic itself: The Dragon spoke.

"Gods of light, and prayer asunder: The Darkness comes quickly toward this plane."

Fearsome and oppressive, it held all along the walls, all within the city- even many far beyond to the fields fast East, still as frozen glass; fearful at shattering with the slightest of motion in resistance.

"You will listen to me now, or prematurely join it."