Entry tags:
CLOSED: The Abyssal High Dragon
WHO: Rachette, Metaari, Vivienne, Alejandro, Norrington
WHAT: Slaying the Abyssal High Dragon!
WHEN: 20 Bloomingtide
WHERE: The Western Approach
NOTES: There are two top-level comments below: one to (optionally) talk to and potentially run some errands for Professor Frederic of Serault, the other for the fight itself. The dragon will not by GMed; control it yourselves, have fun, and let us know if you have questions or need help!
WHAT: Slaying the Abyssal High Dragon!
WHEN: 20 Bloomingtide
WHERE: The Western Approach
NOTES: There are two top-level comments below: one to (optionally) talk to and potentially run some errands for Professor Frederic of Serault, the other for the fight itself. The dragon will not by GMed; control it yourselves, have fun, and let us know if you have questions or need help!

Waxing poetic about the majesty of a high dragon or considering one a good omen is all well and good when one of the beasts isn't actually in the vicinity, out in the open, hunting. (They only do it every hundred years, so of course they're all doing it now.) By the time the team is sent in search of the dragon's resting place, it has already taken three horses and one soldier from one camp and set half of another on fire. Preventing it from doing more harm or taking an interest in the Keep is of paramount importance.
They know it breathes fire. They know it's hungry. They know it's a bloody dragon. The tricky part here--other than killing it--is finding it. As the group heads out, one soldier jokes that the beast might be residing in the Abyssal Reach itself, at the bottom of the seemingly bottomless gorge, surrounded by the corruption that's creeping up the cliffsides. Unfortunately, he may be right.

(Optional) Professor Frederic of Serault
Re: (Optional) Professor Frederic of Serault
He rides down himself on Dauntless, pulling up in front of the man's ... moving University library, both eyebrows raised.
"Ser, you should not be out here." He stated, climbing off his horse, to come closer to the Orlesian man. "It is not safe here." He looked around, "Especially not alone."
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"I am not sure the horse will be good protection either. What are you doing out here, ser?"
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A pause, then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. This could actually be a very valuable man - if he studied creatures like this. Not to mention dragons.
"I would be pleased to assist, if I can." He said, thoughtfully, "Although I will have to warn you, if I am close enough to lay the bait, the dragon will probably attack me. I will probably have to kill it, if that is the case."
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Here, he paused again. "What I would not want is payment - but for you to perhaps consider joining our Inquisition?"
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Which it would. Because it was a dragon.
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Just to make that clear. He isn't willing to die for one man's curiosity.
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Already, this smells like something that he would prefer to leave where it was - forever - but dragon hunting is quite serious business.
The Abyssal High Dragon
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Vivienne's response to this very real threat is bland, almost as if annoyed at its presence. She is no fool and recognizes the beast for the very real and immediate threat that it is. However, she'd prefer that everyone else get the impression she thinks it a trifling pest, a detraction from the far more important business she holds in this Maker-forsaken wilderness.
There is some quietly giddy thought dancing in the back of her mind that once it's quite dead, she'll be the talk of the Orlesian court and fools who try to play her will give it second (and third) thoughts. But like any well-crafted play in the Game, one does not simply rush in spells blazing. No, Madame de Fer is hanging back at a safe distance assessing its movements.
The only combative motion she makes at the first is to cast a Barrier on those with her. Certain irritations in the Inquisition can snark all they like about how she 'front loads her Barriers.' The truth remains that once a dragon has clawed someone in the gut, 'tis far too late for a Barrier. So stuff it.
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The sword ices over, as does the shield, and he glances back at her to smirk. "Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate your gifts?"
Another step forward, as he assesses the field. "We should go for one of the legs. Weaken it's stance so it is not able to move around so nimbly. Madame Vivienne and ... Metaari, that is your name, ser? Should keep their distance and lay on ice as much as possible."
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He glances up at Norrington and inclines his head slightly before he turns his gaze to sweep it across the open, barren space. The only place he could possibly gain some height or coverage are the ruins. He frowns slightly; not entirely ideal. "I'll need to be in close at the start, so that I can bury some mines in the sand. I'll clear out after. A few incendiary bombs ought to do the trick, right?" His lips twist into a faint grin, even as he turns his attention to his supplies.
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Despite the awe in her voice, Rachette grips her blades tighter, nervously. She is no fool: this thing is definitely interested in eating the shit out of them. Seeing it up close is terrifying and wonderful. The armor one could make from those scales, the skin, the bones! The meat off it could feed an army for days!
She doesn't feel any more invulnerable to fire, but that's why she has to trust in the mages to know what they're doing. "Back leg," she suggests, snapping back to business. "Less teeth, less fire. Seems sensible to me." But the damned thing sure does look like she likes to move about. Good thing so does Rachette.
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But more to business, she listens carefully as they formulate a tactical plan on the fly. The dragon truly does seem to be exceptionally mobile and that's a concern. The suggestion to strike at the back legs first to hinder it is a sound one. She nods to the others in agreement.
"If we're to go for the back legs first, I'll lay down a wall of ice to drive it across the mines. I can continue to encourage it to go a direction we choose but everyone will need to be mindful of the loci of the magic being used." Just don't go stumbling into a raging blizzard and this should turn out well.
Her eyes scan the area, dotted with clutter and practically shimmering from the wretched heat. Junk. Possibly a dead body or two. But not what she's concerned with. "I see no young present but that does not mean they are not out there." The last thing any of them need is to be mauled by hungry babies.
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He gestured with his sword, "Metaari and Ratchette can move to the rear - Metaari to set up his explosions and Ratchette to get into place. Once the mines are set, Metaari can retreat, and both Ratchette and I will shift to the back leg and begin our attack." He paused, before he looked over at them. "I have fire resistance potions, if anyone wants some insurance."
He looked over all of them, stopping on Metaari and Vivienne. "If there are young ones - you two will be the only ones who will be able to spot them. Please, call out a warning so we are not overrun."
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He stands up and secures his pack, squaring his shoulders as his gaze sweeps across the space again, and he gestures toward the ruins. "Over there, perhaps. A fair bit more coverage, and I'll be able to climb up for a better vantage point to watch for the whelps." And a better shot.
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She nods otherwise at the orders. "Just give the word, boss. Bosses." Look, Norrington is giving the orders but Vivienne is just as commanding. Rachette's more of a follower than a leader anyway.
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The notion of keeping at range near the ruins is a good one and once potions are rightfully distributed, Vivienne heads that direction to wait for everyone else to begin their onslaught against the creature.
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Then made sure to call out, "Remember, we are not to touch the remains, until Fredric has taken his notes!"
That had been the agreement, after all, and James Norrington was a man of his word.
There, laid out the last trap, for the beast. Then he stepped back himself to scan the skies.
It did not take long - the beast must have been hungry. It swept in from the very pits itself, soaring high overhead. Brought in by the scent of the bait, but seeing a live meal in Norrington, it touched down and moved towards him at terrifying speed.
Many might have quailed, fought to hold their ground. Norrington charged the damned thing, making sure to twist himself at the last moment, so he could take a slice at the creature's neck, keeping it's attention fully on him as he yelled out a battle cry, firming his stance through his faith and determination.