( closed ) a royal dragon hunt.

[dashing]

WHO: Herian, Elros, Alistair & Maglor.
WHAT: A Royal dragon hunt.
WHEN: AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME, naturally.
WHERE: in the mountains near Hunter Fell
NOTES: Violence, mostly. If something necessitating a content warning comes up in a tag, please mark it in the subject line and I'll update this here list.

First they travel to Hunter Fell, and then the King’s hunting lodge, and once preparations are made they move deeper into the mountains.

The sky is almost alarmingly clear. It doesn’t seem mood appropriate, really, for a dragon hunt. Surely the sky should be grey with clouds, as patterned and solid as marble… but no. It is cheerily blue. Clear skies do little to better the temperature, the higher they ascend into the mountains, and Knight Enchanter Amsel’s mood is severe enough to make up for the lack of cloudy weather. It’s not that she’s generally a smiley social butterfly, but now she seems even more the human incarnation of a mountain than usual - stoney and looming, even if technically all of her travelling companions are taller than she. The mountains themselves might prove better conversation partners, though she is at least trying for the sake of the Inquisition’s reputation.

“Remember,” she tells her fellows, “today we represent the Inquisition. We fight not for our own glory, but in the name of the Inquisition. We must all of us keep resolute our focus; the kill is not ours to claim, but the King’s. We bring the dragon to submission, let the King honour his ancestors and their traditions, and we bring honour to the Inquisition and better our chances of protecting Thedas from those that would cast it into ruin and doom all peoples - natives and rifters alike.”

To Elros and Maglor she adds, “I thank you both for offering your services this day. The Inquisition is grateful to you, and your willingness to lend aid to our cause.”

(She and Thranduil might have about as much enthusiasm for each other as cats for water, but he is more than capable, and one who honours his convictions and his word. She would be a simpleton to consider him unworthy of respect and acknowledgement. She does not know, or pretend to know, the ties between all these from other realms, delivered to them by the rifts, but she does not dismiss them.)

So, time to go fight a dragon.
Or, as the laws of ”of course this is happening” would have it, two dragons, and possibly any dragonlings they call from the caves and rocks to assist them.
Oh, good.

Things happen rather quickly. The second emerges from the same cave as the first, both moving fast. Mature dragons are not to be trifled with. Four is a fine number for one, but for two at once?

"Warden, to me." He's close to her than either of the others - it seems logical. "We all protect the King at any cost, but remember: the kill belongs to the King!"

Comments

[tar_minyatur]

Elros rolls his eyes a little where she cannot see, but he nods and there is nothing but respect when he answers her - well. Respect and a sort of begrudging sulkiness. Kill stealing is so not fair.

"Aye, I will remember. Although I make no promises when it's trying to eat me, but I will attempt not to kill it, only incapacitate."

The grin he flashes her is open and without guile, however.

"Thank you for having us along - I was getting bored in the city."

The dragonlings get a sharp bark of laughter, Elros pulling his longsword free, bouncing eagerly on his toes, and pulls the faceplate of his helmet, hastily sourced, down to protect his face from flames.

"Two of them! Someone's information is lacking. Just like that hunt when I was eighteen, huh, Maglor?"

[seawanderer]

Where Elros goes, Maglor will follow. He might wish for the added protection of brother and cousin, but he figures their party will have to be enough. And it's better only two are risked, he'll fight hard to protect Maedhros and Fingon.

And Elros will not be harmed while there is breath in his body. He nods at Herian's words, smile fierce but respectful to her knowledge. "Forcing a dragon to submit is more a challenge than killing it- it requires more power and skill." He glances pointedly at the youth who has him wrapped around his little finger.

"And yes, I too thank you for allowing us to come along. If only to keep Elros from causing extra trouble in the city." A slow blink, nothing unusual to hear there.

The Feanorian has his hair bound back a bit more than usual, certainly better kempt than how he'd arrived. His clothes are freshly mended and cleaned, and he wears the armor his brother has found for him- though his sword remains perfectly sharp.

Which is certainly a boon, when two dragons appear instead of the one expected! He snorts at Elros' jab and aims a mock swat his direction before taking up position to ensure no harm comes to the slightly more fragile man.

"And who's fault was it to not pay closer attention to the signs under their nose and echoing in their ears?"

[tar_minyatur]

"I was eighteen!"

He protests with a laugh, eager.

"Maglor and I will take the one on the left, milady." He calls and then throws himself forward with a whoop, Aranruth singing eagerly in his hands. He know Maglor has his back, and he calls at the dragon he has chosen, a glancing blow struck as he slides beneath its snapping jaws and pulls away, trying to draw it after him.

"Here, beast! Too slow!"

[seawanderer]

Maglor laughs. "Eighteen with ten years' experience! Quite some time for a mortal," he teases, right behind Elros and to one side, digging his blade into the beast's side but not managing to get it in too far before he has to leap away.

"Far too slow, oh master of scale!" He mocks lightly, dancing just out the reach of claws and fire. Wounding doesn't mean death in all cases. And he has a fair idea just how deep a blade must pierce to do serious harm.

The thrill of battle might be dangerous for a kinslayer, but Elros is there and draw him back if he does go too far. For now? He's having fun!

[tar_minyatur]

"I was still peredhel then and you and Maedhros were busy arguing if I should be allowed out or not all But he's still a child!"

He retorts, lunging it to distract it when it snaps at Maglor, drawing it's attention back.

"Ah ah ah, too slow! Pay attention here, old lizard!"

It spits flame and he rolls under, coming up to swing at it's legs.

[seawanderer]

"You are still a child, yonya!" He grins, eyes lit with fire and glee as he spins with grace, sword whirling in a dangerous dance.

"Ah! Dear master of hot breath, you almost had me but you are yet too slow- are you tired?" The elf jabs at the dragon's wing then leaps over the tail as it swipes at him.

"Mayhap you should give over to the younglings who are faster?"

[tar_minyatur]

"I am ninety and mortal now!"

He argues back.

"Ho, your flame is cold, old one! You'll be food for your nestlings, at this rate!"

Always, Elros works the opposite side to Maglor, forcing the dragon to split its attention.

[seawanderer]

"And forever a child even when you turn silver and wrinkle!" Which he can say for certain, considering he's lived through seeing Elros grow old, if only from afar- until the end. Because he hadn't been able to not say farewell to this beloved child.

But Maglor still dances in counter to Elros' strong attacks, drawing their dragon away from it's nestlings, as Elros has named them, and making it impossible for the beast to focus on only one or two things.

"I am sure they will enjoy the hot meal!" He grins, feral light mocking.

[tar_minyatur]

"Surely being wrinkly should negate my child status!"

The armor isn't anywhere near up to Feanarian standards, and Elros discards the helm as it heats up too fast, prefering to rely on speed to dodge the teeth and claws and flame.

"Slowing down, old lizard! Can't keep up?"

And then he stumbles, mortal feet not as steady on uneven ground.

[seawanderer]

"You will always be my fosterling, and a child at that!" He calls back gaily, daring to place a parents ownership over Elros here. Perhaps it's okay?

Only to snarl when he sees Elros stumble. So he starts to sing, aiming to ruin the dragon to keep the precious boy safe. To Mandos with the consequences! But even as he sings, to bring fire and damage and molten metal over the scaled head, he's moving around to stand between sharp claws and teeth and Elros.

...Stop him from destroying the thing they're supposed to only wound, someone? Anyone?

[tar_minyatur]

Elros curses as he goes down onto his knees, automatically scrambling to get up before flame and claws can descend, and then his bones shake to the power of the lost bard of the Noldor.

He reels back, feeling the press of Maglor's Song almost as a physical wall, and then braces himself and pushes forwards into it, reaching to grab his arm.

"Maglor, Maglor! I'm fine. Maglor, enough! Atto!"

[seawanderer]

Power which is lessened here, but not enough when Maglor's standing right in front of his target. Not nearly lessened enough.

So it's a voice which stops the Song of destruction and death. A voice, a hand on his arm, that title which cuts the strength and power from his voice.

Maglor doesn't quite drop his sword as he breathes, not quite ragged with emotion torn between terror and fury still. But, it's clear to him as he blinks back to coherence, that the dragon is dealt with.

Still breathing, but in obvious pain. So he turns and reaches out to pull Elros to him to check him over himself.

"I got too far away," he mutters unhappily.

[tar_minyatur]

Elros is panting, ears ringing, and he knows already he will be dizzy for a few days, which is better than the dragon fares - just a beast here, none of the terrible intelligence and power of their own world to counter a bard in full fury. It is collapsed, bleeding from it's ears, and Elros knows the king will not even need to try to slay it now.

"It's alright." He soothes.

"The claws only nicked me, see? Scratches. Nothing more, atto."

The injuries are minor - the ends of his hair crisped as he rolled, a slash across his shoulder that he wasn't quite far enough away to dodge, but shallow, and already the bleeding is slowing.

"And you had to be on the other side, you know that. There weren't enough of us to distract it otherwise."

[seawanderer]

Maglor will keep him from falling again! And running into things. He gently touches each little scratch Elros has received, and brushes a hand through crisped hair before huffing out another irritated and worried breath.

"I want the lady Galadriel to tend your wounds, if she agrees." Because she's family and he trusts her.

A helpless little shrug and he gently embraces the other. "We will have to work on your agility, yonya."

[tar_minyatur]

"It will heal on it's own." Elros points out mildly, shifting armor aside so that Maglor can get at it to wash and bandage properly.

"But I don't mind asking her either."

He laughs.

"My agility is fine - I'm only mortal now, remember."

[seawanderer]

"I do not care," he grumbles, even as he diligently tends to each wound, however small and insignificant it might appear. This is one of his children!

But slowly the fear will settle as Elros keeps talking to him, moving, and showing he's alright. So Maglor manages a wane smile.

"Thank you. I am far from a healer, Elros. I have done what little I can though.

"Ah! You may be mortal now, but you can improve!"

[tar_minyatur]

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad he's not a baby!

Elros pats his arm, trying not to move too much and upset the bandages.

"You know enough battlefield medicine to be able to tell how minor this is! Even for one of your human soldiers, long ago! I'll be fine. And I'll speak to aunt Galadriel, if it makes you feel better. Alright?"

He snorts.

"You just like sending me to Maedhros to do drills."

[seawanderer]

Forever his baby!

And he loves Elros all the more for calming him down. Maglor leans in to brush a gentle kiss to his temple.

"It will make me feel much better if you do. I know you are fine, but Elros...I do not like you getting hurt, however minor." But he also knows he can't stop his head-strong son from going out and fighting.

...Ok that remark earns a sudden grin.

"...I cannot deny that."

[tar_minyatur]

Ugh, he's NINETY not a baby!

Elros smiles at the affection.

"Worry wart. Shall I be annoying at him for you then?"

[seawanderer]

Forever! And ever!

He ruffles Elros' hair gently but playfully.

"Is that not one of your many talents, yonya?"

[tar_minyatur]

SIGH

"Is there anything in particular I should be annoying about?" He grins.

[seawanderer]

He glances once more at the dragon behind him before tugging Elros away, and looking towards the others to see their progress.

But his primary focus is always Elros.

"Hmm...I think you can figure that out yourself." He's trusting you baby, annoy his big brother to the best of your skill!

[tar_minyatur]

The grin turns wicked.

"As annoying as I want?"

[seawanderer]

Such a good boy!

Maglor's own smile turns juuust about as wicked. Elros is also a very bad influence.

"I'll tell you an extra story tonight if you do," he promises.

[tar_minyatur]

He does his level best!

"I will hold you to that!" He promises in return

[dashing]

The rifters take the left, and leave Herian and Alistair the right. It is almost a relief, in some terrible way, that their fight will be harder. It is not beneath her notice that this is an absurd task, to give a man credit for a fight that he has not rightly won himself. It is a false honour that the King would claim, and it doesn't best satisfy her to so indulge a man who holds so much power. It is not her place to question in this, however, and the task is both for a higher purpose, and does no malicious harm that she can perceive.

Quick to draw the dragon's focus before it can fall to the King and his courtiers, Herian unleashes a barrage of lightning on the dragon, running to it to keep a healthy distance.

(It seems all the more fearsome as it draws closer, its appearance more terrible. The world seems almost to ripple in strange ways, as her staff stirs with the magic being cast.) Battle is hostile and terrible, but so too is it the place where she feels best at ease, and her mouth catches in a determined line as she switches from staff to Spirit Blade, calling the weapon into being.

[byblow]

Alistair has been frowning for most of the day—but not because he cares what honor the king claims or doesn't claim, whatever, he Alistair cared about claiming kills he would have elbowed Cousland out of the way in Denerim. He just hates dragons. Really hates them. Like, so much.

And he hates double dragons double much, multiplied by two since there are half as many people to fight each one as there should be. Quadruple hate.

But it doesn't slow him down. He's right behind Herian, huffing out incomplete syllables of colorful curses.

There's a moment, when he gets close enough—a moment that isn't very noticeable—when the dragon steps back, swinging one eye toward him, watching rather than attacking. The moment is shattered the moment it's struck, though, whether by a metal or magic blade.

sorry for the slow bruh

[dashing]

The moment is shattered, and followed followed up with the dragon rearing up on its hind legs, beating its wings violently and throwing its head up as it prepares to blow flames out at them both. As it does, Herian summons magical energy to the area surrounding them. It is not likely to be so effective on a dragon as against footsoldiers, but it might still slow the creature, maybe even weaken it.

She entirely empathises with Alistair's curses, even if she is not voicing her own. There's a little more Chant of Light involved for her, internally, but it's not without a few colourful embellishments. That might be why it's staying strictly internal, as her energies are focused solely on taunting and provoking the dragon. On the one hand, its tactical, to make it reckless so it takes more damage, and on the other its just to keep it as far away from the King as possible.