05-31-2016, 07:20 PM
Fire crept like the many legs of a centipede in Volvagia's wake, skittering in the form of dozens of soft orange tongues across the flame-scorched plain. Its long, undulating body continued to course through the air in a pattern that was as predictable as it was intimidating, the occasional glint of talons or teeth striking an imposing crescent of light against the serpent's slithering form and the rhythmic shower of flint-sparks that followed close behind it, dousing the Primes intermittently in flame.
The dragon tracked the clever thief's descent with a single eye, the cogs within its head turning furiously as the last shimmering glimpse of his chains sank into the infernal atmosphere of swirling dust and ash. While the doppelgängers were a most frustratingly effective distraction, they had also been mostly incorporeal and easy to diminish to naught but smoke.
Interesting.
Attention once more swept up by the Primes and their many-hued tricks— a circlet of purple glanced past the fire drake's snout, the mantra of ragefirehate within Volvagia's mind screeching towards a fever pitch as its jaws clamped down upon nothing but empty air— the dragon momentarily let off in its decimation of the Gorons, opting instead to rollick about in the sky and spew caramelized fire as it had been henceforth wont to do. It was not especially conducive to the successful landing of attacks on the part of its opponents, but that was the point.
Predictability bred a false sense of security, after all. A lull in the tactics of its enemies was something which Volvagia kept careful note of with its waning sight and the stinging, painful lacerations that skittered across its scaly curvature, every nerve-ending straining and cycling along with the movements of its attackers.
Jerking to an abrupt pause, its body curved into an 's' of coal-black that danced with streaks of ridged firelight, Volvagia began to wheel around into what appeared to be yet another theatrical loop that would send the drake reeling off into the vaporous hellscape. At the last moment before its injured flank was exposed to the searing wind and hail of electric gunfire, however, the wyrm's helm seemed to split into halves, then thirds, and then finally a perfect quintet— peeling apart until there were five wingless serpents undulating across the red-tinted sky, darting off every which way in an effort to confuse and confound.
A crackle of flame flaked off from Volvagia's tail as its focus turned away from the thief, setting the earth alight so that a massive streak of coppery fire flared upward into a shaky barrier between itself and the collected Primes; the air around it swelled into a purplish-silver sheen of oxygen-starved air, nearly fit to burst. Freshly fallen sparks spluttered and popped like hot grease, the illusory duplicates blending seamlessly with the true form of the dragon into a pepper-colored ouroboros of pretzel twists and streaming light as flamboyant as any carnival.
Thrown projectiles sizzled and were turned to dust by the temporary shield of congealed flame that lay between the dragons and the Primes, eventually breaking the barrier so that it crumbled into dim flecks of fireplace cinders. Unfortunately, the time it had taken to break the barrier had afforded the true Volvagia more than enough time to formulate a strategy of sorts.
As the wall of fire and haze disintegrated, the snaking mass of reptilian clones wove together like the links of a chain, placing enough distance between one another so that they could continue to flagellate freely about— gradually forming into a basket weave of rapidly circling scales with wide gaps all throughout, certainly more than enough room for a beast of Volvagia's exact girth to slip through.
The Primes were surrounded; perhaps only a quite alone but still adamantly determined Connor Hound remained outside the writhing mesh of draconic bodies. Rather than lord its dominion over the ensnared warriors, Volvagia darted in and out of its confusing morass of clones, snapping savagely at every opportunity. Time was of the essence: already one or two of its clones had been reduced to nothingness.
Volvagia glanced beseechingly about itself, snarling when a bullet found its true mark against the armored ridges of its side. Yet another serpent clone was destroyed before its very eyes courtesy of a lucky shot, leaving the immense beast with only two to further its little game of cat and mouse. Still, the heat of battle and something like delight pulsed within its fire-gorged breast, the flinty mountain ridges aligning nicely with the drake's widening grin as it dove once more into the fray.
While Volvagia's arrogance had been thoroughly collapsed by the attack which had pitched it into the earth to settle amongst the dust and rubble, it was replaced by a shivering framework of renewed vigor, unsure as a soldier placed under truce. A terrible shriek rent the air, the dragon glaring down in slavering good humor as it sailed past the Primes, abandoning its clones to destruction in order to pursue the Gorons.
But, the titanic resident of Death Mountain supposed that it could deign to leave something more challenging for its dastardly foes to face. Even as the two remaining illusions dissipated into nonexistence at the hands of Colonel and Erik Vrell, Volvagia had begun to speak to the fire that lay beneath the crust of the Ashen Steppes in a tongue which it alone could speak.
Flares leapt upward in swarms of softness and blazing pain, coursing through the air as if they were inside the red-hot veins of a fire giant before flowering into large, brilliantine networks of fiery light at random. The destructive elements had seemingly taken on a life of their own, kamikaze globules of lava hurtling as if by some incredible telekinetic force only to narrowly glance past their targets.
Satisfied that its work was done, Volvagia's gaze appeared to gleam with private mirth as it plumed high above the village to garner a better vantage point from which to begin its hunt in earnest.
The dragon tracked the clever thief's descent with a single eye, the cogs within its head turning furiously as the last shimmering glimpse of his chains sank into the infernal atmosphere of swirling dust and ash. While the doppelgängers were a most frustratingly effective distraction, they had also been mostly incorporeal and easy to diminish to naught but smoke.
Interesting.
Attention once more swept up by the Primes and their many-hued tricks— a circlet of purple glanced past the fire drake's snout, the mantra of ragefirehate within Volvagia's mind screeching towards a fever pitch as its jaws clamped down upon nothing but empty air— the dragon momentarily let off in its decimation of the Gorons, opting instead to rollick about in the sky and spew caramelized fire as it had been henceforth wont to do. It was not especially conducive to the successful landing of attacks on the part of its opponents, but that was the point.
Predictability bred a false sense of security, after all. A lull in the tactics of its enemies was something which Volvagia kept careful note of with its waning sight and the stinging, painful lacerations that skittered across its scaly curvature, every nerve-ending straining and cycling along with the movements of its attackers.
Jerking to an abrupt pause, its body curved into an 's' of coal-black that danced with streaks of ridged firelight, Volvagia began to wheel around into what appeared to be yet another theatrical loop that would send the drake reeling off into the vaporous hellscape. At the last moment before its injured flank was exposed to the searing wind and hail of electric gunfire, however, the wyrm's helm seemed to split into halves, then thirds, and then finally a perfect quintet— peeling apart until there were five wingless serpents undulating across the red-tinted sky, darting off every which way in an effort to confuse and confound.
A crackle of flame flaked off from Volvagia's tail as its focus turned away from the thief, setting the earth alight so that a massive streak of coppery fire flared upward into a shaky barrier between itself and the collected Primes; the air around it swelled into a purplish-silver sheen of oxygen-starved air, nearly fit to burst. Freshly fallen sparks spluttered and popped like hot grease, the illusory duplicates blending seamlessly with the true form of the dragon into a pepper-colored ouroboros of pretzel twists and streaming light as flamboyant as any carnival.
Thrown projectiles sizzled and were turned to dust by the temporary shield of congealed flame that lay between the dragons and the Primes, eventually breaking the barrier so that it crumbled into dim flecks of fireplace cinders. Unfortunately, the time it had taken to break the barrier had afforded the true Volvagia more than enough time to formulate a strategy of sorts.
As the wall of fire and haze disintegrated, the snaking mass of reptilian clones wove together like the links of a chain, placing enough distance between one another so that they could continue to flagellate freely about— gradually forming into a basket weave of rapidly circling scales with wide gaps all throughout, certainly more than enough room for a beast of Volvagia's exact girth to slip through.
The Primes were surrounded; perhaps only a quite alone but still adamantly determined Connor Hound remained outside the writhing mesh of draconic bodies. Rather than lord its dominion over the ensnared warriors, Volvagia darted in and out of its confusing morass of clones, snapping savagely at every opportunity. Time was of the essence: already one or two of its clones had been reduced to nothingness.
Volvagia glanced beseechingly about itself, snarling when a bullet found its true mark against the armored ridges of its side. Yet another serpent clone was destroyed before its very eyes courtesy of a lucky shot, leaving the immense beast with only two to further its little game of cat and mouse. Still, the heat of battle and something like delight pulsed within its fire-gorged breast, the flinty mountain ridges aligning nicely with the drake's widening grin as it dove once more into the fray.
While Volvagia's arrogance had been thoroughly collapsed by the attack which had pitched it into the earth to settle amongst the dust and rubble, it was replaced by a shivering framework of renewed vigor, unsure as a soldier placed under truce. A terrible shriek rent the air, the dragon glaring down in slavering good humor as it sailed past the Primes, abandoning its clones to destruction in order to pursue the Gorons.
But, the titanic resident of Death Mountain supposed that it could deign to leave something more challenging for its dastardly foes to face. Even as the two remaining illusions dissipated into nonexistence at the hands of Colonel and Erik Vrell, Volvagia had begun to speak to the fire that lay beneath the crust of the Ashen Steppes in a tongue which it alone could speak.
Flares leapt upward in swarms of softness and blazing pain, coursing through the air as if they were inside the red-hot veins of a fire giant before flowering into large, brilliantine networks of fiery light at random. The destructive elements had seemingly taken on a life of their own, kamikaze globules of lava hurtling as if by some incredible telekinetic force only to narrowly glance past their targets.
Satisfied that its work was done, Volvagia's gaze appeared to gleam with private mirth as it plumed high above the village to garner a better vantage point from which to begin its hunt in earnest.
Quote:1030 words - Site.
Mimicked Demetri's Split Tactics, -1 SP. Fireballs are now being telekinetically thrown everywhere.