As Méabh, Eloy and Lynien stood watching the unfolding events across the nighted ruins, the aasimar nudged her companion and muttered in an 'accidentally' overhearable stage whisper, "Now we'll see who's the real power here," wjhile gesturing at the battle between Rhorelian and Gimeth's troops. Afendalind snorted, and looking at her expression, they could see that she was quite clear who was the 'real power'; but there was a tinge of worry there as well. Unnoticed, Eloy slipped slightly to one side and began examining angles for a surprise strike on the priestess.
Gorfang took a deep breath to steady himself. "What are you doing, trapped down there?" he called down the well. "A beast of your magnificence should be out, free, roaming to cause mayhem and havoc, not kept as a pet." A deep, rolling chuckle rang upwards in response. "Trapped? The boot, as you bipeds put it, is on the other foot. This, my dear orc, is my city; I allow these elves to occupy the upper ruins for a while, and to conduct their little row - so amusing. When I eat one, they think one of the other bands has killed it. Now do go away; I'm not sufficiently angry to eat you, though you irritated me with your pebble and caused me to eat a bugbear - ugh, hairs."
"Why do you work with them?" asked Gorfang. The dragon yawned. "They have some business of their own, looking for something. Some weapon. No interest to me but they wanted to camp here, and are paying me in treasure." Gorfang scratched his head. "Treasure? Swords, you mean?" The dragon laughed lazily. "Swords!" he said contemptuously, "Swords, spears, bows, faugh. Toys. If you want weapons - " there was the sound of something massive and scaled coiling sinuously below, and massive claws raking across stone. "Now be off with you," he continued, "I grow bored." Gorfang took a gamble. "It's me they follow, my sword they want." he commented.
At this point he heard a sound from below which - even with his limited knowledge of dragons - chilled his blood; a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Fortunately, it stemmed from surprise rather than an oncoming blast of fire. "So, it's you..... how interesting," said the dragon thoughtfully. "They never mentioned you were an orc. Technically," he continued, "I should capture you and turn you over to them." He didn't sound too enthused by this prospect. Gorfang thought about this. "Why do you trust them? They probably won't pay you." The dragon rumbled faintly. "They pay already," he commented, just a shade quickly, and Gorfang knew that the creature did have doubts about the Fae Mhor.
At that moment, Gorfang felt the uncanny whisper in his ear that meant Méabh was using the Message spell to communicate with him. Ask him who controls him, whose faction he serves, she whispered, and what his name is. Gorfang wisely modified this a bit. "What's the name of the priestess who controls the tower up there?" he asked, "the one you're helping?" The dragon stirred lazily again. "Sevrith, I think she's called. Occupies what little is left of the citadel. I remember it well; the walls were quite strong, I had to push twice to break them," he said. "And whom do I have the honour of an audience with?" flattered the orc. "My name is Setram," responded the monster. "Conjure with it and I shall eat your liver." Gorfang relayed this to the sorceress.
Méabh cocked her head, listening. "Who is Setram?" she asked Afendalind suddenly. The priestess tossed her head. "That! That's the lizard, that absurd dragon thing Sevrith keeps as a pet, and dreams gives her an edge." Méabh 'listened' some more. "Why is it plotting with Sevrith to overthrow you..." she continued. Afendalind barked a laugh. "Of course Sevrith plots against me. It is right and proper; as it is my right and duty to crush her when I can," she scoffed, but her face fell when Méabh finished; "... to banish you across the planes? The emotions are so strong, I can pick them up from here!" Shifting verbal gears, she muttered to Gorfang, bring him up - now!
Gorfang 
packed all the flattery he could muster into his voice, helped by a quite genuine admiration of the mighty creature below. "Before I go, O great Setram," he said, "I greatly desire to gaze upon and admire your magnificent form once more. Please, I entreat you, show yourself once more, that I may bear the tale of your magnificence with me to the world?"
Dragons are cruel, clever, acquisitive, aggressive, unforgiving, cunning - and vain. Gorfang's words struck just the right chord, and the massive creature squirmed back up the well again, this time emerging almost completely. Towering sixty, seventy feet over the orc, he swung his head around until the combination of his acute senses located him. "There you are... sir orc, are you suitably impressed?" he said smugly. "Oh, yes; very impressed," replied Gorfang, which was no more than the truth. No less convinced of his own invincibility, the orc warrior was nonetheless struck anew by the vastness and power of the huge creature.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted...
Just 
before the dragon surfaced from the well, Méabh struck a shocked and dramatic pose. "The dragon comes!" she shrieked, and right on cue, the monster emerged from its' well, drawing all eyes in the space before Afendalind's tower. In that instant of distraction, she siezed her moment, and cast an Orb of Cold, maximizing the spell with one of the techniques she'd learned from Erilas. A small sphere of pale energy hurtled across the space and struck the dragon right in the side of the head as it bent sideways to look at Gorfang. Striking with horrific force and the element most inimical to the fire-dragon, the spell blasted a great chunk out of the side of the dragon's armoured head. Splinters of scale and bone flew in all directions amid a shower of blood.
The dragon convulsed away from the assault, writhing and coiling down the far side of the citadel mound. An awe-inspiring scream of bestial pain and anger erupted from it, all the more shocking for Gorfang when compared to the urbane and sophisticated conversationalist he had encountered. The power and volume of the cry was incredible; Gorfang was physically battered by the waves of sound, his ears rang and his armour resonated. All across the city, the various protagonists paused in what they were doing and turned to look at the citadel mound in shock.
Writhing away from the assault though it was, the dragon was still visible, and another Orb of Cold smashed into it, whipping its rage into even hotter fury. Its wings crashed open and the monster propelled itself away from the mound with its powerful legs.
Gorfang was already running for the tower, but as he passed near the dragon he screamed a parting comment against the gathering hurricane of its first wingbeat - "I told you they couldn't be trusted!" The dragon gave no sign of having heard him, but it also didn't stop to eat him, so he presumed his neutral status still held. He ran on towards the tower.
In the area at the foot of Afendalind's tower, complete pandemonium reigned. Lynien had invoked the power of Maedar's Ring and vanished from sight, although so great was the chaos that no-one immediately noticed. Checking her coil of rope, she sprinted for the citadel mound with all the speed the Sandals of Nebekheshut could produce.
Afendalind, 
her face a blended mixture of anger and terror, turned on Méabh. "You fool!" she raged, and hurled a Searing Light spell at the sorceress. Méabh felt the hot blast of violet energy singe her hair as it missed her by a fraction, just as Eloy, poised and prepared, struck from behind, hoping for an instant kill. He wasn't that lucky, but the blow drove into the dark elf's back, spoiling her balance and her aim at Méabh.
The priestess spun, her anger increasing another notch, and struck out at Eloy, leaving herself open to Méabh who struck her with the staff. Incandescant, the priestess flailed at the Man in the Shadows with a black dagger but he adroitly evaded her strikes. Bringing Bereloth up to the garde, he lunged forward and drove the glassteel blade into the Fae Mhor's chest, wounding her mortally.
"Get her gear!" cried Eloy, and swung to stand in front of Méabh as she looted the body, defending her from Afendalind's acolytes. Of the five, though, three were staring past him and up, and fled as he rounded on them; only two stood their ground, and he cut them down easily.
Then he looked round.
Behind him, the vast, ominous shape of Setram the dragon was in the air, lit up by the flickering flames that fluttered around his mouth with every breath, looming closer with every wing-beat as he bore down on the place from whence the spell that wounded him had come....
Gorfang
raced across the mound to the door of the tower and smashed through the centuries-old door without breaking stride. Inside were five Fae Mhor warriors, fully armed but looking very unwilling to venture out. Before they knew what was happening, the orc was among them, a whirlwind of blades and death. In moments, all five were down, without a blow struck in return, and Gorfang was on the stairs upwards.
On the next floor, he discovered a single bugbear, by his size and quality of armour probably a captain of some sort. He'd apparently just finished dressing, presumably roused from his bed by the ruckus, and siezed his morningstar as the orc reached the top of the stairs. There was, though, no stopping Gorfang tonight, and after a few seconds he was stepping over the slashed remains of the captain and heading up the last flight of stairs in Sevrith's tower.
The top floor was better furnished than the others, predominantly in black with spiderweb designs, and was crowded with Fae Mhor; a mixture of warriors and acolytes, and - at the back - the tall form of a priestess; it could only be Sevrith herself. The orc raised his dripping blades over his head and roared an ancient orc warcry as the dark elves drew blades, prepared spells, and hurled themselves at him.
Meanwhile, Lynien had sprinted up the mound to the well, from which the dragon had very obviously departed. If there was ever to be a chance of looting the dragon's treasure - this was it. She secured the rope at the top, and shoved it over, watching it uncoil down into the darkness. Wishing that she had some idea how deep the well was, she climbed rapidly down.
At the bottom, she found herself in a large, cylindrical room, around 20' high and 150' across. A hole in the centre of the floor continued the well downwards towards a faint sound of water, but she disregarded that; she'd found what she was looking for.
Four 
broken and eroded structures stood in the room around the centre hole. In the midst of one was a massive humanoid figure, slowly and mindlessly winding a nonexistent handle. It paid her no attention, and she realized it was a mindless construct, a golem. Looking around, she saw that there were arched openings in the walls at regular intervals, which on examination led to tubular corridors, slanting down and away. It looked as though, once, the golems had pumped water up from the depths, to feed it into the pipes to flow out to the city... to wells from the surface? Her mind instantly leaped to escape routes and she grinned.
There was a slight but pleasant breeze, and looking more closely at the golem, she realized that flat pieces of metal had been driven into its arms, so that its eternal movement produced a draught. It provided a welcome easing of the dragonsmell - sulphur, reptile, smoke - that filled the lair.
Exploring several of the tunnels, she discovered that - as she'd expected - openings in the ceiling led upwards towards the city above. Most were collapsed, but finally she discovered one that wasn't completely blocked. Satisfied, she returned and finally allowed herself to react to the treasure.
It was a hoard worthy of such a dragon. Gold - yes, gold in great quantities. Artworks and sculptures and jewelry, gems and items of magic, all heaped into a great bed for the creature to sleep on, as dragons were wont to do. Towards one end, a quantity of it was melted and fused together, moulded into a perfect shape for a great armoured head to lie on.
Lynien knew she didn't have much time. Quickly, she sorted through, selecting out the most valuable and portable items, as well as just a handful of the gold - real dragongold! - and scooped them into a bag made up of the spare cloak from her disguise kit. This she lugged down the water-pipe to the point where it joined the partially-blocked well, before settting off back for another load.. if she could get one!
 DM Note: Thanks to Lizzie for playing Gimeth while we fought this one out, and discovered how frustrating balanced Spell Resistance can be! |
On the far side of the city, the battle had come to a climax. Gimeth and Rhorelian had met amongst the slaughtered bodies of most of their combined troops and fought hand-to-hand; arcane combat between two Fae Mhor of similar power being largely futile because of their inherent magic resistance. Rhorelian had triumphed, and Gimeth's few surviving retainers were now fearfully swearing to follow her to the death - or rather, away from it. Her demons had plane shifted away, released from their bindings. The slashed body of the Chaos Thrall had been looted by her slayer, and her tower had slumped into a mound of multicoloured goo.
It 
was obvious to the dullest that the vicinity of Afendalind's tower was not a good place to remain for much longer. Méabh cast Improved Invisibility, and Eloy Nullified himself, and they scattered. Méabh headed towards Tvia's faction territory, planning to further antagonize the dragon from there and hopefully get it to wipe out more Fae Mhor. Eloy sprinted for the a block of buildings rather less ruined than the average, around five hundred yards away, and took cover as the massive dragon winged closer. He knew he was pretty safe while null, but the temptation of earning the sobriquet Dragonslayer was too much, and he nocked Varlan and let drive with three arrows as the dragon flew over him.
The tiny missiles pinged insignificantly off the beast's armoured hide. While Nullity meant that no-one in the multiverse knew who Eloy was, this didn't affect the dragon much, as it had never known in the first place. All it knew was that it had been - for want of a better word - attacked from a certain direction. It didn't alter the course of its flight, but it turned its head as it passed over the ruins and coughed a gout of fire down in the direction the arrows had come from.
| DM Note: No matter how invisibile or nullified one may be, a natural 1 on a saving throw against dragonfire is not going to be good... |
Perhaps overconfident in his immunity, Eloy was caught completely unprepared. Flames washed through the ruins he was crouching in, burning off the grass and small bushes in an instant, blackening and splitting the rocks and enveloping him. Wracked with pain and vaguely surprised that he was still alive, he rolled over and over, beating at his burning clothes. The dragon's wings whomphed at the air above him and for a moment he thought it was coming back - but its course was unaltered and it passed over him, still heading to Afendalind's tower.
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