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<blockquote data-quote="Xorn" data-source="post: 4328585" data-attributes="member: 61231"><p>His breathing consisted of labored, rasping gulps and gasps of air as Vrax favored his weight onto the butt of a spear he clutched tightly to for support. Traveling along the King’s Road to Winterhaven was dangerous enough; making the trip alone was more risk than any sensible folk would take. Being sensible, Vrax had waited at the gates for anyone heading for Winterhaven, and ended up accompanying a single cart of goods driven by a merchant, and two hired swords keeping pace with the merchandise, which was mostly furs and salt.</p><p></p><p>They had not refused the wizards company, but it was apparent they didn’t want it. Even though the doubt they had in Vrax’s ability was plainly displayed on their faces, it was still best not to take chances with a wizard.</p><p></p><p>“You’ll hafta keep up,” the grisly-faced merchant had said, “’cause I ain’t slowin’ down my wagon fer ya.”</p><p></p><p>The dragonborn had nodded away the requirement, but the sun was getting low, just nipping the tops of the trees and painting the ground in an uneasy twilight, which only seemed to amplify the ambient sounds of the forest. By his best guess, it had been two hours since he could still see the cart, and he’d been alone since that time, hobbling with his unseemly gait without rest. His body hurt all over, but Vrax knew that he had to reach wherever the merchant set up camp if he wished to stop.</p><p></p><p>Pulling his waterskin out from under the drape of his robe, Vrax gulped a long draw from the skin, feeling his head explode with relief and pain at the same time, as the cool rush of fluid on the humid summer day made the edges of his snout ache. He probably shouldn’t have drank so fast, but he felt like his body was just about to stop, right here on the road, and leave his mind to do what it wished. Had to keep going, couldn’t stop here, and die; not yet.</p><p></p><p>As Vrax let the half empty skin drop back under his robes again, he felt a jolt of elation as he saw a thin wisp of smoke rising into the sky. He had to be very close to see a campfire rising from the trees, and his painful hobbling quickened. After only having passed another hundred paces along the old road that was fighting off reclamation from the forest, his excitement and finally reaching the small caravan quickly shattered into the realization that the thin wisps of smoke were starting to become thicker, and rising in more erratic bursts. The caravan was on fire, and farther away than it had seemed.</p><p></p><p>Feeling the urgency of the moment, Vrax grimaced at the ache in his joints and began to run as fast as his thin muscles could carry him. His step was not fluid, and he could not keep the pace long with the burning pain spreading through his body, but he managed to run long enough to see the cart, shattered by a fallen tree that had crashed across the road. Most of the cart and the tree that was lying amidst the wreckage were on fire, and kobolds were swarming over the road, overwhelming the two swordsmen quickly. Either of the men were more than a match for a kobold, maybe even two—but there were eight of the little beasts swarming about them, and both of the guards found themselves surrounded, and their roars for battle turned to cries of pain as spears pierced them.</p><p></p><p>Vrax knew there was little time left to act. He whispered a long forgotten word of power, awakening the mighty, untapped power of the arcane currents in the world, and drew their devastating potential into a ball of flashing white light upon his palm. Scanning the battlefield, he noted a larger kobold than the others, wearing a bone mask and shouting commands to the rest of the attackers. With a carefully practiced thrust, Vrax sent the tiny missile of light zipping through the air, clipping the kobold priest across the shoulder, spinning him to the ground, but not seriously wounding the leader.</p><p></p><p>He spat at his poor aim as the furious priest called for all of the kobolds to attack the newcomer to the battle. They turned as one and raced impossibly fast at the dragon mage, who began to call upon the element of his birth, the fire that burned within him—the power that surpassed his weakness. Vrax waited until the yapping wave of spears was nearly upon him, then unleashed hell on this world.</p><p></p><p>Raising his hands in a twisted pattern of arcane power, a jet of flame cascaded from his hands, flooding amidst their ranks and burning them with a fury that was not natural. The hapless kobold warriors tried to scream, but the torrent of fire consumed everything around them, even their breath, and left only a fading roar as fresh air rushed to fill the void left by the fire that was gone as quickly as Vrax had summoned it.</p><p></p><p>As the charred and smoldering remains of the kobolds cooled in the breeze, leaving a smoky trail of stinking burnt flesh rising from the blast site, the wizard noted the wyrmpriest pulling himself to his feet and hopping atop the toppled, burning tree. As the think screamed ferociously, Vrax felt a tugging urge to chuckle at the impossibly high voice that assaulted him, “You will die, draconian!” Raising both hands above him, the priest summoned a green ball of mist from the air as his own robes fluttered with the torrent of mystic energy powering his summons. Vrax calmly walked towards the creature, unimpressed with the display, and oblivious to the protest of his tired body amidst the battle.</p><p></p><p>The priest hurled the orb of hissing liquid at him, and Vrax held up his palm, thumb flat across his palm, and watched the globular ball of acid splash harmlessly across an invisible wall of force the wizard had imposed between him and the coming attack. With a grin of tiny, sharp teeth, Vrax strode confidently towards the wyrmpriest. “No, little cousin, I don’t think you understand. You have grossly overestimated your chances against me.”</p><p></p><p>Raising both his arms in a similar fashion to the wyrmpriest, Vrax continued to walk towards the kobold, as the air above him began to waver and ripple with heat. A swirling breeze began to whip about the dragonborn, and an unearthly, living globe of fire began to swell above his head. The wyrmpriest, sensing the power radiating from the wizard turned to flee towards the safety of the woods, but Vrax already had completed his conjuration. He hurled the globe of wizard fire at the fleeing creature, and the ball hurtled with a hungry thirst for flesh, enveloping the beast and consuming him with a roar of yawning, expiring air.</p><p></p><p>As the globe of flame came to rest, a scorched blast of earth trailing up to it, Vrax dismissed the mighty fire with a thought, severing the tie to the arcane storm that sustained the unnatural fire in the mundane world. As the rush of the battle slowed, and his heart slowed, he felt the familiar ache of his weak frame reminding him of hour hard he had exerted himself. Slumping against his spear which he braced against the ground, he called out. “Is anyone still alive?”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Xorn, post: 4328585, member: 61231"] His breathing consisted of labored, rasping gulps and gasps of air as Vrax favored his weight onto the butt of a spear he clutched tightly to for support. Traveling along the King’s Road to Winterhaven was dangerous enough; making the trip alone was more risk than any sensible folk would take. Being sensible, Vrax had waited at the gates for anyone heading for Winterhaven, and ended up accompanying a single cart of goods driven by a merchant, and two hired swords keeping pace with the merchandise, which was mostly furs and salt. They had not refused the wizards company, but it was apparent they didn’t want it. Even though the doubt they had in Vrax’s ability was plainly displayed on their faces, it was still best not to take chances with a wizard. “You’ll hafta keep up,” the grisly-faced merchant had said, “’cause I ain’t slowin’ down my wagon fer ya.” The dragonborn had nodded away the requirement, but the sun was getting low, just nipping the tops of the trees and painting the ground in an uneasy twilight, which only seemed to amplify the ambient sounds of the forest. By his best guess, it had been two hours since he could still see the cart, and he’d been alone since that time, hobbling with his unseemly gait without rest. His body hurt all over, but Vrax knew that he had to reach wherever the merchant set up camp if he wished to stop. Pulling his waterskin out from under the drape of his robe, Vrax gulped a long draw from the skin, feeling his head explode with relief and pain at the same time, as the cool rush of fluid on the humid summer day made the edges of his snout ache. He probably shouldn’t have drank so fast, but he felt like his body was just about to stop, right here on the road, and leave his mind to do what it wished. Had to keep going, couldn’t stop here, and die; not yet. As Vrax let the half empty skin drop back under his robes again, he felt a jolt of elation as he saw a thin wisp of smoke rising into the sky. He had to be very close to see a campfire rising from the trees, and his painful hobbling quickened. After only having passed another hundred paces along the old road that was fighting off reclamation from the forest, his excitement and finally reaching the small caravan quickly shattered into the realization that the thin wisps of smoke were starting to become thicker, and rising in more erratic bursts. The caravan was on fire, and farther away than it had seemed. Feeling the urgency of the moment, Vrax grimaced at the ache in his joints and began to run as fast as his thin muscles could carry him. His step was not fluid, and he could not keep the pace long with the burning pain spreading through his body, but he managed to run long enough to see the cart, shattered by a fallen tree that had crashed across the road. Most of the cart and the tree that was lying amidst the wreckage were on fire, and kobolds were swarming over the road, overwhelming the two swordsmen quickly. Either of the men were more than a match for a kobold, maybe even two—but there were eight of the little beasts swarming about them, and both of the guards found themselves surrounded, and their roars for battle turned to cries of pain as spears pierced them. Vrax knew there was little time left to act. He whispered a long forgotten word of power, awakening the mighty, untapped power of the arcane currents in the world, and drew their devastating potential into a ball of flashing white light upon his palm. Scanning the battlefield, he noted a larger kobold than the others, wearing a bone mask and shouting commands to the rest of the attackers. With a carefully practiced thrust, Vrax sent the tiny missile of light zipping through the air, clipping the kobold priest across the shoulder, spinning him to the ground, but not seriously wounding the leader. He spat at his poor aim as the furious priest called for all of the kobolds to attack the newcomer to the battle. They turned as one and raced impossibly fast at the dragon mage, who began to call upon the element of his birth, the fire that burned within him—the power that surpassed his weakness. Vrax waited until the yapping wave of spears was nearly upon him, then unleashed hell on this world. Raising his hands in a twisted pattern of arcane power, a jet of flame cascaded from his hands, flooding amidst their ranks and burning them with a fury that was not natural. The hapless kobold warriors tried to scream, but the torrent of fire consumed everything around them, even their breath, and left only a fading roar as fresh air rushed to fill the void left by the fire that was gone as quickly as Vrax had summoned it. As the charred and smoldering remains of the kobolds cooled in the breeze, leaving a smoky trail of stinking burnt flesh rising from the blast site, the wizard noted the wyrmpriest pulling himself to his feet and hopping atop the toppled, burning tree. As the think screamed ferociously, Vrax felt a tugging urge to chuckle at the impossibly high voice that assaulted him, “You will die, draconian!” Raising both hands above him, the priest summoned a green ball of mist from the air as his own robes fluttered with the torrent of mystic energy powering his summons. Vrax calmly walked towards the creature, unimpressed with the display, and oblivious to the protest of his tired body amidst the battle. The priest hurled the orb of hissing liquid at him, and Vrax held up his palm, thumb flat across his palm, and watched the globular ball of acid splash harmlessly across an invisible wall of force the wizard had imposed between him and the coming attack. With a grin of tiny, sharp teeth, Vrax strode confidently towards the wyrmpriest. “No, little cousin, I don’t think you understand. You have grossly overestimated your chances against me.” Raising both his arms in a similar fashion to the wyrmpriest, Vrax continued to walk towards the kobold, as the air above him began to waver and ripple with heat. A swirling breeze began to whip about the dragonborn, and an unearthly, living globe of fire began to swell above his head. The wyrmpriest, sensing the power radiating from the wizard turned to flee towards the safety of the woods, but Vrax already had completed his conjuration. He hurled the globe of wizard fire at the fleeing creature, and the ball hurtled with a hungry thirst for flesh, enveloping the beast and consuming him with a roar of yawning, expiring air. As the globe of flame came to rest, a scorched blast of earth trailing up to it, Vrax dismissed the mighty fire with a thought, severing the tie to the arcane storm that sustained the unnatural fire in the mundane world. As the rush of the battle slowed, and his heart slowed, he felt the familiar ache of his weak frame reminding him of hour hard he had exerted himself. Slumping against his spear which he braced against the ground, he called out. “Is anyone still alive?” [/QUOTE]
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