Fog of War - Magnus's Master upgrade

The day was a drizzling, pathetic thing that all too soon trailed into a night deeper then pitch. The scent of ozone and the thick miasma of dead foliage and water logged mud permeated the air, but nothing could quite outdo the tension looming like a great shadow over the long abandoned town on the edge of an even greater forest.

 

It was in this very tension that Magnus Othello Grimshaw II, duke of his township and heir to a fortune forged in blood and fear, thrived in. He stood like a general at the edge of the virgin battlefield, atop a steed a grizzly as death herself. No, she wasn't white, as the tale of the fabled horseman of the apocalypse went - and Magnus held no tattered, flowing cloak that hid his angular face and bristling feathers. But Jones' visage was still one of skeletal horror. Her bones showing through her pinkish, mottled red skin like a freshly skinned hunters quarry. Her form blurred at its edges, her hooves, clad in mist and shadow, barely leaving an indent in the soft ground where they stood - a solitary vision on the grassy, muddy hill as the pair calculated their strategy. Their next move. Jones was huge by herself, making her rider look almost childlike in his saddle by comparison. It was one of the rare occasions where Magnus swallowed his pride for the most part, because the results spoke for themselves. Watching his enemies scatter under the sight of the beast was too perfect. 

 

Beside the pair stood an army battalion worth of Magnus' other dragons; At least the ones hewn specifically for battle in his menagerie. Not all of his dragons were able to come; Mavis had stayed in the mansion to guard it while the more powerful dragons left to aid him in this... quelling. Along with some of Alexander's dragons mind you, his partner's personal involvement in this not necessary. So Mavis at least had some kind of back up, and thats not to mention Javar's visiting little monsters. It was all in effort to replace Iris's duties. It was hard to remember just how much the statuesque bird actually DID - it was almost easy to forget about  her entirely. The staff often did. She rarely moved from her place in her fountain, her glistening white feathers practically glowing in the sun, her tiger stripes fitting into the immaculately tended, temperate garden around her in every weather. But she held a well guarded secret, one that Magnus hoped to utilize today. 

 

He didn't bring Iris out of her garden guardian spot often, and so she stood even now like a forgotten remnant from a crumbling city ruins. Out of place in the foreign soil. Her head almost came to Jone's own in height, and her blindfold's tassels gently swirled in the anxious wind she'd conjured around herself, her long crest bobbing softly left and right. He needed her speed, her tricks... her *wind* magic. With a beat of her wings, she could level trees if she wanted to, so blowing back rival dragons in a defensive position in this squabble would be done with ease. Her true secret power though was her soul sense. She could see perfectly fine after all - just not in the same way as most would expect. It was almost like a thermal sense, able to detect increased heart rates and accurately pierce them within a blink of an eye. Or at least thats what he hooped she would do. She didn't always listen to him, no  matter how hard of a punishment she endured. 

 

But the manor wasn't his priority this evening. Neither were the streets of his little corner of the world - His township was patrolled by the ever powerful Iron Shepherd. He had wanted her to come along to this battle, if he were honest. But someone needed to guard the streets, and while Iris could be replaced, Shepherd and her skill at weaselling out spies and law breakers were second to none. Irreplaceable, besides an emergency .

Mischief almost danced in one spot as she waited for the charge, her lantern held high with its little entourage of fluttering, fat moths. Her many mouths were left ajar in her excitement and a viscous sludge was currently oozing out onto the floor where she pranced. Abaddon was watching her in mild fascination, the large hulking teenager of a dragon coiling himself along the backline of their little show of force, his immense wings folded against his sides and his whiskers reaching forward where his head didn't dare to duck any lower to inspect the drool. His own battle scars raked pinkish stripes across his shoulders and chest, his muscles visibly flexing beneath his tattered edged transparent skin. 

 

This would be a good day to train the two inexperienced dragons, Magnus thought. Abaddon was always trying to impress anyway, so why not give him a shot? He'd already proved himself in the fighting ring many a time, netting Magnus some heafty prize money. He'd passed every experimental test he'd tried on him. He'd even begun to grow an unhealty hatred for his own mother, a failed night dragon - what more could his dark little soul require of the enormous dragon? A kill count that wasn't penned in a circle of onlookers, thats what. 

 

Mischief already had her own tally by now, something he had encouraged her to keep scratched into the wall of her stall in the stables. She was eager to add more names, it seemed. Jones huffed her distaste at the aimless violence. Her ever present eyes were set on bigger prizes. More heads for  her master's collection...

 

As she scanned the field before her, she noted things absently - the strange fungi from the treeline had spread into the mud and grass. She should be mindful of that in the encroaching darkness and heavy rainfall. The unevan terrain that would make their charge slippery. The clashing of claws and teeth from far beyond, in the cradle of a small valley... their eventual target. 

 

Here, the shear and naki were battling against a band of slave traders. She could tell by their pompus outfits, richeous behavious and, on the naki's side of things, prosthetic limbs shimmering in the dying sun. The slavers were of no real concern to Magnus, but it had started to become irritated that they were pawning off members of his township. Jones and Shepherd had not worked out where they were getting through quite yet, but they'd managed to track this meet up pretty well with some assistance from Glassworm in the air. Ever the gleeful little spy, that one was. This battle was to be more of a message for the traders, anyway. If they were going to poach in the first place, they should have considered to make an effort to come to some sort of gentleman's agreement with the landlord. Her master called them boarish and uncivilized, and she found herself agreeing as she watched their spears and maces clash with the rebel alliances blades and flesh, as the Naki tried in vain to get the rescued slaves out of harms way. 

 

If what their sources had told them was correct, then this was a true accident in the making. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong slip of coded paper *accidentally* left on the slaver leader's ale stained map table by a certain green dragon who shall not be named. The rebels had already planned to attack them and rescue the wounded by force, also, by happenstance, because of an alleged naki tip off that had landed in their ring leader's bed chambers one night. The Naki though? That had been true fluke. True wrong time, wrong place, to come in the middle of this fight. They were informants, not rescuers or fighters like the Erre or the Shear. But here they were anyway. 

 

Jones hated them the most. At least the other scum in this pointless war had a purpose, as avoidant as the Erre were, and as pompus as the Shear ended up being, the Naki were just doormats. Magnus tended to agree with her most times... and as she shifted a step forwards, he seemed to do so once more. 

 

Through the bond, he spoke to his team.

 

"Together. Lets teach these rebel scum who's side of the fence they're on. As for the others... leave at least one or two of them alive to tell their brethren what happened today. 

 

And so, the quartet moved as one. Iris shot into the sky with a whistling crack as her wings broke the sound barrier and sent a ripple of harsh air into her companions. Jones did not falter even one step, and broke into a gallop that would put earth dragons to shape with its grip and speed. Abaddon, not to be beaten, leapt up off the ground moments after Iris. His take off hadn't been so shattering, but it was no less quick, even with his added heft. His wind magic sent the treetops swaying as he cruised over the last of the forest and dived down after Iris like a hawk to its pray. Mischief was last to start moving, and in the end, hopped into Jone's lingering shadow to catch a ride on the older, larger dragon - at least until they hit the edge of the hillock, and Jones leaped into the air. Mischief exploded from her misty shadow at the apex of her jump like a brackish oil slick, before reforming just in time to glide through the air in chase of Abaddon. 

 

Iris, to nobodies surprise, made it to the battlefield first. She flew in a wide, circling arc around valley, taking note of each little target swarming far below. Judging which would be the best to strike first, just as Abaddon crashed down in the midst of the battle like an oversized boulder flung from a distant trebuchet - he sent enemy dragons and riders flying, and with a mighty roar that rattled the armor of the nearby combatants, he grabbed as many startled and dazed figures as he could before he launched back up into the air with a great beat of his black, feathery wings. He soared up past Iris, screeching enemies in hand, before he did what most would expect him to do. He dropped them. 

 

Iris whipped her head to the side as she finally identified her own targets, deftly dodging the falling victims before swooping down with her long, wickedly sharp beak, poised to strike...

 

By the time Mischief arrived, utter chaos had spread among the surviving, scattered horde. Nobody knew who these new dragons belonged to, or who's side they were even on. The deaths seemed to number on all sides, with only a little particular leaning towards the rebellion soldiers. Mischief's howl of glee did nothing but enhance the confusion, which seemed to cause her further enjoyment as she bowed her head and used her horn to dive straight into the fray. She was immediately hit on all sides by weapons and tooth and claw, but she didn't even seem to notice their stinging pain, because suddenly... her many mouths had many new things to bite down onto. 

 

It was only when the fourth and final dragon arrived to the chaos, that some seemed to finally understand. Jones was a dragon that was extremely recognisable, practically the Grimshaw's poster child, right below their actual estate crest. That dragon had taken so many lives, that she had slowly become infamous. Every head she claimed for Magnus' trophy room was another funeral, another notch in her stall. The battle stilled for a moment, before the rage, the fear, it crashed back down like a lead balloon. Some charged directly at Jones and Magnus. Some tried to run. The group of scattered peoples, previously on opposite sides of their personal war, now were one in their singular desire to either kill this murderous Milita nutjob and his right hand monster... or run from them both and live another day. 

 

The other three dragons wouldn't allow that though. They each took turns picking off the stragglers - or fighting off combatant's that try as they might to actually land an attack on the leaders of the troop as Magnus and Jones walked at a leisurely pace through the heart of the battle. They were untouchable. They were a true show of power. 

 

Abaddon suddenly changed direction midair as he spotted a particularly interesting dragon in the spattering of fleeing creatures. White as snow, with flowers spreading out behind it in its cowardly attempt to flee, its magic bleeding out around it and making the foliage and fungi grow wild. He sensed it was a jungle dragon. A *white* jungle dragon - or, in the least, a dragon with jungle magic. His maw broke in a gnarled grin as he reached out to snap the thing up in his talons,  but this time, he didn't carry the wingless dragon up into the skies like he'd been doing this entire time. He didn't feed it to his Mischief. He didn't even break its neck. No, instead, he fluttered over to Magnus and landed with a large *fwump* of air not a few feet before him. He held out the struggling creature like a cat awaiting its master for their praise for the gift they were bringing them. 

 

Magnus took a moment to look it over. Then nodded his approval. The larger dragon practically beamed, and without waiting more then a moment, raised the much smaller dragon up to his opening mouth. Like he was intending to bite the thing's head clean off in his excitement. 

 

He didn't get far enough to do so, however. 

 

A rider, bloody and struggling on the back of an earth dragon, skidded to a stop just out the range of Iris's swooping defence. She hovered in the air, her beak trained on the rider's head. Magnus seemsed amused. 

 

"S-Stop! Don't kill her! Please!" the rider shrieked, throwing down her gun and ripping the high tech shielding device from her wrist, holding up her hands. "Please, she's only a hatchling!"

 

Abaddon growled. Magnus held up a wing to silence him. The battle was wearing down to a snails pace by now, and even Mischief was growing bored with chasing after the remaining stragglers. They were all randoms anyway. No fun if it wasn't a shear body she was biting into, thats what got her the best treats. Huffing, she slowly came over to join too, blood spattered and panting. Iris had some how kept her snowy feathers clear of any dirt or grime, by some miracle. 

 

Magnus did a mental check  himself to make sure their goals were met. Rebellion had been squashed yet again on his boarders... check. The others were afraid enough to leave... also check. That just left his new, squirming little potential trophy. Killing this rider might not be the smartest choice, however... she could play a better role. 

 

"Which faction in this... pointless little battle did you belong to, girl?" he addressed her. Sitting up straight and proper to further look down his beak at the woman who had the gumption to yell out in defence of her little dragon. He had an image to uphold, after all. 

 

"S- Slavers. My Lord, I was with the slavers" she admitted. She had nothing left to hide. She'd say *anything*  to get this little whelp back. Magnus liked that. 

 

"The slavers, yes...? Nasty bunch... barely better then bandits and ruffians, are you? Common street rats fit for squashing." Jone's stomped her hoof on the ground for emphasis and whinnied her haunting agreement. 

 

The slaver girl cried out. "N-No! I mean- I mean yes, yes, but I wasn't-- I was held captive, sir- Lord- I had no choice but to join them, please-- I'll do anything, just give her back to me, please."

 

Magnus clicked his beak. Robbed of that lovely snowy hide... 

 

But still. This had been a mission with a *goal*, not a session of sport. Abaddon huffed, and slowly, let the dragon go. It skittered all the way back to its rider and zipped into her arms, knocking her on her arse in a sobbing heap. 

 

"Tell your master, if he still lives, that next time if he intends to hunt on my land he is to get my permission before doing so. This could have been avoided, you know... pity." Magnus sighed. Playing it up. "The people's fear and admiration belongs only to me, and I am not especially fond of mopping up other people's battles... but at least you ferreted out some rebellion groups in the area. Because of this, I shall spare your lives. Be gone - and make sure you pass on my message, girl."

 

The rider didn't wait for him to change his mind. Seemingly, whatever magic she managed to gain from her dragons had her rocketing out from her downed position and across the valley in record speed. The dragon she rode in on gave the others a cautious look, before he, too, ran after his rider. 

 

Iris sighed and slowly landed next to the others as the moon finally kissed the horizon, and began to rise. Plunging the world into the silvery light of its glow. Mischief held her star pearl lantern higher to keep the light in their circle, shaking off the blood and gristle from her hide. Abaddon looked miserably after his fleeing prey. He'd been so close to a good gift...

 

"That should stop them prying on our business for a while yet" Magnus sighed. "Well done. Let us return before the moon rises above us, shall we? Leave the scavengers to their feast. 

 

Iris left first. Then Jones, with her passnger snugly in his saddle. Finally, Abaddon and his smaller companion looked towards eachother, sharing a small, frustrated sigh at the outcome of the battle. They'd wanted far more action. Far more chances to prove themselves... 

 

With a sigh, they, too, turned and followed the others into the dancing mist and the dewy, war torn grass.