RIP Artaghh's Fighting Spirit

Ser Artaghh would pace into Crafthold with a wide, missing toothed grin, one that looked more lively than the knight had seemed in a long, long time. He appeared....happy, a strange state after all the struggles he'd gone through in recent times, and with the war on the horizon with certainty. It appeared that Ser Artaghh's nose had also been violently smashed in and shattered by heavy metal, the cartilage still disfigured as idle drops of blood fell from the knight's nostrils.

He'd take a cozy seat beside Ohtli with a nod.
"Hey Ohtli!"
(Artaghh)

The Drakan roosts in the middle of the square, more or less at peace. Until Artaghh shuffles in. At first she affords him a casual nod, then does a double-take to see his bashed in nose.

"Spirits above and below, what happened to your face?"
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)

Ser Artaghh would bark out in laughter at Ohtli's response to his condition, reminding himself with certainty that he should probably reset the cartilage later. It wasn't the most pleasant of injuries, if perhaps the least severe one of all that had been acquired upon the hunt. He would scratch his chin thoughtlessly before beginning.

"An energy magi drakan gladiator wit' my mastery levels smashed me fuckin' nose in is wha'! Bahahahahahaahah! It was crazy, we seven were facin' off agains' hordes'a vicious swordsmen, Iron Roland was matchin' blades an' fists wit' me, an' all'a the sudden this mo'erfucker hits me so hard in the nose tha' tornados appeared aroun' me! It was crazy!"
(Artaghh)

Ohtli blinks a few times. It's at least good to see Artaghh in high spirits.

"Ah...Well. I don't think I've seen you this well in an age. Must have been good for you. Dawn's tournament is going well then?"
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)


Ohtli Tezcacoatl asks, "Wait...seven? What are they doing in that tournament?"

Ser Artaghh would blink. Or was it a wink? He only had one eye, it would always be hard to tell. Shaking his head steadily, he'd gaze off into the distance as he recollected the long night upon the icy cliffs in its entirety, conjuring the memories of the blood soaked sands of Energy's Firstborn with a wistful smile.

"The tournament's today actually, a wee bi' too battered'ta compete in it me'self. No, Ohtli, we competed in an entirely differen' sort'a melee. Upon the bloody sands an' ancient runes'a the arena o' Energy's Firstborn atop the northern peaks above'ta clouds. We had'ta…..it was the only way'ta ge' the favored o' Kerafyrm to.....wake him. "
(Artaghh)

The Drakan tilts her head and scratches her scalp. Those talons are good for it.

"I can't say I'd heard of it. The favored of Kerafyrm? Waking him?"
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)

Ser Artaghh would nod sagely, taking this brief lapse in the conversation to stick a firm finger up his nose. Was he being impolite and picking it at a time such as this. For shame! But no, it seemed the peasant knight was even more foolish, for with a grit of his teeth and a firm twist, the commander would reset his nose with an audible snap and crack as blood began to freshly flow down his face. Well, at least it was straighter now.

"Aye....Kerafyrm the dreamer, master'o elements...."living god"...ugh, big mouth on'm. An energy dragon tha' must'a been o'er a thousan' years old. He manifested all'a my powers an' more....he had them ghostly flames a'yours tha' burn yer spirit too. Chaaca go' real fucked up, Jessi too. Sirocco's near mad, go' branded by an exorcist gladiator, so his mastery o'er the occult's been disrupted. Apparently an ancient, ethereal dragon required......sacrifices'ta shift'm fully in'ta the livin' realm.....or'ta shift us in'ta his dream..."
(Artaghh)

Artaghh definitely has her attention now. As if he didn't already. She leans in closer, hands on her knees, and her focus narrows to a razor's edge.

"He required...sacrifices?"

She asks hesitantly.

"What reason were you summoning him for?-- And what sort of sacrifices?..."

Already she has the feeling she's not going to like this answer.
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)

Sir floats over beside Ohtli, he liked the air around her and didn't know what else to do in The Hold as he lazed about idly.
(Sir Airgenald Spudnicus Ixis)

Ser Artaghh would nod somberly, gritting his teeth as he recalled the poor elder of wind that had been so amiable and energetic in their support of the seven companions performance. It had been a truly wondrous melee, the shouting of the crowds and the theater of the singing blades still ringing in the knight's ears as he thought back fondly to the distant peaks of the north. It had been dangerous, mortally so, and yet the commander of Dawn's legion hadn't felt so alive in years.

"Aye....we summoned'm to kill him Ohtli, I won' lie'ta ye'. I though' we coul' try wha' ye suggested ye' know, speak wit'm an' maybe come'ta some terms? Bu' this dragon....they weren' a good person...an' tha's comin' from me. It was ancient, lazy, an' gluttonous fer souls....seemed'ta barely be able'ta manifest its physical form wit'ou' a bit'a motivation...an' by motivation I mean blood an' energy spilled upon the runes tha' lined'ta arena. Tried'ta trick one'a us to be its mortal avatar, fake ou' sacrifice tha'd of guaranteed lost one'a our number."

The knight's eyes would light up as he recalled the wondrous crescendo of the final battle....when they'd been fully shifted into Kerafyrm's waking dream and seen the world as he saw it..."The beas' ruthlessly slaughtered the remainin' elder worshipper'ta finish the job, sort'a looked like a giant spirit fer'a while. We me' blades an' spells wit' it, tried'ta wear it down, bu' tha' jus' woke the dreamer even further. Finally, he fel' challenged enoug'ta conjured the full might'a tha' runic circle tha' covered the colloseum's floor...an' drew us in'ta the dream..."
(Artaghh)

The warm spring air that surrounds the Drakan suddenly, and abruptly, vanishes. Gone. Shut off behind an iron door to carefully match her outward face of carefully composed iron.

She rises. She faces the knight, and steel enters her voice. The single word she speaks is given a razor's edge.

"Why?"

Did she hear his explanation? Did she care for his excuses? So far...it doesn't look like it.
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)

The warm spring air that surrounds the Drakan suddenly, and abruptly, vanishes. Gone. Shut off behind an iron door to carefully match her outward face of carefully composed iron.

She rises. She faces the knight, and steel enters her voice. The single word she speaks is given a razor's edge.

"Why?"

Did she hear his explanation? Did she care for his excuses? So far...it doesn't look like it.
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)

Ser Artaghh would stare down the Drakan with firm, unyielding ground, his one eye matching the iron pair of Ohtli's own as he bowed his head. "Cause tha' thing was a monster, an' its a knight's job'ta slay monsters Ohtli. It pretended'ta be a god, lead honest, honorable warriors on in their quests to become dragons before ruthlessly consumin' their gathered energy to maintain its own ancient malaise. It was as much a vampire as any ye' hate, an' I have no regrets doin' wha' had'ta be done."

The commander would cross his arms over the Nyeshk plate of his cuirass with a steady nod, his one eye never leaving Ohtli's as he looked directly at her. He wouldn't lie to her. "When he drews us in'ta the dream, I saw a world on fire. Dragon wings blacked ou' the sky, burnin' the lands'o man black. There is when Kerafyrm's form was entirely physical, an' there is where it tried'ta feast on us an' ours. Like they'd planned'ta since we entered the arena, under the guise'a seekin' worthy contenders. We were food from the star', an I didn' plan'ta ge' ate."

Ser Artaghh would point a finger firmly at Ohtli. "Ye' migh' be a drakan, bu' if ye' defend tha' monster's actions jus' cause they're a dragon, yer no be'er than me on'ta topic'a Dawn."
(Artaghh)

The Drakan's anger is seemingly curbed. She pushes away the accusatory finger that's aimed at her and it resurges. On any other day it would've been refreshing. But today? Today she's had enough.

"That might be so. Perhaps it was a monster up on that hill, Artaghh, but you serve one too. And all the things he's done, all the things he plans, are you doing anything to end THAT monster?

"No. You're feeding it. You follow a man that brings ill spirits into this world at his fancy, that raises the undead, and twists their minds to be loyal to him. That makes rifts in the sky that make ALL the world suffer."

She takes her talon and jabs it towards the little snowflake token, if it still dangles from the warrior's neck.

"If it's a knights job to slay monsters, then why don't you do your actual job. You don't get to lament your oath to serve that creature and then hide behind your so-called 'JOB'!"

Oh, oh she's getting worked into a froth now. The ground starts to shake and her feathers ruffle, wings flaring open. As she speaks, as she goes on her tirade, she snarls and shows the tips of her teeth.
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)