These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.
It took far too long to bust up one group of crystals and there are four others. I cringe thinking how bad things are turning out above me without my aid. As much as I hate it this needs to be done so they have a chance at victory.
But something feels off, there is a strange tingle to my left leg. As I look down a purplish mist flows from the broken pieces into Novak’s shortsword.
What in the Nine Hells is going on?
There is no time to think about that, I have more pressing matters that are important. How am I going to destroy these quicker? Then it hits me.
The glass orbs of the birdmen.
Pulling two of them forth, I hurl one at the nearest cluster of crystals. It explodes as it connects, sending small fragments in every direction.
The third is destroyed just as easy but the purple mist does not flow to the blade, it flows up the shaft. Not sure if that is good or bad but I am not fond of anything The Restless Hand uses touching me.
Then the ebonborn crashes into the floor through the shaft, the purple mist swirling around it’s being. I dodge his massive greatsword chop, receiving a stinging slice down my back for my troubles. With a great breath, the dragon inhales the vapors.
I rather had it touch me.
He mocks me as I stumble away from the force of the attack. The fiend claims I am clever for coming down here.
I spin around, launching one of the three remaining orbs at the last cluster to finish off any power he may draw from them. Another is flung at his chest. As it explodes into flames I draw my shortsword and offer him a smirk in response.
The purple swirls surround us.
With furious roars we charge one another.
The sword comes in at a wide arch, driving me backwards, followed through with an overhead chop. I side step to the left, jabbing my blade into his ribs and I feel the weapon bite deeper than ever before. Then being the faster of the two, I pull the last orb and smash it into his face.
With its head smoldering and charred, the ebonborn lashes out violently as it roars in agony. The flat of his greatsword collides into me, sending me flying across the cave. I hit the floor hard, skittering to a stop against the wall. As I gather myself the dragon has began its charge with the weapon pulled in close, leveled for my heart.
My speed proves to be my greatest advantage once again. I side step to right of the powerful thrust but not fast enough. The edge slices open my armor, grazing my ribs before it plunges into the stone wall.
Wincing against the pain, I jab with Novak’s shortsword. Once into the arm pit. My next attack goes into the shoulder when the fiend reflexively tucks his elbow to protect the wound. Giving me the space needed I pull my handaxe and hack into his collarbone, driving the bastard backwards.
The dragon brings its reach into affect, keeping me at a distance where I am useless. Another wide swing follows by a thrust. He is on defensive because of injury and it is obvious I know. What is bad is that I am in the same shape. Both of us are looking for an opening to finish this fight.
Again, the same two strokes with the greatsword, using the length to his advantage.
I wait for my chance. My timing has to be precise.
Suddenly it sniffs the air as if realizing something is wrong. A powerful stroke of it’s wings has the ebonborn gliding backwards to the shaft. Squatting low to the floor to gather strength, it leaps up and out of site.
And I thought I had him.