Rise of the Obsidian Legion: Entry 36

Lynch’s Journal #151

A flood of emotions hit me like an archmage’s fireball. Fear and shock draw my attention away from the battle with the dragon.

What have I done?

I was so sure Cindermaw would hear my pledge and except it due to my past deed’s alongside Lothric. With Novak dead, there was no doubt in my mind the neveomancer’s prized blade had lost its enhanced bond to him. Now that the Sunbreaker Gem has fueled it with magic, will it resurrect him?

Then the stinging pain of the tentacles remind me something far more sinister has the weapon. Those guys abnormal….. things… I had encountered when that bastard flung me through their realms. Never will I forget the agonizing torment my mind and body experienced with each new nightmare encountered.

The Reptile of the Lake.

The Terror or the Marsh.

The Slumbering Horror.

And the Lord in Yellow, the one who marked me with a curse that has haunted

my every dream and waking moment. Wherever I travel, whoever I am with, the yellow sign urges me to murder those dear to my heart. Since that damned day in the throne room of Icewall castle it has been with me.

As the violet flash fades and my site returns the pain rushes in, burning within my mind. Looking on as the smoldering dragon climbs to the second floor to face the sorcerer, there is no sound of the walls cracking under his weight. Only the gibbering language of those nightmares given life echoing in my ears. Just outside the corners of my eyes I see that the yellow sign lurks. The presence of it urges me to do its bidding.

It was he, this unspeakable one, who took the sword and gem. The King wanted me to know who answered my plea.

Anger swells within my like an ocean storm. Taking Thoughts and Prayer from theirs sheaths, I march from the rubble of the collapse wall. There is no time to dwells on my misfortune as Lithia backs away from the maw of Seto.

The wind howls through the mountains and rushes over the broken stones. Its frigid touch flutters my cloak and then, to my surprise, lifts me so lightly in the air to move me aside.

What in the godsdamned Nine Hells?

Next, the rubble where I had just been rumbles to life as a whirlwind swoops in from the opening, launching the debris at the white wyrm. With each connecting strike, Seto flinches from the unexpected phenomenon. Through the roaring rotation there is a voice.

It tells me to flank the beast.

Not sure of what I am witnessing, I have no choice but to trust this….. whatever is it. Moving behind shattered columns I make may way toward Princess Muun.

Amon gets to his feet, sees his beloved face to face with the dragon and screams in denial. Ignore the stinging stones flung at him, Seto smiles a wicked, fang filled grin at Prince Frost. He slowly snakes his head back toward Lithia, hissing her a promise of a slow death.

Out to the left there is a white blur past the whirlwind and his barrage of rubble. My body tense at the thought of a smaller wyrm moving in to attack Balasar from above. Before I can shout a warning to the paladin, the beast screams out in pain as a large winter wolf lands on his spine and digs its teeth into Seto’s neck.

The wind howls louder as it twirls forward, pulling some of the rubble within its circulating form. As the aggressive canine causes its prey to thrash around, Lithia leaps from the railing to come crashing to the main floor before Amon can catch her. Much like it had done myself, the living air gently brushes them aside as it crashes into the dragon and wolf.

Despite the gale, the animal maintains its grip on the Seto’s back and lower neck. Blood glazes the snow colored scales. The vortex picks up strength, causing the stones within to crash into the wyrm’s joins and claws. Screeching in desperation, it is finally pulled free and slammed to the lower floor as the wolf leaps to safety.

Seizing the opportunity, I lunge toward Seto’s head as he attempts to get to his feet. Before he can raise it off the cold, stone floor, Thoughts and Prayers are plunged into his left eye. His scream of agonizing pain barely escapes his maw as the whirlwind slams his snout with a heavy column.

Snarling with anger, the white wolf leaps down to attack the remaining eye. With razor sharp claws, it tears and shreds the tough hide. Blood flows from each wound, shimmering in the rays of sun light as it drips to the snow. Before the dragon can thrash away from our barrage it is shoved into the rows of cells behind it, struggling against the strength of the vortex.

Seto pushes off the wall against the force. The sound of buckling iron bars and crumbling stone is lost in the roar of defiance. With all of its strength the dragon refuses to be defeated by mere mortals, refuses to give in to death. Managing to turn its head, a blast of icy shards is unleashed into gale with little affect.

And then the thrashing ceases as Balasar’s blessed greatsword is drove right behind the jaw. Yanking the blade free, the blood flows freely from the throat while we back away from the beast. It turns its head toward us with a gurgling growl of rage. Then the blue eyes go wide with fear as the wyrm’s takes a stumbling, weak step forward.

With a chilling exhale, the life fades from Seto’s eyes.

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