Cutting of the Lizard’s Tail

Khardihr, the city of cogs and steam grounded into the muddy mawed dirt. The once shining ingenuity of mortalkind now accepting bribes from the Seraphon for untold power, this sad excuse for a crusade to survive will only leave soot and ash once Rhondol finally swallows it whole. The smoke that rises with the breathing of the continent fills Gondrysdassnir’s own lungs, this primal power awakened as the many factions try to wrangle it or tame it. Gondrysdassnir curses them from atop one of the pillars of the ruined Khardihr. Looking down at all the working men and women with the blue hues of scales strewn through them. He hisses quietly with him fiddling with a hook searing with heat… which is embedded within the head of dead coalesced skink. No one on the ground would be able to see this covered from the shadows of the draconic wings but he is currently tapping into the winds of magic to source a certain… power.

His plans have been hidden in the background throughout the events that have transpired in Rhondol, collecting treasures from the hidden lands to collaborate with certain gullible people across the city. His plans might be tall and he knows the cost, this does not dissuade him. His chest burns as he aches once again although this is only nulled by the pain from knowing it since his birth. He will while grasping his chest with his draconic claws will raise his head suddenly. He senses it. The skinks body is no more use to him, as he drops it with it falling below into the iron alleyways of Khardihr into a pile of trash far down below him. He raises his wings before with a mighty flap flying into the air as he senses the smell of magic… and the smell of blood.

This smell of iron gets only stronger as Gond weaves through the sky as only miles from the wreckage of the city. The black dragon looks down to the ground as he sees the plan is in motion. Having been tracking a seraphon warband that was in possession of a very powerful artefact of their lost gods. Why they were transporting it most likely was in the new alliance of the city and the Seraphon. Gondrysdassnir whispered the name under his sickly voice.

The Engine of the Gods.

Gondrysdassir’s forces along with the help of the gargants that have been working under him after finding his claws inside of their gluttony and pride. The gargants making a scuffle with the seraphon forcing them to separate the warband only leaving half it’s powerful warriors to stand guard of the Stegadon wielding the device. The saurus guard clash against the aelven privateers as they weave through the battlefield in a bloody dance, starlight flashing as the surprised saurus are caught off guard in the ambush Gondrysdassir just missed the start of. Skinks shoot off spears and blow darts at the chariots wielding catapults which strike into the wooden wheels and in turn the skinks with unfortunate timing are caught in a spiky doom from the net. Gondrysdassir will see that this is only going to be long before the Seraphon beat them back, while he finds them too savage for his uses he knows they aren’t to be trifled with… not after they took the life of his fleetmaster when he was in the jungles of this rotten land. Gondrysdassir flies in as from the skies his shadow blankets the battlefield before letting out a burst of fuming flame across a line of saurus turning them to a melted conglomerate of coalesced flesh. His troops cheer as swords savor supple flesh with the Seraphon using the Engine in their possession to blast down beams of azyr’s wrath onto the poor aelfs that cannot get out of the way. Gondrysdassir sees the use, he sees the potential that the Seraphon refuse to use in such a device. He runs too the Stegadon as it turns to face him in beastial ferocity, only for Gond to stop only mere inches from it’s horns with a gush of wind from his wings swinging his body around as all four of his limbs throw the head of this triceratops into the ground before quick violent incantations are said. From the ground fiery swords sprout from under the head and quickly slice through the head turning it into tiny, tiny pieces.

Gondrysdassir flies in the air for a moment looking around the battlefield. He sees nothing anymore, the surviving skinks that are injured and cannot fight or that are coalesced to the point they cannot return to their toads. Gondrysdassir smiles wide as he lands on the top of the Engine of the Gods and roars a mighty roar, the first step to taking all that need wants and leaving this misbegotten realm… is complete.

Gondrysdassir looks to the remaining survivors of the ambush as he speaks aloud. “Come! We shall bring this to my lair for plans to come… then we make way to the Furyoth Dell.”