Dræga

Mostly a description exercise, idk if i'll write more about them.

             Wind currents make my clothes flap, so high up here. The land changes terrains before my eyes, from mountain to suddenly plains. The sky is so colorful, bright pinks and purples with slashes of golden clouds. Then we see the enemies, they see us. With the first glimmer of a blade, the sky’s pigment darkens to blood red.

            Fire fills the sky, scorches my skin. My wings begin to melt into my back, and my golden scales reflect the flames around me. To my right is my brother, Hasglof. His wings already have disappeared, and his sword Flak is drawn ready. The manic grin on his face, the pleasure of battle coming upon him, says it all. He pulls his shield off of his back and straps it to the front of his body. Sword raised, he bellows once and in a flash of silver scales and crimson robes, screams like a bloodstained arrowhead to the mass of our enemies beneath us. His army follows, shrieking their war cry.

            I look behind me, risking a couple of seconds to see how my warriors are, ready or not. They are flashing their many colored scales, fangs glinting in the flames with their scales and amethyst eyes. “Drop!” I shout, and hold my glaive Trasgla before me in both hands. The wind shakes me, but I keep my form streamlined. The landings never hurt, unless you are unlucky enough to land on someone’s weapon, but they can be very disorienting, going from flying at high speeds to battling with nearly no momentum. That is why I use a glaive.

            I pull myself up before I hit the ground, so I am gliding horizontal as a board. Trasgla pierces man after man, punches through armor and shield alike with ease. My descent is slowed much more gradually than if I had landed with sword. With a strong swipe of my glaive over my head, the bodies slip off of my weapon, falling on their comrades, bowling them over. A roar sounds from my throat, and I run forward, slashing with my glaive back and forth, a bloody harvest of the barbarian invaders.

            The heads roll from bodies one after the other, limbs fly from bodies. My good friend Arnox is using his two long daggers, dancing gracefully between his blades and managing somehow to remain clean of any blood but that which he must walk through. His kicks and punches are landed perfectly, slashing barely at eyes and tendons. He turns and smiles at me, pausing for a moment to watch my progress. A barbarian runs up behind Arnox, a large axe over his head, planning to split him down the middle. I spin, coming about with my glaive held like a lance, and launch it straight at the man, putting the momentum from the spin into it. His head is taken off, and Trasgla continues on to pass through another man, pinning him to the ground, where he writhes until one of my brethren happen by to finish him off.

            Too lazy to get Trasgla, I decide it’s time to use magic. I rip off my azure cloak and stand in the battlefield, bare but for my loincloth. My eyes flash blue once, then return to azure. With a swipe of my hands, I channel a water demon into existence. It shrieks once, and charges. Men run from it for the most part, but a few try to stand up to it. They try. Their weapons pass right through the liquid form, and the surprise is the last thing to register on their faces. Arnox comes over beside me to watch, smiling at the effort I am going through to keep it in existence. “You are pushing too hard. Try another element, your normal one.” He grins, and his rainbow-tinted scales glint for a moment before he reaches out a hand in the direction of m demon. With a slicing motion, it disappears. “Use wind, Jarlo. You will have stronger effects.”

            I focus on my element, and my eyes become completely white, my sight hazy. The wind stirs, then strengthens into a gale. Robes flutter, and grass flies through the air. I look up, and the blood red of the sky darkens to charcoal black. Water pours down from the clouds above like tons of small arrows. A few of the barbarians are lifted off of their feet, tumbling to the ground from the force of the wind. I focus more, my eyes whiter than ivory. They flash silver, and lightning lances to the ground and lands upon the heads of a group of barbarians huddled together. They go flying, burned flesh filling the air.

            The feat of magic takes out my energy, and I start to slump from the exertion. Arnox comes over and grasps my shoulder before I can fall to the ground. He guides me over to the place where Trasgla has landed, and I take hold of it, close my eyes, and yank it from the ground and the man around it. I rest my weight upon the weapon as a staff, and look around me at the battle.

            All the barbarians are either dead, dying, or being finished off. Hasglof has returned to our normal form, wings elongated and towering above all of the people below. His wings bat against groups of barbarians, and his tail crushes more. He turns his head to the heavens and bellows, letting out a column of fire that sends the enemy running away. We are the Dræga, and we do not let any survive. Those of our brethren who had stayed in the skies up to this point land gracefully, stringing and nocking their bows as their wings fold into their skin. The sky above the barbarians becomes even darker, and poison tipped arrows find happy purchase in flesh.

Reviews

[Ice Queen of the Vampir..]

Ooh, I really like this piece!!! I'd love for you to write more about the Draega, please please please??? ;) Great work, John!!!

Heather