warforged | your hands protect the flames

Who: The Dragonsworn
What: The first arrival of the Dragonsworn goes a bit...awry.
Where: Scattered around the perimeter of Suramar.
When: Dawn on March 21st
Warnings: Please PM the mods if any warnings are needed

It is almost as if you've woken from a daydream when the ground meets your feet. The stench of fire is overpowering, and though dawn is just approaching in the canopies of Kalimdor, bright flashes of green can be seen between the branches of impossibly tall trees. If that doesn't snap you out of your surprise, then the sound of nearby spitting in demonic tongue may persuade you to get a grip and notice your surroundings -- you are not alone. There are others like you, huddled just a bit too close, with a somewhat familiar face keeping you from advancing further. Looking down at your hands may briefly reveal a momentary flash of color, but nothing lasting more than a few seconds.

The mages of each flight take the helm of their charges, and they are quick to notice any movement from their groups despite channeling some sort of spell to keep you protected. Stray fire will bounce off an invisible shield that ripples when anything make contact with it. There seems to be nothing in sight but your new comrades, and your guardian -- at least not on the ground. The sky has flying demons swarming a pack of dragons -- and the dragons are very clearly losing. Look just a bit farther, and you might find more dragons, though these clearly have different colored scales than the ones above your head.

While distracted, you may hear your guardian speak to you. "There may yet be wounded nearby -- if you care to, bring them here, and we will tend to them from the Sanctum." Briefly, they gesture skyward, toward the dragons flying overhead. "Do not bring to us any that are not our own, lest you invite their demise!"

But the mage is focused on casting -- they are in no position to halt your advance, and they know it. They speak with concern -- concern for you, concern for the dire situation at hand. The demonic cackling is drawing near. The forests are rapidly becoming overrun, and there are already a few dragons slain on the forest floor.

"Take care, Dragonsworn -- I am bringing us to safety, but it will take time. To wander far is to invite your ruin, and we cannot afford the loss of your life."

[OOC: You are free to mingle on this post as you choose, despite the flight groups being scattered through the forests around Suramar -- after this log, you will be separated into your sanctums, and your interactions will be watched much more closely. Attempting to enter the city itself will result in a vicious attack from demons that will kill. The Dragon Mages will be tagging sporadically to heroes of their matching flight, and the conclusion of this log will lead Dragonsworn through portals to their Sanctums.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Who the damn hell is that down there, calling him by name like they know him or something? And hitting his tree? Bariyan spares a moment to look around, spotting a few more bits of color strewing the otherwise drab-slash-fel-green forest floor. He commits their relative positions to memory. North blue, northwest red, east red and further east bronze. And maybe, maybe black off to the west, but he's not sure... and he's not sure he wants to confront that.

Then Bariyan starts dropping back down through the branches to kick his tree-smacker in the head.

When he finally sees the man's face, he is overtaken by -- not surprise, because the moment he'd heard himself addressed by name some part of his mind had woken up and immediately put two-and-two together -- joy. That's it. Fierce, anger- and confusion-flavored joy, which is why Bariyan leaps out of the tree from several feet above the ground to land square on his feet in front of Koltira. He blazes with Light.

"You!"

Koltira drives Byfrost into the ground and leans on the hilt, wincing. He covers his eyes with one hand, because the Light is overwhelming; if he looks at Bariyan directly, he's sure his skin will start to burn.

"Yes, me! Bloody nice to see you, too."

Bariyan does three things at once: he tones the Light down, he grabs Koltira in a brief no-arguments hug, and he reaches out with his right foot to hook around his axe and drag it back within reach.

Then he growls into Koltira's shoulder.

"What was that about 'two days to get to Hearthglen', then?"

"Oof." Koltira returns the embrace, tightens it, keeps Bariyan held against him as he grumbles a response. "What was that about waiting for me in Hearthglen? I'm in the same predicament as you!"

He exhales irritably against Bariyan's hair. "The transporter must have malfunctioned somehow."

Bariyan lets himself enjoy the embrace for a few seconds, then struggles to free himself. They're on a battlefield, after all. Thogu he supposes that dying in Koltira's arms would be the ideal way to go.

"What about Martin?" Bariyan asks, urgently. "If we're both here-- he shouldn't be in Azeroth all alone!"

Koltira's reluctant, but he doesn't force Bariyan to stay. In fact, he takes a full step back, shaking his head.

"He's not. He's where he ought to be -- and we are, too. It's just that we're here as well."

Thanks to his tenure in Exsilium, Koltira's well aware of time paradoxes. He's still not great at explaining them, though.

Bariyan picks his axe up and stares at Koltira for a few seconds. That explanation makes no sense to him, so he casts it aside completely.

He sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth and shakes his head, lowering his eyes.

"Never mind," he says. "Explain to me later." And, in his head, he's hoping that they might run into Martin here. Vaguely hoping. Both possibilities -- that he's in Azeroth, alone, or he's here, with the demons rampaging everywhere and gaining ground -- are just about equally unappealing.

Bariyan turns towards the east and starts moving, beckoning for Koltira to follow. Fire sears through the canopy and hits the ground several yards away from them; Bariyan picks up his pace.

Koltira shrugs; comes along. As the fire touches down on the grass, it creates a burning column that quickly forms into a massive creature of molten, mobile rock. The creature turns its fel-fire eyes towards them and roars -- clearly not intending to let them pass.

"If there's an infernal here, there must be a summoner nearby," Koltira growls. He draws Byfrost again, and its blade shimmers with icy power. "Be careful."

Bariyan hears the roar and spins around, Light flaring again. Without him meaning to. Bariyan hasn't tried to use his powers in battle yet, but he's already overcome with the uneasy sensation that something is off.

He draws himself level with Koltira and watches the infernal take steps towards them, swinging its arms menacingly, taking man-sized chunks out of the nearby trees. Bariyan grins.

"Right," he says, as he advances.

By habit, Bariyan reaches for the Light in an attempt to seal himself, but the magic sputters at his fingertips. Vanishes. Bariyan only has time to be puzzled for a moment before the infernal fills the entirety of his vision.

No time to wonder. Bariyan swings his axe up and lunges at it, barely escaping the fist that smashes into the spot where he'd just been standing.

your hands protect the flames

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