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

It wasn't at all what he expected the guy to do. Instinctively, he tries to stop time, but the flow does not obey as it had so often recently; instead, Caliborn is left with his huge eyes widened to stare at the blade by his head.

He's tensed up, but he doesn't grow particularly afraid. Surprise washes away into something like the amusement of before. Without moving, his eyes flicker toward the human. He flashes a lop-sided smirk.

"Whoaaaaa there, drop bear. I don't care who you are. Or why you're climbing trees. But do you really want to bring an axe to a semi-automatic rifle fight."

"Oh, yes," Bariyan says, and grins cheerfully at Caliborn. Then his grin freezes as he tries to work out the situation.

He'd come down with the sudden sneaking suspicion that Caliborn might be a demon, but now that he's down here, Caliborn doesn't sound like any demon that Bariyan's encountered. None of them have been on the sassy side; they'd never wasted time talking when they could be trying to take your head off.

Bariyan cocks his head to the side.

"I care who you are," he says. "You're not human. Are you with the Legion?"

He indicates the sky above them with a jerk of his head, and adds: "By the way, there's only one correct answer."

Caliborn squints upward for a second, just to make sure there's nothing he's missing about the situation. He determines there is not.

"You racist pig." Caliborn again tries to make time bend to his will, and it does not.

"Oink your way back up that tree. Because I don't look anything like those ugly bastards. Either of them. One minute I was drawing a brilliant comic, then next there was fire. And some prick with a feathery do was spouting shit about flights and champions and blah blah blah, who even cares? There's blood and stuff is on fire. I don't want a pretty boy blathering about that when I can be listening to screams and roaring."

Flights and champions? Bariyan relaxes; he draws the axe back. All right, sure, it might be some sort of cunning demon ruse -- but he highly doubts it. They're already razing the damn forest and killing dragons left and right. He doubts that trickery would come into their agenda right now.

At the same time, Caliborn does not seem like a pleasant individual.

"I think there's rather more to be done than just listening," Bariyan says, swinging his axe over his shoulder and moving off, ignoring Caliborn's suggestion about going back up the tree. "Is that really all you plan to do?"

He rolls his shoulders and does an upward reverse-nod at Bariyan. Immature posturing complete, he adjusts his grip on his assault rifle. "Are you suggesting I just start shooting everyone down from the sky?"

A grin dawns on his face again, and he starts slowly angling the gun upward, all the while keeping his eyes on the paladin.

"'Cause I was thinking about doing that."

Bariyan slows his pace mid-step and, deliberately, extends an hand to push Caliborn's gun back down. He fixes Caliborn with a blank stare as he does this.

"I wouldn't," he says, brightening a little. "You might hit a dragon! You might also bring hordes of angry screaming demons down upon both our heads. And then I would have to work very hard to get us both out of here alive."

Though Bariyan has some very serious doubts about how likely their survival would be, in that scenario.

For a solid few seconds, all he can do is stare back blankly. This guy touched his gun. While Caliborn does not feel possessive over it as an object, this is the principle of the thing.

Forget Bariyan's heroic promise. Forget even calling down the hordes.

He tries to smack Bariyan's hand with the muzzle.

"Wow. Dude. Grubby paws off. You don't just go grabbing another man's gun!"

The gun raps up against Bariyan's gauntleted hand, sounding out with a small clang. Bariyan pulls his hand back after the smack, grinning, and shakes it out.

"You shouldn't go about making idle threats with it, either," he says.

As he speaks, he takes a few steps back, and adjusts his grip on his axe. He's trying to read Caliborn's mood and predict his next actions, and, disappointing as the day has been so far, Bariyan's expecting the worst.

Caliborn glares at him, his mouth curling in a green-fanged snarl. It's one thing to toy and bullshit with people, but he loathes not being taken seriously.

"Nothing about any threat I make is 'idle.' It is 100%. Bona-fide. I could shoot you dead right now. But I'm not, because I haven't decided if that would be a good idea yet?"

He stomps his metal foot on the ground, because that is cruise control for being taken seriously.

"However. Who gives a fuck about if I shoot a bunch of winged dumbasses screaming in the air. They're already killing each other."

Bariyan's grin twitches.

"Because--" he starts, then cuts himself off to draw in a deep breath. These few brief minutes of interaction have told him enough about Caliborn to suspect that Caliborn may not be a reasonable person. And Bariyan simply doesn't have time to deal with that right now.

"Right!" he says instead, throwing his hands up. "I can't stop you, son. But I've got to go."

He turns on his heel but he's still focused on Caliborn behind him, as he's got a suspicion that Caliborn is still a breath away from turning his gun back on Bariyan.

Caliborn feels that he has won the argument with pure logic, which makes him grin. The stupidity of his threat does not ever come close to striking him.

Jerking a claw-tipped thumb toward the tree that Bariyan had been occupying, Caliborn says, "hey. No need to run away, bro. You can have your tree back.

"Unless you need a fresh tree."

Still walking with his back to Caliborn, Bariyan throws up his hands again.

"I don't need it! I know where I've got to go, now." Not really, but Bariyan does know that he's got to get away from here. He's not sure whether to feel irritated by or worried for Caliborn -- right now, it's a sixty-forty mix.

He stands his ground, still grinning as he wiggles his fingers in a kind of farewell gesture at Bariyan. "Yeah. I got you. Go on, bro. Run off to the dragon rumpus party where they keep all your fellow lumberjacks."

There is, after all, no reason other he can imagine for a guy to have an axe and to also be in a tree.

Caliborn doesn't know much about trees or lumberjacks.

your hands protect the flames

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