Welcome to Gaia! ::

The merchant caravan huddled under shelters of canvas, weathering the stinging sands of the magic-fuelled sandstorm. Wind howled around him, and Raemos found himself hissing the words of a spell, spitting away sand even as he blocked his face with a cloth-cloaked wing. Runes of power and amplification gleamed around his mouth and on his tongue. “Move out!” he commanded, the magic making his voice heard over the lashing winds, “We have dragons, two to four. Your orders are to destroy!” he hoped that his squad, unseen through the sepia winds, heard him and was able to understand and obey. He didn't know where they were, or even whether they had been able to endure the initial attack. He just had to hope and pray to Seren that they could move into position, as he was doing.

The assignment was to protect the merchant caravan, and protect it he did... though he could tell that they were very likely more than just merchants... but that was to be expected. A mostly Oblivionite caravan with hidden cargo (that they thought he couldn't see) and a very keen eye for their surroundings? Possibly spies. But that was how it was in wartime. He was a professional, and he had been commissioned to protect them. So that was what he did. He lay down his life for them. He was proud to do it. Such was his job and, spies or no, he was proud to do it. A life was a life, after all – he had learned this on, of all places, the dark land itself – and a client was a client. And he was not Orderite in body nor Oblivionite in spirit – he was a Guardian, and so he would guard.

He moved into position to protect them from the dragon's attack. “If you have your goggles -” he called, remembering, suddenly, the gear he had enchanted to repel sand, “use them now.” He pulled them over his eyeless sockets and, suddenly, he could see. “Three dragons,” he said, noting the blurry positions of his squadmates, “They're seeking us.” He could tell that they were in position around one of them, “Strike now!” he shouted, lashing forth suddenly with his slippery, shadowy magic, “Let us exterminate these fell wyrms!”

He saw, through the swirling sand, the flashes of magic and blade and arrow. Their ambush took down the dragon swiftly – it didn't even have time to roar. Of course, his voice had alerted the other dragons – they approached the group, snarling victorously and adding their throaty, threatening tones to the wild shrieks of the wind. Their brother is dead, and yet they still gloat over their prey... Raemos thought, with that part of his mind that never seemed to mind philosophizing on the battlefield, Such strange, primal, primitive creatures dragons are...

“Onward!” he commanded. They had the dragon's attention – they might as well use it. “Use the illusion wall!” he pointed to what he thought was the group's illusionist – it was hard to see in the swirling sands, even with the goggles - “Now!”

A wall of shimmering light encircled the dragon, startling it and it's fellow. For a moment, the sandstorm ceased, and Raemos took the oppurtunity to cloak himself in shadows and slip forward as the dragon roared, slashing at the shimmering walls. His squad did not await his orders before they engaged the dragon – which was well. Raemos was sneaking, after all. An order would have blown his cover.

Shadows gathered around him, warm and inky and hungry for blood. You will not have your blood he thought at it, Not in the way you hope to feed. The magic recoiled, almost disappointed, But there will be blood. he reassured it. Satisfied with that, it bent to his will, slipping into the shadows of the dragons. As one fought, the other roared, and the sandstorm intensified, threatening to rip the clothes from his flesh, and the flesh from his bones. He hunkered down in response, folding his wings tightly against himself to protect their delicate membranes, and murmured the words of his spell, twisting his magic through the shadows and lacing it – ever so gently – into the dragon's flesh.

“Hold.” he murmured, and his magic held fast. The dragons cried out in unison, staring down, startled, at their immobilized bodies. The dragon they fought screamed again, and then was silent, it's body rent by the massive sword of one of Raemos' Corporals. It was merely a large, stone like lump amid the furious sandstorm, and then it was no more, it's disintegrating body a part of the storm.

The other dragon howled and shook itself free of Raemos's spell with a gutteral unpracticed counterspell. As the illusion wall faded, it snarled and – with a great burst of wind – took to the air. Raemos prepared a new spell – a run of the mill far range damaging spell – and awaited the dragon's return. And waited.

The sandstorm subsided into breathy drifts of sand, and soon cleared into a mere haze of dust. The dragon was gone. It had retreated. Ah, so not so primitive after all. It at least understood the concept of fighting another day. “Good job.” he said, “All of you.” as he handed out the orbs. The merchants soon came out of their tents and prepared to move onwards.

He had done his job well. They had survived another encounter. They moved on. Such was life as a Guardian. he thought, as he drank from his canteen, Here's to it.