Friday, November 4, 2011

WWSFD?

Fulguralis swooped in, slinging shadow about with reckless abandon.  The ant-like mobs below shivered and scurried away as each bolt landed.  Fire seemed to be everywhere, and from above it seemed like his tiny companions were frolicking through a forest of flame.

"I'm flying." Fulguralis yelled. "Wheeeee!"

He came down for another pass, relishing in the feeling of corruption as it streaked away from his fingertips.  Dark contrails streamed behind him, dipping as the warlock dipped, and curving as the warlock curved.  Some of the monsters below toppled over, much to the delight of his brave, ground based friends, he was sure, and Fulguralis flipped over to drink in the sky.  It was red, as was everything else here in the elemental plane of fire, but beautiful nonetheless.

"I can show you the fiiiire," he crooned.  "Shining, shimmering, splendor."

It was so quiet up in the air.  The comforting sound of wind rushing by his ears was punctuated by the occasional pop of a baddie below.  It all seemed so... small.

A large cloud cast its shadow over him.

"Hey..." Fulguralis started to complain.

Rational thought caught up to him.  He was in the Firelands.  There wasn't a sun to be shaded.  There weren't an clouds either, unless you counted the congealed sulfur that stretched like a dome over the plane.

The shadow, then, wasn't a shadow, but a huge creature.  Fulguralis blinked twice before he realized what he was seeing.  Its wings blended in with the fiery sky, but it charred, skeletal body marked it for what it was.  It turned a beady, avian eye on the floating warlock.

"Ah, there you are Alys.  I'd wondered where you'd flown off to," he said casually.

An ear-splitting screech was the reply.

"Well, if you're going to be that way about it...."  He flicked a spell off in her direction.  It appeared to tickle. 

The great fire hawk puked fire down upon his companions.

"Well that wasn't very nice."  Fulguralis pointed himself like an arrow and shot off toward the bird.

She began to circle away from him, raining flame on the ground.

The warlock gritted his teeth.  "Not. So. Fast."

He pulled out of a sharp turn, settling in on the bird's six.  She began launching counter-measures immediately.  Fulguralis didn't want to conjecture where the exploding balls of sulfur were coming from.  He just avoided them.

And then he saw it.  A ring.  A band of fire, burning brightly in the wake of Alysrazor.  It gleamed and shimmered, calling to the flying warlock.  What would Starfox do?  The strange thought skittered across his brain.  Where did that come from?

With a burst of speed, he flew through the ring. It spun around him, small sparkles bursting the middle as the magic infused him.  Faster, faster, it urged.

He lost himself in the battle, casts streaming from him with ever increasing haste.  He was the angel of death, taken to the fiery skies in pursuit of an ill-tempered hawk that had long overstayed her welcome here in the Casa Del Diablo.

When she finally fell, smoldering hunks scattering on the ground, Fulguralis remained aglow with the magical energy.  He zipped over cheers below, and someone yelled: "Do a barrel roll."  So he did.  Arms stretched out to his sides, robes flapping, the Firelands spun around him.

And it was epic.

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