The rain hammered down, blowing almost horizontally across the seemingly endless ocean. Lightning arced, brilliant yellow and electric-blue tendrils branching in every direction. Explosions of thunder tore through the air, drowning out everything, even the howling wind. It was as though the Infernal beast itself was crying out, bringing the End upon the world.
Through it all flew two travelers: Tarsus, a High Dragon of Dawn, and Magnus, son of None. Tarsus flew as straight as an arrow, his man-sized neck pointed, legs tucked, wings extended enough for control and tail pointed as straight like the neck. The lighting flashes momentarily glimmered on Tarsus's deep red scales, and they temporarily gave light to the rider, who clutched the saddle horn, not daring more than a glance in any direction - not for fear of flying, but for fear of being blown loose of his leg holds. That rider was Magnus, and he shook in the torrential downpour, every inch of his body was sopping; the freezing water, which fell from the heavens like rocks, sapped the energy from his bones, just as a spider drains its helpless victim of life. The only thing which kept Magnus from falling off the brink, and into the very void of death itself was the warmth of Tarsus's body. Even that warmth, and a dragon's warmth is not one to put aside lightly, did little to help the rider stay a hold of consciousness. He gripped with what little strength he had at the saddle horn, pushing back the invading darkness, for he knew that, if it took him, he would likely remain in it forever.
As that internal battle waged on Tarsus continued flying through the storm. At one point in the journey, a jagged bolt of lighting tore the air apart at less than an arm's breadth away from the dragon. The light blinded both rider and mount, and the heat of the blast was nothing less than a blacksmith's forge, but only for a moment. That welcomed moment of warmth was gone though, and Tarsus was in an evasive nose dive toward the abyss below. With that sudden swoop downward Magnus was rocked, his head thrown forward, nearly hitting the saddle horn. The last reserves of adrenaline that his body held rushed through his veins, giving him the strength to grab at the reigns which hung limp. Blindly he snatched them up, pulling Tarsus to the left, away from where the bolt had flashed moments before. The dragon roared at the surprising jerk, but it did not fight the command. The dragon righted itself, recovering from the dive with grace; it repositioned its body so it was as it had been before. Magnus let the reigns drop again; exhausted now that the adrenaline was out of his veins he slumped forward once more. "Don't let me die out here Tarsus." he whispered, unaware that the dragon's acute hearing had heard his plea.
Through it all flew two travelers: Tarsus, a High Dragon of Dawn, and Magnus, son of None. Tarsus flew as straight as an arrow, his man-sized neck pointed, legs tucked, wings extended enough for control and tail pointed as straight like the neck. The lighting flashes momentarily glimmered on Tarsus's deep red scales, and they temporarily gave light to the rider, who clutched the saddle horn, not daring more than a glance in any direction - not for fear of flying, but for fear of being blown loose of his leg holds. That rider was Magnus, and he shook in the torrential downpour, every inch of his body was sopping; the freezing water, which fell from the heavens like rocks, sapped the energy from his bones, just as a spider drains its helpless victim of life. The only thing which kept Magnus from falling off the brink, and into the very void of death itself was the warmth of Tarsus's body. Even that warmth, and a dragon's warmth is not one to put aside lightly, did little to help the rider stay a hold of consciousness. He gripped with what little strength he had at the saddle horn, pushing back the invading darkness, for he knew that, if it took him, he would likely remain in it forever.
As that internal battle waged on Tarsus continued flying through the storm. At one point in the journey, a jagged bolt of lighting tore the air apart at less than an arm's breadth away from the dragon. The light blinded both rider and mount, and the heat of the blast was nothing less than a blacksmith's forge, but only for a moment. That welcomed moment of warmth was gone though, and Tarsus was in an evasive nose dive toward the abyss below. With that sudden swoop downward Magnus was rocked, his head thrown forward, nearly hitting the saddle horn. The last reserves of adrenaline that his body held rushed through his veins, giving him the strength to grab at the reigns which hung limp. Blindly he snatched them up, pulling Tarsus to the left, away from where the bolt had flashed moments before. The dragon roared at the surprising jerk, but it did not fight the command. The dragon righted itself, recovering from the dive with grace; it repositioned its body so it was as it had been before. Magnus let the reigns drop again; exhausted now that the adrenaline was out of his veins he slumped forward once more. "Don't let me die out here Tarsus." he whispered, unaware that the dragon's acute hearing had heard his plea.
