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"By the Dragonfather's grace, Lady Ismene has indeed been able to perform great deeds in His name and spread His light into this continent's darkest corners," the priest cuts in while the half-dragon looks away bashfully, the man puffing himself up and preening as if he had personally partaken in her accomplishments. "And she is certain to perform even greater feats in the future," he makes a slight pause, eyeing you, "especially now that Bahamut has deemed her worthy of being blessed with one of His children as an esteemed and loyal companion."

You don't respond, letting his words sink into the noise of the crowd, which has taken to booing and cursing at the exhausted fighters who have entered a standing clinch, leaning into each other, neither able to muster the strength to topple the other, or to land a decisive blow.

"Come with me," you say, standing up. "But not you," you look at the priest, who freezes, already halfway out of his seat. "You can wait here."

"I was instructed to accompany Lady Isme-"

"Stay."

His buttocks hit the chair with a thud.

You then walk off without sparing him another glance. As you reach the stairway leading down from the high seats, the crowd erupts with a muted, halfhearted cry, signaling an unsatisfactory end to the fight, but an end nonetheless.

Down and under the stairway, a double door leads into an empty, dimly lit corridor, the noise of the arena fading to a faint murmur when the paladin following you closes it behind her. Meanwhile, you approach the first door on the right and pass through, a small hand motion lighting a dozen-odd lamps to reveal a training room with a circle of packed dirt ringed with wooden barriers off to the side, mirroring the appearance and size of the arena's main fighting pit.

"Close this door as well," you say. "No one will bother us here. The next fight is the night's main attraction: everyone will be watching it, other fighters included."

The paladin complies, though her expression betrays some discomfort. "Even so, this doesn't look like an area the public has access to," she says. "Shouldn't we at least as the owner-"

"I am the owner."

"Oh."

(2/3)

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She studies the room, her brow furrowed with some other worry. "Deacon Orwyn did not mean any offense. He's just... very serious about his duties."

"There are weapon racks over there, Use whatever you want." you say in response, unbuttoning and removing your vest before doing the same to the blouse underneath.

"You wish to test me," the paladin says rather than asks, and though her tone is neutral, you catch a clear note of weariness and annoyance underneath.

"I don't know what your priests told you, but if I am to accept you as my rider, you need to convince me you're worth the effort first."

As you say that you remove the blouse, revealing the toned, muscular body underneath, with only a cloth binding still concealing the breasts . And, as expected, you are rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as the gold-born half-dragon notices the patch of scales on your lower back - which you've purposefully allowed her to see.

Because it is a fundamental trait of all polymorph spells that, regardless of how masterfully designed they may be, they will always contain an imperfection that reveals something about the true form of the being affected by them. And in this case, even the mundane lamplight of the training room the scales on your back are unmistakably:

>red
>blue
>green
>black
>white

To her credit, the paladin doesn't curse, panic, or rush at you in zealous rage. It does take her a moment or two to compose herself, while you watch her over your shoulder with a smirk on your lips.

"Yours is not a typical situation," you say eventually.

"And what is it about me that this... spar will test?" she asks, her voice somewhat strained.

"Whether or not you have overcome the curse of talent," you bunch up your long locks, quickly tying them off into a ponytail, then roll over the barrier, onto the packed earth of the training ring and head into the middle, where you stop and turn toward her. And wait.

The paladin unclasps her cloak, revealing the fine chain shirt she wears underneath - mithral, judging by the silvery-blue hue. She also removes the gloves, revealing her scale-covered hands, the fingers ending in finely trimmed black claws. And, after some thought, she also rolls up and ties off the legs of her trousers at calf height.

Then she wanders over to the weapon racks, where she spends some time pretending that she's making a choice.

"What's the criteria for passing the test?" she asks, her tone carefully disinterested.

You like that. That she figured out this is the question to ask. And also that she realized your spar has already begun.

So it's only fair that you should give her an answer:

>Adaptability. You will subject her to an array of styles and techniques, and she must figure out how to defend against them all.
>Endurance. The spar will last one hour. If she's still on her feet at the end, she passes.
>Determination. Within fifteen minutes, she must force you to take at least a single step back by whatever means possible.

>>6469792
Liking the character displayed in these opening posts.

>white

Don't often see white dragons chosen. Maybe because they are rather dumb in some editions? Otherwise I'd chose red or green, to match her eyes or shirt.

>Adaptability. You will subject her to an array of styles and techniques, and she must figure out how to defend against them all.

Lots of paladins are filled with endurance and determination, lets see if she's different.

>>6469792
>blue
We seem a little tyrannical, lol. Let's run with that.

>Adaptability
Determination's test can be vested with brute force, potentially -- that is to say, talent. Endurance can be trained. An adaptable mindset, though ,na dthe flexibility to learn? Invaluable.

>>6469792
>green
I like the colour green :D
>Determination. Within fifteen minutes, she must force you to take at least a single step back by whatever means possible.

>>6469792
I'll switch to blue, as I agree with >>6469810 as to our vibes. Also blue or green dragons fit better with valuing adaptability, imo. And choosing adaptability, or perhaps endurance fits better with what we said in the first post about how the brawlers never learnt proper fundamentals, or how to pace themselves.

>>6469792
>blue
>Adaptability. You will subject her to an array of styles and techniques, and she must figure out how to defend against them all.
If you can't think on her feet, what good is she?

>>6469792
>green

>Adaptability. You will subject her to an array of styles and techniques, and she must figure out how to defend against them all.
Why does our lesser form takes the shape of an elf?

Blue and Adaptability win the vote.

>>6470078
>Why does our lesser form takes the shape of an elf?

A combination of personal preference and convenience, such as fitting in among most populations and not having to remember to keep adjusting the face to simulate aging.

>>6470096
Sensible.

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>blue
>Adaptability.

"I will attack you with a variety of weapons, styles and techniques. And I will judge you on how well you defend yourself."

"So I don't need to actually win?"

"No."

"But what if I do?"

Oh the arrogance of youth. It can't help but make you smile.

"Then not only will I count it as a pass, but I will fully and truthfully answer any three questions about me you have."

"I'll hold you to that," the paladin nods, then ends the charade of picking out a weapon and enters the ring, seemingly willing to face you unarmed.

But only seemingly, her next step turning into a lunge, a sword materializing in her hand, the point aimed at your face.

It brushes past your ear as you tilt your head sideways, step in toward her, hook your foot around hers, and send her sprawling with a palm strike to the stomach.

"What gave me away?" she asks after taking a few moments to recover her breath.

"Your gait changed when you started measuring out distance till you're in range. Your thigh stiffened and your shoulder squared up on the final step. Your hand was already forming a grip even before you called out the sword. I also caught a faint whiff of conjuration magic from those bracelets you wear - you might want to have an enchanter take a look at them. And lastly, you're just not all that good of an actor."

"Ouch," she sighs, picking herself up from the ground. "You're not really one to hold back, are you?"

You disagree. You hold yourself back all the time.

"How would it benefit you if I did?" you ask instead.

"You sound like the drillmasters back at the citadel," she makes a face, even as a large kite shield appears in her other hand and she drops into a combat stance. "Alright, I'm ready."

She is not ready. A palm strike to the shield's center lifts her off her feet and sends her flying into the ring barrier. She remains upright and even manages a hasty slash as she sees you coming, but you lean away from it, then lunge in and deliver another strike to the same spot, causing her to break through the barrier and land heavily on the stone floor amid pieces of wood.

"I look at you and I see a half-dragon," you say calmly, walking toward her as she scrambles to get back up. "Size and strength: your two greatest assets."

You rush forward before she properly finds her footing. You strike the shield with a kick this time, sending her skidding across the floor once more.

"But what do you do when you face someone stronger?"

The answer comes in the form of a flash of divine magic that causes the paladin's shield to shatter into nine fragments that spring into the air and come flying at you in a swarm of jagged metal. You knock three out of the air with your hands, dodge the rest. But they turn right around and once more attack you.

This brief distraction is enough for the paladin to spring to her feet and hurl a javelin she just summoned into her hand.

(1/3)

You snatch the projectile out of the air and use it to bat away at the attacking shards, sending them flying into the far corners of the room. Scattering them apart in this way collapses the spell and they reform back into a shield, which clatters uselessly to the ground.

By then, an entire weapon rack is sailing through the air toward you.

You drop the javelin and simply catch the rack, absorbing the impact so that not a single weapon is sent flying. There is a sound of metal skidding across stone and as you set the rack down, the shield comes flying into the paladin's hand.

There is another flash of divine power, but this time the shield doesn't fragment, but simply glows for a moment as the paladin brings it in front of her. You're certain that you recognize the spell, but you nevertheless fulfill the formality of rushing toward her to deliver another attack.

This time, as your palm strikes the surface, it makes a sound akin to a sonorous bell. And this time, the shield does not budge. And neither does the one wielding it.

"Simplistic and costly," you opine, easily stepping away from the counterstrike. "But adequate. Were there somehow no half-dragon combat instructors available at the citadel during your time there?"

She blinks at the sudden shift in subject. "What? What does it matter?" her voice is hoarse, irritated, her breathing quickened.

"Because you have an entire fifth limb trailing behind you," you reply, your own tail erupting from your backside in all of its sectioned, blue-scaled glory. "And that's all it is doing: trailing."

Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight, but she still manages to swing her shield into place as you swing the tail at her. But you give it a little twist and the tip easily snakes around the rim, striking her in the side, sending her stumbling with a pained grunt.

You walk after her, launching the tail forward with another attack. She tries parrying it with her sword, but another small twist causes the blade to deflect off the thick plates, after which you wrap the tip around her wrist and yank her off-balance, the tail retreating only to immediately land a hard strike on her thigh.

And so it goes for the next minute or two. You maintain distance, using nothing but your tail to strike at the paladin, sliding past her defenses to land blow after painful blow. When she tries to close in, you trip her up. When she tries to create distance, you grab her and pull her back in. Her breathing increasingly heavy and ragged and her gaze turning murderous as frustration takes an ever greater hold.

Then, without warning, the frustration and anger disappear from her eyes, her expression settling into a still, seemingly indifferent mask. Her bad acting making it clear as day that she just had an idea.

(2/3)

Suddenly, she hurls the nigh-useless shield at you. It's a good throw - serves its purpose of obscuring your vision. And, as you deflect the projectile away with your tail, it buys her the time to cast a quick spell and hurl herself at you, divine power suffusing her whole body.

Your lash out with your tail, but rather than attempt to dodge the blow, she allows it to strike her side - and then, tossing her sword aside, she latches onto it with both hands before it can withdraw.

With a low, guttural grunt, the half-dragon heaves and turns, the motion yanking you off your feet and into the air.

Not stopping there, she continues to spin around her own axis, your own motion accelerating as you are spun around here once...

...twice...

...thr-

Your tail pops out of existence, evoking a surprised yelp from the paladin as the centrifugal force sends you flying across the room and into the training ring, where you easily land on your feet, sliding to a stop.

"Nice," you smile at the paladin, who has once again landed on her ass and is glaring at you from across the room with a mixture of outrage and incredulity. "You were about to do some real damage there."

Mostly to whatever wall she was about to chuck you into.

By now, you have a fairly solid gauge of the paladin's abilities. All that remains is to see how she will fare in an environment that impairs her senses. But just as you're about to fill the room with a darkness that not even a dragon's eyes can pierce, there is an interruption.

Like any sensible business owner, you take steps to protect your investment, guests, and staff. Admittedly, in this instance it's nothing too complex: a mere arcane net designed to capture anyone who enters your establishment with the aid of spells most often involved in acts of ill intent. For the four years you've spent managing this fighting pit, it has remained mostly dormant, only catching a couple thieves who considered invisibility potions clever, an obsessive stalker, a tax inspector, an exhibitionist illusionist, and a well-meaning vigilante tracking a mark.

But now an alarm goes off inside your mind as the net is breached by a short range teleportation spell, transporting an individual positively layered in at least ten different stealth and non-detection spells and enchantments - at which point active security measures trigger, binding the intruder in strength sapping and magic suppressing chains, and shunting him off into a pocket dimension, to be dealt with at your leisure.

It takes no particular genius to figure out what - or rather who - is the target of this intrusion.

You expected this of course - people who create this many waves this quickly are just as quick to make enemies. Nevertheless, it's... irksome to have them show up already and dare enter your territory uninvited.

>Continue the spar. The intruder can be dealt with later.
>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.

>>6470240
>Continue the spar. The intruder can be dealt with later.

Wow, rude. Anyhow, we're almost done, might as well complete our test.

>>6470240
>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.
Better that we leave the girl with some gas left in the tank. It is almost certainly going to be a long night for her.

>>6470240
>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.

>>6470240
>>Continue the spar. The intruder can be dealt with later.
They'll get here eventually, make it part of the challenge for the paladin.

>>6470240
>>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.
We could ignore it until later we can't have them mess up OUR fighting pit

>>6470240
>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.

>>6470240
>Nah, your mood's been ruined and you already know the paladin is good enough. Just deal with it now.

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>Deal with it now

"Hold," you say to the paladin, her jaw dropping in astonishment when you reach out and produce the intruder out of thin air, tossing him to the ground between you.

Your lip curls up in distaste as you get your first look at him. Illusions stripped away, his physical attire belongs firmly in the category of expensive yet tasteless menace - a stylistic choice shared by countless cults and other secretive organizations.

"He teleported in," you explain as the paladin is about to start asking questions. "I assume you're his target. Anything you recognize? Clothes, designs, symbols?"

The masked intruder writhes violently, straining against the chains binding him, his movements growing more frantic when you begin telekinetically stripping him of weaponry, gear and accessories, laying them out on the floor beside him. A litany of ugly, barely intelligible curses in a mixture of the Infernal and Common tongue begins to flow from underneath the featureless mask.

"Might have contact poisons or trap spells," you warn the paladin as she reaches toward a jagged amulet. "Looks familiar?"

"Vaguely," she hesitates. "I think..."

You pull off the mask - then immediately slam it back into the intruder's face as he snaps his head around and launches a globule of caustic spit at the half-dragon.

"Half-fiend," you opine on the face you saw for a moment while acrid smoke rises from under the mask, acid eating through the metal. "Or a tiefling trying to become one."

"Oh!" her expression darkens suddenly. "Yes, he looks like those cultists from Margos. Devil worshippers. They were sacrificing newborns. So I, uh, we dealt with them."

"You dared interrupt the rites of holy communion!" the assassin suddenly explodes into snarling rage, only somewhat muffled by the mask pressed into his face. "You dare delay the return of the true gods and spill the sacred blood of their herald in their temple!"

"There was a gylou," the paladin translates. "We killed it."

"True death?"

"No, we did not have the means. Banished - we banished it," she corrects herself.

"You will not escape divine retribution!" the cultist howls. "God will take vengeance upon you! You will pay with blood for your sins! All of you will pay! Tonight!"

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, then her eyes widen in alarm.

"My friends!" she cries out, leaping to her feet. "I need to go!"

Ah. Of course her entourage would not be limited to just the priest.

"Wait!" your command brings her to a stop. "Take this." you toss a vial her way as she turns around. "You expended a lot of stamina during the spar. Wait!" you call out again as she's about to break into a run. "At what inn are you staying?"

"Uh... the Rotund Pony? Look, sorry, but I really have to-"

You already have a string of beads in your hand, sorting through them as you recall the map of the city. You find the right one and, using the coordinates inscribed into it, open a portal in the air between you.

(1/5)

"You'll emerge in a courtyard. Turn right once out on the street, then take the second left. The inn will be straight ahead."

She gives you a look that goes on for far too long for someone allegedly in a hurry.

"Thank you," she says finally and rushes through the portal, which you then close behind her.

Silly hatchling. You didn't do it for gratitude, you did it because she seems the type to get all guilty and sad if any of her subordinates die. And that would make her insufferable to be around. Though speaking of...

You send out a message spell to your supervisors. Just five words: Protocol Three - Not a Drill. At the same time, you reawaken the parts of the security net that usually lie dormant, both to reduce the wear on the enchantments themselves and to avoid drawing attention from nosy wizards. Force walls, scry blockers, dimensional locks, counterspelling arrays, offensive and defensive enchantments of various kinds, turning the unassuming combat arena near the capital's outskirts into a fortress able to withstand attacks from forces both mundane and supernatural.

All quietly and covertly of course, without causing alarm among the guests, or the brawlers for that matter. For that is how Protocol Three was designed: to prepare for trouble without making it obvious. Because it's not guaranteed that a horde of cultists will descend upon your arena in some follow-up attack. But it very well might.

With that matter settled and no immediate threats manifesting, you turn your attention back to the captured assassin - starting with gagging him to put a stop to his increasingly histrionic ramblings.

You strip him of anything containing even a hint of magical aura, which leaves him practically nude, save for a sweaty loincloth. Doing so also confirms your earlier guess of him being a tiefling in the process of being converted into a half-devil. Sores and boils plague his skin in places where still mortal flesh comes into contact with infernal grafts. You do wonder if the reward for this mission was going to be a complete ascension to fiendhood.

Some cursory magical probing reveals that, very predictably, he is under a geas, most likely meant to prevent him from giving away the cult's secrets. A slightly deeper probe, just as predictably, uncovers a nested spell meant to detonate within the cultist's head, killing him and anyone within the immediate vicinity should it detect anyone tampering with the geas or attempting other kinds of compulsion magic to override it.

Not that this is enough to stop you. You did develop a spell some centuries ago to disentangle and safely dispel this kind of setup. The only real drawback is that the spell requires two to three weeks to do its work in a way that guarantees success.

But that is no obstacle for you either.

(2/5)

From your dimensional storage you fetch a headband inscribed with the spell, a ring of greater sustenance, and a jar of sovereign glue. Ignoring the cultist's useless struggles, you glue the band onto his forehead, then mangle his fist until you have a hold on a single finger to slide the ring onto and glue it in place as well. After which you activate the spell and shove the cultist into a dimensional pocket where time runs a hundredfold faster than it does in the Material. If all goes well, he should be ready to interrogate by morning.

Then you turn to his gear laid out on the floor before you. Because though laden down with enchantments as expected, something about their configuration has set off your instincts. And with a more thorough once-over you quickly realize: this is not a loadout for killing a half-dragon. High resistance to fire, yes, but no specialized poisons, no dragonbane or brilliant energy enchantment on the daggers, nothing to hamper divine magic.

A displeased noise escapes your throat. A poorly prepared assassin could be justified if this was a demonic plot, but the meticulousness of devils was downright proverbial. It made no sense that for a job this high profile, they'd... hm.

You pick up one of the scrolls retrieved from the cultist, seeing now that it is made from elven skin rather than ordinary parchment. And upon unrolling it, you immediately identify the sickly sheen of soul ink, distilled from the essence of countless sinners that crowd through Avernum's gates.

Your eyes roam over the scratchy, purposefully oblique Infernal script. It's been awhile since you had to interpret that language and the particulars escape you, but one thing you are certain of is that this scroll, more valuable than the entire rest of the cultist's equipment combined, and likely smuggled to the Material plane at comparable expense, serves the purpose of opening a breach into the Nine Hells. A ritual that would typically take hours or days - reduced to a simple activation formula.

And as if on cue, you feel it - through the sensor spells woven into the arena: a sudden, sharp influx of infernal energies into the Material. Nearby. No need to guess where exactly.

Full Lockdown - you message your staff immediately. And then you're rushing, into the corridor, up a ladder, and out one of the number of concealed rooftop hatches you've installed for quick exits. From there you cast a flight spell and take off into the night sky. Because while, as always, some part of you urges you to take on your true form, there are more than enough reasons for why you should not.

As soon as you gain some height, the location of the breach becomes readily apparent: it is the part of the city currently on fire, with more explosions tearing through the district even as you watch. Across the capital, warning bells and alarms are starting to ring, as the various temples and the garrison are waking to the threat.

(3/5)

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In theory, a planar incursion should not be possible within the imperial capital. The ruling bloodline invested heavily into a network of defensive enchantments including dimensional locks. However, this network was put in place a century ago, when the second ring of walls was still enough to contain the city. Since then, a third ring had been erected and fully urbanized, and a sizable slum has grown just beyond the walls. Expanding the magical defense network was planned, but deemed too large of an expense.

And while the local garrison did maintain a highly mobile unit of magic users to - in theory - quickly deal with this manner of incident, in practice their reaction time was hamstrung with procedure, requiring them to perform a sweep of the entire second ring to check for breaches that could threaten the wealthy and the highborn, before being allowed to respond to the actual emergency elsewhere in the city. Usually leaving first response to whatever vigilantes, thrillseekers, and other heavily armed vagrants happened to be present in the area.

You rush toward the burning section as quickly as the spell permits you. Teleporting would be faster, but the breach will have destabilized the local weave of magic, drastically increasing the chances of a mishap.

Ahead, you spot a pair of furies, bows out and gazes turned downward, hungry for easy prey. You draw a thin dagger of alloyed silver and behead both of them in passing. But there will be more devils spreading across the city, forming a perimeter of death and chaos around the epicenter, eager to cause as much suffering as possible before being banished back to the Nine Hells.

A couple banished devils later, you're finally within sight of the Rotund Pony - or what remains of it, as the inn, along with most of the surrounding buildings, belong to the category of burning wreckage. Devils of various shapes and sizes swarm the area and the unmissable shape of a dragon's head pokes out of the rubble. Likely one of the local youngsters, who blundered into something he was not prepared to handle.

But what draws your attention next is the space in the middle of the carnage, where several beings engage in a standoff.

There is the paladin of course, clad in full plate armor, her entire body blazing with divine power. There is the hulking, winged figure of a pit fiend, clad in armor and wreathed in black flame. And there is a gylou, a devil handmaiden, menacing a huddled group of humanoids, some of whom are unconscious or possibly dead, with only a green-robed magic user leaning on her staff as she maintains a weak, flagging barrier protecting the whole group.

Yet, even as you draw into combat range, you see the paladin's power begin to gutter. And the pit fiend relaxes his stance and snaps his fingers, bringing into being a lengthy scroll of parchment: an infernal contract.

(4/5)

Your first move is obvious: a wide area Banishment to clear out the chaff. But that will only serve as the herald of your arrival, as your next move will be to...

>...strike the pit fiend. The moment he realizes he might not get his contract, he will try to kill the paladin. And that just won't do.
>...strike the gylou. She can easily break that barrier and use the paladin's subordinates for leverage.

>>6471350
>...strike the gylou. She can easily break that barrier and use the paladin's subordinates for leverage.
Our rider better be able to handle herself.

>>6471347
>...strike the gylou. She can easily break that barrier and use the paladin's subordinates for leverage.

>>6471350
>>...strike the gylou. She can easily break that barrier and use the paladin's subordinates for leverage.

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>Strike the gylou.

Taking on all these devils yourself could be a decent workout but, disappointingly, there are circumstances to consider.

Your Banishment spell distorts the air, suppressing extraplanar energies and sending a couple dozen imps, furies, and barbazus back to the Nine Hells in a chorus of surprised, abruptly cut off screams as their physical forms crumble away into ash. The pit fiend and the gylou remain behind, able to resist the effect, but that's only to be expected.

Having their minions evaporate does catch the two greater devils by surprise for just a moment. And in that moment, you drop in from directly above, bisecting the handmaiden right down the middle, her cartilaginous, supernatural flesh offering no resistance to the silver dagger.

Predictably, the pit fiend reacts even before the handmaiden is done crumbling. "Die then, dragonslave!" he snarls, lashing out with a clawed arm.

The half-dragon throws up her shield to block the strike, but surprises you by managing to angle it so as to deflect the blow rather than absorbing it directly. It's clumsy and crude, and still staggers her enough that she can't regain her footing in time to also deflect the followup strike that ends up sending her to the ground - but the idea was there.

You're already rushing the pit fiend, who whips his tail around in a vicious strike, but he aims high, trying to wrap it around you neck, so you simply duck and sever it with the dagger.

He roars and wheels on you, the edge of his wing cutting through the air towards you like an enormous scythe, but you dive between his legs, cutting deep into the side of his left knee as you pass. He twirls around, swiping at you with his claws, but you lean away and cut through his wrist.

His leg collapses under him as he completes the spin. Even as he falls to his knee, he speaks a word of power meant to render you stunned and helpless.

You ram the dagger into his eye, take a step back, and kick the pommel, driving the blade all the way into his head.

His form begins to crumble at the edges, too damaged to sustain itself on this plane anymore. His surviving eye locks onto you, his expression now more annoyed than anything.

"I will remember your face," he growls.

"Alright," you nod, grab him by the horns, and cave his bestial maw in with your knee.

He is a crumbling pile of ash before you bring your leg down, leaving the paladin with her sword raised up, a few moments to late to deliver a finishing blow from behind.

(1/3)

"Why didn't you try deflecting my strikes that way during out spar?" you ask the nonplussed paladin. "Much better than falling back on divine power. Here," you hand her a simple wooden wand. "Healing magic. Should have ten or so charges left. Go tend to your people."

She grabs the wand almost reflexively, but, still gripped by battle fever, it takes her a few moments to process what you are saying while you dig through the ash pile for the dagger. She suddenly startles, looks over your shoulder, and rushes to her fallen entourage with a quick word of thanks.

Meanwhile, you walk over to the fallen dragon, its body half-buried in the inn's rubble. He is undeniably dead - even if he had the foresight to feign his death with magic, the devils had already begun dismantling the corpse, tearing off scales and draining blood for crafting materials and reagents.

Silver, the type most drawn to humans and their cities. A complete youngster, not even a century old, judging by his size. Either a recent recent or a visitor, as he had yet to made it onto the list of local dragons you made at least nominal effort to keep tabs on.

Either way, what a waste. Even at his age, he should've known he's no match for an infernal incursion, much less one led by a pit fiend.

The wand is enough to heal simple injuries, but the paladin's entourage suffered damage that run much deeper. A severed leg, a pair of eyes burned out of their sockets, a curse that inflicts crippling pain on spellcasters. All fixable, but only with time and higher order divine magic.

"I hate to ask for another favor after you've already-"

"The arena is secure enough," you turn to the paladin as she approaches you. "You can take cover there."

It's slow progress through the nighttime streets, even after the green-robed mage uses the very last of her magic to summon a spectral steed to pull the litter with the one missing a leg. Made slower still after, inevitably, survivors and frightened citizens begin joining the procession.

Annoying, but you say nothing and take flight occasionally to scout ahead and deal with the occasional devil, such as the furies still plaguing the sky. Secure in the knowledge that they cannot truly die when defeated outside their home plane, the leaderless infernals resort to killing for sport, gathering trophies and, for a handful of particularly enterprising ones, forcing infernal contracts in exchange for sparing the lives of their victims.

(2/3)

"How bad is it out there?" the paladin asks when you return to the group briefly to inform them of a blocked street and the required detour.

"Three dragons are in the air, hunting the furies. The lower city militia is sweeping the eastern districts, the monster hunters' guild is tackling the west. At least twenty wizards are active everywhere and the imperial arcane task force has finally entered the third ring," you inform her. "It won't take more than another hour for them to finish the cleanup."

"I see," she mutters, looking away. "So it's being dealt with by others..."

>Reminder her that there are currently people looking to her for protection.
>Test her aptitude for aerial combat.

>>6472153
>Reminder her that there are currently people looking to her for protection.
You've got a job, kid.

>>6472153
>Reminder her that there are currently people looking to her for protection.

Back on your feet rider.

>>6472153
>>Reminder her that there are currently people looking to her for protection.

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>Remind her that there are currently people looking to her for protection.

"Which of your oaths takes priority?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

"To... to protect the innocent," a small, sullen note creeps into her voice, but then she seems to catch herself and glances back at the group of citizens trailing behind you. "Sorry, I know, this is what's important right now."

By the time you finally reach the arena, the group has grown to thirty people. Landing in front of the entrance, you blow away a couple of ash piles with a telekinetic shove and lower the force wall blocking the door. You head inside first, acknowledging a relieved "Boss!" from a member of your security team, while another turns to yell "The boss is back!" deeper into the building.

"Everything fine in here?" you ask.

"For now. But folk who got stuck in here, well no one knows what's really going on, and they've been getting rowdy, boss."

"I'll deal with it. There are some wounded coming in, show them to the infirmary. Send to the main floor."

You leave them with the job of sorting through the crowd, lingering only long enough to raise the barrier again once everyone files through the door, using that time to test the security array for breaches. You also notice there has been another caught by the anti-caster net, but checking on who it is, you decide to leave him there for the moment. With the last person ushered inside and the wards holding up to your satisfaction, you head toward the main floor yourself.

You intentionally make your entrance loud and obvious. All eyes are drawn to you, followed by a rush, people shouting, complaining, demanding answers.

"Be quiet," you let a drop of magic slip into your voice and a hush instantly falls over the room. "Fiends have attacked the city. The garrison is dealing with them, but the streets are still dangerous - which is why I'm permitting the use of my arena as shelter. My staff will shortly provide you with food, water, and bedrolls to sleep on - all free of charge," you make a small motion at your manager and he immediately starts giving directions to the rest of the staff. "If anyone is worried about their family or has some other pressing reason to leave, go gather in the lobby and you will be let out. Just know that by doing so, you are taking your life in your own hands."

And while they're busy digesting your words, you head for your office, motioning at the manager to meet you there once he's not busy. Soon enough, there is a knock at the door and he steps in.

(1/2)

"It was a small incursion, mostly stragglers left now," you forestall his questions. "The epicenter was in the eastern district - none of our people live out that way, as I recall. But if any still want to go, let them. Now, what happened with that spellcaster for him to end up in storage?"

"Oh, he suddenly got really agitated after you ordered the lockdown, boss," he answers after just a small pause. One of the criteria for earning a position of responsibility under you was being able to keep up with your manner of conversation. "Started demanding to be taken to you or that half-dragon lady who came in with him, but no one could find either or you, so we tried to get him to calm down, but he only got louder and angrier. Finally he started to cast a spell or something like that and went poof."

"Alright. That one's on me - I apologize for leaving that on you. I had to leave in a hurry."

"S'fine, boss," he said hurriedly. "No one got hurt or anything."

"Anything else that needs my attention?" you ask and he shakes his head. "Will you be heading home yourself?" he shakes his head again. "Then I won't keep you. And if that half-dragon lady comes looking for me, just let her in."

She does arrive a few minutes later, finding you in the middle of dealing with some lingering paperwork. But whatever question she had upon entering, dies on her lips when she sees Deacon Orwyn of the Cult of Bahamut on the floor, bound in chains and gagged. He, in turn, immediately twists around to shoot her a pleading look.

"While I was busy ensuring you and your people survived," you inform her without even looking up, "he decided to turn his magic against mine. Needless to say, I am exceedingly angry right now."

Which is no lie - were circumstances different, you would've already beaten the arrogant cretin to death. But it is just as true that you wouldn't have survived for as long as you have without being able to control your base impulses. The priest's transgression is an opportunity for you to:

>Test how far you can push the paladin before she pushes back.
>Make her indebted to you in exchange for sparing the priest's life.
>Humble and humiliate the Cult of Bahamut by having the priest deposed.

>>6472738
>Test how far you can push the paladin before she pushes back.
Another test of character?

The second option strikes me as far too similar to what the Pit-Fiend was just trying to do, bad taste. And the third; needlessly offsiding an institution is that good an idea, off the jump. espeically since we're not exactly operating in a rural location. Politics may well cause issues later, even if individual responsibility is probably the right tack to take for their own actions.

>>6472738
>Test how far you can push the paladin before she pushes back.

>>6472755
I concur. Killing a priest in front of a paladin is sure to start a fight. I'd be okay with indebting her, but again: paladin. She may take the attempt rather poorly, and right now I still like her.

>>6472738
>Test how far you can push the paladin before she pushes back.

Agree with the others.