The Battle Majestic (Round 4 - Magpie Skies)

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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The knights on duty in the gatehouse were less than impressed, to say the least.

"Who is that, and why is he draped over your shoulder like a fresh-speared skyminnow?" Sir Twenty-Five meant that to sound more bored than authoritative, but the dresscode-helmet gave everything he said that officious little boom.

"Looks like a surface-worlder," beamed the knight. "Caught him bouncing on clouds without a license."

"..."

"We don't arrest people for that," Sir Thirty-One eventually said. He felt a bit dumber having to say this aloud, but considering Twenty-Five had seniority he was bound to get lumped with it.

"We don't?"

"... No."

"Oh." The errant knight shuffled his feet. "How about falling unconscious without a license?"

"Get out," replied Sir Twenty-Five. "Leave the surface-worlder here, for pity's sake," he exploded, as the clearly-thirdscore degenerate trudged out.

The senior knight sighed, helm resting upon a gauntletted palm. "The Moonlight Queen's still got ours prisoner, yes?"

"I think so, sir." Twenty-Five sighed again, being in the Oldest Dozen made it socially acceptable for him to consider himself Too Old For This Shit. "Take the prisoner to recuperate in her quarters, then. Then go shove that dysfunctional suit out the South Tower. He's an embarrassment to the two dozen good knights before me."

Thirty-One saluted, consciously deciding to not point out that Sir Fifteen probably wouldn't approve of being talked about like a dragon had eaten him already.

---

Sen materialised ten feet or so above a bed of coals. Only some truly gymnastic flailing landed him mostly outside it, but he leapt up with a furious shriek nonetheless.

"Pa, is that really a dragon?" The viking pup sounded sceptical, but dragons normally flew down from the heavens rather than popping into existence.

They also had wings. And were usually a fair bit larger. The Tender ran laps around the "summoning circle" (more of a draconic landing pad, when you thought about it), screaming at the ring of vikings standing shoulder-to-shoulder and waggling flaming torches in his face when he got too close.

In eight well-respected years as Chief Dragonslayer, Kollskeg the Unarmoured hadn't actually seen a baby dragon. That was his current estimation of the creature, although the eventual conclusion was more "No chance of that feeding the whole village for winter. Best let it free, lest its mother comes raining hellfire looking for it."

Sen needed no invitation as the bemused beardfolk parted ranks. Running only into a shield and a blacksmith's sign on his way out of town, the envoy galloped off into a meadow of goats. They hardly seemed concerned with the interloper until one snuck up and tried to nibble Sen's tail; it received a seed-pod to the head for its troubles and sent its companions in a bleating panic over the hill.

Crests rising and falling in quick, nervous succession, Sen finally relaxed, and snuffled about. This meadow was nice. It was flowers and a few hills and lots of grass and not many trees and big, heavy clouds full of rain dabbed amongst a bright blue sky where the sun was sure to shine.

It was beautiful. Sen wasted no time digging a hole, and dropping his remaining shoulder-pod into it.

WHUMP.

Sen's head shot up from dirt-shovelling at the mewling and clanking of goats running back over the hill. He swiped at one as it trotted by, making sure they left his tree well alone, then loped over the crest to investigate.

Two grey humans greeted him - one metal and bent all the wrong ways and lying in a dent of earth, another - like the strange Wolf-friend who had bothered him no end - on the next rolling hill across from Sen.

It called out a greeting, and Sen chirruped one back. Tender and witch approached each other slowly, eventually standing either side of the broken knight. She proferred a hand, and he a snout. She said something Sen didn't discern words from, but understood to be soothing and friendly, and obligingly introduced himself, much to her surprise. She paused, thinking, while the Tender took a disparaging sniff of the suit of armour, then slowly took off her charcoal hat.

Sen blinked, wondering what just happened, and where the girl had vanished off to. The Tender took an experimental step back, then lost its balance and fell over.

"Damnit," growled Sen, scrabbling around in the grass.