With a ragged gasp, air flooded back into Katriel's lungs. The ringing in her ears slowly faded, giving way to shouting, voices. She blinked up into the crowded canopy, trying to orient herself, trying to breathe around the choking miasma of rage that still flooded her senses.
'-if she fights, put her down.'
-"...demon has you...
And then, as the kossith approached - "I have been ordered to keep you at bay if you can not control yourself.'
Anger snapped. Cold amusement rose. She eyed the hand outstretched to her - and laughed.
They thought to control her? That she could be 'put down' so easily? The marked elf had fled, but not before giving orders to his slave. That was, really, all the proof she'd needed. The marked one and the kossith were in this together, and the elf had some sort of authority even beyond that, some sort of magical protection that had repelled her proximity. He was not a fellow captive, but an architect of their suffering. The halfling was an unfortunate casualty - she could not, now, remember why she'd been compelled to attack him - but the rage that prompted the action was still there, boiling, bubbling under her skin.
She turned it to a more pertinent purpose.
"You can certainly try," she grinned - and then she let herself go.
Dark mist rolled out from her body, obscuring her form. The transformation was swift, easy. She had been the First of her kind, and though her appearance was more elvhen than the later iterations of her kin, the blood that flowed in her veins was more concentrated. The dragon was never far from the surface. It had been a long time since she'd last given it reign, but stepping back into its skin was like palming a familiar weapon. Bones grew and skin stretched, scales rippled along muscled hide. The trees around her bent and broke, and as the dark mists parted, she roared her rage to the heavens. A fully grown Highland Ravager - black of scale, long of wing - stood where Katriel had lain only a moment ago.
Much to her disgust, the collar around her neck had only grown in size to accommodate her new form. It still clung, tenacious, to the base of her long, serpentine neck.
Smoke trailed from her nose as golden pupils constricted, and she fixed her gaze on Kershaw. She snapped at him - a warning - before she turned her attention to the distant camp. She could not move well within the trees...but she wouldn't have to if she burned the whole thing to the ground.
tldr:// Kat is dazed by the blast, and only catches snippets of words being spoken around her. Still enraged by whatever magical effect caused her anger in the first place, she latches on to Kershaw and Faelyn as the perpetrators of their captivity. She turns into a dragon and prepares to set the whole forest on fire.
'-if she fights, put her down.'
-"...demon has you...
And then, as the kossith approached - "I have been ordered to keep you at bay if you can not control yourself.'
Anger snapped. Cold amusement rose. She eyed the hand outstretched to her - and laughed.
They thought to control her? That she could be 'put down' so easily? The marked elf had fled, but not before giving orders to his slave. That was, really, all the proof she'd needed. The marked one and the kossith were in this together, and the elf had some sort of authority even beyond that, some sort of magical protection that had repelled her proximity. He was not a fellow captive, but an architect of their suffering. The halfling was an unfortunate casualty - she could not, now, remember why she'd been compelled to attack him - but the rage that prompted the action was still there, boiling, bubbling under her skin.
She turned it to a more pertinent purpose.
"You can certainly try," she grinned - and then she let herself go.
Dark mist rolled out from her body, obscuring her form. The transformation was swift, easy. She had been the First of her kind, and though her appearance was more elvhen than the later iterations of her kin, the blood that flowed in her veins was more concentrated. The dragon was never far from the surface. It had been a long time since she'd last given it reign, but stepping back into its skin was like palming a familiar weapon. Bones grew and skin stretched, scales rippled along muscled hide. The trees around her bent and broke, and as the dark mists parted, she roared her rage to the heavens. A fully grown Highland Ravager - black of scale, long of wing - stood where Katriel had lain only a moment ago.
Much to her disgust, the collar around her neck had only grown in size to accommodate her new form. It still clung, tenacious, to the base of her long, serpentine neck.
Smoke trailed from her nose as golden pupils constricted, and she fixed her gaze on Kershaw. She snapped at him - a warning - before she turned her attention to the distant camp. She could not move well within the trees...but she wouldn't have to if she burned the whole thing to the ground.
tldr:// Kat is dazed by the blast, and only catches snippets of words being spoken around her. Still enraged by whatever magical effect caused her anger in the first place, she latches on to Kershaw and Faelyn as the perpetrators of their captivity. She turns into a dragon and prepares to set the whole forest on fire.
08-29-2023, 10:50 AM
