“Are you all right?” he whispered, pulling Ancalime into his arms. She looked a bit scared but much less so now he was crouching under the stonework with her.
Big didn't even begin to sum it up. Concerted magical bombardment from the ReachGuard, not to mention repeated thunderbolts from where Sabrinda was based, didn't even seem to be scratching it. He could even see that odd court jester on the upper level, firing at it with some sort of mechanical contraption, something Dwemer perhaps, and next to him Princess Eola blasting her own magic at the dragon. Meryndor was no Destruction expert – he left that to his wife – but he could see some serious firepower on her part. Clearly this Eola was not your typical fairytale princess or cosseted noble-born child. All the same, he was surprised her husband wasn't with her. Maybe it was like with him and Sabrinda – she was the warrior, he was quite happy to be the more domestic one.
Another thunderbolt arched overhead, accompanied by a wave of magicka that was familiar from before. The King himself had come out to fight, and judging from the smell of ozone, he was at least as skilled with lightning magic as Sabrinda, if not more.
“YOU COME TO MY CITY AND CAUSE TROUBLE, DOVAH?” Meryndor could hear Madanach roaring. “NOT TWICE, YOU WON'T! REACHGUARD TO ARMS!” There was a renewed barrage of magic and then Meryndor felt it, a wave of magic rolling out, making him want to get up and fight and destroy any enemy of Markarth, particularly that dragon menacing the city and all these poor, innocent people...
Meryndor shook his head and the feeling passed. All he intended to do was protect the innocent people presently clustered around him. But he recognised the spell although you'd have to be a skilled illusionist to actually cast it. Call To Arms, a call to all willing to fight for the caster, imbuing them with strength and determination and suicidal bravery, a key part of Reach battle strategy had Meryndor but known it. He knew enough to realise that Madanach's magical ability was stronger than he'd thought.
“Wow,” Ancalime whispered. “What's that spell? It feels really nice! Can I go out and fight the dragon too, I know a few spells!”
“No!” Meryndor snapped, tightening his grip on her. “You're in enough trouble as it is, sneaking out like that! You just stay here until the King and his guards kill it.” What would happen if they lost the battle, he didn't like to think about, but the fact that the other two children didn't seem that scared and that there were clearly well-rehearsed plans in place for this eventuality reassured him a little. This had happened before clearly, and the city was still standing.
That this happened on a regular basis was less reassuring.
“Da said Mama would be back soon,” the ashen-haired girl said hopefully. “She can kill dragons easily.”
“Mama can kill anything!” the blonde girl added proudly. That did intrigue Meryndor. The girls didn't look similar enough to be sisters but he might be wrong.
“You're sisters?” he asked, studying them both carefully. About the same sort of size as Cali, but their actual ages were anyone's guess. He had a feeling the blonde one was younger though.
“Yes!” Ancalime said, smiling up at him. “That's Lucia and that's her sister Sissel. Except they didn't use to be sisters, they had other parents once but they died and then they got adopted so now they're sisters, and we were playing tag until we got tired and then we sat around and talked and now they're my friends, and Daddy, Daddy, guess what, their Mamma's -!”
“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”
Another wave of magicka rolled out across the city, slow and languid and definitely mer rather than human, in fact it reminded Meryndor of Sabrinda except it was fiercer somehow, tapping some power he couldn't even begin to fathom.
Re: Thicker Than Blood 4.3
“Yes Daddy,” Ancalime whispered. “It's awfully big, isn't it!”
Big didn't even begin to sum it up. Concerted magical bombardment from the ReachGuard, not to mention repeated thunderbolts from where Sabrinda was based, didn't even seem to be scratching it. He could even see that odd court jester on the upper level, firing at it with some sort of mechanical contraption, something Dwemer perhaps, and next to him Princess Eola blasting her own magic at the dragon. Meryndor was no Destruction expert – he left that to his wife – but he could see some serious firepower on her part. Clearly this Eola was not your typical fairytale princess or cosseted noble-born child. All the same, he was surprised her husband wasn't with her. Maybe it was like with him and Sabrinda – she was the warrior, he was quite happy to be the more domestic one.
Another thunderbolt arched overhead, accompanied by a wave of magicka that was familiar from before. The King himself had come out to fight, and judging from the smell of ozone, he was at least as skilled with lightning magic as Sabrinda, if not more.
“YOU COME TO MY CITY AND CAUSE TROUBLE, DOVAH?” Meryndor could hear Madanach roaring. “NOT TWICE, YOU WON'T! REACHGUARD TO ARMS!” There was a renewed barrage of magic and then Meryndor felt it, a wave of magic rolling out, making him want to get up and fight and destroy any enemy of Markarth, particularly that dragon menacing the city and all these poor, innocent people...
Meryndor shook his head and the feeling passed. All he intended to do was protect the innocent people presently clustered around him. But he recognised the spell although you'd have to be a skilled illusionist to actually cast it. Call To Arms, a call to all willing to fight for the caster, imbuing them with strength and determination and suicidal bravery, a key part of Reach battle strategy had Meryndor but known it. He knew enough to realise that Madanach's magical ability was stronger than he'd thought.
“Wow,” Ancalime whispered. “What's that spell? It feels really nice! Can I go out and fight the dragon too, I know a few spells!”
“No!” Meryndor snapped, tightening his grip on her. “You're in enough trouble as it is, sneaking out like that! You just stay here until the King and his guards kill it.” What would happen if they lost the battle, he didn't like to think about, but the fact that the other two children didn't seem that scared and that there were clearly well-rehearsed plans in place for this eventuality reassured him a little. This had happened before clearly, and the city was still standing.
That this happened on a regular basis was less reassuring.
“Da said Mama would be back soon,” the ashen-haired girl said hopefully. “She can kill dragons easily.”
“Mama can kill anything!” the blonde girl added proudly. That did intrigue Meryndor. The girls didn't look similar enough to be sisters but he might be wrong.
“You're sisters?” he asked, studying them both carefully. About the same sort of size as Cali, but their actual ages were anyone's guess. He had a feeling the blonde one was younger though.
“Yes!” Ancalime said, smiling up at him. “That's Lucia and that's her sister Sissel. Except they didn't use to be sisters, they had other parents once but they died and then they got adopted so now they're sisters, and we were playing tag until we got tired and then we sat around and talked and now they're my friends, and Daddy, Daddy, guess what, their Mamma's -!”
“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”
Another wave of magicka rolled out across the city, slow and languid and definitely mer rather than human, in fact it reminded Meryndor of Sabrinda except it was fiercer somehow, tapping some power he couldn't even begin to fathom.