"It's acceptable!" Pitchfork answers for him, gasping as she tugs at the fainted volunteer. He doesn't budge. "We accept it!"
Will foreign magic work here? Alan doesn't have a clue, but it's do or die time. Better to do. Alan nods hurriedly to Waver, and begins to...
...Take off his shirt? Hopefully that's not the distraction. The first dragonling reaches them, skittering on outsize claws and snapping for Fainty. At this distance, it's sort of cute, with a stubby little snout and enormous dewy eyes. Like any other baby.
Pitchfork slams her weapon into its jaw, sending out a spray of blood and teeth. It wails, and two of its siblings peel off the pack to begin ripping at the wound. Pitchfork sprints aside. The high dragon lowers her horns towards them, lunging out to take a bite of the air where she stood just a second before.
"She must have eaten the drakes!" Alan stoops, groping for the fallen man's shovel and tossing it up to Waver. Another gesture, this time over the shirt: frost hardens and crackles over the bundle of cloth. "Ready?"
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Will foreign magic work here? Alan doesn't have a clue, but it's do or die time. Better to do. Alan nods hurriedly to Waver, and begins to...
...Take off his shirt? Hopefully that's not the distraction. The first dragonling reaches them, skittering on outsize claws and snapping for Fainty. At this distance, it's sort of cute, with a stubby little snout and enormous dewy eyes. Like any other baby.
Pitchfork slams her weapon into its jaw, sending out a spray of blood and teeth. It wails, and two of its siblings peel off the pack to begin ripping at the wound. Pitchfork sprints aside. The high dragon lowers her horns towards them, lunging out to take a bite of the air where she stood just a second before.
"She must have eaten the drakes!" Alan stoops, groping for the fallen man's shovel and tossing it up to Waver. Another gesture, this time over the shirt: frost hardens and crackles over the bundle of cloth. "Ready?"