Contragh Enlightened

Contragh stared absently into the sky, his whole world spinning about him as he contemplated what just happened. To think, he needed his sister, the weakest of them all, to come to his aid and spare him from his bastard of a brother. As if to pour salt over his healed wounds she had the gall to tell him to reject his ways, to tear down the life he has built, the road he has paved with blood sweat and tears. Externally he did not move, but internally his heart became rigid like iron and shunted her advice. The weak gave choices, the strong imposed order. That was the natural life cycle that breathed and flowed through Contragh. And he would not succumb to the infection of weakness.

And yet, as he thought of Fayruz herself he found a new sense of thought. For all his time in the White City, he always viewed Fayruz as some useless, empty, figurine of Baz'Aurans will. A reminder, as he called it. He always questioned why Baz'Auran would do such a thing, surely if Contragh needed to see his glory he need look no farther then Baz'Auran himself. But now that he lied on the disk, severed from his home, it held a whole new sense of purpose. A tangible being to represent the White City, of his father. Of course his father, with his infinite wisdom, would foresee this exact scenario. It was the only reasoning for her existance. And did not Contragh himself plan for even the smallest of contingencies? The slightest murmurs of threats? Even now he prepared to protect his city out of fear from a delusional madman's raving. He had no doubt that Baz'Auran did the same as Contragh himself, and with that he felt part of his uncertainties lift. He held a new charge, one that he held as close to his heart as the one Baz'Auran gave him in the White City (For what Baz'Auran commands in actions demands as much respect as what he commands in words). To protect Fayruz, the remnant of his lost home, and the idle reminder of Baz'Aurans greatness.

With a renewed gait he strode after Fayruz and embraced his sister in a hug "Do not worry. I teeter a dangerous path, but the righteous shall never truly fall." His words held a sense of confidence that could only be attributed to Contragh believing his own words. That his morality was beyond reproach, for his is the will of Baz'Auran. Patting his sister one last time he turned away, heeding Haramholds command and flying into the Nexus Gate. His forces followed in route, and all traces of the War God were gone, save the piles of corpses he left in his wake.

To Pierce the Veil

As Contragh spilled back into his beloved capital, he noticed that the soldiers who streamed into orderly lines were the reinforcements for Salus. The thousand or so soldiers were not needed in Salus, for the Forgeborn lay defeated, but their presence would be needed for the ensuing defense of Fex. Changing their orders he commanded them to reinforce the city walls and send their fastest runners out. They would herald the news that Contragh's horde would faulter for now. Now it would hold it's ground and defend what it conquered instead of moving out. Patrols were to be sent in between regiments in order to tighten their grip and to investigate beyond the perimeter in search of any dangers. The steeled commanders of Contragh's army began barking orders and getting men to position as Contragh moved on, departing to the front of Fex.

Leaving his city he watched the horizon for a time, idly reaching out with a rotted claw and snatching the sun from sight. He smiled at the illusion of depth and began to dream of one day conquering from one side to the other, so that the sun always dawns on Contragh's empire. Setting aside such far off thoughts he focused on the present. Staring down at the earth beneath him, his white eyes held an unwavering glare, so intense that it could bore holes through walls. Eventually his stomach began to bulge, forcing it's way up to his throat, and Contragh released a gutteral scream of pain and fury. But instead of breathing fire he instead spewed out the black liquid that composed Soul Pools. The infestation swelled beneath his talons, spreading about and clumping around his nails. Staring into the bubbling, frothing pool he snorted, noxious fumes flaring forward into the pool of spiritual tar.

With a lurch of his head he dived forward, plunging head first into the bubbling mass of blackness. But instead of hitting dirt and stone beneath it, Contragh slipped through, the black pit swallowing his draconic form whole and swirling away to nothingness upon him passing through. Contragh jettisoned forward, his body wracked in pain as he pierced the veil of worlds and cut through into the Quiet Lands. The void of his arrival heralded a screeching, bone cracking sound of him soaring forward, causing the Quiet Lands to be less quiet, if only for a moment. And like that, he pierced the veil again and the Quiet Lands returned to the way they were.

His momentum did not stop, did not faulter, and it only seemed to be picking up speed. As if preparing to breach one final barrier. He propelled through the void, the emptiness between the realm of death and his target, skin tearing off as if the very air was bedrock that he grinded against to move through. Gritting his teeth he roared in defiance, unwilling to slow his progress, and with a flap of his wings he tore through the resistance and regained control of himself. Determined, he continued flying forward, jaw snapping shut as he finally threw a claw forward, rending yet another hole for him to enter through. Finally his path stopped, skidding to a halt as he entered his destination. What lied before him was not dead, no, it's purpose had been served but it had not relinquished the gift of life. For it was a mighty beast, one that held tremendous power in its grip and would not fade away by the mere passage of time. The very name demanded respect and brought forth feelings of fear and power to mortals and Contragh himself. Wyrm. The mighty elders amongst dragonkind, powerful veterans that proved their mettle even amongst the elite of dragonkind. Each were like heroes, beings of great feats and stories that few could match. The one that lied infront of him would prove to be no different. Contragh had wondered about their kind, he even bequeathed the ever knowledgable Jongo for aid on the matter, and yet he knew little of their full potential; And so he would be going in blind for his encounter against the Wyrm.

Glaring at Contragh, the wyrm raised his head and slowly began "WHO INTRUDES UPON MY ETERNAL REST?" It's voiced shook mountains and caused the more torn pieces of Contragh's skin to fly away helplessly. "I am Contragh, son of Baz'Auran and his vigilant hand upon the disc. I require something of you." Contragh addressed the dragon in a very formal and military fashion. This only seemed to draw a laugh out of the Wyrm "It would appear as if you are far too late. I finished my duties to the land long ago. I have earned my rest and you already are in the possession of one of my younger brethren. You do not need the aid of Xelythran." The Wyrm's voice grew lower with the reassurance of who laid in front of him, but he still boomed rather pointedly as he indicated towards the Dark Halo. Taking a step forward Contragh continued "It is not a choice that I give you. Either aid in the benefit of the world and be heralded as a being of greater renown then your kin. Or oppose me and work towards the greater good anyway." His voice held a feeling of threat in them as he continued to stride forward. This caused Xelythran to roar in protest "What? YOU DARE ORDER A BEING OF MY MAGNITUDE?!? YOU INSOLENT FLY, I SHALL RIP YOU ASUNDER LIKE THE MAGGOT YOU ARE!" Contragh smirked, the right side of his mouth flayed open, before saying "We shall see about that."

They came to blows, two titanic figures rending each other to pieces. Each breathing forth torrents of their chosen elements. Xelythran scraped Contragh's arm, and so the God retaliated by tearing into the Wyrm's belly. The Wyrm batted Contragh away, scraping his bleach eyes in the process. Irritated, Contragh lunged forward in an attempt to pin the Wyrm down. Their roars collided together and Balfire met true fire as the two beings collided together. Contragh snapped his teeth alongside the Wyrm's throat, causing Xelythran to slide his tail underneath Contragh and fling the God of War away. Screeching to a halt the two draconic beings stared each other down, and sprinted at one another. Taking to flight in the last second they collided against each other to begin their game of cat and mouse, one aggressing the other before having the roles switched.

Contragh was mighty indeed, even amongst his divinely blessed brothers and sisters he was renowned for his strength. But he was found wanting when it came to overpowering Xelythran. The Elder Wyrm began to overrun Contragh, batting the God of War about as he blocked the incoming blows as best he can. Seeing that a battle of brute strength would only end in his demise Contragh swiftly took a different course of action to prolong his own lifespan.

Pulling out of the extended brawl, Contragh flapped safely away before breathing forth the tar like substance that composed Soul Pools. Some of it caught on the Wyrm's leg but the dragon pressed on, easily swatting away the rest. And so the process continued, Contragh began to muck up Xelythran's leg, engaging in short skirmishes to further weaken the legs of the Wyrm. After his movement was sufficiently impaired he began to hasten his movements, frantically moving this way and that like a hunted rabbit. Xelythran tried to keep pace, but his left leg had become hardened and clumsy to use. As Contragh set to flight, Xelythran extended his wings to give chase. But the Divine Conqueror had tarred his wings aswell, and the Wyrm slide back to the ground after his lift off. Aerial advantage in hand, Contragh rained the black liquid upon the dragon, splashing across the whole of his body.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Contragh began to beat the Wyrm to submission. Every time the Wyrm would try to break the encasements off Contragh flew in to rip and tear at his rival dragon in order to stop him. Eventually Xelythran laid before Contragh, only his right arm of any real use. The Wyrm stared into the gods eyes with great contempt as the Divine Conquerer performed his Coup de Grace. In one fell swipe he tore the Wyrm's neck open and watched him bleed to death in front of him. A sadistic smile etched itself across his decrepit face as he saw the soul of the Wyrm begin to leave for the afterlife. But Contragh had other things in mind, he swiped his claw forward, and snatched the Wyrm's soul for his possession faster then lightning. Staring into his palm he felt the sheer well of power that layed before him, and with it he began to manipulate it with his own divine spark.

Xelythran's soul writhed and twisted in pain as Contragh experimented on it, toyed with it's being until he found it suitably subdued, and with that information in mind he bound it to himself and proceeded to leave (The corpse of Xelythran taken in the process). His objective complete he left Xelythran's pocket realm and began to return to his throne. There was quite a bit of work to be done.......