Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-28718853-20160714003711/@comment-36855838-20190608072559

My old winged spear is as beautiful as ever, the blade honed to a fine edge and incapable od denting or dulling, the staff itself carved from a tree as ancient as the world, using the nails of a god.

I take deathbane in hand and brandish it with heart, my posture, humped as it had become from cowering in the presence of nashandra, somehow seemed to straighten.

As Nathaniel led the charge, Michael hurled bolts of lightning, peeling away Nashandra's leathery scales.

In the gaps Michael had rent, Nathaniel plunged his blades, drawing rapiers, daggers, hatchets, and broadswords alike from the many belts and straps fastened around his torso and waist.

With each blade that sunk into her flesh, the dragon withered further towards the ground.

A particularly large bolt rent her chest asunder, revealing a large sack of raw red flesh, which pulsated not unlike a heart.

Like an overzealous painter, my spear swept wide arcs, twirling in my armslike a baton between swings, cutting deep gashes and gouging out steaming chunks of dragon flesh.

In a desperate attempt to drive us back, Nashandra raised her reptilian head and sprayed massive gouts of fire over the house, burning the first floor and what remained of the upper floor to cinders.

But I knew this house, and soon we darted free from the dungeon once more to resume our assault.

As more of thw bulbous sack of flesh carved clean, it began to slough off on it's own, and the beast grew still, petrifying.

Out from the remains tumbled an unconscioys Nashandra, alive and well.

"Let's go home."