Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-28358106-20180312003902

Painted clouds, white strokes in the sky that faded to the bright blaze below. The blue of the sky, then fire, rays of the setting sun the sword that pierced the stormclouds, far off and flashing, spreading like a blanket, resting on the gray mountains. This must be a glimpse of the Gods, for nothing else explained its beauty, she thought.

So far up, she could crane her neck and see the beginning stars, the last thing she saw before the sun disappeared, the storm folded around her, and darkness fell.

Wind and lightning were her travel mates now. So far was the Covenant, she spent several hours watching the sun drift down and the storm grow, and now she flew by instinct as the maelstrom buffeted her wings and made her pay attention. She pumped her wings, her tail thrashing, keeping her in line with the wind, which rose from below, the updraft of the storm. Her nostrils flared as she kept her senses pointed for the smell of the Covenant, its familiar scents guiding---

---Smoke? This far, in this wind? No, surely not. It would have to be a great fire, one that started in the cover of night, or she would have seen it from afar...

She tucks her wings and plummets, like a stone. For a full minute, she falls.

She explodes through the base of the clouds, wings bursting open, and she straightens, flying just above the treetops. A glow in the distance, a great one. A great fire.

Several seconds pass before she gains an idea of how large it is.

She pumps her wings, furiously now, and becomes a blur. She comes to the Covenant, and wheels to a circle.

Fire, everywhere. An attack, but it's over now, possibly. Several people point to her and shout, but she pays them no attention.

She closes and approaches Imperia's tower, pulling back and pumping to slow herself, landing on the stone balustrade. She hops down and enters at a half crouch, following her senses.

There aren't any sounds of battle, but people are running and shouting. Somebody screams occasionally. They either don't see her, or see her and don't care. She stalks the now familiar hallways, her heavy footfalls rapid as she prowls.

She comes to the upper balcony of the throne room, and sees the disarray. A guard shouts when she sees her, but Tirush only snaps at her, snarling.

"Be silent!" Her voice echoes in the huge chamber. Her blazing eyes swivel down to Armata.

"What is this, De'Sange? What manner of war has been made here?  And where is Imperia?"

Her voice is resonant, her harsh consonants dominating the quiet murmurs of research. The light from the braziers illuminates her body from below as she perches on the rail, her scales glowing like embers.