It was raining, you didnât associate rain with Suramar. Perhaps it was a relic of living in Elven lands of perpetual Spring. There was rain, but you never really noticed it. Brigante went to grab the small camp table he had in his tent and drag it over before he winced, his arm flaring in agony and the table falling over. He sighed, and with his -good- arm righted the table, dragged it over and then set pen to the papers that had been sent flying, The Flight Surgeon, Aiechi Starglowâs healing had been âŠeffective. Heâd ignored the wound too long. For fear of having it seen to, or because there was always something else needed doing that was more important. Or perhapsâŠeven more insidiouslyâŠbecause he thought he -deserved- to Suffer.
He slowly flexed the fingers at the end of his bandaged arm. More mobile. That was good, surely?
He took up the pen with his right hand and started scribing a report. He tried to stop up his ears to the sounds of pain from the other tents. Tonights battle had not beenâŠKind to the Sun Hawks. Oh it was a victory alright. But he remembered looking at the injured and dismayed Dragonhawk riders as they landed, and thinking âOne more Victory like this, and we are damnedâ
It had started well. They knew there was a Fel-Lord in the area, that there was a remnant camp of the Legion, and they knew there would be aerial resistance. It made sense, after all, for his Sun Hawks to address the threat. The Suramaritans had lived under a shield for ten thousand years, had no need or ability for an aerial force to operate. And they -were- here to help their Shalâdorei cousins. This was a task that was almost tailored to them.
They could not have said no.
So they flew.
Again, Starglow had seen them first, Felbats orbiting. The CAG, or âChief of Air Groupâ Erivana Everstride had done her work well, the two flights splitting and gaining height. And then, the huntâŠThe chase!
Brigante set his pen down as he recalled the fight. Twisting, turning, Diving, Fire and Fel spitting at each other. Heâd missed with his first pass. Usually the easiest. You always tried to âBounceâ an aerial foe, but today, the Goddess of the Skies had not been with him, or had blinked, for the ace of a thousand years had missed. It happened. Others of his Fliers did make their mark, and in a couple of cases killed outright their targets. This was good, for Brigante, flying Overwatch, could see the numbers, Six against Twenty FelbatsâŠ.
Something had to change.
It did.
The Felbats retreated, flying back towards Felsoul Hold, Briganteâs gut had went cold, he realised why, what had happened, and he barked out âCLIMB! CLIMB AND EVADE!â
It was a trap. Fel Cannons, camouflaged both magically and mundanely suddenly revealed themselves, Ganâarg gunners gleefully feeding the Fel Cannons ammunition as they spewed a hailstorm of fel infused bullets into the skies.
The Fire was indiscriminate, striking Hawkrider and Felbat alike, it was almost as ifâŠthey had been expectedâŠ
The CAG ordered the Bombing Flight down to tend to the cannons, because now it looked like something new was happeningâŠThe Fel-Lord himself, Krathâazz was entering the fray.
Astride a blazing fel green Phoenix, he led the Fel-Bats who had rallied, and struck at the Sun Hawks.
Combat was joined.
Brigante saw one of the Fel Bats arrowing at him, and with good reason, in the previous skirmish Sunspear had ravaged its wing, and he had put out one of its eyes, It seemed the creature needed a rematch. The Sun Hawks again were badly outnumbered, even though many of the flock of Felbats had been brought down by Friendly Fire.
Diving, Jinking, spinning, Climbing, the heady feel of air heaved into the lungs even as you knew intellectually you were hyperventilating, and the hammering sound in your head was your own heartbeat, but you had to. You had to live on the edge, on the razorblade between reason and instinct. Because if you didnât? You would make your Final Landing. The Ground would be your Grave. A scrape of talons against Sunspearâs barding, and a futile lashing with his lance, then a spin and FlameâŠ.and the Felbat spiralled down to die, more a ball of flames than anything else by the time it hit the dirt.
The Bombing wing had done their job, the Legion Camp destroyed, cannons and engineers naught but ash under their âFalconâ munitions, the resurgence in numbers aiding them. They all wanted that one. The Big Fat Kill. Fel-Lord Krathâazz.
It was not easyâŠthey took injuries, almost lost a couple of Fliers, but ultimatelyâŠ.
Brigante laughedâŠ
Ultimately the Fel Lord had fallen to a brothel dwelling profligate, an elf he was sure had been assigned to combat duty by clerical error, more a Public relations person, than a flierâŠ
He couldnât help but laugh, even as the Sun Hawks trailed back to camp, through the skies the colour of an angry bruise, âGaleholt SolanumâŠ.well swive me, Iâm going to have to pin a medal on you for this oneâ. Despite the pain he kept laughing until they landed.
Still. It was done.
Fel-Lord Krathâazz and his Felsoul Creepers, were Dead.
