(redirected from Demon of Fire and Storm)

The Demon of Fire and Storm. Killed shortly before Ragnarok. By Siegfried. Who is awesome.

Zmei Gromovoi's Final Battle

excerpted from the campaign source material

...easily eighty feet long from head to tail, with as great a wingspan, this dragon was a true colossus. Tongues of flame played over his blue-black scales, and arcs of lightning crackled around his wings and twin curved horns. The dragon hovered over the clearing, his wings kicking up a cloud of loose debris; and when he spoke, his voice was like rolling thunder.

“Your place in this world ends now. The Demon of Fire and Storm has come to scorch you from the face of Midgard!”

And with those words, the great dragon drew back his head, his massive chest swelling with a deep breath; he roared, and from his mouth issued an inferno of fire and lightning, burning a wide swath down the middle of the clearing. The pixies scattered in fright, trying to fade into the trees, bending light around themselves to hide from sight; some of the more experienced of their number started casting any spells that came to mind, to drive off their attacker. The dragon roared with laughter, bellowing “Silly tricks! You are as insects to my power!”

“Stop! You will not harm them!” A voice, as powerful as that of the attacker, yet clear as crystal, issued from the air on the other side of the mountain. Black dragon and pixies alike looked to its source; and a magnificent sight opened up before them. Hovering in the air, glimmering in the midday sun, was a dragon, every bit as massive as the first, yet clearly his opposite in every way. His form was perfect and beautiful; he appeared to be sculpted out of solid silver, and his eyes were like orbs of liquid mercury. A cool, faint blue mist rose from his wings. “Hide, my friends! This is not your battle. You must survive.”

The black dragon began to make a strange noise, like a low rumbling; as it grew, it soon became clear that he was chuckling, laughing as if he was truly amused by these events. “I have been waiting for this for a long time, Sa’ari! Come, come and be destroyed. I will strike you down, and I will hunt down your worthless grandson and his meddling allies, and I will present to them your head, before I make of them my next meal. Come!”

The silver dragon gave no answer; silently, he dived into combat, wings outstretched…

The battle seemed to last forever. The pixies, hidden in trees, cloaked with invisibility, watched in awe as the two titanic creatures clashed, like two forces of nature. The black dragon belched roiling fire and lightning, and hurled withering dark magic at his enemy, who answered with breaths of arctic cold, and struck with beams of white radiance from his silver-glowing eyes; and both tore at the other with claws like massive scimitars. Each would dive in, engaging the other, then draw back, to strike with spells from a distance, and heal himself; the magical capabilities of both dragons seemed almost limitless. Yet those among the pixies that were older, and had seen a great deal of the world in their immortal lives, began to notice a pattern… the silver dragon, the one that had come to their aid, had to draw back more often… was not inflicting as much injury upon his enemy as he was taking… and his attacks were weakening. He was running out of spells, out of strength… finally, the two combatants faced each other in mid-air, hovering, circling around each other. The silver dragon, his shining scales scarred and scorched, his wings torn, puffed up his chest and breathed, shrouding his opponent in white mist, which even from a distance felt like the icy breath of the north.

When the wintry cloud cleared, the black dragon laughed, as he had done so many times during the battle, but his laugh stuck in his throat, and a convulsion shook his massive body, like a shiver. The flames that licked his body were embers of their former glory. With visible effort he regained control, and summoned the strength for another deep breath. Once more he exhaled, and the line of fire and lightning struck his opponent full-on. The silver dragon faltered; the flapping of his wings slowed, and as the pixies watched in helpless terror, he began to fall. The light in his eyes dimmed; and as he finally collapsed to the ground, the earth shook with the impact.

Yet the victor was not in fighting shape himself. Shiver after shiver shook his form; he struggled to remain aloft. “This… does not… end…” he managed to croak, composing himself enough to turn weakly in the air and take off. The uneven flapping of his wings grew fainter as he rose above the clouds and disappeared from sight...

The pixies came out from their hiding places, swarming around the fallen body of their savior. Their elders prepared the spells that would heal the great dragon’s wounds, if he was not beyond their help. But their magic had no effect; though he was not quite dead, nothing they did could revive him. They then called upon one of their people that had long ago departed from the community, choosing a solitary life of meditation and communion with nature – a truly ancient pixie named Mirek. The old one answered their call; yet even he could do nothing. The vile magic of the Demon of Fire and Storm was so powerful and evil, that not even the greatest among pixie-kind could mend the terrible wounds it caused. It seemed that the noble silver dragon, who had put himself in harm’s way for the pixies, was beyond their help.

Just then, as the pixies began to despair, and the silver dragon’s life was quickly fading away, a strange distortion curled the air just above the ground near the dragon’s body, as if an unseen presence cast a twisting shadow on the clearing. The distortion intensified, parted, and out of it stepped five humans – two armor-plated warriors, a man and a woman; two mages in intricate robes; and an archer in a cloak of white feathers. The pixies recognized in them the adventurers who had come through their forest some time before. The humans exchanged some words with old Mirek; then, calling upon his god, one of the warriors summoned a surge of holy power to cleanse the dragon’s wounds and revive him. The dragon arose, then, weakly; one of the wizards, a handsome, dark-haired man, waved his hands, opened another portal of twisting shadows, and the humans and dragon alike disappeared through it, with Mirek at their heels. None was ever seen by the pixies again.