The Burning of Fallowfen

The dragon soared overhead, a myriad of movements sent it rippling like a mirage up beyond the vault of heaven, its burgundy scales casting a sharp contrast to the pale blue sky. As it twisted to and fro its resplendent glory was displayed to the already sweating soldiers.

A great roar caused some to involuntarily urinate and then this immense burst of fire plumed just above the clouds.

From where there was but one dragon in the sky, the numerous cries of its fellow kin filled the air, almost as if they were heeding its call in some sort of fashion.

The soldiers lining the walls of the Fallowfen Bastion readied their bows, preparing their arrows so that when the monsters descended, their wings would be riddled with holes.

A solitary arrow was fired, the action of a young lad who had let the stress of the whole situation set into his nerves.

The arrow soared through the air upwards towards the dragon, but just when it appeared as if it may actually hit, the impact of the natural forces started tugging it downwards into the cold embrace of the earth where it nestled itself deep into a furrow.

The farms were scarce, nary a soul outside the walls stirred, either they had long since evacuated, or if they couldn't, were cowering deep within their cellars.

The fires of the dragonkin razed the earth, their great monstrous bodies swooping down before merely breathing to leave behind the stark visage of what was once thriving farmland, but was now a hollow echo, burning up in the flames.

With a great bellow, "Ready your bows!" a pause, "Nock!" The archers then drew arrows from their quivers and placed them on the string.

The commander barked, "Mark!" and the direction of the bows shifted, albeit it slightly, each archer picking out a target among the tremulous mass.

"Draw!" The simultaneous sound of the bowstrings being pulled back rippled through the air, the strips of sinew being pulled taut, practically brimming with force. The archer's fingers plucked the string, steadily breathing in and out, their hair standing on edge.

"Loose!" their commander yelled, and just like that, the sky was filled with the feathers of death with such a quantity that the sun's rays themselves began to get blotted out.

They soared and pierced through the air, rising up to meet their swooping targets.

Under such heavy fire, there was nowhere to run, no way to avoid the oncoming mass that promised only death, so the dragons could do nothing but bear the brunt of the blow.

With low thuds and thunks, the arrows pierced deep into the vulnerable wings of the dragons, causing them to let out piercing cries of anger before their great bodies plummeted to the Earth, where they too met the cold embrace in the furrows.

When the wind skewed the archer's aims or if the dragons simply twisted to avoid so of the shots, some of the lucky ones managed to get out of the first volley unscathed.

However, for the vast majority, they bore a couple of marks of battle. Little marks on their tough scales from where the arrows hadn't managed to pierce through, simply impacting and failing to.

Simply put, the arrow failed to lodge itself in the wings, then it was a moot point of it getting fired.

If the arrow landed anywhere else, then it would simply bounce off; unless the dragon was hit in the eye. Few beings can survive a solid hit in the eye, but unfortunately, such a feat is nigh impossible.

And even still, one would have to time it or pray to the gods above that the timing would be most opportune that the dragon didn't simply blink at the moment so that the scaled eyelid would prevent the certain death.

But that point is moot, for the while the arrows did manage to take out a couple of dragons, something that was always celebrated, it barely placed a dent in the opposing forces.

The distance was rapidly shrinking between the two parties, and the great beating sound of the numerous wings was getting closer and closer to the city wall.

Opting to abandon all sense of decorum, they loosened their arrows at will, discarding morale tactics and simply going for the kill.

One by one these great beasts were plucked from the sky, but nevertheless, they still kept on relentlessly pushing forwards through the endless onslaught of steel.

The first dragon that made its way through the wave of death managed to seize a soldier in its jaws, ruthlessly grabbing it with its sharp claws before completely mangling it.

The infantry ran forward in a hurried panic, trying to push the dragons off the walls before they could cause too much damage.

However, their response was too late, and the dragons had managed to reach the archers before completely decimating them with their outright brutality.

Limbs flew across, separated from the body they were just bound to. Heads rolled, and an endless amount of screams pierced the air.

From time to time, dragons would stand above the fallen bodies of the brave and shout their triumphant cries to the heavens.

All in the meanwhile, countless dragons swooped down and breathed the great Dragonfire, setting the palisades ablaze. All around was the smell of ash and choking smoke. Charred flesh mingled with the air to form this putrid, repulsive scent.

But nevertheless, more and more soldiers continued to charge forwards, all the while the civilians attempted to evacuate the city, only to be picked off in their slow, rolling caravans by dragons who had caught the movement on the other side of the city.

All around the Bastion, dragons filled the skies, spreading naught but death and destruction as devastation rained.

The crimson embers of towers fell, and a hellish landscape was birthed. Babies cried, reaching out for their mothers that lay bleeding on the paved stone crushed only a couple feet away from them.

Desperation festered, sorrow thrived. At the moment, with nary the slightest bit of hope, rather than having themselves perish to the great dragons, many opted to take their own lives; leaping into the hungry, all-consuming flames.