#ft. blen

Flashes of verdant lightning streaked across the sky, shrouded in dark clouds rolling with thunder. Billowing plumes of ash blotted out what little of the midday sunlight broke through the cloudy sky, bathing the world below in stark hues of green and blood orange. Legion ships floated listlessly through the air some miles away, their awful drone audible even this far away as a pair of dragons rode an updraft along the coast. Xanthir led the way. With Gilneas in sight - pale and grey upon the horizon ahead - he checked for Kyiare in his peripheral vision as he banked left, angling inland on their way south as they approached their destination.

Even from so far away, his keen eyes could see the devastation the Legion had wrought across Silverpine. Great clouds of ash and green vapor curled up toward the sky from still smoking ruins. He dipped, flying lower as they headed toward the mountains north of the little town of Hearth's Reach – or rather, the smoking crater that once was Hearth's reach. Glancing around the land as they flew lower, Kyiare sped up for a moment to fly at Xanthir's side.

"You said it was around here?”

“It used to be,” Xanthir replied, his voice as soft as the noise of the wind and ships would allow.

He dove, wings angling to redirect the airflow over them, bending inward to his body as he slipped earthwards through the air, smooth as an eel. He fanned his wings again and swung his hindlegs forward as he approached a rocky outcrop at the summit of the cliffs overlooking the destroyed town. His hind feet touched down first, and he beat his wings to steady the landing; his rudder like tail sweeping up for balance.

There was ample space for the two dragons to land on the clifftop. Xanthir folded his wings and sat, peering down at the ruins of the town below as he waited for Kyiare to join him. His companion slowed down considerably by the lack of his left foreleg; something Xanthir did his best not to watch; as much as he admired Kyiare and how he handled himself with his disability, he knew any attention given to it would only make him self conscious. Instead he kept his eyes on the town below.

The meteoric landing of Infernals had caused much of the structural damage, and Fel flames fanning their way through the streets had done much of the rest. What were once functioning homes were now little more than burnt out husks, the dark wooden beams that once supported them now groaned and squeaked as they stubbornly held their shape.

“It seems our new allies found themselves in the Legion's crosshairs sooner than even I anticipated,” he stretched his neck, peering closer, “and yet I see few bodies below. Perhaps at least some, if not all, of the townsfolk made it out.”

"Any idea where they would've gone?" Kyiare asked, hopping closer to take a better look.

“They have no allegiance to the Undercity, so my sources tell me, so they will likely travel east. Judging by the state of the town, and those,” he glanced over at the nearest Legion ship, floating some miles away now, “atrocities, the attack is not long passed. With civilians, the Legion at their backs? I would not put them far out of Hillsbrad, if they have even ventured beyond it.” A low sound thrummed within Xanthir's chest; soft and sonorous. The developments troubling him deeply. Kyiare's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts after a brief, pregnant silence.

"Should we go look, or should we inform the others first?"

Xanthir responded with a short huff of air from his nose, frowning in thought for a moment.