OoC: I suggest listening to "System of a Down - ATWA" while reading this.

BiC: Darril’s broadsword flashed through the air, trailing a crimson arc. Blood splattered across the dragoon’s shirt as he pulled his blade free from the wiggling body of a goblin. Digging the toe of his left boot into the soft, blood-soaked earth, Darril spun around, slicing the monster behind him in half. The young warrior continued the rotation, turning a full circle and raising Dragon’s Fire to block a descending axe. A scaled and clawed hand shot out to grab the shaft of the axe, Dragon’s Fire slipping under and into the axe-wielding orc.

Darril yelled in primal rage as he tore the broadsword out to the side, a fresh tide of blood flying through the air to spray both Darril and the goblinoids surrounding him. Pain lanced through the dragoon’s arm as a short sword bit into it. Another lance of pain coursed through his leg as an arrow embedded itself in his thigh. Screaming in rage and pain, Darril hacked furiously at his enemies, goblins and orcs dropping before his fury. Yet the dragoon took his own share of hits, overwhelmed by the sheer number of raiders.

Swords rang throughout the dale as the young man tried valiantly to turn back the tide of monsters. Blood soaked the air as well as the earth, blades throwing it into the air constantly. Death and battle cries echoed forever in the dale, orcs and goblins falling at every turn. Flames consumed Darril’s blade, setting his foes afire as it ran through them. The winged man fought not only with his broadsword, but with his transformed hands and feet as well, his talons claiming their fair share of lives. Flames spewed forth from the dragoon’s hands, raking the goblinoid ranks mercilessly.

Yet it was not enough, Darril knew. There were simply too many of them. Desperate, Darril dove deep down to the heart of his draconic powers, readying his trump card. His final card. Blood-red scales formed over the dragoon’s body as he began to grow. His limbs expanded exponentially, his entire form lengthening. A tail grew from his back as his legs bent and his head warped, his scale-covered face enlarging and lengthening.

The dragon that was Darril threw back his head, letting loose a roar that shook the mountains surrounding the dale. Flames devoured orcs and goblins furiously, gigantic claws crushed gnolls, and his spiked tail speared them all. Darril fought with everything he had. There was no other choice. He would fight, or he would die. Bodies flew through the air as the dragon raked them aside. He crushed countless foes under his clawed feet and snapped just as many with his razor-sharp jaws. Yes, he would fight. He would fight with everything he had to survive.

<====}=0 – 0={====>

Darril wavered dangerously as he glided through the air. Blood flowed freely from countless wounds, his arms, legs, chest, head, and back soaked with it. Too freely did the blood fall in a crimson rain, each drop leaving the dragoon overhead weaker and weaker. His vision wavered and twisted, the young warrior unable to discern what he was seeing. In the end, he had succeeded in escaping, but not without paying a heavy toll, though he did send many of his ambushers to the afterlife. But still, how could he hope to survive? He was too weak to describe, his powers exhausted. He had more wounded spots than he did unwounded. He wondered if he even had any blood left in him.

In his dazed, helpless flight, the dragoon slammed into a stone wall and crumpled to the ground in a sodden, bloody heap.

OoC: Right, so, Darril and Kai have to help defend a castle against countless hordes of goblins, orcs, gnolls, and whatever else our imaginations can come up with.