The language the terrible blue dragon spoke with unceremonious directness clouded its boastfulness from the ears of many of the men below on the ramparts; the leaping sparks that danced from its even more terrible jaws were enough to mark its vendetta against the hin. They did not know of the "dialogue" the two had engaged in, although at this moment even if they did they likely would not have cared. It was only with the strong, whipping beat of scaled wings that the attacker proved to distance itself from but a stone's throw away and into the night beyond, ending the exchange on its mysterious terms.

Cowl still drawn over his head, the hunter emerged with bow at the ready as his wild heart was still well in the fight, tracking first the sound until his eyes could make out the distant shadow; the creature was gone, mayhap only for a moment, but with it so too was something else amiss. Lowering the weapon, easing the string forward, Brannor listened over the sounds of the wounded men, those few alive but forever maimed by searing lightning, for anything that sounded remotely like the orc's warcry, but found himself instead in apparent silence to that voice. 

The entire field of battle atop the wall was littered with scorched stone, air full of static charge and ice crystals, and visibly numerous with arrows and arms abandoned by the living and dead alike, all strewn about... but none [i]appeared[/i] to be the mad half-blood.

Turning on point at the sole of his traveled boot, having felt the hairs upon his neck stand on end to something his eyes could not yet see instead rather his spirit felt, Brannor witnessed the other man's return to the earth.

[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Norschtalen]