[center][h3][b][u]Aramil Nailo[/u][/b][/h3][/center]
[center][h2]Location: [i]Actium[/i][/h2][/center]

The old wizard took careful note of the dragon whelp's expression when it turned to his general direction. It appeared hopeful, then somber, and finally enraged. He was hoping to bring out her curiosity more than anything, but this also proved fruitful in his endeavors. She was alone and she had finally let the anger and loneliness consume her in a fit of rage. A childish temper tantrum. He also took note of everyone else who took action as he performed his cantrip; everyone was trying to bring down the dragon in some way. Save one, who was apparently hidden and singing. The song was laced with magic and were he some other wizard who did not endure the sickness that currently dwelled within him or the life full of death that broke him, it may have affected him. Aramil, however, would not be swayed, for his continuous pursuit of knowledge was paved in blood, some of which was his own. Knowledge and power... he was willing to die for these things.

The chaos in the square was escalating, and he very badly wanted the dragon to live. So much could be learned from her, and he much preferred her alive rather than dead. Aramil had a soft spot for children; were she full grown and at her prime, he would not care either way how he gathered information from her. As a whelp, she was just as scared and as desperate as the rest of them. He needed to act quickly to assist in the calming of the people and he would not dare cast anything more than a simple trick. His mind raced, the seconds feeling like an eternity; yet everything slowed down. Unfortunately, a manacle collided with her snout, raining blood and teeth from the impact. The dragon bellowed an infernal roar, ascending further. Embers became visible to the old man, but he knew quite well how harrowing this could be for everyone. And then, like an arrow on high, she descended with such speed and precision that Aramil began to consider a spell that could render him physically weak. It grew even worse as the young man that had caused the incident, much further down the road, had turned and launched a spell of sorts. His magic was interesting and foreign to Aramil, but the wizard did not wish focus on him.

The dragon was the key to ending this nonsense.

However, the spell launched by the youth had the strength of a powerful storm. Aramil could do little but brace himself, only to skid back and slip. He fell backward and tumbled, his physical strength drained. The wizard needed his concoction, needed his vitality. The flask was empty and he cursed under his breath. Without much more to do, he took the blood that he had coughed up into his hand and began a low chant, drawing a bloody circle of magic. When the chant reached its end, the wizard infused his energy into the tiny circle and cried in a deep, raspy baritone: 

[h2][color=000000]AHK'MANUK TEL VOR CZI![/color][/h2]

Without the aid of his blood, the spell would not have been potent; however, the spell was beyond his normal power because of the strength of his component, even if diluted by the disease and saliva. A wave of rolling green mist appeared from the circle, flecks of emerald starlight within its depth. Those who were caught in the spell would feel waves of calm, perhaps even dream-like euphoria. It was a powerful [i]Calm[/i] spell and it drained the wizard greatly, using his own blood as a conduit. The spell rolled swiftly from the circle and rose high into the air, about 20 feet if not a little more with its escaping wisps. The circle would provide the rest of the energy he no longer had to expand, and he knew quite well that it could fill the square.

The old man sighed as his sight began looking down a long tunnel. He needed to remain awake...