Torn corpses littered the blooded streets of the town, everywhere the bodies of defenders both human and centaur lay mangled and dismembered. Hefting off the ground was easily as a on might lift and infant, Snarnorgul held aloof a human warrior in his larger fighting arms. Neck tightly held between to mighty pincers the man strangled feebly. Snarnorgul chewed on the upper body of another warrior, great fangs tearing past flesh and armor. He snapped down on the prey within his great maw, sundering the corpse in two--causing it's lower half to fall to the ground. Snarnorgul with a help of a detachment off elves had all but cleared out this side of the town, all but routing the handful of defenders. Snarnorgul was elated indeed, too rarely did he manage to enjoy such a feast of mayhem and bloodshed. 

The screams of fear, the howl of war cries, the crushing of bone under hoof, oh! And the smell of blood did delight him so. He was truly at home now, but best of all there was still more killing to be done before the entire town finally submitted! In the midst of his blissful delight in his rain of destruction and death, Snarnorgul suddenly felt something change. A feeling in the pit of his gut he could not explain. After raking his mind for the cause of the shift, it suddenly came to him. With an angry guttural roar he flinched the powerful sinews of his pincers, beheading the man instantly. As the body dropped to the ground Snarnorgul was on the move, charging down a street roughly 20 feet wide. A few pillars of stone had sprouted about the area, rain water slowly sliding down the obsidian structures. Snarnorgul quickly recognized them as Adinraen's handiwork. 

The change in the wind soon brought a new but slightly familiar scent to Snarnorgul's sensitive noes. With growl he stalked in that direction the earth shaking with each step, inevitably bringing closer to the half dragon and it's unlikely companion.