The days leading up to the queen's rescue were, for Drosil at least, a blur of training and silence. He kept to himself the entire way, but one could feel an intense feeling of anger radiating off of him the entire way, as if he could barely contain his fury. Now this might leave most confused, as while they akk knew the Queen, he numbered among those where meetings were rather sparse. The reason for this anger was simple: He needed to vent.
A lot of things had happened to him in the past month and while he acted fine afterwards, in truth, he was feeling run ragged emotionally and physically by these events, which had only scaled up as the journey went on, culminating in his death at the hands of his phoenix and the subsequent revival. It was a jarring experience made even worse by the hallucination(or vision) that had come afterwards. So when, after everything that happened, he found out that the Mad King had captured the Queen. . . something inside of his mind snapped. Every emotion he felt in his current muddle state shifted into an intense and focused fury. It was just easy, so much easier than trying to thing of what he'd been through. Now, he just had to worry about which pose he'd have Gartian take before he made him into a human icicle.
The day before the Queen's execution would find Drosil spend the entire day in what appeared to be silent meditation amongst a myriad of magic circles drawn in the dirt. In actuality, he was conversing with the spirits of the land. It was an old spell of protection he discovered in some old ruins, but had never used due to him fearing that he'd lack the control to hold them in the midst of battle, Now the thought didn't even enter his mind, not because of the rod, but because in his current state it wasn't even worthy of attention. He had never been more focused on anything else in his life, save for his Grand Ambition. As he formed his pact with the spirits of H'kela's land, one could see that his form would seem to shimmer and shine out of the corner of their eyes, with those in-tune with magic noticing that the shine was coming off a clinging mass of silvery energy that pulsated and breathed as if it were alive. This would be his armor in the heat of battle, and it would be highly unlikely for any normal blade to be able to break through it, though in truth, mortal men were the least of Drosil's worries.
Before I can get to Gartian, I'll probably have to get around her, since I doubt she's done using the mad man as he figurehead yet. Drosil wondered what the Advisor would do when the Prince and his party stormed the Temple, for he doubted that she wouldn't be present for such a matter. He also wondered how he would get around her as well, for she was someone who was far above him in terms of both power and skill, the attack on the palace that had forced them to flee had more than proven that fact. As the day shifted to night and sleep began to tug on his mind, Drosil simply decided that he'd focus on assisting the others in getting the Queen to safety and take any chance he might have at ending Gartian's pathetic life right then and there.
The day of the execution, while the others seemed ready to charge headlong into the fight from their respective positions, Drosil held back, his eyes glowing harshly from the shadows of his cloak as he muttered arcane incantations, his hushed tones in contrasts to the frenzied screams of the many civilians trying to get away from the ensuing carnage. As his chant came to an end, however, he would make his presence known in a very big way to those locked in combat with his fellows. From around his feet would race forth a number of lines of fire, rushing in zigzaging lines around most of the combatants before they quickly formed in a circle around one poor soul in the center of the enemy formation. With a might
Fwoosh the man would be encased in a pillar of flames, his screams of pain and agony as the metal from his armor began to melt into his sizzling flesh being mercifully short, but unnerving, to his fellows.
However, the man would not be alone in his pain, as the flames that had killed him soon took the form of a rather large snake, it's eyes violet pits of malice and rage as it looked down upon them all, before soon condensing it's form into one closer to that of a Python, wrapping itself around the neck of one solider. Seconds later, the man would fall to the ground, all that was left of his neck being his charred spine, which would soon break under the weight of his head. And thus would be the trend as the fire elemental began to slip and slide through the battlefield, killing a soldier every now and then, but mainly focusing on harassing and disabling by coiling around legs, arms, and the like. It's somewhat small stature and surprising speed also made it quite difficult to hit with a blade as well, as it was quick to evade most attacks that managed to be turned it's way.
While this was going on, Drosil would be quick to enter the battle alongside Stark as she went on her rampage. One soldier, upon seeing him approach, attempted to cut him down before he could utter a word. However, Drosil was able to catch the blade with his palm, the silvery energy of the spirit's flashing into view at the point of impact as he quickly gripped it, holding the man in place as he suddenly step forward, slamming his other palm into the man's chest. From the other side of the man would come a quick burst of white and blue flames as it tore through his chest cavity, killing him instantly. The soldier would drop lifeless to the floor, and Drosil would stand over him, his other hand now covered in a large malestrom of Icenfire shaped into a blade-like form. Walking forward, he would quickly begin to slice and slash at the unarmored figures that Stark had left for them to attack, making short work of each of them as he began to push with the others through the mass of soldiers, all of them trying their hardest to get to the Queen before anything could happen to her.
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