Session 22: Baator hath no Fury like...
General Summary
Her choices are gone. But we can still choose not to submit to rage and fury.
The battle against the Harbinger of Fury began amidst flame, collapse, and grief. The werewolves who joined the party in the cavern were the first to fall, two of them turned to ash by a sweeping torrent of fire breath that scorched the lava-stained ground.
Fury stood high on a jagged pedestal, wings ablaze, a figure of pure wrath. At her feet lay the broken bodies of her foes. Yet Boeshoren, The Peace General, did not raise his claws.
He spoke.
"Tell me, husband - what peace did you bring that day? When you stood over me, when you spoke the words that cut me from existence - did it feel like victory?"
"Did it feel like victory?" Boeshoren answered. "No, Ursa . It felt like choosing how to lose. But hey! We can unpack my deep, deep trauma after we deal with your raging murder-dragon form, yeah? Cool?"
Colmir, airborne on wing and broom, mounted the spectral dragon and plunged into the fray, lashing out against Fury. Shadow struck from afar. Bob, stranded on the ground, growled in frustration as the beast danced beyond his reach. Blow after blow weakened the wyvern, and for a time it seemed Boeshoren might succeed. But the Harbinger was not so easily broken.
Her flames surged anew. Her breath returned. One by one the skies were emptied, forcing Colmir and others back to the earth. Shadow stayed his distance, sniping from cover. Colmir, transformed into a giant anaconda, finally managed to wrap Fury in his coils, pinning her for a breathless moment as fire and stone raged around them.
Then she escaped.
The cavern collapsed. Rock and smoke filled the air. Boulders rained down before Solas and then behind him as he moved. Fury rose, bloodied and broken, and stared down Boeshoren.
"Then burn with me. End this. Let it be finished."
Boeshoren spread his wings.
"You want a final deal? Here it is: take my place. Take my peace. Let the anger die with me. You've burned long enough, Ursa. Let me carry it now."
But before he could move, Lucky struck. His magic filled the cavern - a spell of fear that sent Fury reeling, retreating, breaking for the edge of the battlefield. When she returned, wounded, staggering, she stood on the brink.
And Colmir had a choice.
Fury was at 9 hit points. Her breath weapon was ready. One strike would end her.
He chose not to strike. He chose peace.
Boeshoren stepped forward, spectral and resolute, and wrapped her in his wings. The rage flared, and he bore it all. Fire poured over him, through him. His light grew brighter, blinding, until his form cracked, then shattered. In that final act, the Peace General was consumed.
The Harbinger of Fury burned away.
And Ursa remained.
Mortal. Weakened. Alive. As she staggered, Lucky stepped forward and tried to drive Thornsbane into her chest. She turned weakly-just in time-and the blade missed. There was no rage in her eyes. Only surprise.
A figure emerged from the mists-tall, regal, golden-haired, robed in starlight and flowers. She looked down at Lucky with a moment of quiet distaste, but said nothing. Then she turned to Ursa and opened her arms. She only held out her arms to her daughter. Ursa turned and wept in her embrace.
And then Lucky struck again.
He lunged for her once more, blade raised. Ursa flinched, weary and confused. This time, it was the party-his friends-who grabbed his arms and held him back.
The rage in him, or something else, refused to let go.
The battle was over. But the war within had only just begun.
Next time: what lies beyond the smoke, or perhaps to look upon an Evenings Star
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