"You're sure you want to keep on with the axe?" Efrideet asked, reloading her rifle. The voice in her comms was barely winded, even as the Iron Lord leapt to avoid a plume of white-hot fire.

"That's why she gave it to me, I'm one of the only…" A globule of flame licked past Efrideet's helmet, and she tugged at her clasp, shrugging free the now-burning cloak. "Why in the Traveler's crack did you wish to fight an actual DRAGON, old man?"

Saladin Forge grinned inside his helmet. The enormous wyrm towered above them, bleeding wounds covering its gleaming scales as it reared up for another breath. The massive axe in his hands was dented, scarred, and melted at the tip. But it still held an edge. "We are knights, Lady Efrideet. Do you not want to be a dragon slayer?"

He charged, and his words could barely be heard over the creature's cry. "We are what we survive!"