Killdare had taken to the skies, though he was no magician, still he knew his upper hand was in the air. It had been a mess of a fight really, with no concrete victor, but so much blood so much death. He had done what he could to see to the children he had stolen from their homes but they had not wanted his protection. He supposed he could not hold that against them but he was annoyed to leave their fate in their young and feeble hands, he was annoyed period when he decided they could piss off.
The air was clearer up above, smoke dissipating into the growing darkness, breaking free from the restrictions of the wood. His home had been burnt, charred and regrown within hours, and though this pained him he also made him glad. They were strong and from fire and brimstone they were reborn again, even as the trees awoke and a few grabbed at him with their lofty branches. Some tore at him, others pummeled anything they could reach below. From the air he took to those that also met the sky with clutching wings, meeting them to grapple on high like some say true dragons would do. He did what any mortal could do to aide the magicians and when he could not he observed their own soldiers below, watching them in what might be the greatest battle of their lives. Some already shorter than most, much shorter than he thought they deserved.
Soon the air is ice and sleet, it is frigid and numbing asking him to push his limbs to their limits. He can hardly stay aloft as he looks for the source of the storm, only finding it as Set rains brick sized rocks from nothing to those ground-bound. The roan stallion with lamp-like eyes turns his head slowly to the onslaught of beasts, Zayn and Siberian both joining in the assault. Killdare can’t tell over what the male hovers or who, otherwise he might feel sorry for the man. For now he only grits his teeth as the weather wielder bends the earth beneath them, breaking the frozen landscape into black chasms. Around him the ground spits dagger like stalagmites of ice, rocketing upwards from below to pierce whatever might find itself in their dangerous path. An unfortunate horse finds itself skewered by the barb, rushing up into Killdare’s path.. poor bastard he thinks as he dodges.
Lastly the roan rushes up on a tower of ice, maneuvering himself to avoid the attack of tooth and claw. Unfortunately for him, Killdare greets him in the air, knocking the iceman from his throne and sending him in a spiral below. He falls to the ground sprawled, likely not a amiss a broken bone or two, but clearly knocked out. The howling wind and shaking ground ceasing as his eyes close.
Killdare doesn’t stop to check on the others, he simply soars over the group of Chamberlings twisting back up into the air. He is called, he is needed. He doesn’t disobey an order, landing mostly whole next to the Raven Queen, a few bruises, cuts but he wasn’t too worse for the wear. The healers had done good work, accompanied by the skill of their magicians,though he was very tired and used he did not bend or rest his stance now.
"Straia", he gruffs before looking to their company, "Lagertha." He eyes her carefully and waits.
sooo two birds one stone- Killdare assists in knocking Weir out and then joins Straia and Lag.
Weir is no longer in this fight and it is still icy and chilly but the blizzard had been ended. thank
