Much as Ellisaria dislikes the intimation of weakness, she dislikes being impaled on a mountainside even more. Her human form is simply more subtle, and thus better suited to evading the gronn.
Unfortunately, it is also conveniently sized to be eaten in one gulp by the mirror-faced snake (what) that comes out of literally nowhere.
At least she is alive to be indignant, even if she's no longer in Outland.
The hallways, fortunately, continue to be large enough to accommodate Brisingr's bulk. The lights of the main level quickly fade, until they're moving in a darkness only relieved by the glow of Brisingr's eyes.
Orcs scout them a few times, when they pass through larger caverns and sight lines are wide. None dare acost a dragon.
And then -
Their enemy comes up to meet them, planting himself in a narrower corridor Brisingr will have trouble maneuvering in. The air down here is spoiled and hard to breathe, a situation not helped by the flames and choking fumes roiling off the creature.
He stands over twice the height of a tall man, humanoid, skin made of char and ash and flame, fumes billowing like wings behind him, a fiery whip in one hand, a sword of shadow in the other.
"Who dares enter my domain?" he rumbles.
It looks almost like a dreadlord, though void-corrupted rather than fel.
"I am Ellisaria of the Black Dragonflight. I have come to restore this earth."
"Then I suppose I will have to prove you wrong."
She directs a jet of flame tinged with void at the creature's face, more as a cover for the fissure she opens beneath its feet than because she expects it to hurt the thing.
It ignores the flame, rushing her and lashing out with its whip - and avoiding the fissure rather neatly.
She blocks the whip with a forearm, allowing it wrap around then grabbing it and yanking.
It's getting very, very hard to see, a low thrumming noise stealing all light and sound and sensation from the world as the smoke billows out, worms its way into her lungs -
The whip doesn't behave like it should, slashing for her face - though the creature also allows himself to be pulled forward, adding on to its rapid advance. Still, he keeps his whip in hand, bringing his sword up as the whip is tugged aside.
She is a dragon yet, and the fire within will burn out impurities. Still. She begins humming a counter-song, asserting her personal reality, grounded as it is in the very fabric of the world.
The shadow-sword meets a shield of void formed in her other hand, either to block it or absorb it or merge the two depending on how the interaction goes. It will then be useless as a weapon, in any case. Meanwhile, she pushes on the rock walls, closing off the path behind the creature while increasing the room she and Brisingr have to maneuver.
Brisingr seems to be focused almost entirely on counter-song right now, singing of clear winds and blue skies and knowing all around you -
She also seems better able to track the creature, even with her senses closing off, head darting forward to snap at him when his song overpowers hers and Ellisaria's combined. That disrupts him enough that the billowing darkness recedes a little - before closing back in again.
The sword slams into her shield with a force like a meteor, explosive, releasing a shock wave that would pulverize a human. The sword seems unaffected, and the whip recoils back away from Ellisaria, before snapping at her legs.
The shockwave staggers her, which she turns into a backward dodge.
Fragments of stone rise up to hurl at the creature, and spikes to pin it from behind, below, and above.
He ignores the stones, and any that successfully touch him melt over his skin, forming a new coat almost like armor.
He continues advancing, swinging his sword again, the oppressive thrum of his song pushing against Brisingr's, whispering despair and fear in addition to the shadows stealing all sensation from the world.
Whispers make her angry.
The rocky covering hardens much faster and stiffer than it should, actively resisting movement.
It continues melting, becoming a far more fluid liquid than rock ever should. (She can feel his will, resisting hers. He's old and calculating and stubborn, and he's known this stone longer than she's been alive.)
He feeds her anger - he's stealing from her, isn't he? Befouling what she would protect - overwhelming rage is the only appropriate response.
His sword tip breaks the sound barrier on his next swing, the tremendous boom barely muffled by the shadows curling around her. The rock shakes.
He keeps advancing.
She is a black dragon, and the earth responds to her will before any other. And now she has enough space to take her dragon form.
The sword bites into her scales, but does not taste flesh. Her breath is destruction, and rock catches fire. She swipes at the creature, a single paw its equal in size. Elementals of fire and stone arise at her call to join the fight, bound to her will and mana and rage, closed systems that only she directs.
His dark song crescendos. He's not where she thinks, her swipe missing, and her senses muddle, her connection to everything she could feel or touch cut off in a flash.
The surfaces of the tunnels within half a mile erupt into razor spikes the instant the effect wears off.
He's already past that, moving quickly down a long shaft towards the strange tunnels far below.
The elementals pour after it in a flood as she reaches to seal off the route.
He slams through to the highest of the deep tunnels, which catches at her command oddly resistant - but ultimately obedient. Still, he's moving fast, and the pathways here are many.
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