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A gust of air pushed through the dense thicket of the lower depths within the deep green. The howls of monkeys whine off in the distance. Chirping calls for mates in the early edge of spring by the rainbow themed avian life which darted the overgrown vegetation of the upper canopy. Droplets of water ever so slightly slip off the petals of a lily upon the bush, white, dusted with yellow pollen. With a sudden burst of motion the viridian bush is scattered and the lily claters to the ground underneath an unimpressive clawed foot.
The youngling gave off a mighty roar followed by an innocent chortle. His teal scales painted with white pigmented, prints which matched the size of his infant hand. Ochre eyes dart about the jungle, then fall upon a puddle within the undergrowth, his reflection coming into view. He reached down for it, snapping his tiny clawed fingers through the water mesmerized.
From behind he would feel the tough embrace of a hand scooping him up by the scruff, then depositing him around their shoulders. His hide was tough, the hatchling batted his hands against the back of what he recognized now was his father's head. He gave off a chortle as the father allowed it
Vegetation was pushed aside, the father and son moved through the brush quite easily. The hatchling's eyes wide as he took in the atmosphere of his eight story tall viewpoint of the world around him. Hadar was in bloom, the afternoon sun beamed through the canopy to light their path. They would soon break through and be greeted by the roar of waves crashing against the coast of a mighty cliffside.
Clunk, wooden polearms meet against one another. In unison like an orchestra feathered soldiers batted at each other with sticks and rocks. The training pit kicked up a plethora of sand and gravel as taloned feet danced through and charged. It was a mosh pit of organized strikes, precise and to the mark. Each however deflected which gave it the feeling of some form of synchronized dance.
The Mighty Digmaan clasped the arms of his chair decorated in humanoid skulls grinned wildly. A snake of purple eyes loomed over the right arm, stroking it as they watched the troops train. On the opposite side a smaller version of himself drew on slabs of rock with fingers dyed in red. The pigments made of wild flowers by his side, he mashed some more up to continue painting along the edge of his father's throne. An Al-Allar crouched down besides the child and pulled away the pigments much to his protest of hisses and claw scraping. Even the child, a minor even compared to the Al-Allar's size instigated a shiver down his spine - however it ceased when his eyes rose to spot the Digmaan glaring in his son's direction.
With a dismissive wave by the father he was ordered to the ring.
The skies were thick of smoke and rain came down in torrents. The shoreline washed up bodies of men and allar. A city in the distance burned, collapsed, roaring in response as the fleet took the shoreline. A flash of cannon fire thundered in unison with a chorus of lightning strikes. The Mighty Digmaan tossed over a tinman with brute strength from the upper cliffs. A flash of energy silhouetting the end as he was held high above before being brought down upon the lizard's knee. Down upon the crimson shore was a clash between landing parties and feathered warriors. Slashing, hacking, screaming. The route was in progress as Allar turned tail for the treeline.
The Mighty Digmaan caught an escaping gentle giant and finished him off - impaling him upon his claws. Hurling a plethora of howls and garbled roars of insanity, the feathered warriors turned back on the wrong foot. They came to a halt at the treeline and stamped the beach with the click of their talons. Another strike of lightning flashed and then appeared the warlord's son in line with the rest of the troops. Flash, now he was advancing. In leaping strides he bounded out forward for the Mighty Digmaan.
The two hulking stack of scales collided against one another, hands clenched in a test of strength as they pushed back and forth. Releasing and backing away before he lurched forward again the teal scaled youth slashed for the father's guts. A precise cut let the entrails escape and hang freely. Splattering blood flowed in the wind with the mass scent of death on the horizon though the Mighty Digmaan continued to press through the pain.
One step - swipe. Two steps - a punch. This continued on in a flurry of blows. Their melee took back to the cliffs. Soldiers which hadn't fully escaped the fray followed this act of rebellion in awe. The beaches had been lost and the wave of royal purple soldiers swarmed the burning city in the east.
The father reared his head back around to find the end approaching. The Mighty Digmaan flashed a grin to his son one last time. Opened his arms out amid the blows. Then was forced over the edge by true ferocity.
Their fight along the cliffs was made clear by the natural beauty of the storm looming over the Regalian won territory. What was left of the forces witnessed their leader fall. Standing now at the edge of the abyss was the son staring down upon the Cro-Allar impaled upon the rocks below. An unfading grin of a deadman - one which shall haunt him for years. He stood there motionless as rain pinged off his scales. A cheer came from behind… but he was deaf to it.
