Startled generals bit back curses at the lean, masked man, stepping aside as he knocked over the meticulously arranged miniatures that represented Mordrake's standing forces. His arrival was completely unanticipated by the brigade commanders assembled, but the half dragon wasn't surprised. He leaned back in his war-throne, a hand on the butt of his axe. Black hair spilled around his shoulders, and his ember eyes seemed to glint in anticipation. "So you have arrived," Mordrake said imperiously, rising from his throne, leaving the axe embedded in the ground.<br/><br/>"Or so it appears," the man responds, tucking his robes aside. The smile ever-present on his face showed flawless white teeth. The half-dragon let none of his annoyance seep through his serene visage as he stepped slowly towards the table, armor clinking with every step. A hill rat scurried away as his boot crashed down with finality, setting a small cloud of dust loose.<br/><br/>"At least now I know for sure you may be negotiated with reliably," The half dragon said, placing a hand on the map. "Stand down." He uttered through a smile. Slowly with a metallic rustle, the Drakengard that surrounded the mysterious new arrival withdrew their weapons, sheathing swords and returning polearms to standing positions, taking cautious steps backward into their corners of the circular tent. Mordrake paid close attention to the intricate detail of the cloth map, so much as to bend over and study how the ink blots moved around the battlements of Razorplain's walls.<br/><br/>"Of course, but there will be consequences if you do not uphold your end of the bargain." The man said, standing his ground without so much as a flicker of movement. Clearly he was confident of his safety, threatening Mordrake in such a way. Subtle, but threatening nonetheless. "Of what do you speak? As far as we both know I have already given you what you needed. Let no one say that I do not have the dragonic honor of upholding my promises." Mordrake returns to a stand, done surveying the map.<br/><br/>"I mean, my personal safety and freedom must not be compromised for me to work." The man remained unmoving, with the hood remaining over his masked upper face. "Ah, but that is something we have yet to have arranged." Mordrake turns to his right and gestured to a lieutenant, who walked forward and rolled the large map up with swift, practiced, deft motions, before sliding it into a tube at his waist. Then Mordrake nodded at the leader of the Drakengard to his left, who had been noticeably silent but observant throughout the entire exchange. At the Drakengard general's cue, the large tent was vacated.<br/><br/>"Now that we are alone, the arrangements..." Mordrake turned and took several steps, right next to his axe. The Puppeteer's smile faded as he noticed that fleeting detail. "May begin."<br/><br/>The tent exploded in a ball of flame, and its wooden supports ashed and turned to nothing. Burning cloth collapsed all around the Puppeteer as he reformed a few feet away from his current position, coughing out a gobbet of blood. A white hand rose to his lips, collecting a few stray drops of blood. "Spell pressure?!" he said, seemingly flat footed. "I wished our dealings may have ended on more amicable terms, but..." He looked around and noticed a slowly tightening ring of nine mages clothed in black robes bearing Pyreclaw's insignia, their hands weaving patterns in the air, deterring his attempts to manifest his magics.<br/><br/>Mordrake turned in his majestic dragon form, fanning his wings out like a peacock blooming its tail. He hefted his axe, and said smugly:<span style="font-style: italic">"I have observed the nature of your sorceries and, as you can see, prepared appropriately. You will not escape me so easily this time."</span>The Puppeteer returned to full standing height. "I will do what I must for my end of the bargain. That includes hurting you." Mordrake smiled.<span style="font-style: italic">"I accept your challenge."</span>With that, Mordrake hefted his axe and charged towards the thin man.<br/><br/>With a swift motion that should not have been possible of a man that had just regurgitated blood, the man withdrew a phial of clear brown liquid from his sleeve and turned. With a fluid motion, he fanned the vial and spilled the liquid six meters onto the two mages there. Upon contact with flesh, seeping through robes or splattering onto faces, the liquid evaporated, and from the contact points mushroom and other fungi sprouted, giving them agonizing deaths. As they collapsed, the Puppeteer turned to face the now up-close Mordrake, and he brought his axe down in a brutal overhead swing.<br/><br/>Upon contact with the axe, the Puppeteer reformed two feet away, avoiding harm but coughing blood again, doubling over, noticing two dead mages out of the nine man circle wasn't nearly enough. As he returned to a standing position Mordrake swung a backhanded swing aimed at his chest. If not for his magics, he would've been dead thrice over, as he once again turned into a cloud of blackness before reforming three feet to the left from his last position. The dragonborn roared, turning to finish him.<br/><br/>With a deft swiftness the Puppeteer withdrew a pair of vials like the first from his sleeve, repeating the motion with the clear brown vial previously with another one of its kind. Two more mages screamed and fell dead, their bodies new homes to carrion plantlife. Then he hurled a new vial of glowing bright blue liquid at Mordrake. With reflexes born of draconic instinct, Mordrake checked his advance at the last second, and it fell short of his feet, shattering and solidifying immediately into crystal. Obviously, the man hadn't the strength to hurl it directly at his opponent, but it was enough of a delay.<br/><br/>With a windy<span style="font-style: italic">whoosh</span>, the Puppeteer disappeared in a cloud of black mist as Mordrake's final blow cleft through the air that used to be where his neck was.