A less-than-desirable position they had seemed to be put in. Potions, curses, X*nnic spells, they did not falter. Wounded and tired, the troops of AZDROMOTH continued. The original fight, interrupted by the dark forces of GASHADOKURO. Eventually, it was too much.
The An-Gho's form crumbling after taking cannon fire, swung around like a child's toy in the tentacles of GASHADOKURO's minion. The Heralds, tired and hurt. How long has it been? He was more wounded than he would like to admit. It was time to go.
The Heralds made their retreat with the prophet in tow. But the octopi saw through this. The cannon was grasped between its tentacles, the weight of the cannon seeming non-existent to the octopi. It wanted the An-Gho.
His revival may take a bit longer than usual, he thought. Blotches of black painted his normally red scales. He wondered if the Heralds could get out in time. He wondered if his brothers could get out in time. He looked back at their original goal, seeking to work with the dark forces to rid him and his fellow dragonkin. And finally, back to the octopi.
Vahlok rested between the cannon and wall behind him, his arms outstretched. He watched as the Heralds carried the crumbling An-Gho away to safety, leaving the rest to them. Beginning to feel the pain of his torso or lack of it, his lids began to close. Finally, he could rest, until he was called upon once more.