The Obliteration of Lothbury Estate.

[Guillaume]

It began three nights ago, when the hour had grown late, and the shadows long. Evil prefers to move under the cover of darkness, isn't that what they say? What occured at Lothbury was certainly proof of that.

It began so very quietly: the zeppelin made hardly a whisper of sound in the skies, afforded cover by thin clouds and borne gently upon summer breezes. Even the first of the explosives descended in silence; not so much as an errant spark hinted at their existence.

Their impact shattered ignorance, along with masonry.

Stone crumbled, beneath the brutal force of explosives; storehouses were flattened, fields set afire. Of the many cottages which dotted the Estates' holdings, several were left as little more than ash; labourers were sent flooding into the fields, fleeing through the fire-strewn night for what safety the granite manor might offer.

Initially, this was very little at all. Even bricks will fail before thunder; given explosives enough, even stone will give way. By the second barrage, the roofs of one manor wing had collapsed; its tower was soon to follow, shuddered away from the main building in a great cascade of rubble. By then, however, it seemed that the forces of Lothbury had rallied sufficiently to mount a real defense -- or pray up a miracle from the One Faith, perhaps.

Oh, fire still lit the night sky, but so mighty a shroud of it enfolded the manor, that explosives detonated before coming within reach of its squat eaves. Heavy fire from watchtower ballistas filled the air; fire sparked harmlessly high in the sky; by the end of it, thin cheers had begun to rise from those still left to observe.


Many hours later, Lothbury barricaded its gates, and retired to lick its wounds.

[Rattrap]

Not all Goblins were accounted for, however; there was one left. Not that those in the destroyed estate had a head count to begin with; they only had two victims, when for all they knew, there were a dozen aboard. Regardless, there was one left behind...

The animals that had powered the zeppelin - indirectly, mind one, powering the propellers that actually moved the awkward ship - had plunged from the sky in stages as the ship took hits from the magically seeking fireballs. Most were blasted from the air from the same; charred, mostly, they still managed to hit the ground with sickening splats. Shortly after, the zeppelin came down, claiming two of the Goblins with it. Two others escaped.

...and a third emerged from one of those corpses, cutting its way out of the carcass out of sight of celebrating eyes. This animal had not died from the impact, or the fireball; no, this one died from a very mentally ill Goblin seeking safety in guts.

Slay emerged and darted into the shadows.

But Lothbury was prepared for such, right? At least for the Drow, they were.