Terradon Riders wheel far above the warhost on shrieking, leather-winged hunters first tamed above jungle canopies older than most gods. They are the eyes of the constellation — scouts, messengers, and heralds — and the skink crews aloft see the battlefield the way the slann see it in dreams: whole, patterned, and full of soft places.
When the moment comes, the terradons dive. Each clutches a boulder of sun-blessed meteoric rock in its talons, released with chattering skink precision onto columns, war engines, and the heads of especially deserving generals. The Seraphon do not consider this crude. The Old Ones built the heavens, and it is only fitting that pieces of them fall on schedule.
Order of battle
