Hips and tail swaying slightly, the half-breed moved closer, fussily picking her way through the worst of the ice with her bare talons and dragging the bag of gold along for the ride. She could only roll her eyes a bit at Genrit's snooty attitude and offered him an exagerated and mocking bow. [color=ed1c24]"I'm so [i]honoured[/i] to be considered worthy of your presence."[/color] Many of the dragons of Pyresia still looked down on half-dragons, and the rest of the bipedal races weren't often fans either. Drache didn't like it, but she was used to the disdain and took it in stride.

[color=ed1c24]"Death, yes. I'm certain it felt that way. But yet...here you are."[/color] She grinned and crossed one leg primly over the other.

[color=ed1c24]"I wonder how long it's been, Genrit."[/color] Shortening his name without permission was a bold move. [color=ed1c24]"Perhaps you knew my sire, Sgarsiathoryx the Red? He's been dead nearly two centuries, shortly after the Death of Magic and the founding of the dragon city, Pyresia. Our kind, or rather I should say [i]your [/i]kind as you so politely pointed out, had rather a rough time when the magic of the world failed."[/color]

She was oh-so-conversational, her tone as casual and light as if discussing the weather at a fancy dinner party, though there was sinister look in her eye as she watched the white, wondering which little tidbit would shock him the most. Pulling a short length of porcupine quill out of her bag, she put her hair up in a messy bun between her horns.