[@J Silversmith] True growled lowly, bristling and hunching his shoulders. He flinched away from the man's metal rod and did his best to look dark and dangerous. He flashed his sharp white teeth in a sneer and stepped back up onto his perch, where he was at a taller vantage point than the man and able to take off should the man try to grab him.

He spoke in a low voice and spread his two finger-like claws as he gripped his branch to make sure the man knew exactly how sharp they were. "You come in here and speak of hunters to the hunted? You assume I would sell quicksilver to you so you can hunt more of us down? To answer your question, yes we do grow much larger than I am; I think you'll find that a full-grown wyvern would have no qualms in crushing your head with the weight of its tail so I think you should think carefully about what you babble on about next..." he kept his dark eyes firmly on the man. True was a dwarf-wyvern. He would never grow to anything but a third of the size of a common wyvern - he was a runt and had been pushed out of the nest as a babe for it. Unlike most runts, however, True had managed to survive and find company that had helped him do so. His ability to speak and quality of life rested solely on the kindness of the warlock he now served under, but it didn't make him any less bitter and cold towards anything bigger than him. "I'll sell you quicksilver to kill your fellow hunters.. but not to kill any so-called "vermin"."