[IC] [Ebonfort] Give a Leg Up

[Tuddums]

Starting Date and Time: 25th day of Vermillio, 300DM

Starting Location: Cave to the South of Pyresia.

CS URL: Genrit'khaath

Genrit’s pale eyes snap open. A bloodied head sits in front of him, the same mutilated skull of the dragon he faced almost a week ago. A short jolt of pain goes through his hind leg as he remembers their encounter. He’s still limping. He grumbles and pushes his huge body up, supporting himself with three of his four legs. He’ll have to remove the flesh and brain from the head soon, otherwise it’ll just turn into a rotting mess. As much as he enjoys staring into those worthless, dead eyes. He slides it to the side and crawls out of his cave. The warm sun is bliss against his scales, though he can’t help but feel uncomfortable because of the sensation of having some of his corroded flesh exposed. Genrit stares up at the sky and wonders to himself if he’ll always feel this sensation. It would be a cruel reminder of his actions.

Breathing deeply, his head cranes down to look at his scales. He needs metal. Both as a necessity and as a pick-me-up. A deep rumble rises from his chest as his claws press heavily against the rocky ground beneath him. He turns and extends his wings, flapping them and gaining height. It’s a relief to not have to put any more pressure on his injury. His eyes shut for a moment and he allows the periods of weightlessness sink in. The heat, the quiet, and the solitude. In this moment the blood soaked behemoth is reminded of just why he feels so much pride, both for himself and his race. He can’t imagine many others having such a privilege as this. His eyes open and he glides, curving around his home a few times before sailing off towards a curve in the mountains nearby.

He lands with a loud thud, his wings smoothly folding in as he hops slightly, trying to cope with his hurt leg. There’s a large hole scratched into the harsh stone, deep gashes signalling that it was the work of a dragon. A small smile graces his lips as he remembers when he first came to this place. His parents had used it to gather metal when they were raising him. He would still harvest it for metal long into his adulthood, digging deeper and deeper underground. A thought crosses his mind, he wonders if anyone has stumbled across this mine. Though it is rather concealed, it has been 300 years. He hums in thought and goes in to investigate.

Genrit crawls inside, working his way down the shredded depths of the cave. His darkvision allows him to pass far beyond where the light from outside reaches. He soon reaches the bottom, finding where he left off the last time he was here. He extends a talon out and grinds it against a claw mark in the rock before him. He can’t help but feel like he should have grown somehow, despite being nearly full sized for a male dragon. Something about 300 years passing by in a blink of an eye is rather alienating. Even though it’s as though it was only a few days ago, he knows that the world is now much different. This cave, however… It’s like he never left.

Deciding not to dwell on this much longer, he fully reaches his claws out and begins carving his way through the stone, searching for the precious metals contained within. After a few hours he manages to dig out a large vein of silver. It’s rather stressful work, but he finds it quite soothing at times. None of the screaming of animals that one experiences in hunting, but with similarly beneficial results. Genrit’s mouth opens, the light from the warmth inside of his gullet spilling out as he sits down in front of a few chunks of rock. He lifts each of them up and swallows them whole. As they slip through his body, they are melted down into molten stone, the metal slipping through and into his system while the rock remains separate.

Once he has finished swallowing the last chunk of earth he hums deeply and turns, beginning his ascent out of the scar-ridden cave. When he finally exits he coughs uncomfortably, his leg acting up and a pressure building in his throat. He limps off to the side of the entrance where there is a pile of surprisingly smooth rock. The presence of this formation is soon explained as Genrit retches loudly, his teeth clenching in a grimace before his mouth opens wide. He regurgitates the molten rock onto the pile, it spreading out over it. It’s not pretty, but it’s more efficient and saves far more time than what a non-fire breathing dragon has to do to gain their metal naturally.

When the last few drops of rock drip from his mouth he shakes his head rapidly, shivering. That much metal should be fine for now. He will return soon though, he needs to catch up on his metal intake. He spreads his wings and takes flight once more, cruising higher than he really needs to. He gets a good view of what he still believes is his land. He can see his home and he begins his descent. He has some decorating to do. He plans on using his illusion magic to make some rocks appear as bones of various creatures and place them outside. As a dragon he will generally just eat the bones of his prey, meaning that he needs to use other means to make his home appear a bit more… Intimidating. The skull of the other dragon will be real though, however. Gruesome business.

Genrit lands in front of his home, making the ground shake slightly as he once more has to hop to compensate for his injury. His wings shiver and retract. At least he feels the strength returning to his body. Soon he’ll be feeling like his old self again. Though he’s not sure just how well his leg is going to be doing over the coming weeks. He turns his neck to look back at his injured leg and he frowns. He flexes his claws on the foot and grimaces from the pain. He sighs and shakes his head slowly, going about gathering some nearby rocks. No sense dwelling too much on something he can’t fix, especially when he still has work to do.

[Drache]

After Genrit'khaath's abrupt introduction to a certain half-breed, he had to suspect that eventually he would have a run-in with the dragons who lived in this supposed City of Wyrms. The proud white drake's tenuous territory was far outside the official borders of the Wyrmoot's lands, but not so far that Aerial Wing scouts hadn't picked up the haze of smoke rising from the ruined forest around Verilidiar's Lake.

Somewhere in between one of the many trips back and forth to his cave with the beginning's of his rock garden, something changed. The land around the entrance was rocky but not protected by much in the way of forest, so as he approached he would see that he suddenly had company. Two adult dragons loitering about the entrance. One was perched up on the highest outcrop of rock she could find, her royal blue scales gleaming like polished lapis in the bright sun. Unlike most females, her neck and tail were rather stout and the tall fin down her spine was a bit tattered, giving her a rough-and-tumble sort of appearance. The slightly misaligned lines of scales on her flanks and neck showed old wounds. And splashed neatly across the whitish membranes and bony phallanges of both wings were matching chevrons of blue paint only a few shades lighter than her hide. Underneath these were thinner vertical lines, two black on one side and one red on the other. Blue as she was, her face was nothing like the dragon who had frozen Genrit in his multi-century cell.

Lurking on the ground, closer to the entrance of Genrit's cave, a slightly smaller copper drake was inspecting the putrifying skull of the green dragoness Genrit had slain, the tentacles on his chin twitching as he sniffed at it, his tail swishing back and forth. His scales were far less damaged than the female's, and most of them were the colour of freshly-minted copper coins, though some of the larger ones had a greenish patina. He was quite fit, if a little small.

"Well it's no one I know," the copper sniffed thoughtfully, speaking Draconic, glancing up at the female and then eyeing the entrance to Genrit's cave.

"So what if it was?" the female retorted, twisting her blunt snout back and forth, keeping watch with a veteran fighter's vigilance. Even at a glance, it would be easy to tell that these two rarely skipped a meal and hadn't lacked in good metal any time recently. "If he's not in there we'll just wait. And try not to annoy me or I'll leave him a gift of your head and save myself some trouble."

The copper dragon flicked the tip of his tail, betraying the fact that the female's comment only amused him, though he dipped his head in an over-exaggerated bow. "Yes, honoured Sky Talon."

[Tuddums]

Genrit's body freezes mid action as he hears the faint sounds of Draconic outside of his cave. He's resting in one of the pools of water that remain, washing whatever blood is left off of his body. He's been in it long enough for it to start bubbling, looking rather inviting. Water drips off of his horns and onto stone as his head turns towards the direction of the exit. He can tell that there are at least two dragons outside. Either that or some other creatures that have learned his language. His body rumbles as he climbs out and begins smoothly ascending, taking care not to put too much strain on his injury as he does. He can feel the magical presence of his visitors as he ascends, confirming that they are indeed dragons

Once he finally reaches the entrance he calmly turns around a corner, his pale eyes observing the copper dragon. He's sure that they sensed him too. His chin raises slightly and his chest puffs out as he gives the dragon a curious yet mostly condescending look. It's apparent he isn't too pleased by the sudden visitation. He notices the other dragon's intrigue in the severed head and grumbles before speaking. His deep voice is accompanied by some smoke puffing out of his mouth, the glow coming from inside his throat illuminating his rows of teeth somewhat. "What do you want, little one?"

[Drache]

At the sound of talons scraping lightly against the smooth stone with each of Genrit's footsteps, the two strange dragons turned towards the shadowed darkness of the cave opening. The copper male flared his ray-like wings slightly, a defensive motion as he backed up, cautiously defensive rather than challenging, though he seemed ready for a scuffle. The blue female hefted up on all fours, her thick tail straight and still behind her, far more disciplined than her underling.

As the copper let his wings spread, a flash of blue on his own wings revealed straight bars rather than the chevrons on the female, though he had a thinner stripe of green that she didn't. It was a mark of his military training that the copper purposefully moved in an opposite direction from where the blue stood, making sure that if Genrit were to let loose with his fire breath he wouldn't be able to get them both with the same blast.

"Salutations from Pyresia, stranger," the dragoness intoned almost boredly from her position up on the rock. "Our scouts reported a forest fire on the borders of our lands started by a white Ixen three days ago." She stretched a little, digging her claws into the rock before sitting back on her haunches, completely unimpressed by the smaller white dragon's glowing maw. "I assume they were talking about you."

"We are not interested in challenging your claim to this territory, but the only records we have of an ajikistrix (the word meant roughly "wild dragon" or "rogue") living out here were of a green acid-dragoness. Apparently you are the victor over that little spat. Congratulations." Her droning tone was devoid of any kind of enthusiasm and her pale gold eyes gazed openly at Genrit's mangled-looking acid burn and his lame leg. "We want only to caution you against any kind of dispute or destruction of or over Pyresian territory. If you intend to hold territory here permanently you are invited to to Ash Peak to make your claim official."

She even yawned, revealing several broken teeth.

"It's highly recommended," the copper offered, and he looked as though he was going to add something to that but at a glance of his coin-coloured eyes in the direction of his superior, changed his mind. "At the very least, we would like to make a record of your name. I am Harrok Mojavico and this is my superior Sky Talon Vesenthicar."

They were all-together businesslike, and acted as though they expected Genrit to already be somewhat familiar with their proud city.

[Tuddums]

The air of boredom coming from the female dragon starts making Genrit feel a bit tired of this himself. He breathes slowly from his nose and his mouth shuts as he listens. His eyes transfer between the other two dragons, taking note of their marked wings. They remind him of a time when he was much younger and accidentally got blood on his wings. He was unable to find a source of water big enough for him to properly clean it so he had to just deal with it for a little over a year. He assumes that these specific markings are for identification or status in some way.

The congratulations, though half-hearted, prompt a small smirk as his eyes look down at the decapitated head next to all of them. The smirk doesn't stay for long at the mention of needing to make his claim "official" by visiting the city of dragons. So it is real. A grumble rolls up his throat in distaste but he holds his tongue as the copper dragon speaks. He wouldn't admit it, but the attitude of these two dragons is rather... Unnerving to him. To see other dragons working together in some way other than to raise a child or push out another dragon whose behavior is detrimental to both of them is new to him. The feeling is only made worse knowing that they come from an entire city of dragons who have renounced the dragon lifestyle.

Morbid curiosity begins to form as he briefly considers his response to Harrok Mojavico and Sky Talon Vesenthicar. He wonders if his heart or mind would be able to handle the sight of such a place, though he's curious as to the nature of all those who live there. His claw taps on the stone beneath him a few times before he responds. His head turns to the copper one as he speaks. He sees no point in directing his thoughts to the bored blue dragon as he assumes everything he gets will be dull in nature at best. Not to mention that he doesn't take their ranks into consideration at all. Until he sees them fight and one conquers the other, they're of the same value in his eyes. "Genrit'khaath. A pleasure to meet you, Harrok Mojavico." He briefly hesitates as he's uncertain as to how one would talk about a weird thing like a city of dragons. "This city of yours..." He pauses again and his eyes flick between the two of them as he takes a deep breath, calmly exiting the cave and into the warmth of the sun. His wet scales shine and he refocuses on the copper dragon.

"Does this city of yours truly exist? I'm still having trouble believing that dragons would stoop so low as to live together, let alone ally with Dwarves." Genrit's tone is one of genuine curiosity. His disposition towards dragons is significantly more relaxed and positive than it is towards the other races. Unless they're competing for territory, of course. Depending on how things go he might almost be friendly. Imagine that.

[Drache]

Vesenthicar seemed more than happy to let the two males converse, her large leathery ear tilted towards them while she continued her visual surveillance over the surrounding area, paying attention mostly to be sure Mojavico acted with proper decorum and didn't do anything embarassing. In spite of a nearly universal attempt of Pyresian dragons to cooperate with each other, virile adult males still had a tendency to posture and challenge each other, and the copper was no exception.

But Mojavico kept his instincts in check and lowered his wings, turning at an angle to assume a conversational posture at a respectable distance from the shiny white drake. His head tilted, the two large horns gleaming with a greenish tinge as the tentacles on his chin waggled with confusion. "The pleasure is mine, assuredly. But...you must have traveled very far indeed if you are yet unsure of the existence of Pyresia." Mojavico had met only a few wild dragons, mostly those who terrorized the borders of the Ash Peak and ended up getting themselves mobbed by an entire Cleave of vicious Harroks. "Are you from some distant land?"

"It certainly does." Mojavico gave a rueful chuckle. "And if you elect to visit you'll find that your sentiment is not exactly unique. But resorting to cooperating with each other in the interest of survival is hardly the worst thing dragons could have stooped to after the Death of Magic. I can't tell if you're old enough to remember, but some of the eldest wyrms claim there were mere dozens of us left. Now we are thousands. Dwarves built a city for us, other fleshlings bring as food and gold. And in return we do what we would be doing anyways. Flying, hunting, fighting, breeding..." he gave Genrit a wink, "...we're just a bit more selective about our enemies." Mojavico shrugged his wings. He'd been born in Pyresia so it seemed normal to him. "Perhaps now that magic has returned more dragons will depart and carve up the wilds into territories to squabble over like so many angry crows, but I hope not. If you like nothing else about it, the volcano is truly beautiful, and flying along the coast is as easy as dreaming."

Unlike Vesenthicar, Mojavico was a bit of a romantic.

"And we have Healers, so that you don't have to live lamed the rest of your life."

[Tuddums]

A smirk graces Genrit's lips at the thought of him being from a distant land. He truly is a curious specimen at this rate. How many other dragons or even other creatures out there have been frozen for as long as he has? He'll leave that fact on the side for now, figuring it to be too distracting while he's trying to learn about Pyresia. His smirk fades when the copper dragon mentions the dwindled population of dragons and his body shifts in place, moving to a sitting position as he considers this. Genrit briefly entertains the thought of whether or not he would have survived the death of magic if he had been free to roam during that time. If it really was as dangerous as it sounds, maybe him being frozen was more a blessing than a curse. That's not to say he's grateful for the act at all. He's still as furious about it as ever.

His smooth line of thought comes to a screeching halt when he's informed that there are thousands of dragons living in Pyresia. His body stills and he stares blankly at Harrok, practically looking through him. His breathing slows, becoming uneven. Thousands of dragons living together? He hardly believes that he's sitting and having a conversation with two other dragons for reasons other than challenging territories. Thousands... How would...? But...? Genrit doesn't even hear the rest as he stares through him, his head starting to pound. He's not sure if he should feel outrage or confusion, though right now he's leaning more towards confusion. His head tilts down as he starts to look at the floor, fresh smoke spilling out from the corners of his mouth. He genuinely tries to envision a group of dragons living together, but it makes no real sense to him. It's not that he's going out of his way to force the idea out of his head, he just can't imagine living so close to other dragons. He would feel trapped.

He blinks a few times when the healers are mentioned. He's brought out of his momentary daze and he looks back up. His head curves back to look at his injured leg and a deep grumble resonates from his throat. He doesn't particularly relish being crippled on account of a rash move. Especially one done to kill such a nauseating specimen. He sighs, a plume of smoke escaping as he does so. Genrit returns his attention to the dragons in front of him and he speaks. His words are slow, chosen very carefully.

"I would like to start by saying that the thought of thousands of dragons living together disgusts me. Even more-so with other species." One of his claws scratches against the earth beneath him idly. "This news comes as such a shock to me not because I come from a distant land. In the cave we are standing besides I was attacked and frozen for three hundred years. This caused me to miss the death of magic and awaken upon its return. I come from a time when dragons would live in isolation, only meeting to breed and raise a child. So I'm sure you will be able to understand my distaste towards how our race has changed." He stops scratching the ground and his tone changes, becoming more firm. "However. I am wounded, I cannot deny this. I understand that if I am not treated I will have a limp until the day I die. If you are presenting me with an opportunity to avoid this fate I would be inclined to visit this city, regardless of my feelings towards it." His gaze turns distasteful for a brief moment, but quickly returns to a more neutral one. "I have nothing to offer in return, however."

He finishes, uncertain if he said what he wanted to correctly. He has never had to speak this much all at once, never having had a conversation that required it. He really just wants to get across that he hates what dragons have become, but he is willing to accept help from them. Because at the end of the day, they are still dragons. And he has enough respect for them to at least co-operate. Besides, there's a morbid curiosity surrounding Pyresia. He's also curious as to whether the dragons will eventually choose to separate once more now that magic has returned. Hmmm...

[Drache]

At the dark belch of smoke from the corners of Genrit's mouth, both of the other two dragons shifted warily, their tails coiling across the ground to make their tough scales hiss across the worn stone that surrounded Genrit's cave. No matter how civilized their city might have become, they were still dragons, and Harroks were always itching for a fight, even Mojavico. But as the white drake turned to glance down at his painful leg, Mojavico and Vesenthicar exchanged a smirk. The copper's expression became a shrewd stare when Genrit started off his story with an insult, his spinal frill rattling slightly and his teeth bared. But he relaxed as the explanation wore on, and ended up gazing thoughtfully at the larger drake, his metallic tail tapping a bit where it had curled around his talons and claws. He glanced up at Vesenthicar, who shrugged her wings.

"An interesting tale, certainly. Almost unbelievable, actually, if not for your apparent ignorance." Mojavico chuckled dryly. "Whether or not you appreciate what we've managed to accomplish matters very little to me. It's not my responsibility to convince you, though if you choose to accompany us then it will be my duty to make sure you abide by our laws. Chiefly among them include not eating everything in sight, challenging every drake you see, or sitting on anyone. I recommend you at least come meet with a Signatory at the Hall of Records to put your name down for your territory."

Vesenthicar drawled rudely from her high perch, turning her head so that the sun gleamed off the curve of a broken horn. "Might even be something in it for you, and I don't mean just getting yourself fixed up. Though, I'm not sure Myriatheos'Anthana would take you if you don't have gold to pay. Can tell by looking at your scales that you're not well off."

Mojavico shut his nostrils at the rude comment, rolling his eyes so that only Genrit could see. Dragons rolled their eyes just like any other person, but something about Mojavico suggested he had picked up mannerisms from fleshlings as well. "If he doesn't set fire to half the city when he sees it, I'm sure she will be happy to see him, Sky Talon."

Vesenthicar heaved to her thick talons and let her short but powerful wings fall open. "We'll see. But that concludes our little audience here. Now that this one's been informed, we can kill him if he causes trouble." With a couple brief flaps as she leaped skyward, the Sky Talon departed, circling back to wait for Mojavico.

As soon as his leader moved to leave, Harrock Mojavico stood to follow suit, his ray-like wings glimmering with mixed copper and green. Under the wings he even had some faint striping down his sides. "It was a pleasure to meet you Genrit'Khaath. I'm glad to know that there are still dragons living in the wild, even if I have no intentions of joining them."

He backed up to give himself some room, his neck curling to watch Genrit even as he sprang into the sky, giving the white drake a chance to join them as he and his superior turned northwards.

[Tuddums]

Genrit anticipated that his story would probably not have been believed, though Mojavico has offered to believe it. Even if it was done so in the manner it was. What he hears from them strikes him as odd. Their attitudes hint that they expect their words to carry certain weight that he doesn't fully understand. By no means is he stupid, he understands that Vesenthicar is looking down on him and that Mojavico is rather snide. But he sees no point in this, these mannerisms like the eye rolling from Mojavico are... Not like a dragon. They remind him of the other races. This is the product of dragons when exposed to a more social society. He frowns slightly as he turns his attention to Vesenthicar. The way she looks down on him causes him no real distress, though he does wonder how she would have been if she had been raised wild. Would she still be this creature of such status? Or would she be the decapitated head besides him?

Hm, does she still see her parents?

He blinks a few times as he returns from his thoughts and looks at Mojavico. As the copper dragon says his farewell and takes off, Genrit takes a moment to observe his surroundings. His instincts tell him to stay, to ensure that his home remains protected. But he attempts to rationalize. He managed to stay frozen for three hundred years without being disturbed. He also lacks any form of wealth. The most valuable thing he owns is this now rotting head. Not much of a hoard. Maybe he could follow them to Pyresia. If just to get his leg fixed. His head tilts to look at the two dragons, taking note of the markings on their wings. He entertains the thought as to whether or not they're even dragons anymore. They possess the body, but they do not have the mind.

A shame, really.

Genrit's wings expand and flap powerfully, causing the head next to him to skid along the ground a few meters from the force. His huge body is lifted off of the ground and he goes to follow the two visitors. He has made up his mind. He'll follow them in order to satisfy his curiosity. He has many questions and they will be better answered with a brief visit to Pyresia instead of his chance encounters with tiny half-breeds and dragons with inflated egos that follow humanoid standards. He manages to catch up to them and begins to glide alongside them. He deeply breathes the warm air in as he feels the air slip between his horns. He can't help but keep his head tilted ever so slightly to the left, monitoring Mojavico as he flies near him. The only times he has flown alongside a dragon has been in combat. But to just... Fly with two other dragons...

Genrit's whole life is becoming almost surreal.

[Drache]

The flight to Pyresia took five days, the land passing beneath the dragons in a patchwork of colours and textures. The deciduous woodland close to Genrit's cave faded into the westernmost reaches of the massive prairies of the Kerawac. The land grew rocky as the faint suggestion of the sea to the west draw closer until it was a constant blue smudge beside them. The wind became wet, warm, and briny, and a lush carpet of jungle greenery clung to the mountains rising underneath them.

A dark shape of the Ash Peak started off as a dark shadow and grew by the hour. Even as the craggy jungle-infested mountains climbed higher and higher until the dragons were nearly threading their way through them rather than watching them pass by below, the volcanic cone towered over them, haloed by smoke and clouds. It was stunningly huge, even in comparison to dragons, and the shaped stone balconies curving out from its more vertical slopes were perhaps not as crowded as a wild dragon might fear.

The city itself seemed to tumble artistically down the slopes, colourful by way of both crafted structures and the presence of exposed seams of geodes and rivers of molten rock. Several styles of ships clustered in the deep harbour that was parly protected by a narrow cliff. There were many wide staircases and broad boulevards sized to the foot-steps of dragons, with hominid-sized roads and buildings lining them.

The closer they got to the city, the more dragons they say. At first they seemed to be other patrols with marked wings like Mojavico and his superior. But once their keen eyes could pick out the main of the city, other dragons appeared, eyeing the large white drake with varying degrees of interest as they went about their business. Some of them seemed to be flying just for the pure joy if it, using both the ocean breeze and the rising heat from the volcano to make it all nearly effortless.

Mojavico pointed out various landmarks to Genrit as they flew, the males slightly behind Vesenthicar as their path took them upwards towards the summit. So high that clouds rolled between them and the ground and still the peak was above.

The pair brought Genrit to a large cave opening in the western face of the mountain. It was obviously a natural ingress, but had been further fashioned by the dwarves to improve its appearance and preserve it. The floor inside gleamed with flat marble tile, though the scraping of many dragon-claws had dulled it some. Two much larger dragons framed the entrance, watching their progress with shrewd gazes. One was a coppery red with smokey black wing membranes and the other was a gold so pale she was nearly yellow.

Neither Vesenthicar nor Mojavico spoke to them as they led Genrit inside, sandwiching the white in the middle of their trio as they moved into the Ash Peak.