[location]imperial_longDecember 6 2011, 02:11:04 UTC
The dragon stirs. There is a whiff of blood on the wind. Blood, and fur.
The massive head lifts, with his great golden eyes shining like lamps above the treeline as he scans for movement.
"Good afternoon," the dragon rumbles at the small (well, small to him) figure that is slipping through the trees with what he supposes some might consider stealth.
Not unexpectedly - in fact, one as great as the dragon might find it quite predictable - the wolf stops in his tracks to gaze up at the sky, finding himself seeing no such thing.
Instead, luminous orbs in a sea of black nothing at all like the night sky. "Ancient one!" He calls out, folding himself over for a proper bow. Then, puffing himself up so as not to show his second-guessings, and continues on his path literal and metaphorical.
"I come seeking tales of old, and who better to lend them than one such as yourself?"
[location]imperial_longDecember 12 2011, 12:01:51 UTC
Oolong is ... rather pleased at this flattery, all things considered. It's not every day they show him proper respect for his venerable years.
The dragon lowers his head back to the earth, rotating as he goes, until the massive horned head is lying upside down before the wolf-man. Placing their eyes, conveniently, at eye level. Or something like it.
Oolong laces his clawed hands over his scaled belly, a thoughtful rumble percolating in the yards of throat.
"Well. Yes. Yes, that is true," the dragon admits, a touch of smug pride to his tone. "And on what subject do you require my store of wisdom, sir?"
So far she has been utterly devoid of any. Stuck here in this place, taunted by bugs not worth squashing, she could not resist.
Such a creature existed in the world she was taken from--sent by the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. The opportunity to fight was taken from her as well, and here it is presented anew. A gift by whatever deities rule, perhaps. She would accept.
It did not take long for her to reach the hillside, and her body did not feel the cold air. When within range of the dragon's sight, she simply stood, arms at her side, ready, still.
[location] A challenger appears!imperial_longDecember 6 2011, 23:09:26 UTC
Movement, in the forest. The faint vibrations in the earth spoke of someone coming; the chill air carried the scent of... he did not know what to name it. If power had a scent this might be it. The charged air of a storm, the scent of steel hot from the forge.
He raised his head from the earth, craning it above the treeline. His enormous golden eyes scanned the forest-- and stopped.
She was not attempting to hide. She stood there, simply waiting; a smudge of electric unnatural blue against the quiet greens and browns and whites of the forest.
It was the thing wearing Winifred's body again.
"Madam," Oolong said, cold in tone although the words were accompanied by a blast of warm air. "Perhaps you require direction back out of the forest."
[location] A challenger appears!the_bluethunderDecember 6 2011, 23:50:49 UTC
A beast who could speak in something but needless grunts-- this did surprise her. And yet, she could feel the sense of alteration all around her. In the ground, in the air, in the putrid stench of breath upon her face. Perhaps this creature, too, had changed like so many others. But it was no matter.
He would do.
"I require nothing but battle. You, beast, will suffice."
location] dun dun dunimperial_longDecember 8 2011, 23:32:42 UTC
A weary siiiigh.
"Madam. I am not some.... some... wind-up arena combatant. I do not fight for the amusement or satisfaction of others, like some gladiator of barbaric Rome."
The dragon props the elbows of his forelegs upon the earth, rests his long jaw on his five-fingered hands, a very human posture, as he regards Illyria. Somewhere off in the brush, his tail twitches back and forth, back and forth.
"While our respective life philosophies differ immensely, I am certain, and while I can claim no great fondness for you given your consumption of Winifred, I do not believe we must default to combat, like creatures enslaved to our passions and klesas, puppets upon the poisons of ignorance, attachment, and hatred--"
The dragon talks wayyyy too much. Feel free to interrupt him however you like, Illyria.
Comments 20
Not so much a man, as a wolf in disguise.
[ooc: jumping ahead on things b/c of planning ahead and such]
Reply
The massive head lifts, with his great golden eyes shining like lamps above the treeline as he scans for movement.
"Good afternoon," the dragon rumbles at the small (well, small to him) figure that is slipping through the trees with what he supposes some might consider stealth.
Reply
Instead, luminous orbs in a sea of black nothing at all like the night sky. "Ancient one!" He calls out, folding himself over for a proper bow. Then, puffing himself up so as not to show his second-guessings, and continues on his path literal and metaphorical.
"I come seeking tales of old, and who better to lend them than one such as yourself?"
Reply
The dragon lowers his head back to the earth, rotating as he goes, until the massive horned head is lying upside down before the wolf-man. Placing their eyes, conveniently, at eye level. Or something like it.
Oolong laces his clawed hands over his scaled belly, a thoughtful rumble percolating in the yards of throat.
"Well. Yes. Yes, that is true," the dragon admits, a touch of smug pride to his tone. "And on what subject do you require my store of wisdom, sir?"
Reply
So far she has been utterly devoid of any. Stuck here in this place, taunted by bugs not worth squashing, she could not resist.
Such a creature existed in the world she was taken from--sent by the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. The opportunity to fight was taken from her as well, and here it is presented anew. A gift by whatever deities rule, perhaps. She would accept.
It did not take long for her to reach the hillside, and her body did not feel the cold air. When within range of the dragon's sight, she simply stood, arms at her side, ready, still.
Reply
He raised his head from the earth, craning it above the treeline. His enormous golden eyes scanned the forest-- and stopped.
She was not attempting to hide. She stood there, simply waiting; a smudge of electric unnatural blue against the quiet greens and browns and whites of the forest.
It was the thing wearing Winifred's body again.
"Madam," Oolong said, cold in tone although the words were accompanied by a blast of warm air. "Perhaps you require direction back out of the forest."
Reply
He would do.
"I require nothing but battle. You, beast, will suffice."
Reply
"Madam. I am not some.... some... wind-up arena combatant. I do not fight for the amusement or satisfaction of others, like some gladiator of barbaric Rome."
The dragon props the elbows of his forelegs upon the earth, rests his long jaw on his five-fingered hands, a very human posture, as he regards Illyria. Somewhere off in the brush, his tail twitches back and forth, back and forth.
"While our respective life philosophies differ immensely, I am certain, and while I can claim no great fondness for you given your consumption of Winifred, I do not believe we must default to combat, like creatures enslaved to our passions and klesas, puppets upon the poisons of ignorance, attachment, and hatred--"
The dragon talks wayyyy too much. Feel free to interrupt him however you like, Illyria.
Reply
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