ORIGIN

The dragon shouldered his way slowly through the strange crystals of Tunnel L. This place did not suit him, and already, he disliked it. Had his irritation with the overbearing morality of his parents not driven him to leave--to take a break from them, if not to depart forever--he would not be here; but he was seeking someplace more suited to his preferred aesthetic.

The problem was, Vastator did not yet know what that aesthetic was. Had he happened upon the beautiful rot of Canis, he might have declared it "home" and set to fighting for ownership of the entirety of the swamp at once. As it was, he had passed through only a large cave of labyrinthine crystals and now this--a tunnel of much the same.

He paused, oversized form (yet still gangly with awkward youth) twisting as he regarded, with a baleful flash of glowing eyes, some of the ancient drawings scratched into the surface of the stones. He could not make out their purpose, nor their subject, so wind-worn were they by time; and so a sneer of frustrated impatience took him and he mentally declared them unimportant. Even foolish. It was the same impatience he bore Blight, whenever the other dragon gently reprimanded him for his overbearing nature--Vastator found it irritating, nothing more. Had he the power, he might even have challenged Blight for Leo--but he'd have had to fight the others, too, and truth be told he was not so violent yet as to turn even on his family.

But this place?

If everywhere else in the caves were this... shining, and purple, he might have to change his mind about that. It was impossible for his fibrous, dark body to hide in this mystical locale.

"Terrible," he muttered, shaking himself in disgust, before stalking onward, his magic flaring out in search of food--or competition.

His head snapped back around, many eyes blinking at the sound of sneezing back behind him. The cloud he'd left--let to settle all around, one that would do little more than irritate--had sounded an alarm, it would seem.

Finding the crystals pressed too closely for his wings to comfortably spread, Vastator instead cursed his luck as he waddled overly fast back through the cave. And--Ah. There. He slowed, eyes narrowing as he studied his apparent victim. Small, fuzzy, and not like any Lesser he'd seen. Also, sneezing.

The young dragon paused, drawing himself up. After another moment of staring (head tilting this way and that) he could still not recognize what this other creature was. Was it Lesser? Greater? "Are you food?" he asked, at last, bluntly. Yet he didn't seem inclined to attack straightaway; probably he wasn't sure if he should.

Vastator's head flung back in annoyance. "UGH. Fine!" he bellowed, slamming a clawed foot down. It was a bit of an adolescent's tantrum, really: irritation that he couldn't eat this guy, damn it.

His head swung back down, eyes narrowing as they looked the culpeo over. "What are you?" the dragon demanded, ignoring such things as politeness. "And why were you--making that noise? What WAS that noise?" Subtlety was a skill he had not learned. Perhaps he would, with time, but for now he was brash and blunt, making of his questions demands rather than decent conversation.

Something about the other Gembound's fear pleases him: placates him, even as it draws a malicious eye. Yes. He likes that. He wants more of that: of others cowering from him. Whatever it was, it had somewhat soothed his frustration here.

Vastator drew himself up higher, a huff of sulfurous breath rushing from his nostrils. "Not food," he noted, with a wry bite to his words. "Do you mean a sneeze?" he added, after a moment spent studying the culpeo and trying to imagine this 'nose tickle.' There was a bit of incredulity in his voice, as though nobody could possibly be foolish enough not to know what a sneeze was. But-... then again, perhaps it had no family to have taught it? His had explained to him that some Gembounds were simply hatched, not created. Does that mean there is no one to protect it? he thought, and a sudden awareness of this one's potential helplessness, should he so choose to harm it, was abruptly unexpected. He blinked, examining that realization, that emotion.

He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It was-... extreme.

"I am Vastator. I will be King among Dragons. You are lucky to have met me," he added, and was that dark humor in his tone-? He nodded, then, in a sharp and commanding way, at Wolf-Rayet. "Do you have no family to teach you things? Tell me of your life. You wake up, and do what? Where do you go, and what do you do--and why? What are you doing here?" Of course, there was nothing to say that the other creature had to answer. But Vastator was both curious, and hopeful that it would obey, giving him another taste of that dominator's satisfaction.

He listened with all the air of a dictator currently benevolent (but dictators ever changed). Alone? -She left? He paused, and it was as though his heart and mind briefly searched for a reaction that could have--should have--been there: sympathy, empathy, pity. But there was nothing, just empty space in him: youth or his very nature left only an indifference. He considered this, noted it, and tucked it away for later, moving on with his mind as Wolf-Rayet considered speaking.

"Need?" he asked, practically preening as he drew himself higher. Oh, yes--this was pleasant. If he'd lacked emotion moments before, there was no dearth of them now: ego, pleasure, satisfaction. Had the culpeo been the manipulative sort, the young dragon would have been wrapped around their paw in an instant: a "king's" might bartered for Wolf-Rayet's mere scattered words. As it was, he found himself hurriedly running through possibilities, even as he blurted "Food." But no--he needed--wanted--more than that.

From a practical standpoint? Vastator wavered a beat before adding: "...And the way out." Was he lost? Yeah, sort of. "I came from the crystal cave." And beyond the immediate? "I will need subjects," he decided, the idea of kingship suddenly going to his head. But he was not yet truly adult, with little experience of the world, so he found himself backtracking hastily: "...Once I have a kingdom."

Honestly, he really had no idea what that meant, bar the vaguest ideas of power and worship at his feet. But damned if it didn't sound appealing. "If you show me the way out of here, and to food, I will protect you. You are small," he explained, with the air of a god deigning to show a peon some mercy--never mind the fact that Wolf-Rayet's magic might well have been able to obliterate Vastator. He had no way of knowing, and did not even consider the possibility.