ORIGIN

There was a dragon on the Tower.

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Dread rarely left Monoceros, these days. It had almost everything a dragon could want: high, dry cliffs upon which to rest, a vast and empty space filled with warm, turbulent air--perfect for soaring--and plentiful prey in the gorge down below.

One thing it did not have, however, was shinies. Dread collected them, hoarded them--like any self-respecting dragon--and all he could ever really find there were the bits of dull and battered armor discarded around Monoceros' entrance tunnel. They were relics, remnants of some fortgotten era, but they did not interest him overmuch. They were not shiny. They were not beautiful.

While normally he ate, flew, and slept, today he had found himself bored. And instead of sleeping, he had decided to crawl his way cautiously through the tunnel, and into Orion beyond. He remembered this place from his illness: remembered its sheeted patches of glistening rock over the ceiling and walls, and so he had made his way here, taking flight and circling--remembering with some wonder how much he had grown since then, and reminiscing over the places that he had hunted in the past.

The dragon had, however, quickly spied something of interest.

The old and ruined tower was studded with glittering quartz crystals, and Dread landed with a few wing-flaps, clinging to the tower's top and sides like a bat.

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And now here he was. It was quite a sight: a dragon with dark hide and long spines, clinging to the tall stone structure, plucking and picking as he tried to pry free its shining stones. From time to time he shifted his position, gnawing at the stone with a few pointed teeth, or pulling his head back to eye the tower critically. The scratching and occasional wingbeats carried in the quiet of the cave, as did the dragon's periodic, frustrated hisses (for no miser liked to leave his hoard alone for very long, and this was taking--in the dragon's estimation--far too long).

For any passing by, the sounds were certainly out of the ordinary--as was the faint scent of burnt hair that clung to the predator. And if they looked up, there he was: a big, dark shape curled around the stone structure, moving this way and that as he worked.

The dragon turned, sharply, as a voice invaded his mind. Claws scuffled at the mosiac of stone and quartz, and he nearly fell from his perch upon his eyrie.

He blinked, and then let out a short roar, one that echoed through Orion.

Then he paused.

He couldn't see anyone--not at first. His magic flooded instinctively through him, and he found himself blinking as he heard the beating heart, sensed the rush of blood, through a tiny thing far below. For a long moment he peered, and then shifted to clamber partway down the tower. Broad wings spread with a leathery rustle and the dragon leapt from his perch and descended, a few wingflaps and a glide bringing him to land before the fox with a heavy, sand-spraying thump.

"Who are you?" he demanded at once. His tone was not aggressive, but it was just that--demanding. Pushy. The tone of someone who knew no manners, at the very least. "How do you speak so--loudly?" Dread added. He had no idea how he'd heard the little one from so far away; it almost felt as though it'd spoken directly into his mind.

...Was that possible?

Dread stared, for a moment, suspiciously.

He was sure he'd heard something right in his mind, something pointed and unintelligible--but had he? After a moment he dismissed the thought as confusing, and let out a snort of smoke.

"I am Dread! I am looking for shinies. Beautiful stones," he added in a rapt growl. His ember eyes were already fixating on the glinting sapphire affixed to the fox's skull--it looked like a lovely shiny, indeed.

Slowly he crept closer, lowering his head down to sniff at the fox, his gaze fixed to the gem. "This stone," he growled. "I like this. I want this!"

He then stared expectantly at the tiny fox, as if fully expecting permission to remove the other's life-giving gem.

The dragon shook his head rapidly to and fro, eyes briefly squeezing shut, as the voice again spoke into his mind.

Dread was a simple creature, and rather than spark curiosity, it incited instead a superstitious fear in him. He remembered the world running into black lines when the wolf had cast her magic on him--and now, fearing the same, he scrambled backward. Everything seemed to be unravelling! How could a thing speak into his very mind?!

Wings and legs kicked up dust as he moved swiftly back, and his jaws opened to unleash another startled, defensive roar. Even his magicka flickered out, seeming to do nothing. The dragon turned, taking rapid, running steps before launching into flight, the bass thump of his beating wings swiftly receding.

He didn't know what the thing was, but he wasn't about to stick around and find out what else it could do to his mind. It was a shame, really; he would have certainly liked those shinies.

The dragon circled once, winging his way back past the tower and glancing down, once, toward the fox. He called down a rough-voiced warning.

"THERE ARE WORDS IN MY MIND," he roared. He then turned, wings flapping harder. He wasn't sure if it was the fox doing it--he thought it was, as it had only begun when the creature had arrived.

But maybe it was the tower?

Dread banked, slowing his flight with great beats of his wings so that he lowered himself back onto the tower. Almost at once he began to savagely "attack" the stone, tearing at the quartz seams with jaws and a hind leg--the other, and his wings, clinging to the top of the tower and its walls.

Stone and dust cascaded down as he tore at the shiny rock, again oblivious, for the moment, to Mystro's presence.