ORIGIN

The dragon had set Orlaith down in Tunnel J. Flight through there was difficult with his broad wings, and he found it safer, if quite laboriously time-consuming, to wing-walk the whole way through. And he wasn't a particularly good conversationalist; most of their journey had consisted, at least when walking, of Dread asking questions about shiny objects in between long periods of contemplative silence.

Once they'd reached Monoceros proper, he'd put the blue gift of gemstone back between his teeth, lifting up off the ground before carefully picking the tiger cub back up in his taloned claws. Then he'd lifted up into Monoceros' hot, dry air.

The cave was vast--vast, hot, and dry. The reddish rock shone in the bright orb-light, and at the center of it all raged the ever-present storm. Dread skirted this widely, ember eyes only flicking to it briefly on his way up toward the immense cavern's ceiling. He headed up, and up, spiralling once or twice to gain altitude but mostly simply winging his way at a sharp upward angle. Eventually, the stone walls (with narrow trails lining them) gave way to ledges of levels, the heat here even more intense as the vents in the ceiling billowed warm air downward. Dread flew up to the highest of these ledges, and picked one out: one abutting the ceiling itself, only a single narrow trail leading to it.

This ledge jutted out from the wall, the ceiling arcing over it to form a sort of shallow roof. The hollow within wasn't deep by any means, certainly not enough to be called a "cave" of its own, even a small one: but it was shaded from the orb-light, and well-hidden from the ground below. The pathway up was blackened--scorched by flame--and bones littered the walkway, and the den along with it.

Dread rocked back, wings beating powerfully to slow himself, feet pushing forward to gently deposit Orlaith within the den. His tail swayed behind him for balance, and his feet touched down a moment later--and then his body lurched forward so that he could land upon his wings.

When the dust of the landing cleared, the den itself became more visible. Not only bones littered its little alcove, but also treasure--a glittering hoard that could only belong to a dragon. Chips of golden gemstone and battered armor, scattered jewels and raw gems, crystals both large and small (and some, including one massive one, emitting soft melodic chiming), and more all filled the space within.

Carefully, Dread stepped forward--lowering his head, opening his jaws, and adding Orlaith's gift to his pile. He then turned, looking to her, blinking his ember eyes.

"Do not take!" he instructed harshly. "I will destroy the way up. But if you want me, you can call! Roar! --I will try to destroy the way," he amended mournfully; apparently thus far, he'd been unable.

Dread listened attentively, ember eyes blinking. Though he was not the most intelligent creature, he grasped in some dim way that others were in fact smarter than he. And while this didn't make him feel bad (he was big, with fire, and shinies!), it had still taught him to at least try to learn.

What Orlaith was teaching him was that "friends don't steal from friends." Right. He settled this new fact deep into his somewhat reptilian brain, committing it to memory. Friends don't steal from each other.

When she began asking about the destruction of his trail, he blinked and turned, shuffling to face the perilous and narrow (and black-scorched) pathway that wound up the walls, past other ledges before at last leading up to his own. It was quite clearly the only walkway that could bring a non-flying (or vertically climbing, perhaps) beast up to his den, and also quite clearly too narrow for the huge dragon to traverse.

"I want to destroy that!" he explained, nodding his head down to the narrow walkway. "A thing came up. It spoke funny and took my stones but I set it on fire. Nothing was left!" he added. Dread was referring to a would-be robber who had, at some point in the past, crept into his hoard. He was unaware that the monkey-hybrid who'd tried to steal his gemstones had been knocked straight back into its chrysalis by Dread's flame; Dread only knew that he'd breathed fire, and that when the smoke had cleared, the thief was nowhere to be seen. He'd not noticed the new, black-scorched gemstone lying against the equally blackened rock below. So, to his mind, he'd killed him.

"I want to destroy it, so more thieves can't come. I can't use it anyway. So if you want to bring me things, just shout from below and I will come down!"

The dragon turned, and--still shuffling along his wings--walked off the ledge, dropping out of his den and out of sight. After vanishing from the ledge, his wings spread and caught air; there was a whoosh, then the deep bass thump of his wingbeats. As he'd been doing before he came to Orion, he swept over toward the ledge; he let out a loud, bellowing screech and lashed his tail for the narrow stone walkway.

A burst of magicka came with it, though that was not visible nor could it be sensed by mere Gembound; but it was there, and with the impact of his tail came a deafening crack and shudder. Great chunks of the rock supporting the trail fell away, crashing and tumbling down over the ledges below, some falling off into empty space. Dread let out another, this time triumphant, roar. But the ledge wasn't completely destroyed--not yet. A small animal could still traverse it; he'd have to finish the job with another try. For now, he looked over at Orlaith, the spines along his neck risen up; he seemed to be asking if she understood, or perhaps checking to ensure she hadn't somehow vanished, though he did not speak.

Dread had somehow expected the cat to hang around, for awhile--others, when brought to his den, usually seemed to want to. But Orlaith was different; she wanted to get started right away on gathering up shinies for him.

Dread was pleased. This was a good turn of events; the cub was diligent, dutiful!

"I will!" he agreed, and lifted up higher. Only carefully did he grasp the tiger in his talons, and when he swept down, this time, Orlaith would have quite a show. Down they dropped, sweeping from nearly the ceiling of Monoceros all the way around the Twister, Dread coiling a full circle around the massive cave. His great wings beat, and if simply exulting in his freedom, he let out a screeching roar that echoed from the cavern walls.

Once he reached the ground, he set Orlaith carefully down before thudding to earth a dozen or so meters away.

He then looked to her, his ember eyes keenly bright, as if to ask if she needed anything else--although he did not speak.

The dragon let out a sort of chittering rumble at Orlaith's words--a thoughtful sound, both reptilian and birdlike.

"Yes. Good. Goodbye," he agreed, watching her go. He tilted his head.

He wasn't often one for company, but the cat's appearance--and now departure--had been rather sudden. It would take his primitive mind time to process it. She'd turned up, viewed his home, and offered to find him more shinies in the space of an hour or so (by his estimation), and now was leaving again.

He considered, then shook himself, the spines along his neck clattering. Dread then turned, sweeping with great wingbeats back up toward his den.

Dread paused at the ledge, eyeing it over, determined to give it one last shot.

He reared himself back--tensing--smoke coiling from flared nostrils and magicka gathering. Then his tail lashed forward powerfully, slamming into the rock, the burst of magicka creating a powerful impact. And the last of the ledge now fell away.

Dread's den was now no longer reachable by normal walking, or rather, hiking. A flash of triumph overtook him. GOOD!

He then landed in his den, inspecting his handiwork; a glance down showed him that Orlaith was already gone.