May 22 2019, 01:05 PM
Dread soared, pride in every wing-flap. Every tremble of muscle balancing against wind, every slight billow in the wing-leather from the warm thermal beneath--all of it came with arched neck and self-satisfied gaze. The last time Glory had seen him, he hadn't been so resplendent (or silly, depending on perspective, but for Dread he was definitely resplendent) with the curved and pointed sweeping lines across his body. It was dye, yes, but magically-affixed, and glittered as if fire within him were shining through in mysterious, esoteric runes. Or, perhaps, random scratchings.
And he was here to add to that, today--or, at least, he hoped that he was.
Clutched in the talons of both his feet were a number of things. First, there was gold--pure gold, a gift scratched from the nearby tunnels' armor by someone who had owed him. There wasn't a lot of it, but it should be more than enough for his purposes, if battered, dented, and dusty with age. Hopefully, Glory'd be able to clean and to utilize it properly.
Second was the payment, or at least he hoped it was payment enough. For once, Dread had shown some measure of intellect. He knew that the eagle made armor and the like, and at first, he'd picked up massive chunks of gemstone--a couple of them--in payment, from his den. But then he'd reconsidered.
Surely smaller, brighter stones, used to fix into the things that he made, would be better? And so the dragon, if reluctantly (though more excited about the prospect of wearing gold), had carefully sorted and sifted and picked through his pile before plucking out a handful of the brightest, smallest, shiniest gemstones. They were pure and glittering, and he had no idea (nor would he have thought to check) whether they had life in them or not. But for decoration they would surely be beautiful: red ones, blue and green, even a few topaz-yellow (though less of these, for the dragon valued gold color above all else). There were a few jet black stones, even, and all of them he'd wrapped in an old scrap of leather--or, rather, the still hair-speckled, slightly-charred hide of some prey animal or other.
He came in with bass flaps of large wings, landing with the crunch of sand underfoot just outside Glory's smithy. He'd wait here, if the eagle wasn't present--but he called out, nonetheless, unable to quite see into the niche from here.
"GLORY?" he bellowed, rocking forward to land on his wing-tips. There he crouched, arching his neck to peer at his own feet, so that he could see what he was doing.
Carefully--unaware, if Glory was present or approaching, or anyone else for that matter--he unwrapped the leather, letting it fall open and dragging it through the dust so that it was out in front of him.
All of the glittering gems lay within, along with the gold he wanted to use--and this, he carefully nudged aside, into a separate pile. Alongside the gems lay a few twisted scraps of armor. They were nothing shiny but, he knew, the eagle might wish to make use of their metal.
That being said, Dread had no idea what sort of metal it was, nor if it were any good. But it was part of his payment, nonetheless.
@Glory