ORIGIN - Wind-Borne

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The Twister thrashed like a great, roaring beast, bound by gales. Angrily, tore at the ground, where a great, wall of dust swirled at its feet. Shards of diamond wizzed around it among the other debris, all deadly projectiles. Anyone who got too close, the Twister would tear them apart.

A lone, foal-shaped gemling stumbled around, his coat, the color of dust. The child's silver eyes blinked blearily, as if he had just been awoken from a deep slumber. The large, diamond horn on his head was heavy, and he struggled to keep balance on his new legs as the wind thrashed his body.

The Twister came back around, pulling the foal towards it. He kicked out, squealing, as his hooves lifted off the ground. Then, with a great surge of magic, the foal's diamond lit up, and a powerful, gust of wind sprung forth and carried his feet far. Like the streams of zephyrs, the child raced through the bare canyon, faster than any horse. On legs, only seconds old, but powerful, he galloped with the wind and well be beyond the Twister's reach.

Dread was hunting not far from the Twister himself. One thing he'd found was that prey tended to avoid it--the storm, as it moved ever so slightly, funneled the cave deer widely around it. He could almost always find travelling food, skirting its path, by circling nearby.

It wasn't long before he saw the small, dark shape racing away from the storm--it'd gotten too close, if he was any judge--and the instant he did, he half-folded his wings and dropped into a swift dive. His long tail lashed behind him, his eyes fixed unblinking on Alastor, hunger driving him.

The instant he got in close, though, he realized that this wasn't a cave deer at all--it had slightly longer hair here and there, a long tail... He wasn't sure it wasn't a deer, but he chose at the last instant to err on the side of caution nonetheless. He jerked upward, swerving to avoid rather than to snatch the creature, his tail slamming hard into the rock and gouging a short scrape over it. Wings beat laboriously to bring him back into the air by a few feet. The moment he'd sufficiently slowed, he turned to land heavily--dust spewing up around him--in front of the fleeing colt.

Ember eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he reared back his head, bellowing, leaning on wings and legs.

"ARE YOU A DEER?" he demanded, loudly.

He wanted to study Alastor more closely, to see it for himself... but he'd have to wait for the dust to settle a little, for that.

@Alastor

Suddenly, he made out a large, black shape descending upon him through the dust. The colt's eyes widened. This only made him run faster, of course. The spell-summoned gust that had carried away from the Twister had been replaced by one of the cave's own windstreams. It worked just as well pushing him forward, but the colt had no control. He struggled to keep balance. It felt as if the wind wanted to flip him over.

The big, black shape flew overhead, striking something on the ground beside him. Rocks flew everywhere. Head high, he swerved to avoid being hit. Then, with beat of mighty wings, the shape--no, a dragon-- landed heavily in his path.

He was coming in too fast! The colt shrieked as his hooves skidded across the stone. He slammed his hindquarters down, attempting to brake, but the wind shoved him forward.

The dragon roared something at him.

The colt flicked his ears forward. "I'M A WHAT??" He yelled back, just as loud--right before he barreled straight into him.

"Speech."
Thoughts...

@Dread

Dread flinched a little as the colt plowed into him; he grunted as Alastor impacted, but his massive bulk remained unmoved. He stared down, for a moment, spines lifting and flaring as if the dragon felt defensive against the horse. Dread felt, at least, rather confident now that Alastor was not a deer--or, at the very least, wasn't food. It was talking, and he wouldn't eat a talking thing. Well, not unless he were really hungry, probably. "You are not a deer," he said, this time a statement rather than a question.

His head tilted, and he leaned down to sniff, ember eyes blinking and nostrils flaring.

"I am Dread! I was looking for food! But you are not food. I have not seen you before. Are you new-? What are you?"

His gaze travelled over silver-dun coat, large silver eyes, curved diamond horn. Its dark muzzle looked soft, its nostrils large--not anything like a deer's. He had not, he thought, ever seen anything quite like this thing before.

Ting!

The gemling's diamond horn tapped the dragon's chest. He bounced off the hard scales and toppled on his back, then immediately flipped over on his hooves. With all the rowdiness of a wild mustang, he bucked at the air and he frolicked away on his long, strong legs. Then the little colt spun around and reared, pawing at the air and squealing like he was big, majestic stallion. It was pretty cute.

"Of course I am not food, I AM ALASTAOR!" He declared with a shrill whinny, still teetering on his hind legs. "And I came from the big swirly!" Alastor flicked his head over towards the roaring Twister behind him, then dropped back down on all fours.

He let out a snort and squinted at the dark dragon, who now loomed over him. Dread looked nothing like him. He was covered in big, black scales and had leathery wings and a scary, pointed face. He's so ugly! Alastor, though brave, was atleast smart enough to not say this out loud to the hungry-looking beast.

"Speech."
Thoughts...

Dread pushed up to draw a little closer, shuffling slowly. His neck arched upward, some ten feet in the air, his head craning down to sniff at the dancing, prancing, rearing foal. At its declaration, he considered.

He had never seen an Alastor, before. At least, not that he could remember. It had four clean, long, knobby limbs with hard points at the end, and a hard point on its head--though that sort of looked, he thought, quite like a Shiny. But White had taught him that the one thing that was truly off-limits were the shinies of other Gembound, so he didn't immediately demand this, at least.

"I DO NOT KNOW WHAT AN ALASTOR IS," he boomed, and then--remembering Siren's insistence that he was Too Loud--he lowered his volume. "But you are very small."

Dread then looked to the Twister.

The Alastor had said that it was from the swirly thing? The storm? He looked to the colt. He looked to the storm, and back to the colt. Was it possible..? He'd known the twister to badly wound or even kill the Lessers unfortunate, or foolish, enough to be caught in its path. "Those winds are very dangerous! If you come from them, then perhaps you are a storm, too," he decided, though after a critical eye-over of Alastor, he added--"but you do not look very much like a storm." In fact, Alastor vaguely reminded him of one of those in Orion--that thing'd had four long, hoofed legs too, and stuff on its head, though it was white, and the "stuff" was more like tiny trees.

Huh.

"I WILL NOT EAT YOU--" too loud"--because you can speak! But where are you going?" he demanded, his massive, spined head tilting to one side.

He snorted, offended that Dread had called him small. You just wait, foul beast! I'll be as big the big swirly one day!

"GOOD." Alastor proclaimed. It was relief to know the dragon wasn't going to eat him, though a part of him wanted to see him try. He would just blow him away with his mighty breath!

He stamped his feet, eager to race the wind once more. "I'll go where ever my hooves take me!" By hooves, he meant the wind pushing his hooves, but the colt was convinced that he was the wind itself. "AND I AM A STORM!." He boomed. One might as well have been blown away by the sheer confidence in his voice. "I may not look it, but watch this!"

With as much zeal his tiny, long-legged body could hold, Alastor reared up and shot towards Dread, squealing what could be interpreted as a war cry. However, the colt did not attack dragon, instead, he began to race laps around the great beast.

As the wind picked up behind him, Alastor galloped faster and faster, dust trailing behind him. He attempting to make a little "Twister" of his own, with Dread at the center.

"Speech."
Thoughts...

Dread turned, shuffling ineffectively to try and turn as fast as the colt was galloping. He mostly wound up looking foolish, as he was moving slowly enough to not accidentally slap Alastor with a tail or a wing.

"You are not a storm," Dread protested, huffing, but internally, he doubted. How was he to know..? Perhaps it was a storm. Dread reared back, and--when Alastor was safely behind him on his racing lap--he beat his wings powerfully, infusing the blast with magicka. The dust hurtled into a rotating funnel at his movement and his magic, the wind his wings moved fuelling it. It wasn't very large, nor powerful--certainly no Twister--but it was pretty to look at, and was definitely a little storm.

"YOU CAN MAKE A STORM WITH MAGIC," the dragon continued, more loudly now, rearing back to point his narrow snout at the dust hurled about by wind. It wouldn't be strong enough to even pick Alastor up--unless the foal bolted right through it. Dread's arched neck turned so that he could regard the foal, whether he was still racing about, or not. "Like that."

He then eyed Alastor again, doubtfully. Gembound "being" inanimate, abstract concepts was well beyond him, but he had no reason to really think it shouldn't be possible. Alastor just didn't look very storm-like. He looked like a deer, but different. He looked like flesh and blood, not wind and dust. But Dread knew that there were others who knew more than him. With that in mind, he spoke once more. "There are others in other caves who know more about storms--and magic," he suggested. "They will know more than me! They can teach you."

Alastor slowed to a halt just as Dread's winds whipped into baby twisters. The colt was clearly awed by this, the sparkle in his silver eyes gave it away, but he stomped his hoof and snorted, pretending to be unimpressed. "Nay! That's no storm!" He whinnied childishly, sticking out his tongue at it. Okay, maybe he was little jealous that Dread conjured up what was clearly little swirlies, but he didn't want to be out-stormed by the likes of an adult.

He puffed out his chest arrogantly. "I am a storm!" He stated once more, as if that would make it true. Maybe if he said it enough the dragon would come to believe him.

Fake it 'til you make it.

Actually, a part of Alastor knew he wasn't actually a Twister, he just felt like one. How could he not when it was the very first thing he encountered? It was fun to play make-believe, and Alastor wanted Dread to play along too, but the dragon seemed to lack an imagination. He just droned on about "magic" and "teachers" and "not being a storm", so teasing seemed to be the next best thing. "I am an Alastor-Storm!" He giggled. This claim seemed to get under the dragon's scales. Alastor pranced around in circles, chanting in sing-song. "I'm a storm! I'm a storm! And you're a deer!" He pawed at the ground, mischief flickering in his eyes. "And I'll blow you away!"

Alastor drew a deep breath and gave the biggest snort his little foal body could make aimed right towards Dread's chest. He had attempted magic with this, but didn't know spell for powerful wind-breath just yet, so nothing really happened excepted an overexerted blow.

"Speech."
Thoughts...

Dread endured the childish antics with either good-natured patience, or the obtuse obliviousness of someone who didn't really "get it."

Most likely, it was the latter.

"ALASTORM," he corrected the child, after a moment. It seemed, to him, the obvious better nickname. And then, with smoke puffing from his nostrils, he added--"I AM NOT A DEER." Some small part of him was growing a little worried that this thing could, in fact, blow him away with magic. What other reason might there be for its incessant insistences and its fearlessness? And he was relatively oblivious, himself, to Alastor's awe at his spell. The thing seemed familiar with wind, and contemptuous of his own. Unsettled, the dragon shifted in place.

He inhaled deeply, arching his neck back, then thrusting it forward; his jaws snapped open, a flamethrower torrent of fire guttering high overhead in a broad swathe of orange. It seared and crackled, the air around it shimmering with heat. As it tapered off, he shifted his ember gaze back down to Alastor. "I AM A DRAGON. AND YOU CANNOT BLOW ME AWAY. I BREATHE FIRE," he added, without real explanation as to how this was relevant.

Then, considering, his eyes darting over the child's form, he went on. "BUT I CAN BRING YOU INTO THE SKY AND SHOW YOU THE CAVE FROM THE AIR, AS A STORM. IF YOU SAY THANK YOU." It was an unusual moment of inspiration for the still-maturing beast: one of his most important early lessons, one that had almost certainly turned what might have been ferocious arrogance forcing his way through every interaction, into instead forced patience and politeness. White, the small bird-dog hybrid, teaching him to say "thank you" in exchange for shinies that he wanted.

Unfortunately, Dread had never really mastered the "please" part.