ORIGIN

If the pain had him reeling, the roar left him very, very alarmed. Let it never be said that Vargas feared anything, but that primal scream mere yards behind him had him scurrying away like a rabbit. It flooded his mind, shreds of darkness touching against whatever self-preservation instincts the Overseer yet had; it was as though the creature behind him, roaring, were Raheerah himself. Something fifty times the size of Dread, something ready to snag Vargas up and fling him off aside, to rend him limb from limb.

It was only when he'd scrambled, teeth gritted against the pain, half-limping, some dozen yards off in a zig-zag that he realized that there'd been magic to it. That did nothing to lessen the impact, but for a moment he was both surprised, and impressed.

This thing is USEFUL. It is STRONG, he marvelled, even as he skidded in place, turning to face his opponent.

Dread was laboring to take flight, now, and Vargas--aware of his own damage--took a moment to use his own magicka. Not to attack--most of his own magic was for luring, for camouflage and for the hunt--but to recover against some of the damage that Dread had dealt to him.

Once he was just a little healed, then they'd be on more even footing--and he'd be ready to continue the fight. He felt his magicka respond, flooding over the wounded flesh, the worst of the open burns at least feeling cooler, and less... potentially fatal.

Vargas didn't rush back, didn't charge him as he took flight. Dread was half-inclined just to get air, and to hover high above; but the Overseer was turning, facing back toward him as if preparing another leap. Though Dread could have simply gotten out of the way, he decided to take this head-on.

He gave two powerful strokes of his wings and then dove, head-first, more flame pouring from his open jaws--even as he swept toward Vargas, intending to simply catch the massive creature in his flaming path.

It was only now that Vargas's agility became apparent. The Overseer was out of his way like a skittering spider, and Dread--banking to try and turn back toward him--realized that sweeping lower had likely been a mistake. He struggled to gain altitude, beating his wings with the urgent memory of the purple creature's weight clinging to his side.

The incoming fire this time was obvious, at least, the dragon raising up only to fold its wings and sweep toward him, neck extending and jaws agape. As Dread's wings popped back open, like an umbrella, his flames began to rake over the rock--and Vargas was quick to scurry from his path, to avoid the tract of charred rock the dragon was leaving in his wake.

He didn't flee, however; he turned, the instant he was out of harm's way, and--gritting his teeth against the pain--he leapt for Dread's flanks as the dragon swept past.

The dragon, however, seemed to have predicted this this time: just as Vargas sailed forth, his clawed forelimbs extending, Dread's wings snapped him upward. He banked away with more agility than the Overseer had expected--and the burnt flesh along his back and limbs didn't help, slowing him just that extra bit. He saw his hooked talons reaching for, closing on, the black scales--and then the same scales slipping out of reach, pulling up and away. And instead the ground was crashing up to meet him, and the burned Overseer cringed as he realized what was about to happen.

His face and snout impacted the rock first, his shoulder and sides next as his pounce missed, as his body careened into the ground. He rolled over and over, dust and rock behind him, feeling the agony of burning flesh torn along the stone.

For the first time, Vargas considered that he should have probably laid out some ground rules, in case the dragon decided that this was more than just a test.

He heard the crash just behind and beneath him, and felt the relief of knowing he'd avoided becoming shredded by the Overseer's claws, or dragged down from the sky again. Triumph--the triumph of the sky, of free flight--took him and he circled higher, another screaming roar echoing over the rock. It was the roar of victory, a declaration that this place was his. He felt pride, too--something he'd never felt before, really, outside a pride in his collection of shiny objects. This was the pride of achievement.

Vargas--something larger and spikier than he was--was, he could see, a violet, green-bloodied mound on the rock, dust pluming up and around him where he'd skidded along the stone.

He can't get up, Dread decided--it wasn't that Vargas was incapable, but that Dread shouldn't allow the Overseer to regain his feet. If he did, Dread wasn't sure Vargas wasn't still able to run about, to leap into the air. He had to put an end to that, immediately.

With another screeching roar he turned in a slow bank to face the Overseer. He half-folded his wings against his flank, diving, sweeping straight for Vargas--his roar screaming through Monoceros as his tail, abruptly infused with a surge of magicka, came slamming down beside him.

Vargas had barely pulled his head from the ground, shaking it and blinking (all six eyes) repeatedly, when he heard Dread's scream coming back around again. The dragon wasn't flying away, gaining distance--he was closing for him, and Vargas glanced up with alarm.

Expecting more fire, he tried to struggle to his feet, but Dread was on him before he could move, this time, the dragon's air-speed significant against the burnt and battered Overseer. Vargas snarled, and when the spade-tail slammed into the ground behind him, he felt the power behind it. It wasn't muscle--it was magic--and it was with alarm that he felt, abruptly, the ground begin to split at the impact.

Instinct behind it, he launched himself after the dragon--trying to grab the bladed tail just enough to drag himself out over the lip of the fissure, and avoid being dropped down within. Again his burned body was too slow--and Dread's speed incredible, he had time to marvel, just before the sky tilted, and the world dipped out of sight. Vargas felt himself tumbling, felt himself crashing down over boulders, dropped into a new gap in Monoceros's stone. For a moment after he hit the ground he simply lay there, blinking--looking up at the cave high above, visible through the split in the ground that he'd fallen through.

Then Dread was in that gap, and Vargas realized at once what would come next: the fissure would fill with fire, and he himself would be toast.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, his authority still strong in his tone. The dragon had certainly passed his test--admirably; the creature's relentless ferocity, his constant full-on attack, his engulfing flames and his speed were all potentially deadly, and surprisingly quickly so. "You are strong," Vargas called up, rolling to his feet in case the dragon attacked him further. "Enough."

Character: Dread Age: +20 (20 Cycles) Magic Level: +5 (Master) ROUND 1 Attempt: +6 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +19 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +3 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +11 Penalties: - Total: 81

Character: Vargas Age: +4 (118804 Cycles) Magic Level: +3 (Brawler) ROUND 1 Attempt: +11 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +3 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +16 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +1 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +5 Penalties: - Total: 43

WINNER: Dread

Dread didn't lower himself to the ground; instead he stared down for a moment before lifting back up and circling overhead. His eyes he kept on the fissure, watching closely as Vargas hauled himself slowly out.

He'd called for Dread to stop, and the dragon had little reason to continue; he'd only fought at the other creature's behest, anyway.

"THIS IS MY PLACE," he did roar down, though, reiterating his claim on Monoceros. It wasn't that he didn't want others nearby: it was that he wanted them to acknowledge his authority. Or, rather, his territorial stake here. If there was food, he would eat it first. If there were shinies, they were his to take.

Speaking of which--where was Vargas's gemstone? Dread's eyes narrowed, but even after the Overseer had dragged himself over the fissure's edge, tumbling onto the rock, he saw no sign of a gem. Some had them internal, he knew; he just couldn't spot the oily black against the charred-black streaks over Vargas's violet hide.

Vargas peered up, watching the dragon circling. He is wholly uninjured, he realized with surprise--bar the raking his claws had torn into one small portion of the base of one wing. He hadn't even made a dent.

Impressive.

Vargas, however, was unconcerned. He wasn't made for battle: he was made for hunting. He was an ambush predator, and had he truly wanted the dragon dead, he'd have lured him into a vulnerable spot, leapt down and snapped his neck before he'd had time to even register the Overseer's presence. As it was, though, even so, Vargas was a formidable fighter--especially given his size and his agility--and Dread had, he had to admit, rather thoroughly thrashed him. It was one benefit, he knew, of magic versus brawn. Magic--fire--that could kill from range, whereas he had to get on top of someone to end them. And flight gave Dread the further advantage of coming nowhere near him, for the most part. Someone smaller than Vargas--someone unable to leap into the air as far as he--would've stood no chance whatosever. But that didn't mean the Overseer didn't have other ways of attacking; he had magic of his own, but that hadn't been a part of his test. His magic, anyway, was never as reliable as his body was.

"You may stay here," he called up in agreement--wincing at the brutal pain as he moved forward. Parts of his side and back were badly, badly burnt, and he'd have to lay low for a few days to heal... assuming his stone didn't reclaim him, for a time. The burns were severe enough that he even considered just letting it do so: the pain was immense.

"You are impressive. Who do you answer to?"

Dread rumbled, and shook himself where he hovered, for a moment, in the air. His spines rattled together along his neck and back, and he pushed forward again, circling the air above the Overseer.

He considered his question only briefly. He wasn't sure what "answer to" meant, but he'd answered White before, and that seemed to make sense to him.

"WHITE. I SAY THANK YOU," he answered, his childlike mentality suddenly clear. A gnawing in his stomach reminded him that he was hungry, and he took one last, suspicious look at Vargas before banking away.

This was his place--Vargas had admitted as much--and so far as he was concerned, he'd definitely see the thing coming. It was too big for him to miss, but hopefully, it would leave. "I AM GOING TO HUNT. I HOPE YOU LEAVE."

It wasn't meant as a threat--he just really didn't want another large predator around. With that bellowed out he turned, wings beating powerfully to carry him away, back to Monoceros and back to his hunt.

Vargas wasn't done with Dread. But Dread, it seemed, was done with him--and it was dawning on the Overseer that, like Raheerah, the dragon had a simple, brutish mentality. It wasn't that the latter hadn't been intelligent--he had been--but neither seemed to care for words over destruction.

It was well enough; the dragon stayed in Monoceros, and was taken out when it was needed. It would do. A replacement, for sure, he decided--but why was this one so much smaller? HE must still be around, somewhere.

Vargas started to follow Dread, but the dragon quickly swept out of sight, dipping in and out among the rock formations. He could have followed him, but what was the point-? He likely knew little more of his own purpose and fate than any of the rest of them. And as to his answer, Vargas could make little sense of it. He answered to a color-? What did thanks have to do with anything?

He grunted, and turned away, the urgency of tending to his own recovery far more pressing than pestering a child-minded dragon for more nonsensical answers.