ORIGIN

Now this was someplace he'd not ventured in a long time.

Raheerah was gone from here. And that was good, as even Vargas wasn't wont to get too close to the monster. He wasn't sure what was here, now, bar that the cave was warm, winds howling through it. Whatever else might lay here was a mystery to him, and that was what he'd come to find out.

Though the caves had grown dimmer, Monoceros was still fairly bright. And though the storms had left water in their wake, in many places, this cave was drying more quickly than most.

Vargas travelled its breadth, admiring--and widely-skirting--the Twister, then venturing down into the Gorge to peer at the rain-swollen river roaring murky through its canyons. It was as he climbed back up the trail, just as he reached the lip of the ledges that would bring him back to the level of Monoceros' ground, that he saw the shadow sweep past. It was soundless--and huge, something in flight above with its wingspan dwarfing him.

After a few moments of peering upward, squinting against the orb-light, he at last recognized a distant shape circling.

Raheerah..? he thought. He IS here? From what the Gembound had told him, the great dragon had left, and not been seen, in years. But there he was-...

No, Vargas realized, as the dragon circled back around. That is far too small to be Raheerah. His own body was about the size of the flying creature's, or no--bigger; though its wings made it seem far larger. A spark of competitiveness welled up in him at once.

"YOU. Come down here," he bellowed, his voice commanding and carrying over the stone. Belatedly he realized that the dragon may be something other than a mere Gembound; it shared a design, after all, with the other one. But even Raheerah had been little more than a weapon to point at one's enemies, hadn't he? Was this one another of the same?

Would it grow as large as the other dragon had? Or was this it--a measly, stunted imitation of the real thing? Did Raheerah make this, I wonder? Or is it his replacement--or his lieutenant, a scout for his destruction-?

He was hunting when the call reached him. Circling, feeling the warm wind billowing up beneath his wings. It was a welcome change from the near-constant rain, the thunder that had visited Monoceros causing Dread to hesitate to even fly, at times. But Monoceros was still his undisputed territory--he'd yet to meet anything that could stand against him, here or anywhere else.

At the call, he turned, banking and peering back the way he'd come. He'd found no prey, nothing to kill and eat, but he'd apparently missed something as it came up from the canyons.

Ember eyes widened a fraction as he swept over Vargas, the Overseer coming into view. He was huge, fully as large or larger--no, larger, he realized--than Dread himself. The dragon banked around again and pulled himself back, hovering with great and sweeping thumps of his wings, his tail lashing below him as he struggled to maintain his balance.

"WHO ARE YOU?" he demanded, feeling a prickle of resentment at the other large predator--it was obviously a predator--encroaching on his domain.

Vargas stared up, a faint grin twisting his jaw upward. He was pleased at this creature: pleased at its size, its demeanor. He hoped that it would be malleable, moreso than his predecessor had been. And he hoped that Dread wouldn't disappoint him.

"I am Overseer Vargas," he called back up, his voice again rich with confidence. He could destroy this dragon, if he wanted to--he had to outweigh it by at least double, his own arms alone as tall as the dragon's wings would be, were it grounded. He was fairly certain he could merely tear it apart. But if it kept to the air--if it were trained to be swift, and use its magic--it could be very useful for certain things.

"Who are you, and what is your designation?" he demanded. He wasn't about to demand a number--he doubted this thing had one. Some of these more specialized creations didn't, and even if Dread was another spontaneous hatch (which he doubted very much), none of these new Gembound seemed to know their numbers regardless.

Plus, this thing might have a title--and amongst Overseers, asking for a designation would certainly be more prudent than assuming authority over another at once. That was prone to starting fights, too--not that Vargas shied from those.

Dread huffed, his ember eyes narrowing, twin threads of smoke rising from his nostrils. He didn't know what a "designation" was, and that angered him a little. He did not like being made to feel foolish.

"I AM DREAD," he roared in response, a screeching bellow that cracked over the stone. And then, sullenly angry, he added--"THIS IS MY PLACE." He wasn't about to attack Vargas--and it wasn't just that the purple thing was larger than he. He'd been taught better manners than that, and though the urge was there, he waited.

With any luck it would just leave, and... not come back, and leave him to his hunting.

Vargas stared up, for a moment silent in admiration.

This thing only had two hind legs--he wondered why, and how that fared. Its tail was tipped with a blade-like spear. Its muscles rippled, but thick ridged scales covered it from head to toe, armor of a sort; and its snout, long and narrow, was beak-tipped and horned. The wings were massive, larger than he really thought they needed to be, each billowing leathery breadth as long as his entire body.

It was a good creation, he thought; it had potential.

"I WOULD TEST YOU," he decided, his volume attempting (and mostly failing) to match the roaring of the dragon. "FIGHT ME, and show me your strength!"

The dragon stared down, nonplussed. He was maybe thirty feet in the air--high enough to avoid a leap, unless Vargas were very agile. Though-... On second thought, Dread thought that he might be. Why the purple thing wanted to "test" him he didn't know, but he'd been holding back from attacking the intruder purely out of politeness.

If it wanted to fight, well-...

He felt little anger, only a bit of puzzlement, but with a mental shrug he called upon his inner fire. He felt the heat bloom and flames ignite, and he dropped himself lower in the air as his neck extended, his jaws snapping open.

A torrent of flame guttered downward--he was still fairly high-up, but he'd dropped enough to hit him, at least. Assuming the "Overseer" didn't move.

The dragon hadn't spoken in response--it had just taken a swelling breath, and Vargas realized a fraction too late what he intended to do. Cursing himself, he dashed to one side, just as the flamethrower torrent blasted the rock where he'd only a second ago been standing. The bulk of the blast spared him, but enough coursed over his legs and tail that he spun, a snarl on his face at the pain.

That would hurt later, he knew.

The dragon had swept lower to reach him with the flame, and with an impossibly high spring, Vargas leapt for him--claws extended into hooks, his jaws ready to latch on to wing or neck, or whatever he could snag. His weight alone would be, he hoped, enough to drag Dread down from the sky--and from there it would be a nasty scuffle, perfect for the dragon to prove his real worth.

Dread half-turned, trying to follow Vargas with his flames--and suddenly the predator was in the air, leaping, the weight slamming into him and down. He felt hooked claws trying to find purchase against his scales, felt ripping at his tender wing-leather and small fangs scraping over the back of his neck. So far his natural armor was protecting him, but how long would that last-?

With a snarl, his wings laboriously struggling--and failing--to keep him in the sky, Dread felt his feet touch down. He was dragged viciously off his balance by the Overseer, it pulling him to one side, trying to knock him down. An enraged, protesting bellow escaped him and he turned, snaking his head around to snap at Vargas, though he couldn't quite reach him from there. After two bites where his jaws found nothing but air, he felt fury fuel him; and his jaws again opened, the dragon struggling against Vargas's weight to face him.

He didn't need to turn his body; all he needed was to turn his head. In his throat, there was the split-second warning of ember-glow fliaring up, and then the engulfing roar of flame as it coursed out to envelop the Overseer.

It didn't matter how big Vargas was--if he didn't move, he would undoubtedly be cooked alive.

He'd torn the dragon from the sky, and the joy of battle took him. Triumphant in his savagery, he felt them hit the ground together, felt Dread struggling and roaring in distress, and he grinned.

Vargas wanted him down, properly down; he wanted to drag him to the ground and off-balance, to rend and tear until the dragon submitted. It wasn't about wanting to win, though. He was aiming to win, yes--but he wanted, moreso, to test Dread's durability, his reflexes, his--OH NO-

He had an instant of realization as the maw swung around, snakelike and agile, and for a moment he regretted not having paid closer attention. He himself was limited to biting the direction he was facing; Vargas had no serpentine neck, and for a moment, a potentially deadly moment, he'd failed to fully account for Dread's. He was more agile than Raheerah had been, Vargas judged--but it was a grim realization, an absent half-second thought as he turned to try and spring away.

He was too late.

The flames engulfed him, the impossible heat searing over him, and he felt his skin in places bubble and pop. He rolled across the ground, scrabbling to try and pull away and damn that hurt--the places already-burnt along his hind end now seared. He could feel that he'd be raw, that he'd scar without some healing. He did not cry out, instead gritting his teeth--at the very least he'd managed to face away at the last moment, so it wasn't going to be fatal.

Not on its own, at least, but he wasn't sure what Dread might do next, and he was too busy trying to get away from the flames to turn back and to check.

Dread was, thus far, uninjured. He saw Vargas's six eyes widen, saw the creature turn, and then lost sight of anything but his own roaring torrent of flames. Somewhere in there, he smelled burning flesh, and his ferocity drove him onward.

Vargas was too big for him to tackle easily, to tear into--and anyway, he didn't know about those quills. They had a bad color to them, one he didn't like. And so Dread shuffled rapidly, turning to face his prey--his enemy--and he roared, the screaming bellow of a monster.

Into that scream he poured his magicka: all his threat, all his predatory savagery, all the horrors that his claws, his fangs and fire promised if Vargas did not back down. He did this as he faced toward Vargas, ready to fight back, and preparing to take flight.