More and more arrived all the time. A dozen--two dozen?--packed in among the rest, and Dragon took note of them all. In particular he noticed the startling amount of dragons--Carja and Blight, Electrum and Haven, Ascent and--was Telesto a dragon..? He didn't think so, actually; but there were a few with wings and long tails, at least. He was briefly jealous--their greater size and agility would always be lost to him--but he had the name, at least. Anyway, he was mostly past such things by this point in his life.

Mostly.

He noted, too, the stranger ones among them. Labradorite and Esther, and Khavur--the ones that looked touched by a little more... Blackness? Than older generations. Labradorite in particular he studied for a moment, faint memory pinging through his mind. It looks like Nox, he thought to himself, unaware the thought was simply... broadcasting.

The Blacksmith's summary he'd paid close attention to: heat and cold, pressure. Noted. He didn't think he had much that could counteract all that, but his body was pretty tough, at least. He wondered to himself if a wisp would survive underwater; if not, he could see well enough in near-dark, even without the aid of magic--which he also had. Ah, but one thing he did have, and he prepared that now: a paralytic venom, infused into his saliva. )Nothing came, though Dragon remained unaware. Perfect.

Nemean is the enemy here, he noted, pleased. Though his loyalty to Aquarian wasn't quite as blind as it once had been, he still trusted utterly the Nemean was the ultimate untrustworthy shitlord in these caves.

"My magic is mostly fire, but I'll do what I can. I belong in the water," he said aloud, announcing it to nobody in particular (and anyone who might be interested).

As for items, he crawled forward to look at the enchanted ones. He had no method of fine manipulation--no hands, no prehensile tail--and it took him long moments of slow prying and twisting with his jaws to pick a water-breathing cuff from off the pile. It looked like old, burnished copper or brass, and he watched with increasing irritation as others picked pieces off the pile like it was nothing as he struggled with it so much more slowly. Eventually he got one webbed, clawed forelimb into a cuff, and left it at that.

Patrick's enthusiasm had been infectious--it reminded him of himself at a young age--but he was quickly distracted by the sudden influx of stray thoughts along the link. "-ad'shere shOotshOOT SHOOT shooTSHOot shooTSHOOT" flitted through his mind, and he recoiled, blinking. That will be distracting, he thought to himself, with a mental grimace--and again, unintentionally broadcasting it to everyone.

Eventually the time had come: the Gembounds were prepared, and so was he.

He hauled himself to the water's edge, feeling the familiar thrill of liquid sloshing over his limbs, neck and chest--but breakers this time, and surprisingly warm, instead of the chill of his swamp. He dragged himself in with a few last bursts of speed, and in an instant, was transformed.

No more the fat, dragging body with one twisted limb, scarred and malformed, giving way beneath him. He became instead sleek in the sea, streamlined and powerful, every ridge of muscle and defined scute along his tail propelling him forward in neat strokes. He felt at home, and confident.

He could breathe water--some of the enchantments had been done with his help--so inhaling beneath the waves didn't come new to him. He tested it, confirmed to himself that his enchantment did function, and then dove, careful to keep close to Patrick.

The light sparkled down from above; below, the darkness loomed.

Dragon could not wait to see what it might hold. It was time for an adventure.

Blight found it hard to concentrate. There were far more Gembounds here than he'd ever really seen in one place, except maybe that meeting in Orion and he hadn't really been close to that. He wasn't sure if he was comfortable among this many, being unused to it, and he fidgeted a little.

He did find it interesting how many other dragons were here, though; Ascent in particular caught his eye, and he found himself staring. How could he not-? It was a bizarre and beautiful creature, he thought; angelic and mysterious all at once, as if belonging to some other world.

Oh--but there was Carja!

Blight sidled his way over, finding it difficult to make his way through the small crowd without pushing anyone. He could barely hear Carja over the din, but he caught her saying something similar to what he had: an assurance that she was there to help.

"Hello, Carja!" he called over, in greeting, eyeing her over. She looked well, which was a relief. "Let's watch out for one another-?" he suggested. It was good-natured, part a greeting and part an assurance, but he didn't have much time to follow up. He could barely follow the Blacksmith's warnings, and the seahorse-thing's raucous assertations were pretty much lost on him in the churning of voices. It was too much to focus on, and at length he shook himself out of it with a rattle of spines and fins, and made his way to the item-pile. He offered a bow of his arched neck to Forgraves as he plucked out pouches from the rapidly-shrinking pile, and then snaked his head into a loose silver pendant that settled down against his collarbones. It took some finagling, but with a hind foot he managed to close a baubled ring into one finned 'ear,' which he figured would help him some with light to see by. He had decent night-vision, being adapted to nocturnal fishing (not unlike Dragon's sight)--but he, too, had magic for that if needs be.

He'd just prefer not to waste it.

Eventually it seemed to be time to go, and so he clasped the pouches carefully in one taloned foot and began a lumbering run forward along the beach. Stones scattered underfoot as he gained speed, and then he leapt: launching skyward, the warm winds catching his tattered wings and lifting him.

Up he soared in a lazy spiral, higher; he looked down on those still ground-bound, and marvelled at how many there were. From up here, it was easy to handle the numbers--no longer in among them.

Then he swept lower, and lower, wings half-folding to drive him in a streaking descent toward the waves. It was how he sometimes fished, when he was certain he'd seen a larger target beneath the waves of Leo. Wings flared out slightly to slow him just a little, then folded utterly--and like an arrow, neck straight forward and tail out behind him, Blight plunged into Fornax's waves.

A breath.

A marvel--he could breathe-! I can breathe down here! was the exultant thought, sent to everyone nearby rather by accident; his eyes snapped open, past the flood of bubbles he'd brought with him, seeking out the distant glow of Patrick.

His wings stayed close to his body, feet tucked up against his tail, and he began to curl back and forth: a serpentine swimming, like a snake, through the sea.