RP:Black meets Gold Above Cenril
Over Cenril
Iscattiva, with kite-like wings spread wide, glides among the clouds above the city of Cenril while relishing in the simple joys of flight. A contented hum emanates from the dragon as she twists languidly through the air, sunlight and scales meeting in glorious bursts of gold and amber that make her relatively easy to spot as well as mark her as a Gold, a breed highly unlikely to assault the city below. That doesn't prevent Cenril's sky patrol from keeping a wary eye on her, just in case, but thus far the young dragon shows no signs of causing trouble.
Syndleplax finds himself not alone in the watchful eye of the lessers, nor is he alone in the skies as he approaches the city proper. Skirting the edges of the city at his size and color often made the humanoids scatter and all twitchy. Syndleplax could care less for them, but the radiating beast sailing the skies with him was something of an oddity. A gold, fluttering in the wind like an aimless child wondering through a park. How cute... and annoying. His wings give an extra flap, sending him higher up and closer to the gold before he roars politely, the powerful voice making his presence known to another of what he would consider a lesser. Perhaps not as worthless as the humans, but awful close.
Iscattiva is midway through a full body twist when a roar of greeting reaches her, causing her to arch her neck at an odd angle to get a look at the approaching dragon. Ah, a Black. Her sire has told her about this breed of kin and their penchant for short, violent tempers. Nonetheless, Iscattiva is the type to give any individual a chance before judging, and so she completes her spinal twisting and rights herself before flaring out her wings to bring her into a wavering hover. The sails coursing down her tail adjust to turn the Gold around so she can face the stranger and offer her own roar in salutations, a sound that's partially musical and strongly child-like in nature.
Syndleplax stops his approach, well within the range of breath but far from the risks of martial combat. "Aren't you interesting little gold... a dragon flying about aimlessly is one without purpose. So correct me if I am wrong, but you have no goals do you?"
Iscattiva's head cocks to the side with a rustle of horns and tentacled whiskers. As wings ripple to maintain her altitude and position, she flicks out her tongue uncertainly to scent the air coming from the Black in search of the basic information such things offer. Shortly after, she replies in pleasant tones, not seeming offended by the remark, "I do indeed have goals, sir. I am learning of the two-leggers and the way they structure themselves. I suppose I did see rather wayward just now, and I admit I was diverting from my task. But the sunlight is just so warm on my scales today! Don't you enjoy such things too?" The Gold speaks with an odd mixture of a child's rapid excitement and a foreigner's hesitance in using a new language, a combination that creates a looping, lilting accent.
Syndleplax said to Iscattiva, "No. Nor do I suggest one studies the lessers lest one forgets their place." his onix scales held barely a glint in the sunlight as his leathery wings flapped to keep his position above the skies of cenril as he actually took time for the first moment in days to stop for conversation rather than just bemusedly watching humanoids fruitlessly struggle against their own stupidity. "So tell me, aimless little gold.... why study those bound to the earth and with lifespans and thoughts so short that they truly are the most hazardous things to their own health? Why not eat them instead?""
Iscattiva glances down toward the city below at the Black's question to watch the various little dots scurry about frantically at seeing two dragons hovering above. "Because they are fascinating. You can learn much from them. They record histories in a unique way. They create beautiful things of gold and stone," she states matter-of-factly with an amused twitch of her serpentine tail, "They may be flightless, but they have mastered survival, and it's something I wish to learn, as my sire did before me. He says eating them is dangerous too, since there are -so- many of them, and they like to form packs to hunt Dragonkin that harm them."
Syndleplax said to Iscattiva, "If you eat them properly, no such groups form to hunt. And those that do should be struck down rather... quickly." he grinned a toothy grin as he exhaled noxious fumes from his nose frm the acid sitting at the ready in the pit of his gullet. "Perhaps I should show you how quickly their mundane crafts crumble, or how fragile and worthless they truly are.""
Iscattiva snorts in an involuntary response to the foul smoke the Black is exhaling, and her wings give a short flap to send the contaminated air swirling back toward him before she mulls over his remark. The way he speaks is in contrast to her father's teachings and as such they strike an uneasy chord in the young dragon, a feeling that has her wanting to avoid this dark, proud creature. He is everything she was taught not to be, or so it'd seem to Iscattiva. "But they'll always outnumber us. Making enemies of them will only hurt us in the end. They can help us as much as we can help them." Again she looks down toward the ground, the scales around her eyes crinkled into an unhappy arrangement at the panicked sight. "They've done me no harm, I don't see why I should hurt them."
Syndleplax said to Iscattiva, "One of our kind is worth millions of theirs, and their pride is sin enough to punish. For who is prouder than the ant who says he outnumbers the spider? Numbers are merely a bothersome statistic, they lack the foresight and intelligence of your kin. Yet you sound as if you would side with them in conflict, while they would eagerly abandon you to save themselves." another snort of the fumes. "Such a sad pathetic thought, no?"
Iscattiva looks positively crestfallen at the response, drooping in the air under the weight of the words that clash so violently with her upbringing. "I don't think so..." she murmurs in reluctant, miserable tones. It's the Black's pride more than anything that upsets Iscattiva, for she'd been warned of how that venomous trait of all dragons could warp even the best minds until they desolved into hate-mongering monsters. The same monsters that had given their kind a dark name in history.
Syndleplax was proud of that dark name, and finding someone so quick to protect the mortal races left a taste in his mouth more bitter than the acid he could spew. "So you would protect them? You would fight for them? Truly?"
Iscattiva's scales bristle, sending a clattering ripple down her spine as she straightens up and brings herself level with the Black again. "If they needed protecting, yes. I will protect any being that requires it. Cyris grants his freedom to all, and I will defend his work as is fitting of the line of his Champions I descend from."
Syndleplax said to Iscattiva, "You realize that other dragons will assault you for that stance?"
Iscattiva nods stiffly. "I know, but my devotion to Cyris will not falter because others do not carry my beliefs. They may wish me harm for it and while I do not wish the same on them, I will defend by beliefs. All life deserves freedom, and I am proud to follow in the talonmarks of my sire, and his sires before him to spread Cyris' gift."
Syndleplax said to Iscattiva, "Then when we next meet, you can expect less conversation. For now, I take my leave and spare your precious lessers."
Iscattiva sighs, exhaling a small burst of gold-tinged flame, before she begins to backwing. "It is a pity, then, but fair flying to you nonetheless, sir."