Days in the Life of a Half-Dragon

Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:02 am

Catch could not remember what had happened. He watched, too fascinated by Andre's garbled, yet lyrical tongue, his eyes wavering as the man picked up the nearest semi-weapon and made his desperate lunge. To Andre, perhaps, things would be more clear. Catch's eyes snapped, becoming sharper, far too sane. He dared! he dared endanger the little Rhin-Star! Catch did not bellow, did not hiss, as he lost himself. There was little noise at all as the faint, silver slithering under his skin burst away from their bondings, semi-liquid tendrils that whipped at Andre, across his face, his chest, his arms, with a force far more terrible than the smoke they resembled. Catch instinctively turned himself, sheltering Rhin from the sight, though his bones thrummed in a song that she could surely feel.

And he ran, quickly, his strides leaping and confident. His mind would not clear until he was away from that terrible place, with the greatest pearl, the most wonderful treasure, held carefully in his arms. The whipped, snaking smoke would see to that, if Andre recovered in time.
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Postby Drache » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:10 am

The human watched in horror as silver tentacles snaked from Catch's body. But he was nothing if not nimble and backed away in an artful dodge, his eyes seeking anything else in the room he might use to stop the strange, addled man. If they had been flesh and blood and bound by the laws of the mundane, agility alone would have saved him. As he crashed to the floor, consciousness flying, it was the mark on his flesh that protected him against death. A crackle and a flash of magical fire burned the silver tendrils away, leaving Andre prone, but still breathing.
It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. - J. R. R. Tolkien
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Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:17 am

It was the shocking slap of fresh air that roused him to his senses, cold air that seared his lungs after the bitter heat that had cracked them. Catch gasped, looking about himself in confusion. There was a warmness in his arms. The sky was blue, beautiful, full of clouds. Had he gone inside his head? The insistent warm, the beat of a living thing, dragged his eyes down to the dragon-child in his arms.

For a moment, sheer terror gripped him. What had he done? He had stolen! He had stolen something he knew was precious to another. catch almost bolted back into Drache's home, then and there, to put the little Star back where she belonged, and he uttered a little, animal keen in his throat. But his legs were leaden, his arms unforgiving. Slowly, as looked down at the little pearl, as he felt her breath and, automatically, turned the fur to hide her from the cold, his resolve became as cold as the mountains.

No, he would not take Rhin back. Catch looked over his shoulder, as if the thought would bring Drache on him, but the skies were still empty. Not for long. Catch carefully began the long descent down, eager to vanish into the woods.

"We are g-going to dance tonight," he tells little Rhin, running his finger along her knuckles. It did not take long before the slopes were empty of all but what was stirred by the wind.
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Postby Drache » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:20 am

It didn't take long.

From as far away as the town, the rumbling could be felt. An earthquake that did little more than rattle windows at this distance, but carried on for some time. Long enough for people to get over their initial shock and begin looking around for the cause. And it would be easily seen against the azure winter sky. Off in the distance, across the lake, one of the jagged mountain peaks was smoking.

Closer to the scene, the building bellow of rage echoed through the hollow spaces in the rock, propelled forward by a furnacelike heat. Cracks in the stone, hidden by years of growth and the season's creep of ice suddenly glowed orange and red, lit from within. There was still heat down in the roots of the sleeping mountain, but it wasn't an eruption that shook her heart. From the smoking crevace fire suddenly gouted, molten innards forced out by something enormous.

The red dragon exploded out of the opening, heedless in her wrath and her fear. No longer in the shape of a stunted half-breed, there seemed no end to the glittering mail of her crimson hide. A long serpentine neck arched skyward and her vengeful bellow crashed off of the surrounding peaks like a warhorn of epic proportions. Her voice spoke with a tongue of fire, whitehot at its heart, that streamed back over her arching horns. Talons as long as swords scythed into the rock as her massive haunches propelled her into the sky. Wings, one hundred feet from tip to tip, unfurled like a mantle of doom for the one who had stolen her child. She was glorious, and terrible, her more human tendencies abandoned in this crisis.

With a final snarl she arced through the winter air and dived low over the forest. Trees snapped and shook under the downdrafts of her wings and she began hunting. Hunting for Catch.
It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. - J. R. R. Tolkien
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Harrasyntehp.

Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:27 am

There was answer. Humans may need words, may need a moment's panicked conversation. But a dragon knew. A dragon could feel, even in his old bones, the roar or rage and loss. He could react, in the instinct of his kind, of something precious stolen from an equally-precious female. From his own lair he burst, scattering geese that, equally tired of the cold, had been napping against him. Syn threw back his head in an answering roar, his old body forced to movements that he would not feel until his own rage was spent. In a whipcrack of movement, his billowing, serpentine form threw itself into the air, masses of luminescent algae shedding free from his body, making the air crackle in lightning of many-colors as he, too, joined the fury and the search.
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Postby Drache » Sun Jan 22, 2012 9:44 am

She was not alone in the sky, and at first she turned to Syn with a fang-filled warning sneer. This was -her- territory. Rhin was -hers-. And the male's encroachment was unwanted. But the substance of his cry conveyed his intentions and with a begrudging snort she accepted his help. Catch now had two dragons on his tail for the price of one.

The memory of a dragon attack was likely fresh in the minds of the townsfolk, and the sight of two incoming dragons, each about one hundred feet in length, may have been enough to cause mass panic. But when Drache peered down into the clusters of buildings she knew that Rhin was not there. Not yet. So the worst Myrken Town got was the spectacular view of her golden underbelly and a few upturned applecarts. Her search took her over the sprawling woodland, leaving the walled town alone.
It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. - J. R. R. Tolkien
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Catch.

Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 10:02 am

As fire and thunder beat the air overhead, Catch took refuge in the rotted remains of a log, made dead by the terrible Plague that had afflicted so much of the forest, and fallen from the weight of snow and ice the blizzard of a few weeks back. His body was not ready to travel far, and he did not trust it, having lost his sense once already. He could not lose them again, not with Rhin.

It helped him to see her, propping her back against his upturned knees, careful of her delicate, spaded tail. He kept his hands at her sides so that she may grip them, if she so desires, and is content to simply watch her, serene, despite the way his body shook from cold and shock and the thunder of wings above.

"She duh-doesn't understand," he speaks to the little Star, not certain if she understands, but the speaking helped him. "No one does. You f-felt me touching you, duh-didn't you? When she was not so cruel, and let me touch her belly. I sang to you. I sang you th-the stars."

Catch hummed to Rhin, now, but his voice is wandering, and he cannot remember the tune, losing the thread of it, and hesitant until he can find it again. It is frustrating. But he doesn't lose his temper, because just feeling Rhin in his hands makes it all seem so unimportant.
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Postby Drache » Sun Jan 22, 2012 10:19 am

Rhindanithoryx would not be an easy child to care for. Not for Drache, and certainly not for Catch. But luckily for the madman she was not so kittenlike that she could crawl away from him. And whatever power thrummed in her blood was yet beyond her reach. Immune, she was, to the cold that frosted her breath in soft little puffs against Catch's skin.

She stared in wonder, gurgling and chirruping along during their hurried flight from the safety and familiarity of the Lair. Her little wings, years away from developing, flapped instinctively, fluttering against Catch's arms.

In the darkness of the log she scraped her claws against the spongy deadwood. The roars and familiar voice high above drew out inquisitive cheeps, muffled in their hiding place. Was there recognition in her little dragon face as Catch whispered to her? Maybe. Maybe it was why she didn't yet cry or squeal for her mother. But she couldn't answer him and simply bit him thoughtfully as he sang to her. The unicorn without his horn might think Drache a cruel and vicious creature, and after this there may never be a chance for reconcilliation between them. But would he be able to truly say that she didn't love her daughter when the proof was in his hands.

After hours of fleeing and hiding, Rhindani produced a loud chirp. It was the sound of a baby eagle, or a hatchling alligator. One whose belly was starting to feel empty. It was the first of many such sounds.
It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. - J. R. R. Tolkien
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Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 10:32 am

He did not mind the chirps, the nibbling. When he felt it safe, when he felt himself steady, he slipped from the log and began, with his long, slopping stride, to flicker deeper into the forest. Her little, fluttering wings, in fact, gave him such pleasure that he laughed, and, reckless but cautious, he held her a little aloft as he ran, giving her a taste of the air and wind that was her right, by birth.

For hours he sang to her, and spoke to her. He told her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her. He kissed her, too, delighting in the spicy dragon-smell, lipping at her fingers and clawed toes. He was in love, completely infatuated, and it was not until the sun had begun it's slow, inexhaustible descent that he began to feel the adventures of the day, his body responding to cold and tiredness. He hunkered in the snow, careful to keep Rhin bundled, and it was only then that her insistent peeps penetrated the delirious, happy fog that had cushioned his mind.

Catch had no milk, he knew, from experience with the kittens that so often became orphaned, their mothers leaving him with them as they stalked away for their evening hunts, never to return. Cows have milk, but Catch hesitated in bringing her to the distant farms that lay out from the main hub of the town. Those farmers were not very kind, when all a man wanted was to whisper secrets to their newborn foals and calfs, and play with the chicks.

Catch tried to think of all the things he ate. He dug carefully into his knapsack, and found an apple. He put this to Rhin's muzzle in offering, certain that it would be good enough; after all, he loved apples, and so did Ser Elliot. And Ser Elliot was a boy.
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Postby Drache » Sun Jan 22, 2012 10:44 am

Rhin was having a grand old time. The unfamiliarity of her adventures ignored in favour of the fun she was having. She cooed and burbled and discovered the end of her own tail, promptly stuffing it into her mouth and squealing at the funny sensation. But the needs of her body started to take over. Her expression grew concerned. Her silver brows knitted together with consternation as she called, louder and louder, for the warmth of familiarity of the person who meant food and comfort. The person she needed to survive. She began to fuss, rocking back and forth and rubbing her fists in her eyes in between bouts of incessant calling. It was a sound that would quickly bring Drache down from the heavens if she happened to pass near enough to hear it. She bit the apple experimentally, and though she did not have her mothers distaste for sweet foods it was too unfamiliar. She cried, sometimes like a normal infant, sometimes like something else.
It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him. - J. R. R. Tolkien
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Postby catch » Sun Jan 22, 2012 11:01 am

"Oh no, little Star, Shh, shh," Catch soothed, his little hisses meant to amuse her, to make her laugh and burble as she had been. He tried to rock her, the way he has seen mothers do, but the movement is far too clumsy to be anything but jarring, and Catch stops himself with his growing alarm. He knows hunger, and he knows starvation, dim memory though it may be. It distressed him, more than anything, that his little Star may be so hungry.

"You're nuh-not m-made for apples, are you," he says in sorrow, seeing the little, nubby teeth in her gums. His mind was whirling with thoughts that fought, that contradicted, and Catch tried to close his eyes to bring them all to order. But then, he remembers.

"I eat the vegetables, and the Dreamlady eats the meat-bits," he mutters, more to himself. But it will be risky. Catch is already running, swifter than a shadow, his mind going down the familiar worm-paths even as his feet beat against the snow. He slows as he comes to the treeline, and carefully bundles Rhin up in her fur.

"It will be vuh-very dark," he tells her, quite serious, his eyes as concerned as the ruined brow above them. "But it will be warm. And you'll huh-have many nummy th-things for your belly. But you muh-must be quiet! I promise. I p-p-promise you'll have s-so much food. Okay?" he does not wait for affirmation, but trusts little Rhin, his Star, to understand. Carefully, he lays her, bundled, in his knapsack. As an afterthought, he places the cheerful, little stuffed monkey in her arms, so that she will not be alone.

"Quiet as houses and trees," he tells her again, before he flips the flap over her. His steps are careful, exaggerated, as he waddles to the familiar, twinkling lights of the Tavern, white-knuckled fingers tight on the sack to keep it steady, hardly noticing the damage done to the tavern as he moves inside.
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