[Location: Adventure Zone] [open to any!]

[imperial_long]

Good afternoon, Taxon: there is an enormous black dragon flying in lazy circles above the city.

Specifically, above the Northern District, that nebulous area currently masquerading as Fantasyland. After all, what's a good castle adventure without a dragon? Even if the dragon is distinctly Eastern in flavor rather than Western.

On the map, the dragon displays as Oolong. In the air, Oolong loops like a black ribbon, drifting down from the sky in long, rippling undulations as he scans the woods below for interesting things.

'Interesting things' qualify as sheep. Or deer. Or, perhaps, even a goblin here or there.

Either way, he's visible from anywhere in Adventure Zone... and for that matter, probably visible from parts of the regular city too.



[OOC: Oolong in da house! Long is currently a 90-foot-long Chinese imperial dragon. He still has his tablet on him. Feel free to approach him in any way from terror to glee.]

Comments

[imperial_long]

"I have nothing but time. There are probably quite suitable claymores in the castle over there," Oolong says with a wave of one claw.

He harumphs again at Horst's implication. "Really now. That would hardly be honorable of me. And in truth, I care little for already-dead flesh. Please, do go fetch your sword; I shall remain here, sir."

The hands, which can easily pick up a horse, tuck themselves neatly beneath the huge jaw, and Oolong stares patiently down at Horst, the golden eyes shining down like twin suns.

[trojanhorst]

Had Horst known Mayland Long for more than one day, the bright gold of the dragon's eyes might have struck the faintest chord with him. Unfortunately, that's not the case, and Horst's skills at logical inference aren't nearly developed enough to make the leap from 'glowing eyes' to 'giant black dragon.'

Instead, because why the hell not?, he says, "I'll be back in a flash," and with a faint, momentary blur, Horst Cabal is gone.

* * * *

Some time later, the moon having gone lower in the sky, he returns. Both arms are now spattered with goblin blood, and the hem of his trousers, and his shoes, and a spot on the side of his face. There are a few long tears in one sleeve, but no blood to indicate a wound.

Sure enough, though, he's come by a two-hander somehow or other, pommel and quatrefoil arms set with carnelian, its weight awkward in his untrained hand. Indignant harumphs or no, Horst is surprised to find that the dragon's still there.

[imperial_long]

Oolong fell asleep waiting for you, Horst. The dragon's long bulk is sprawled like so much discarded rope in big floppy loops over the surrounding landscape, and he is snoring with a noise like a furnace. The great eyes are halfway shut, their light dimmed.

Still, the light step of Horst's feet cause him to stir, scaled length slowly shifting, claws twitching, the double-lidded eyes flaring back to life.

"I beg your pardon," Oolong rumbles, and yawns, like a cat, huge, the mouth opening wide to display those very many extremely sharp teeth.

"Ah. Yes. There we are. Oh, now that is not too bad, is it?" The massive head cranes in to examine the sword; the eyes squinting down to thin slits.

"Jasper? Hmmmn-- no, no, carnelians. Well, I can hardly claim you have not fulfilled your end of the bargain, now can I? I trust you were not much hurt in its retrieval."

[trojanhorst]

Horst shakes his head, both in answer to the question and in amazement at the ridiculousness of the situation. A dragon waited around politely (fell asleep, no less!) for a vampire to properly arm itself. Will wonders never cease.

"No, not at all, thank you," he answers. "I'm right as rain. Fit as a fiddle. Ship-shape." The little cuts he's sustained were nothing life-threatening, nothing that didn't soak themselves back up in seconds. It puts him that much closer to the eventual need for a feeding, but that's all.

He swings the sword in the air once, experimentally, frowning at how awkward and foreign it feels.

"I don't suppose you could endeavor to look a little bit threatened?" he sulks, an embarrassed quirk to his lips. "This isn't exactly doing wonders for my confidence."

[imperial_long]

"I do apologize," Oolong says, apparently quite contrite. "A moment--"

It's been a long time since he felt threatened, after all. He thinks.

He crouches down on his forearms like a dog might; curls his lips back to bare his teeth. The eyes bulge wider. On a small creature this might indeed evoke the appearance of fear.

On something considerably larger than anything else in its immediate vicinity, it sadly just makes him look fiercer.

"Better?" Oolong inquires, breath hissing hotly between bared teeth.

[trojanhorst]

Horst stares at this display for a moment, eyes wide: then he laughs, more than a little hysterical. This really is an ignoble way to die. "...Not really."

He paces in a tight circle, a bit giddy with fear by this point, swiping a hand through his hair. It's only an instant before he remembers his hand is clotted with goblin blood, and he pulls it away in disgust, the damage already done. "Augh." A pause. "Be sure and mangle my corpse a bit after you're done with me. I'd hate to be seen like this."

[imperial_long]

"I'm quite sorry. I could incinerate you if you should prefer?" Oolong offers. He's the soul of consideration. "Nothing left then, to cast aspersions upon one's ego."

This is all very problematic, mostly because he is having a deuce of a time not laughing. Ah well, he will carry the joke for as long as he can. Oolong arches up, rolls his head from side to side as if preparing for battle.

"Do you need to engage in any calisthenics--? Oh, no, of course not, you've been getting your exercise already, haven't you. Silly me."

[trojanhorst]

"Incineration. Yes, thank you. Perhaps this time it'll take."

Horst points his sword at the dragon's swiveling head.

"Shall we?"

Were he more astute, or simply just less frightened, Horst might by now have noticed the large silver band ringing the dragon's forearm. Instead he's more focused on the dragon's long, sharp teeth and claws. They seem a bit more relevant at the moment.

[imperial_long]

"If we must," Oolong says phlegmatically. He drops his jaw onto his palms again, staring down.

"Personally I should prefer tea, or a chat, but I defer to your heroic archetype.

"--although I must say, I'm rather disappointed in this repayment after serving as your impromptu realtor."

[trojanhorst]

Horst cocks his head to one side, puzzled. 'Realtor' isn't a word he knows, nor one he can gist in this context, but something is . . . off here.

"Tea," he hedges carefully, "might be difficult to arrange," and nods meaningfully at the dragon to indicate that that would be rather a lot of tea, don't you think?.

He squints. "Do I . . . know you?"

Horst looks a little more carefully this time, trying to consider the possibilities. A shapeshifter? He hasn't met many people, but --

Had he a beating heart, it might here have skipped one or two of its scheduled beats, as Horst suddenly considers Jason Blood, and the unseen demon lurking in his head. Does it take tea? Does it flutter in the breeze?

Would it really leave him be if it could have gnashed him between its teeth like a schnauzer on a rat?

To that last, probably not.

He squints again at the gold eyes shining bright in the dark.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?" he tries a little more cannily.

[imperial_long]

The enormous mouth curls into a pleased, amused smile.

"Very good, Herr Brauer! I do. And yes, you know me, although I shall be the first to grant not terribly well."

Oolong flips onto his back, inverting his smile, and laces his clawed hands on his yards of scaled belly.

"You must forgive me my little jest. I so rarely get to indulge in such."

[trojanhorst]

Horst just shakes his head back and forth for a little while, watching the calm librarian he met just a few days before roll around onto his giant, draconic back. Then he plants his sword point-down into the ground and bends over it, laughing wildly, astounded by the unpredictability of life.

"All's forgiven," he waves him off with his free hand, still bent double. "I live to fight another day. Apparently I really don't know you terribly well -- even less so than I imagined."

He straightens up to make a proper study of the dragon he knows only as the man named Mayland Long. This new creature is massive and graceful as a cloud. "I can't imagine how you manage to be something so different so capably. It must be terribly cramped. Can you take many shapes?"

[imperial_long]

Oolong opens his mouth to answer, shuts it, considers, then opens it again.

"No," he says, as comfortable in carrying on in the German as he is to talk in English. They're both second languages for him after all.

"Truthfully, I cannot 'take' any shapes at all. This is my... This is what I am. The other, well. It is not exactly my preference."

Well, that's a way to bring down his good mood. Oolong's massive eyes stare up at the starry sky overhead, then shrugs enormous shoulders to dismiss that.

"Occasionally our captors see fit to allow me to be as I am. Were you truly going to attempt to stab me? Tsk, Herr Brauer, you have a certain disregard for your own safety, do you not?"

[trojanhorst]

You're something of a swan-maiden, then, he thinks, or a selkie. Someone has stolen your skin and uses it to own your happiness. How terrible. Were Horst more well-versed in non-European folklore, he might've added tennin to the list -- but in any event, he can't keep the dismayed frown from his face. He likes Mayland Long reasonably well, to date. That their captor (or captors) has that much power, to so cavalierly and perpetually torment such a creature, is chilling.

"I wonder if they hate you much more than the rest of us, or if they simply find it more convenient in some way to turn you into something more compact," he says with a disapproving cluck of the tongue. Then, with another wry smile: "Herr Long, you're ruining my ability to comfortably pity myself."

Horst takes only a passing, conversational interest in Long's final questions, being, himself, as disinterested in dwelling publicly on his own unhappiness as Long was on his. Perhaps he can approach the inquiries from a lighter-hearted direction? "My morals and my safety are often at odds, that's all. Truthfully, I planned to snap your neck if I could, actually -- though I thought the sword might make the climb a bit easier."

[imperial_long]

Oolong blinks slowly, then realizes the misconception and chuckles. (It rumbles the ground when he does so.)

"Ah, nein, nein-- my-- circumstances-- happened somewhat before Taxon. One can lay many misfortunes at our captors' feet, but not that one, I must admit.

"Besides, I do not think they hate us."

Oolong flips himself upright again-- well, more like sideways-- seeming to have be as comfortable regarding Horst from a ninety-degree angle as any other. His eyes are wide with possible interest.

"I wonder if it would have worked! I can truthfully say nobody has attempted such a thing upon my person before. Is your new-found sword magical? If not, I should hazard it would have done little against me, honestly. Nature has provided rather splendidly for me in the realm of armor."

'Modesty' ill befits a dragon.

[trojanhorst]

"I've no idea," he says, looking at the sword as though in hopes it'll give up its secrets. "I didn't want to keep you waiting too long." Couched in this statement is the (accurate) implication that he'd grabbed the first sword he'd found that wasn't tiny and rusted.

Long is clearly quite comfortable resting on the ground, so it occurs to Horst that his remaining on his feet might be perceived as rude or distracting. Still, even in ruined clothes, he can't bring himself to just sit down on damp grass; instead, he casts about for someplace to sit, and settles on the trunk of a nearby fallen tree.

Mayland Long is a dragon. It's still a bit surreal.

"What makes you think our captors don't hate us?" he pursues the idea. His fellow captives' theories about this place will be useful, and they're interesting, besides. You can learn a lot about a person (or a dragon, as may be) based on the sorts of conclusions they draw.

still in german, just tired of italics tags la la

[imperial_long]

"Most polite of you," Long says with ten feet of grin.

He skritches, in a ruminative fashion, at his belly scales; takes the opportunity to arch his spine back against a tree for some cat-like rubbing there as well.

"Because we are not significant enough to them to hate us," is his phlegmatic, matter-of-fact response. "One can only hate that with the power to harm you, and we certainly do not possess that ability over our captors.

"Besides that, though, their actions are far more consistent with a basic lack of comprehension of us. If they wanted us to do nothing but suffer, why-- depriving us of food or water, or chaining us to racks for torments-- would all suffice.

"Instead they act like children with some captured mouse: alternately poking it with a stick-- not realizing that it makes the mouse suffer-- and at other times giving it toys and food and all manner of pleasures... as the child's brain understands them."

[trojanhorst]

Horst lets that sink in, not bothering to disagree with it -- it makes for a good working theory, on Long's part. It's not the only theory, of course, but it's one Horst hadn't quite considered: captors with no particular intent. If that's so, though, it begs the question why these people? What do they have in common? Why are some sent away again?

We are not significant enough to them to hate us. A concept at which human beings have always naturally bridled.

"Forgive me a forward question, Herr Long," Horst ventures, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and thereby look more personable. "But have you ever hated anyone?"

[imperial_long]

Oolong pauses, then chuckles, the reverberations vibrating in the earth, rumbling against the soles of Horst's shoes.

"Only once.

"I have come close to hating our captors, but really I confess pique more than anything towards them. Perhaps if I am here another twenty years it shall graduate into the full and proper thing, but I doubt it...

"This is a not-altogether uninteresting captivity, you see. It affords me the most splendid conversations. So I cannot really be too resentful."

[trojanhorst]

"Hatred can be a complicated thing," Horst offers his opinion. "Among human beings, at least; I couldn't speak for you. I hated a man once, myself. Who was it that drove you to hate?"

As forward questions go, this one rates as Extremely Risky: but Horst has threatened Long with two swords and his bare hands, and come out the other side little more than abashed at his own silliness, so he feels comfortable adding one more risk to the pile. He's never had any sort of a philosophical chat with a dragon before, and this particular dragon seems particularly amenable to lengthy, ambling conversations.

[imperial_long]

The golden eyes flare a little brighter, but there's something wry and amused in the dragon's basso profundo voice when he answers, "A nasty fellow with the very inappropriate name of Morning Star."

Another thoughtfully bellyscratch, and Oolong twists again to settle flat on the ground, long jaw resting against the earth, warm puff of breath washing over Horst. He is most absolutely amenable to lengthy, ambling conversations; they are his specialty.

"Quid pro quo, my undead friend: who has earned your ire?"

[trojanhorst]

Horst sighs, the question not unexpected. He looks up at the moon, thinking about how different things seem to be, the lives of men and dragons. Mayland Long hates the Morningstar himself. The man Horst Cabal hates is so very much smaller that the devil plays games with him for a laugh.

"Someone I once loved. Someone who killed me. Someone I still loved even so."

[imperial_long]

Oolong's head tilts to the side again, studying Horst with (vast, golden) interest; Oolong knows a story when he hears one, and he does so enjoy stories.

"I am given to understand that love and hate are very close bedfellows. This fellow brought you to your current, ah, state, then?"

[trojanhorst]

Horst nods. "As you say, you can't hate something unless it has the power to harm you. As to whether or not he made me into what I am -- in the sense of being a vampire, that is -- that part is debatable. I will say I don't hold him blameless . . . but due credit must be given for my own stupidity, too."

He looks in Long's big, golden eyes. There's something about them that seems very detached, almost scientific in their observation of him. It makes it easier to talk about something rather personal, funnily enough.

"It's a very dull and human story, I'm afraid, mainly of cowardice and foolishness. I would hate to tire a new friend with the details; talking at length about oneself is considered, in some corners, to be quite boorish."

[imperial_long]

The huge eyes shine down like suns spinning in an impossibly near galaxy. Between their lambent glow and the general heat radiating from the dragon, there is almost the illusion of sunlight on Horst's cold skin.

"I have nothing but time," the dragon answers. "And I enjoy human stories. Immensely. Of course, you are not obligated to speak if the topic pains you."