Difference between revisions of "990/Brothers in Scale"

Latest revision as of 19:28, 19 November 2014

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Terrible Dactyl swoops low over the mountainous region, glancing at the flowing peaks and valleys below him. He rides the updrafts skillfully, barely flapping his giant wings as he scans the areas below. A small red spacecraft follows after him, not in pursuit, but, rather, following the Tyranno scout.

"Are you sure about this Rex? There's a lot of mountains down there and quite varied. How are we supposed to pick one out, among thousands?" Dactyl radios.

"Just keep looking, I'm sure he'll poke his head up eventually. He knows we're coming." Rex radios back.

The Copper (611) has posed:
Welcome to the Lavadome. As the name implies, it's an enormous cavern deep underground, formed by a cooled bubble of lava. It's a rough cavern but it's been lived-in here for a while. There are caves cut or dug from the hillsides, staggered and with the smell of dragon in them; there are commons, and there are even mushroom gardens. A great clearing lies above the others on a plateau, formed of shiny black obsidian.

There are dragons everywhere – from hatchlings playing in sand pits near the residental caves, to wingless adolescent males and females going about patrols or business, to winged adults lounging on their shelves. Green adults fly patrols through the Lavadome's air, with red stripes painted around their collars and necks – females, all flying in concert.

It's atop the shiny black rock that the leader of this draconic domain waits patiently – a smallish male copper dragon, battered and scarred and crippled. His left wing hangs down and drags on the ground, his right forelimb is curled up against his chest and withered, and his left eye droops, clouded and white and nearly blind. Even his eyes are copper, bright pools the same as his scale, which have been scrubbed clean and polished until gleaming. He is, after all, expecting a guest.

Yet these dragons seem to answer to this cripple, and he must be strong, or perhaps clever, for dragons are arrogant creatures and pay little heed to those they deem unworthy of authority.

Every so often shadows pass overhead, too small to be dragons; sleek and swift in the air. Looking up would reveal the half-reptilian, half-avian griffaran, the bodyguards of the Imperial line – and escorts of their eventual Confederate guests, polite but not very talkative.

Outside, a patrol of brightly-coloured griffaran fly up like sparrows startling, but they move with too much purpose to be frightened.

"Yark!" One of them calls, squawking to get the attention of their winged (and spaceshipped) guests. "This way to the Tyr!"

They'll lead him down, down through the cavern; twisting through the serpentine caverns that lead underground in acrobatic, if direct, route to the great open cavern below. There is, fortunately, plenty enough room for Rex's spacecraft!

Well, it's pretty and scenic, if nothing else.

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Dactyl eyes the escorts coldly, cocking his head to the side, "Well, this seems to be the place."

Ever the showoff, the Tyranno takes a steep dive down through the air, after the scouts. He blows past them and loops around, coming dangerously close to the rock face, but managing the wind currents masterfully. Rex, follows behind the escorts, but does not partake in the reckless maneuvers of his subordinate. He knows that Terrible Dactyl was born to the skies and has every faith that he will not smear himself along a cliff face.

When Rex finds a suitable landing spot, he sets his crimson craft down, not far from his gleaming host.The canopy pops open with a hiss, and Rex himself climbs out. Dactyl circles overhead, taking in the sights of Copper's domain.

"What'll you have me do, Genghis Rex?" Dactyl asks as he hovers on an updraft.

Rex glances up, "Keep a patrol going. Map the area and try to get scans of the lifeforms here. I imagine our host will not protest."

Dactyl interrupts, "And if he does?"

Rex snaps his jaws in irritation, "Just do as I say."

Dactyl snorts, "Whatever!" and swings upwards, releasing several small metallic orbs that spread out below him, stopping and flashing red lights along the ground at varying intervals.

Rex tromps along, his jade eyes locked on Copper. Blood red scales shimmer along his exposed skin, while a black leather jacket clings tightly to his powerful frame. Rex is fit, and powerful and radiates an air of dominance and brutality, but today, there is also a sense of caution, in the presence of an unknown fellow Saurian.

The Copper (611) has posed:
The Copper remains motionless until Terrible Dactyl and the ship make their plunge into the Lavadome, heralded by the bright griffaran. His head slowly raises, turning so he can fix his good copper eye on the visiting Tyranno emperor and his lieutenant.

Although the griffaran will follow Terrible Dactyl, they won't stop him; indeed, they seem impressed with his acrobatic flying, one of them ofering a friendly click from the side of its mouth as they dive and swoop.

As to the Copper, he regards Rex with the same caution, though it's masked behind a rather convincing air of calm.

"Greetings." His head turns, slightly, to get a better look at Rex. "Welcome to Black Rock, and the Lavadome." His teeth click in jovial gesture. "You are no dragon. But you look powerful like one."

"So. You have found the Lavadome, and see how we must live underground like fugitives in our own realm. Genghis Rex, is it?" He raises his head, fixing it in the Tyranno's direction, showing his teeth. "Dragons belong in the Upper World, and the hominids that drove us here belong beneath our claws. We will have the Upper World. With fire, and blood."

"If you help us, we are willing to afford you a percentage of the spoils, for whatever it is that you find useful." He lowers his head, fixing Rex with that eye, that pool of molten copper. "We need allies. How do you find the idea of a war, Genghis Rex, against the Upper World and its hominid empires...?"

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Rex folds his arms, his eyes scan over The Copper closely. Even at 12 feet tall and 800 lbs, Rex would be considered diminutive in comparison to his host. His eyes linger on The Copper's withered limbs and scarred face, clearly sizing up the dragon and evaluating potential weaknesses should a confrontation ever arise.

He nods in acknowledgement as The Copper speaks his name, with an arched eye ridge, Rex inquires "Lavadome is it?"

He glances around, "Lavadome is a geothermal facility on my home world of Reptilon. One might say it is the very heart of our world. It is also controlled by the most wretched of my enemies, The Dinosaucers. Interesting that this place should share its name."

Rex locks eyes with The Copper, trying to make sense of the gleaming orb that stares back at him, "I am no dragon. Dragons on my world were experiments ... their ultimate fates were ... unfortunate and they are now extinct. You are the third I have met in this new world. The first was a potential mate, named Cynder, who grew dissatisfied with the Confederacy and returned to her own realm. The second was known as the Planeswalker, Niv Mizzet. He turned away my offers to ally with him and as a result, I brought him to his ruin. You are first to come to ME as ask for an alliance. Perhaps my reputation precedes me?"

Rex regards The Copper sternly, "Do you have a name beyond the color of your scales?"

The Copper (611) has posed:
"Lavadome," the Copper confirms, blinking and fixing that bright eye on the Tyranno emperor. "Of course, I didn't choose the name. That's what it was called when I came here, and what it has been called since its founding, if the... histories... are to be believed." He stumbles over the term; the concept of history (or at least history as it pertains beyond the immediate individual) is still a relatively new notion to dragonkind. He's taken to it better than most. "I will introduce you to Rethothanna later. She'll be able to tell you more, if you're curious."

Dinosaucers? He takes that in without comment, filing that tidbit away for later reflection, if it should become relevant. He tilts his head faintly, curling his tail fastidiously about himself – but the way it moves is stiff, suggestive of an old and ill-mended break. Yet another tally on the pile, it seems. One wonders how this battered beast ever survived.

He dips his head, clicking his teeth in thoughtful gesture – a simple forward and backward movement of his jaw, running teeth against one another, creating a quiet, ratcheting sound. It might be the equivalent to a hominid grinding their teeth, or perhaps drumming their fingers on something. Indeed, the claw of his good forefoot can be heard clicking faintly against the dark, glassy stone of Black Rock.

"Experiments." How interesting. Perhaps Genghis' reputation precedes him, or does the Copper have a name? "No."

He lets that hang for a few seconds, and then stares at the Tyranno Emperor again, bright eyes and burnished scale. His jaw opens again, showing teeth, but it seems to be a friendly gesture more than an antagonistic one. All told, the Copper seems to be a good-humoured specimen. It probably doesn't hurt that his bodyguards are swooping overhead in acrobatic display, as though they were simply cavorting with one another, although every so often Rex might catch the liquid green-and-gold flash of griffaran eyes on them both.

"That is to say, I have not heard of you. And I do not have a name. Not one of my own. I was outcast." The way he says it suggests a certain significance, but he doesn't elaboruate, at least not unless asked. "But I have been named Tyr RuGaard." The second syllable is given as much emphasis as the first; making the name sound oddly hitching. "RuGaard, after the grandsire of Tyr FeHazathant, now dead; a dragon I never knew. And Tyr, ruler of the Lavadome, and leader of dragonkind... at least, that's what they call me."

His right, undamaged wing rustles slightly, as though shrugging. "And so that is what I do. I tire of living underground. Dragons were not meant to skulk and cower in the dark. The Spirits made us more nobly than that. And I tire of hiding."

"What do you say?" The Copper turns his head, fixing Rex with that bright eye again. "Would you help us reclaim what is ours? You would be given all honours, of course, and perhaps those wretched hominids would cry settled at the sight of our two armies. The Aerial Host, and your own people..." He flares his right wing, the leathery membranes making a snap. "And think what we together could accomplish for the Confederacy, too. None would stand before us."

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Rex steeples his claws, taking in The Copper's words, a scowl of dissatisfaction crossing his face, his own rows of gleaming teeth reveal themselves as he considers what he hears very carefully.

Above, Terrible Dactyl soars working a tablet of some sort with his thumb, obviously a central control unit for the small orb probes that dart around the area, flashing terrain and startled lifeforms alike, before moving on to the next item to catalogue.

Rex speaks evenly, "Power flows to those who know how to use it. No doubt this was known to your predecessor, and you bear the scars of that knowledge. Were you not worthy to rule, you would not be here to speak to me right now. I have spent a lifetime trying to right the wrongs that were visited upon my people by both the Dinosaucers and their wretched Mammalian allies. They took from me what meant the most. For that, they will NEVER be forgiven. NEVER!"

The crimson Tyrannosaur clenches a fist and snarls, "No! No brothers of mine shall be forced to live like worms in the belly of the Earth by detestable mammals! No scale shall be forced into the darkness by those disgusting softskins! Blood will be spilled and they will pay for their injustices that they dare to visit upon us!"

He slams his fist into his palm, "I shall regain my throne, I shall find my world and I shall liberate you and your people from this place! That is spoils enough for the Tyrannos!"

Rex steps up within swiping distance of The Copper, he drags a thumb claw across the palm of his right hand, tearing through the top layer of skin and scale. Blood pours from the wound as he holds the claw out for The Copper to clasp, "Tyr RuGaard, Ruler of Dragonkind, I, Genghis Rex, ruler of Reptilon, accept you as a brother scale! The Tyrannos will assist you whenever you call."

The Copper (611) has posed:
The griffaran seem perfectly happy to fly acrobatics with Terrible Dactyl, though their cavorting should probably not be taken for anything but what it is: He's being watched, and very closely, by no less than three of them at a time. Being paranoid is their job, after all!

"Spirits know that." The Copper tilts his head again, regarding Rex thoughtfully. "And so did Tyr FeHazathant. He was the victim of politics, I'm sorry to say. He was a good Tyr, and he took me in when I had nowhere to go, though I suppose that's why he did what he did." At the time, he was independent of the Lavadome's vicious politics.

Man, it must make Rome look like a cakewalk. Too bad, too. They seem to have enough enemies up above, hunted and harried by adventurers and treasure-seekers and dragon-hunters... yet they fight each other, too. Proud, arrogant creatures.

But that, too, is as it's meant to be.

He listens in silence to Rex's own recountings, that copper eye bright and intelligent in spite of his physical failings. This here is no brute, no warmongering leader of the Aerial Host; this is a plotter, a survivor, one who does not duel so much as fight like his life's on the line when it comes teeth to griff. He's no duelist, no empty-headed politician. He's a survivor, and he was born and bred on scarcity and lack and gut-wrenching need. He knows how to get what he wants... even if it sometimes comes about by happenstance.

The copper dragon blinks somewhat owlishly at Rex's impassioned speech and vow, tilting his head as though in genuine puzzlement. It's... strangely touching, that the Tyranno would care so much about a stranger he had only recently met.

"Heh." The dragon shows his teeth again, with some effort stretching out his crippled limb. Delicately, he pinches a few scales in his teeth, and then with a sideways jerk of his head simply rips the things out with a metallic clatter – yep, looks like they really are mostly solid copper. The scales are spat into his now-bleeding claw, and he overturns the scales for Rex to take, as well as pressing his bloodied claw to Rex's, the withered limb clenching with impressive strength in spite of its obvious disuse.

"So be it, Genghis Rex, brother scale. We survive for the time being, but the aid of your Tyranno Empire would be welcome. And in kind, the Aerial Host will respond if you should call, and respond in full."

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Rex examines the writhered claw in his own, then pulls his hand back and turns the now blood stained copper scales over in his hand, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. As he tacitly examines the scales, he says offhandedly, "That can be fixed, you know?"

He turns his head to the withered claw and wing, "Such injuries are of no consequence to my people. We do not presently have a regeneration tank large enough for someone your size, but it could be built with the proper time and effort. Reptilonians are among the greatest geneticists in existence."

The Copper (611) has posed:
The withered claw is taken back, folded against the dragon's coppery breast, right over the heart. It doesn't seem to bother him, and in spite of the uselessness of the limb, he seems to get around just fine with a sort of shuffling, three-legged gait. Nor does it seem a crutch to him – not once has he complained, or otherwise bemoaned his state.

He does swivel his head around when Rex makes his observation, though, sudden interest lighting in those bright coppery eyes.

"What?" An owlish blink, and he studies the Tyranno with renewed interest. "'Regen...eration... tank?'" He sounds out the unfamiliar word, and the only reason he doesn't frown is thanks to his otherwise rigid jaw. The armoured fans behind his jaw drop slightly, though, with a metallic rattle; twitching as though of their own accord. "'Geneticists?' I am sorry, brother, I do not know these words."

There is a hunger in those copper eyes, though, when he looks to Rex; a burning need to know more. To heal these old wounds, to remake his body as the Spirits intended it to be... to fly... "Explain," he hisses, in quiet excitement.

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Genghis Rex tosses a bemused look at The Copper, his expression betraying his own excitement. The opportunity to impress, to mold, to manipulate is too delicious to him to pass up.

"My species is old. Very old. Older than most. We are older than most histories, than the tales of gods and old ones. Where on one world, my ancestors perished, on another, they thrived and grew. For 70 million years they grew and changed and developed. The HUMANS, they think they are so smart. Did you know that their pitiful civilization is less than 5 thousand years old? It was only 200 thousand years ago that they learned to walk upright and use tools. By that time, MY people had conquered the stars, traveled the galaxies, become gods in our own right. At least compared to THEM."

Rex sits, staring up at The Copper, "Have you heard of the things that plague these mammals? Cancers? Diseases? Birth Defects? CRIPPLING injuries?" Rex emphasizes the word "Crippling".

"Our medical science has been perfected to the point where NONE of these things are of any concern to us. There are no cancers, there are no illnesses, there are no ... CRIPPLES. Break your back? We will regrow your spine. Lose a limb ... or an eye? We'll grow you a new one."

Rex hops back to his feet, "Want to get in touch with your ancestral roots?"

He taps a badge on his left breast. A shimmering glow surrounds him. His clothing fades from sight, while his form increases in size and shape until a 30 foot, 40 ton Tyrannosaurus Rex stares The Copper straight in the eye, speaking in a deep growling voice "Say hello to my great great Grandsire. This is the power we wield. We shape creation as we wish. Nothing can match it."

The Copper (611) has posed:
"Dragons are old, but I couldn't give you a number. We were the first creations of the Spirits, though. I can tell you that much. The elves, the dwarves, the demen, the blighters, the humans... the hominids... they came later." The copper dragon fixes that bright eye on the Tyranno Emperor, curious. "Your people are old. How do you conquer stars?" They're just sort of there, in his experience, burning in the night sky, as uninteresting as a rock or a lake unless they're being used for navigation. "And what is a 'galaxy...?'"

He shakes his head, eventually, a side-to-side motion of his long, sinuous neck. It's an alarmingly serpentine gesture, probably something picked up from another dragon; there's a trace of stiffness in it that suggests it doesn't come naturally to him.

"I will think on these things. And I need to speak with others, and address my people. Inform them of their brother scales–"

That single copper eye abruptly makes a good approximation of 'round.' Even the bad eye opens up a bit, and for a moment one can almost see the copper beneath the film of clouded white.

Whoa.

"That," RuGaard observes with a slap of his tail against the rock, "is impressive."

Imagine what dragons could do with that. Imagine the empire they would rule – stretching from sea to sea, over mountain and forest! The hominids would not only be their thralls, dragonkind would hold dominion over their very fate!

Something fiery smolders in that copper eye.

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head. "You've given me a lot to think about. But I shouldn't take any more of your time."

Standing up and shaking his good wing out, the copper dragon dips his head, indicating the battered copper scales Rex had taken with a jerk of his narrow, scarred snout.

"Keep those. They will be proof of passage if you should like to come back. The griffaran, my Imperial bodyguards, will know them for what they are. And so will other dragons." If they know what's good for them. He rumbles, thoughtfully; the sound is so low and deep it causes bits of obsidian fragments to jump under his claws. "Yes, I need to think on this all. In the meantime, if you have need of our strength, brother; merely call, we will lend it. Perhaps another time I will introduce you to the Aerial Corps. HeBellereth would enjoy your company, I think..."

Rising, he folds his right wing fastidiously against his side, showing his teeth in a draconic leer. "I should like very much to discuss this later, however. For the meantime, you will have to excuse me. I'm sure you know that a leader's work is never done."

With that, and a respectful low bow of his head, the copper dragon turns and trudges back into the caves over Black Rock.

Genghis Rex (114) has posed:
Genghis Rex bows his head and returns to his base form, "Good fortune to you, my brother. We shall meet again and I shall show you the wonders of the stars.

Terrible Dactyl! Back to the Tarpits!" With that, Rex leaps back to his ship and takes off. Dactyl and he rise up and out of The Lavadome.

Terrible Dactyl rdios Rex when they are out of earshot, "So?"

Rex says, "Elightening. We have much to discuss."