A shimmering blue behemoth of a dragon stands before another much smaller man. He gracefully seats himself on his haunches and coils that muscle of a tail about his side, listening intently to the other. The two exchange words while the man, Zarien, can’t help but always keep his eyes open for an exit. Chioxin, the dragon, can see this in him and it does amuse him on occasion. The topic dances from that of Bristugo, and vault spaces, to that of Chioxin’s hoard and how he loves not only shiny things, but useful components to craft a great many powerful items. However, as things always seem to go with dragons, the topic changes over to food.
“I don’t understand, I fall in battle and my soul is torn to a point it’s hard to rise at the shrines. All gifted know to eat food, and so, the dragon that I am, I go eat deer! The perfect food! Yet, it doesn’t seem to heal the soul quite like your small meals do.”
Zarien chuckles for a moment, “That’s because it’s not made with the secret ingredient.” He speaks as though Chioxin should know what he means, but the dragon’s head cants and a quizzical look takes shape on his prehistoric face.
“Tender... loving... care?” Zarien says plainly.
“What? Bah! Are the deer not made by the tender loving care of nature?”
“Well, of course, but I’m pretty sure as you come tearing out of the sky after them, the tender loving care gets squeezed right out!”
Chioxin grins with an array of teeth, “That makes them all the tastier actually. I can’t explain why, but there is a reason for the hunt other than just the catch.” His tongue slithers out of his mouth and cleans the right side of his muzzle. “You can’t scare them for to long or their meat goes bad, but just the right amount, and they’re delicious.”
The human shudders a little, and only nods. “Don’t you have pets or slaves that can make that food for you in the quantities you desire?”
The dragon huffs, “I do not have pets! Never would I have a pet! I’m not Helian and look to you as my servants and worshippers, nor am I Lunus and see you as only worthless and dinner.”
“You... really don’t?” the man stands taken aback. “I’ve... never met a dragon who sees my own kind that way. In fact, all of you seem to take that fateful day out in the deserts of Tazoon as an excuse to make servants and lunch of us.”
“Were you that man that started the events that would blight our world?” The man shakes his head, and Chioxin leans in, “Exactly, I’m a smarter dragon then you think. I’m aware that one moron’s actions do not speak for the entirety of a race.” His mass rolls back onto his haunches and he puts his nose in the air. “Besides, that’s grouk poo, dragons do not eat you because one human made a horrendous mistake, they eat you because you’re simply delicious.” Chioxin can smell the fear rising in the man as the words leave his mouth.
“I certainly hope that is not by personal experience!” He takes a few steps back, and instantly starts keeping tabs on exit routes.
Chioxin’s nose twitches and smells all of this. Concerned, he settles down on his front and pushes out his wings trying to keep Zarien calm. Lowering oneself to the level of another with out changing to that wretched Khutit form, is the only way he knows to show he means no threat. “Oh, I know well the taste of your kind, sadly. I did not always think you as my equals. It took a woman to dress me up as a Sslik and show me your ways and begin that change.”
“A Sslik?” he again looks at the behemoth of a blue beast before him; one capable of removing him from this world in a bite. “Really? I find it hard to believe any of your kind would humble yourself so much as to disguise yourself and learn about us! That’s...”
Chioxin interrupts him, “Ah true, but any creature of Istaria that heard her voice, to be blessed to hear her sing, would give her the world and more.”