#golgeborn

Raphael goes still. Not the stillness of surprise. . .The kind of quiet that precedes violence.

“Touchy” he parrots back “How. . . quaint.”

He lifts a finger to his chin, pondering the sheer audacity of the comparison.

“Let me educate you, dear, since your monastery clearly failed in that regard.” his tone remains deceptively pleasant, “A demon is a creature of chaos. A rabid dog tearing through the realms with all the grace of an ogre. No finesse. Just mindless destruction.”

He steps closer. Then again. Until he stands just barely within reach; still polite, naturally.

“A devil is an artist. We don’t break doors down, we convince you to open them yourself, smiling all the while.” A smile flickers his human façade “One is a beast. The other is a professional.” He gestures to himself with faux humility and a theatrical bow of the head

“Kethra Saelihn Wilhelm-Ernst de Carhophe the Second.” He lets each syllable roll off his silver tongue. “What a mouthful. Tell me, do you introduce yourself like that to everyone?”

His gaze sweeps over her: the blades, the mismatched eyes. . . studying like a new acquisition he’s deciding whether to keep or discard. Cyric’s blood in your veins. . . His chaos in your bones . . . And yet here you are.

“Now that we’ve established the difference between myself and the drooling filth of the Abyss” His eyes lits up. “-what exactly brings a godling’s abandoned pet to my doorstep? Curiosity? Desperation?”

A beat of silence. “Or are you simply that bored, little bird?”

" at least you're trying. " aranel can commend kethra for trying. it goes a long way here. despite most of his serving foot soldiers are criminals, in time they learn to fall in line for the sake of survival. this place, this northern realm, is unforgiving for a solitary adventurer. so much so aranel does not forsake his attention to stragglers meeting their demise.

glancing down at the unfurled paper, the name sifts through his mind as the new batch of recruits for the tower. fortunately for @golgeborn, she's the type he's used to tolerating in the fortress. as often as they can spare, those that can prove their usefulness after serving a certain amount of time against demons ( ironically their fate is usually met with unsavoury demeanor .. ) are set free.

' free ' meaning ' if you cause trouble and are caught again, your sentence does not lenient to others. ' basically ' you're fate is sealed here. ' common knowledge.

the general merely glances back up at the woman. hard edges of his vision tightening to scrutinize her lack of decorum.

which is to say—xvilnar is suddenly wedged between two rows of ivory fangs, dangling half-in, half-out of a maw large enough to swallow him whole.

kethra storms up, calling up to the beast with all the exasperated authority of someone scolding a dragon.

“ rerus! drop it. that’s not a snack. spit him out—yes, now! ”

the dragon rumbles something that sounds like a laugh, tongue curling experimentally around xvilnar like it’s trying to figure out what flavor he is. meanwhile, kethra is hopping up and down, waving her arms, trying to negotiate his release like this is all perfectly normal.

there's a glint of something in the sky, like the sun catching on a piece of silver, that catches his eye. and then, the next thing he knows, he's surrounded by a precarious few rows of teeth; fangs as big as his great axe made for crushing bones, and then some, cage him like a wild animal.

and, well, that's not too far from the truth now, is it?

xvilnar has no choice, at first, but to simply let it happen. his mind wanders initially, amidst the confusion— he's never been eaten alive before. but hey, first time for everything. the world spins on its axis, the sky flipped, the landscape askew. he's not known dragons to play with their food, but it wasn't as if he encountered them often enough to substantiate such a presumption. nor did he want to, in all honesty.

then, an unknown voice slices through his swift resignation and the adrenaline kicks in. xvilnar's hands grip a fang each and prepare to wrench the dragon's jaw open to release him, however, the beasts' tongue curls over him like its savouring him. suddenly, he's drenched in its foul saliva.

“   ugh, ” the drow grimaces, the scent of ash and something akin to rotten meat fills his nose. as he looks back into the abyss of its mouth, he wonders how many corpses litter it's belly. as the sickening train of thought begins, just as quickly does it come to an abrupt halt. he turns his head to find a woman below, waving her arms about and shouting something otherwise incoherent to him in the moment.

“   let me go, now. or i'll be roasting you over a fire come dusk, ” he wrenches his head back, and returns to his attempt to free himself from the dragon's maw. all he needs to do is unsheathe his axe... only, with a grunt, xvilnar's hands slip, slicing through skin as they slide off of the dragon's tooth in an attempt to do so.

Bloodspike. In light of the circumstances - the fact that he was indeed a prisoner bound by spikes, and bloodied they had the propensity of being - he reined himself in to a withering look.

Maybe it was gratifying for folks to prod at the chained man, especially as he was currently exposed to the wide public, sitting on the steps just outside the camp where his division was sent in for their training.

He intended for this short break to go without incident. Most people ignored the slaves when they passed them by.

But, he supposed not everyone was most people.

"I wouldn't know," he said, simply. Hypothetically? There hadn't been much chance for him to deal with hypotheticals in his life. His opponents, as varied as they came, were thrown to him without much time to plan. He wouldn't ruminate on perfection, as long as he survived.

He sought to assess the stranger who had spoken, as if to pry a story from her own attire, as she had from his. She was no civilian, he'd give her that. Not a curious, no-brainer who hadn't seen the blazes of battle. He could stand to entertain the question a little further.

"The best way to put someone down would largely depend on the person. There would be no use to attempt to pierce through an armour forged with dragon scales, just as it would be futile to plague the undead with poison."