Welcome to Gaia! ::

Dysarrin scowled at Ataya's argument, his bottom lip jutting out and his eyes scrunching shut as his companion compared his likelihood of survival to that of a feather. "Feather not live," Dys countered in a low grunt, tightening his grasp on Ataya as the smaller boy squirmed. A dark frown etched its way across his lips as he glowered at his captive. Ata had always been a little more deranged than anyone else Dysarrin had ever known. It shouldn't really be that much of a surprise that he'd find interest in a questionably murky pond. He was also supposed to be the smarter of the two of them, with all his superfluous time spent reading and practicing unusually useless magic.

Dys had yet to witness this heightened intelligence.

"Gotta listen, Ataya," he griped, tugging at his companion as best he could while still holding his arms about him. "You can't... swim in..." He trailed off hesitantly, brows pinching together as he caught the familiar sound of sturdy claws ticking against solid granite. Claws that didn't belong to him and definitely didn't belong to Ataya. Nothing else with claws had any business strolling around here. He tipped his head back, fingers loosening on his friend as a soft gale spread around them. It didn't occur to him that such a thing was out-of-place in a cavern, nor was it all that strange for stray debris to occasionally rain down.

What did seem rather unusual was the echoing, derisive snort from above. Too loud and reverberating to belong to the swarm of creatures that had escaped them earlier. Green orbs shot around and up toward the sound, landing on the maw of a creature that bore a disgusting resemblance to what was possibly his greatest adversary. Dys snarled and turned on his heel, freeing Ataya from his grasp to face the wind-wielder.

As the dragon fanned its wings, snout parting in a screech, Dysarrin straightened, defiantly spreading his own leathery wings and growling back at the creature.

It didn't seem particularly intimidated.

It leaped from its perch, wind blustering around it and pressing down and back against the youngsters. It shoved back against his wings, threatening to pull him up and toss him about like a puny infant. Dys growled, and the sound was yanked away from him so quickly that he could almost believe he didn't even make it. There was never a great abundance of time to think in these situations. It wasn't something he did very well, anyway. But he'd never had to spare a moment to consider the defense of something- someone else.

He ducked, drawing his wings in and flattening himself to the ground to avoid the wind shear raining down on them. The Ayrala leaped over him, landing soundlessly as it swiped and clawed at-

Dys picked his head up, whipping around to glare over his shoulder for-

"Ata-"

Something splashed in the water, and Dys scrambled to face it while scurrying a scant few feet from the immediate vicinity of the dragon. The glow-lights went out. Claws ticked against rock again and large wings fluttered. "Ataya?" He questioned again, a little louder as he stared in the direction of the water. Crumbles of rocks fell from above. Ripples of water lapped against the solid bank.

He didn't answer. It was dark. Best Pet could be hurt. And the dragon-

But Ataya.

Dys couldn't. See.

He heard the creature's wings, expected that it probably could see if it chose to make its home here. How long was Ataya going to be down there? It wasn't safe or good or pleasant. His head whipped in the direction of the dragon's sounds, blindly following after quiet huffs and flicks of wings while distinctly trying to ignore the distracting noises of wind-rattled stones and dust.

Worst adventure ever.

His fingers scrabbled over stones, carefully and blindly picking his way in a direction that might be farther from the water. Maybe he was trailing the dragon? How was he supposed to know? He didn't have any light-magic-orb spells. Couldn't see anything. He was clearly going to scramble about blindly in this miserable cavern for all of eternity, perpetually doomed to achieve nothing and be forever trapped and Ataya was lost and unreachable and-

His fingers clenched, shoulders bunched, chest tightened with and expansion of prickling heat and licking fire. Dys leaned back, rising from all fours and into a low crouch as an expulsion of air turned into a jetstream of flame, leaping forth and brightening the depths of the cavern with an intense glow.

There was light again. Always reassuring.

Panting softly, though obviously not out of fear or panic or exertion of too much energy, Dys settled back to the ground, green orbs finding and locking on a writhing frame lolling on the ground before him. The dragon roared as the delicate and thin membranes of its wings held the flames. The gusts it summoned forth did little to tame them, instead nourishing and spreading the red-orange embers while Dysarrin could barely do more than flatten himself to the ground in the wake of the darkness' retreat.

"Dysarrin!"

Belatedly, his gaze swiveled back to the water, instantly landing on Ataya, wet and battered, at the edge. Dys pushed himself up only half-heartedly, moving to the sopping boy's side with the sluggish saunter that relief brought.

"Told you... Not go in there..." He grunted softly.

Rolling for argaroo loot so that I can post for stats. Red argaroo feather x 1; green argaroo feather x 1.

“I’m not going to throw it out,” Ataya quipped. “It’s better than just bones — it’s a bone staff. It’s magic helped wake me back up in the water…” His eyes trailed down it, distracted for a moment. “I wonder if—”

Then, Dysarrin’s fingers closed on his arm. Ataya gave an initial startled sound at the first tug and opened his mouth to object, fully prepared to voice some combination of: ‘Don’t tug, you’ll pull me over! Be gentle. Don’t shove.’ But he never had the opportunity get much past the first breath of sound before he was being physically dragged over Dysarrin’s shoulder like a dead animal. In fact all but exactly like his father carried limp game after a hunt right before he skinned it—

“Dyyssaarrrrriiiinnn—” Ataya scrabbled at his ‘friend’s’ back, yanking and squirming, feet flailing ineffectually as he attempted to break his way free without losing hold of his staff. All to no avail. He felt largely like he expected the fuereches must have felt, dangling limply from between the wild boy’s teeth, caught in an iron grip with no plausible means of escape. Ever. Not fond of the comparison or the thought in general, Ataya grimaced and shoved it away, proceeding to voice his objections in a continued litany of what amounted largely to verbose squawking. “Dysarrin don’t — bad — put me down—ow! Ughhrrmmmnh—you smell like rodent pee…and dead things! Let go—”

Unfortunately, Dysarrin seemed to pay about as much attention to his demands as he usually did, leaving Ataya to eventually wear himself out by the time they made it halfway out the cave and satisfy himself with muted grumbling and shifting. If he held his breath as much as possible and focussed on breathing only through his mouth when absolutely necessary, the stench became close to bearable. Not to mention, on the upside, he didn’t have to walk, which was sort of nice in the grand scheme of things. Eventually, he managed to arrange himself so things were at least slightly more comfortable, his legs cinched around Dysarrin’s waist and arms looped loosely over his shoulders and around his neck.

“I was doing alright, you know,” he murmured groggily, eyes shutting because he could — some combination of a long day of ‘adventuring,’ cracking his head against stone, and lack of oxygen due to trying not to poison himself with Dysarrin’s scent lent itself to a little light-headedness. “I could have…” He yawned, “…walked…”

When they made it out of the mouth of the cave, the sun was not yet setting, but the sky showed signs of such things soon to come. Ataya shifted his weight slightly, lifting his head a fraction. Father wouldn’t be pleased if he came home much later than now. He opened his mouth to inform Dys as much, but his words never made it. Instead, he stilled, eyes going abruptly wider and alert as something peaked his wariness, though he couldn’t pin down precisely what at first.

“Dys…” His friend’s name was a soft, wary mumble on his lips, his neck stretching as he attempted to peek around the larger boy’s wild matt of hair to see more of the surrounding mountainside. “I think—”

Rocks tumbled from above, dirt, and a spray of mixed debris making for a cloud of mess that caught in Ataya’s lungs, forcing him to cough and squint. With it came noise. So much noise. Loud, shrieking squawks. The beating of wings. More feathers falling through the dust. The pounding of large, running feet, and—

BOOM!

Crrrckkk!

—a white-yellow snap of wild magic that made the hairs on Ataya’s skin stand on end, followed immediately after by dragon snarls. Pulse jamming itself into his throat, he scrambled against Dys.

“Dys—Dysarrin, lemme down—”

Ataya yelped, tumbling gracelessly off of Dysarrin when he was abruptly released and knocked from his back. He might have objected more strenuously to the execution of the ‘putting down’ process, but even from the ground as he pushed himself back up and dusted himself off, the activity outside the cave dominated his attention. Kiandris. At least one, in any case, and some mix of their prey.

Ataya’s pulse beat hard in his chest. Wary. Curious. Anxious. There was no shortage of real fear there, of course, the situation was clearly dangerous, but at Dysarrin’s eager coaxing, he did edge forward along the inside of the cave, squinting out at the commotion above.

Something feathered burst in through the cave mouth.

Ataya yipped, scrambling backwards just in time for gleaming gold-yellow jaws to follow, snapping in at the fleeing fowl and just nabbing its tail feathers. Electric magic rippled over the beast. Raw, unpredictable heat energy threatening of going off at any moment. As the bird squawked and flailed, its screeches shrill and piercing to the ears, the dragon’s throat rumbled, one taloned foreleg sweeping in dangerously close to ripping a gash in Ataya’s side but only just managing to jerk at cloth instead.

It was too big, surely far too big to be affected by Ataya’s limited magical talents. But, under the circumstances, that didn’t stop him from attempting.

The first spell barely seemed to singe the thing, a sputter of dark magic like a single dying putt from some failed mechanical experiment. The dragon reeled back, though, cross with the sting and opening its mouth to gather a ball of energy there, cackling with potential. Ataya cast again, focussing the spell on the dragon’s energy itself and building the dark inside the blinding white-yellow — at first, barely a pinprick of black, but then more, bleeding out like ink and feeding on the outside source of energy. Startled, but not about to complain, he pushed, urging the magic back and out, towards the creature’s throat.

It choked on it at first, coughing and sputtering backwards as its claws scrabbled at the rock. But Ataya continued to push, watching with a budding, eager fascination as the dark magic rippled through the cracks in the kiandri’s scaled coat, following the power lines of electric energy and eating them back, corrupting them, like pouring soot into rivulets of previously clear water. Soon, the beast was writhing, wings beating at the rock and head lashing back and forth with garbled screeches muted by the lump working its way down its throat. Ataya’s pulse raced to a stuttered beat, and he could have sworn he could feel the dragon’s lifeforce edging back, smaller, and smaller.

Until there was nothing, and the beast gave a last, heaving twitch as it dissintigrated into nothing but its glowing soul. Ataya stared, attention momentarily riveted by the sight of the aftermath. It was so very thrilling to feel a struggling life beat out under you and come to an ever restful, absolute stop.

Of course, unfortunately, the surrounding circumstances did not leave much time for rest. After the dragon died, however, things did seem to at least quiet, slightly, and Ataya edged outwards again towards the cave’s entrance to see what had been left of whatever else it had been chasing. Several carcases. A sea of feathers. And…

Another kiandri. It sat perched, just further up the mountainside, talons dug into the corpse of a large, long-necked beast that looked only half-bird but surely too fat to fly. After a lurching rip of teeth into fur and flesh, halfway into the process of gobbling down whatever it had torn free, the dragon’s golden eyes fixated on Ataya.

Ataya covered his eyes, sheltering himself back under the overhang of the small cave mouth as Dysarrin and the dragon stirred up great billows of dust and rock, sending them tumbling down the mountainside. It certainly looked as though his friend was handling himself, and he was of no use himself if he were crushed by a rock or blinded by dirt now, was he? So, he waited out most of it — at least until the great tumble seemed to go past the mouth of the cave and down down—

He edged back out, fanning away at the dust in an effort to clear himself a more breathable path. Sure enough, down quite some ways below, was Dys — and the glimmery gold-yellow soul remains of the dragon. At his friend’s call, Ataya peeked his head out further and eventually ventured to stand, glancing about the rest of the mountain carefully to determine that there was, in fact, nothing more about to dive tackle him over a cliff’s edge before beginning to pick his way down.

“Dys—Dys! Did you see what I did?” he said as he climbed, excitement welling back up in the absence of immediate danger. “I killed a dragon all by myself — with magic!” In retrospect, considering that Dysarrin had just clearly done the same thing, it wasn’t perhaps quite as amazing or impressive as it felt, but Ataya continued to describe the process in great detail regardless, even if Dys likely couldn’t make out most of his words and probably wouldn’t have cared particularly much even if he could. It was the idea that mattered.

Given that the hour was drawing late, however, the sun nearly set and already no longer visible behind the mountain peaks, they parted ways soon after, Ataya with a small stash of feathers, dragon orbs, and a staff to show for himself, and Dysarrin with quite literally anything else from their ‘winnings’ that he found worthy of keeping.