>>5945310>>5945302“The dragon was captured by the adventurers who found it—adventurers led by a seer, whose divination magic detected something amiss. When they brought it here, though the dragon’s captors had already bound the being’s forelegs. We were instructed not to undo the rope but, in truth, we never got close enough to do so—approaching the dragon’s face nearly cost one of my acolytes a hand.”
“Why did they tie him up?” you ask.
“They said that it looked as if it were trying to cast a spell of some sort. “
You reel back at that, looking between this rather unlikely candidate for a trained mage and the keeper of Kuttralas, who merely maintains his ambivalent smile.
“They DO say that old Dragon Kings were powerful sorcerers,” Izzy whispers quietly. “And his father is supposed to be a mage… No, his father IS a mage. Costella and I saw him fly through the sky on wings that just… VANISHED, when he first landed at the Hill.”
The Prince’s father, the Copper Dragon King of Bloodrise… On a hunch, you address the pricne again, this time in your mother-tongue:
“Unknowable One, do you understand me?”
The creature’s four eyes fix upon you, and—in a mannerism not unlike Long Wang’s own particular tick—he tilts his head to focus two upon you, and leans slightly forward.
“We are here on behalf of your father,” you say, cognizant of the sudden tension in the room, and the hushed whispers of the Kuttralas cultists. “He misses you, and wants you to come home.”
>1The effect is almost immediate, as the Prince rushes the bars, crashing into them and rattling the cage. You leap back in terror a and raise your lightning-staff to defend yourself, but despite its façade of rust, the cell holds firm. The Prince bounces back, thrumming and rattling in evident displeasure, and begins to pace back and forth, producing small barking chirps. You cannot discern any more specific meaning from them than the monks and priests of this place, but one thing IS clear to you:
He understands elven-tongue.
>17You watch, holding your breath and slowly peering out from behind the crown of your staff. The Prince continues to vocalize, and as you watch and listen, you recognize it for what it is: not aggression, but excitement. Further, you see him raise and lower his bound limb, and emit more frustrated-sounding hisses and haughty huffs. He bashes his bound wrists against the cage, until finally bringing his forehead to rest against it.
“Hey, Izzy,” you say, without fully averting your eyes from the caged creature. “Do you remember that book we read, about the eastern assassins?”
“The ninja?” she asks. “yes, but… Oh.”
“Yeah,” you say.
