Quest Accepted: Tower of Animus

[deathstiny]

Characters: Wrathion and YOU
Setting: Around the Tower and Room 2-20
Format: Brackets but I will match!
Summary: A baby black dragon is summoned into a horror tower...
Warnings: None

A. Room 2-20

[The denizens of this room will no doubt be woken up by the sounds of a reptilian creature in severe distress. There's a belch of flame that appears shortly after the sleep paralysis wears off completely and Wrathion floats out from the bed, somehow managing to look irritated despite his lack of human expression.

He only floats for a second before landing on the bed and giving a curious glance around the room. There was no way he was still in Pandaria anymore...so what exactly was going on?]

B. Cafeteria

[Now that he more fully understood the situation, Wrathion was ready to explore a bit. He had decided to heed the initial warning given to him and headed in the direction of the cafeteria, taking care to adopt his more human form as opposed to his natural form. It didn't quite erase the intimidating glowing red and slitted stare, but it was certainly easier than trying to talk to a dragon only slightly bigger than most human heads.

He's not shy about approaching people. In fact, he seems to make a point to make eye contact with anyone who might glance in his direction. A sharp toothed, but charming smile awaits those lucky individuals.]

Greetings, denizen. Perhaps you might take a moment to speak with me about this place.

C. Hallways

[Walking along innocently by yourself? Of course you are. That is, until you spot a black dragon whelpling perched somewhere in your line of sight. Is it a monster? But then since when did monsters wear indigo collars? Maybe you should try talking to him, since he's staring at you with such big red glowing eyes.]

D. FREE SPACE

[Specify a location and I will follow your lead!]

Comments

Hallways

[absentapothecary]

[One couldn't just sit around in one's room all day... that was boring. And the old routine of heading out, hunting down monsters, and harvesting their useful bits was sort of comforting, in such an odd place. Thus far she had blown up a few 'orcs' (they didn't look terribly orcish to her, but that's what the other folk in the tower called them, so...) and salvaged a bit of their gear. That load that she carried made her slower to assume a spellcasting stance when she spotted the little black whelp.

But she stopped before the first sparks of flame could burst forth in her hands. It had a collar. It was a resident, then.]

....hello?

[She hasn't lowered her hands yet, however.]

[deathstiny]

[Oh, well isn't that interesting? He supposed it would have been foolish to assume that he was the only denizen of Azeroth here in this odd tower, but the thought occurs to him as well that this undead creature may not be what it appears to be.

But since she didn't attack him on sight as most Scourge would have done, he is inclined to assume the former.]

Greetings, citizen of Azeroth. At least, I presume as much -- you bear a striking resemblance to the Forsaken I am familiar with. You are wise to stay your arms.

[absentapothecary]

[When he greets her as a citizen of Azeroth, it's as though she had been punched in the gut. Her posture dips and her expression shifts to one of shock. So she wasn't alone, after all. So she wasn't the only one, left. So there was some sort of cosmic justice and order. (Well, maybe that last one was presuming a bit much...)]

I am Forsaken. You presume correctly.

[She lowers her hands, but doesn't actually relax.]

And you're... Who are you?

[There is absolutely no sense of recognition in her expression. She's seen dragon whelps, sure. But talking ones are a bit... much. He may note, if he's well-read on his Azerothian fashion, that her robes are styled in the fashion that was popular amongst spellcasters back during the campaign in Northrend.]

[deathstiny]

Splendid. I admire your tenacity as a race.

[He does not appear entirely surprised that she does not recognize him. Before Pandaria, he had kept a rather low profile. His chest puffs proudly, but he is well prepared to fly should she react poorly.]

I am the Black Prince Wrathion, and the last of my kind since the Destroyer's demise. And you, mortal? How might I address you?

[absentapothecary]

[That's... a compliment, of a sort. But not one that she's sure that an immediate 'thank you' is the best response to. Her head nods slightly, as she holds her tongue and takes in his name and title. It's rather cute, how he puffs himself up like that... but there's another thing likely best left unsaid.]

Then they've managed to... [She cuts that thought off abruptly, as there's an actual question to answer.] Annika Whittenberg, of.... [...Brill? No. Of the Apothecary Society? No.] ...nothing much in particular, anymore. [And with a sigh, she gives a curtsey.]