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Post by pontifex on Jul 8, 2020 18:33:42 GMT -5
Following his audience with the Queen at this point Tyrion seemed to at least stave off his own death, it became increasingly obvious to him that the way to gain status would be to gain the trust of one of the Queen's children. Her children, however, were approximately one hundred times larger than Tyrion, breathed fire, and would consider him a mere appetizer should their appetite be whet. Nevertheless, Tyrion was willing to gamble everything on this - a mission that had been his dream since he was a young boy and his uncle Gerion had assuaged his fears, apprehensions, and shame at being a dwarf. Gerion was long dead, but Tyrion reflected that he might soon remake his acquaintanceif things went wrong. He had left his axe behind, and proceeded unarmed down the dusky streets of Mereen. Rhaegal had been sighted at the entrance of the meat market, possibly feasting upon the castoffs. What do dragons eat? Whatever they want. Where do whores go?
Tyrion approached cautiously, sizing up the situation. The surrounding area was quite deserted, moderately scorched, and presided over by a dragon that Tyrion hoped had gorged himself upon dead foes during the battle the day before. He revealed himself from the shadows, arms by his side. Tyrion Lannister took several steps forward. He maintained his manhood, for now, but it might break at any moment. He stood silent in the street, waiting for the coiled serpent before him to notice him. He stopped one of his knees from shaking and stood as erect as he could. "I am told your name is Rhaegal" He said in as even a tone as he could manage.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 9, 2020 11:11:31 GMT -5
The beast stirred, the emerald wyrm raising its head to regard the dwarf with a gaze of fire and bronze. After a long look, it allowed the Lannister to approach, evidently regarding Tyrion as little to no threat - it relaxed back into the dirt, having gorged its appetite already on the corpses of the slain. Their bones littered Rhaegal’s makeshift lair, and though dragons did not typically eat humans Daenerys’ own beasts had developed an appetite for it during their time in Slaver’s Bay.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 9, 2020 19:06:43 GMT -5
Tyrion regarded the beast for a long while, drinking in the sight of him. "I wish I had a silver for every maester who ever told me I would never see another living dragon." Tyrion ventured after a time. He regarded Rhaegal with mismatched eyes. One emerald, the other nearly black. "I've never been a warrior, although I seem unable to miss most battles. I'm good at taking off men's knees with an axe, and I even captured a knight once. I managed to convince a small army of my own to follow me once, and later repelled another army with mock fire. I'm better at thinking than fighting. I know more about dragons in theory than I know of them in reality, but sometimes theory can be helpful." He said aloud. "I thought it would be best to offer you a snack, such that it is." He tossed the weasel towards Rhaegal.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 10, 2020 10:29:25 GMT -5
Rhaegal snarled, the weasel disappearing in a moment as a jet of flame burst from the dragon’s maw. The incinerated flesh was scooped up and eaten. The emerald beast edged forward to sniff the air, regarding the dwarf with an air of curious ambivalence as it returned to its rest, one bronze eye kept open and firmly fixed upon him.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 10, 2020 19:08:16 GMT -5
"A prodigious appetite!" Tyrion noted. "I have my own as well, drink and whores, and both seem lacking in this city thus far." He tossed the brace of rats in after the weasel and produced a small pouch of jerky. He took a pull and chewed thoughtfully. He recalled the night he has spent in the far north, when he was with Jon Snow traveling towards the wall. He had been reading a book on dragon lore than while the young Snow had been set to his tasks by his Uncle Benjen. The events of that day were seared into his memory because the boy's damn wolf had been set upon him. Gods, it seemed like ages ago, but it had only been what...a year? Two? He had lost all track of time. He thought back to the work he had read. Even as his mind swam with the intoxication of the wine, the proximity to Rhaegal, or his own post-battle haze, he recalled a single word. "Zaldrizes" He uttered, turning his head to eye how Rhaegal might respond.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 11, 2020 9:17:55 GMT -5
Like a cat, the dragon’s ears pricked upwards as it made short work of the second snack. It slithered towards him, reeking of heat and death as it’s nostrils flared. Rhaegal halted only a few paces before the dwarf and bared her ivory fangs, the pearl-white daggers stained with gore and viscera. Like a panther waiting to pounce, it seemed content to watch for the dwarf’s next move.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 11, 2020 14:32:21 GMT -5
Tyrion was accustomed to staring into the maw of death. he had done it on so many occasions. Oberyn's skull being crushed, Shaga son of Dolf's request to tell the gods who had sent him, the charge of the van, Ser Mandon Moore's sword coming down in his direction before Pod's spear sprouted from the back of his neck. Deadly propositions were deadly no matter which way one approached it. The Maesters had the right of it. A single tear fell from Tyrion's green eye. Dragons were a beautiful calamity, one that he could die content once perceiving. He would make little more of a meal than the weasel he had fed Rhaegal. Tyrion dropped the remainder of his vermin-snacks. His raised his hand, outstretched, and took half a step forward. "I am the youngest of three children. I never knew my mother as you do, only my father, who despised me. My sister despised me, only my brother has ever truly loved me." He replied with a small laugh. "Perhaps you can be the sister I never knew, who never loved me." Tyrion mused. He attempts to place his hand on the top of the dragon's maw, above the teeth.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 11, 2020 16:58:28 GMT -5
Rhaegal bared her teeth, growling as the imp approached. The dragon ruled over the abandoned pyramid with an iron fist, and so far the dwarf had been a harmless guest - but his sudden approach had generated a great degree of hostility. The jaw snapped in warning, just missing Tyrion’s hand by an inch.
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Post by pontifex on Jul 12, 2020 1:51:14 GMT -5
Tyrion's arm remained comedically outstretched as he took several steps backwards. He chuckled a bit. "Rhaegal." He intoned. "I've had many loves in my life, all failed. Perhaps this love is misplaced as well, only time will tell. Misplaced love has oft been my downfall, maybe this time it will prove my bane." He contented himself to sit upon an upturned barrel amidst the ruin. "Yet I would be remiss if I did not at least try. I am not sure I believe in the gods, and fate, yet here I am."
Tyrion rose from the barrel, his face a bit mournful. "Perhaps I am wrong." he said at last, and as he strode away, his shadow was cast long upon the ground before Rhaegal in the setting sun. He would be back, but for now Tyrion knew his advances were for naught.
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