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Lorsan chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest, when the man splashes and sputters. Humans are so easily startled. And for whatever reason, it is endlessly amusing to irritate this one. When the man turns away, making no attempt to hide his nakedness, Lorsan finds himself more than happy to admire his backside. Thoughts rise to his mind unbidden, thoughts of dragging his tongue over those dimples.

Silver eyes blink and refocus as the Archmage sits up on the pool's edge, speaking again. Lorsan lifts his head, and a ripple goes through the scales of his neck, top to bottom. "You have permission, yes. However, as you are my responsibility, it is my duty to check in on you." He pauses, one eyebrow ridge rising. "Or would you rather I assign you a guard?"
 
"Tch." Iliro doesn't dignify the question with a response. The dragon has some other motive for being here, he is sure of it. If he were merely checking on Iliro, he would have done so and left. No, there's something else he wants, but unless it is simply to irritate the Archmage, Iliro can't fathom what it is. So Iliro ignores him and works on untangling his hair with his fingers.

"Are there other humans in this mountain?" He asks suddenly, not looking at Lorsan. He is turned away, his eyes on the far wall as he begins twisting his hair into a fresh bun aroo his head. "I saw more caves like mine, empty of inhabitants. Do your kin use them in human form, or do you have other prisoners like myself here?"
 
Lorsan is silent for a long moment, still watching the Archmage. His question is not unusual, but Lorsan is trying to think of the best way to reply. In the end, he chooses honesty. "You are the only prisoner. Those caves were carved to house dragons who had lost their magic, for one reason or another. Magic is very closely entwined in our very being. Yes, as you see me now is our natural form. However, our very life essence is tied to our magic."

Lorsan pauses, pulling his tail from the water and stretching it out around the edge of the pool. "When a dragon's magic dies, they have a choice to make. Give up their essence as a dragon and become dragonkin, trapped forever in their human shape, but granted the remaining span of a human life. Or, choose to remain a dragon, and slowly wither away over the course of one year, before their body dies." There's pain in Lorsan's voice, hinting that he's seen the latter happen. "There is no way to return a dragon's magic once it is lost. Dragon magic is an integral part of a dragon's survival, and cannot be replaced."
 
Of course, the basis of this is known to those who study dragons. Known well enough that Archmages before had sought ways to siphon the dragon's energy, but not known well enough for Iliro to have heard about this 'choice'. He'd though the dragons just died, he had never heard about them taking on a permanent human form.

None of that is important, though. What is important is figuring out why Lorsan is being so open woth this information. With narrowed eyes, Iliro brings his leg up and crosses them, hands resting on his ankles as he studies Lorsan, pondering. After a moment he looks away again. "Well, it sounds like a rough and unfortuate way to go. If my magic were taken from me permanently I think I would wish for death." He hates it right now, hates feeling as empty as he does. Would give anything to have it back.

One day. One day soon...

Iliro looks up at Lorsan with a supremely disinterested look. "Why did you really come search me out?" He asks. "You could have sent any lackey or peeked in and left. I haven't exactly been friendly, so it's certainly not my company you're after. So what is it?"
 
Lorsan lays his head down again, seeming to get comfortable. His wings have even relaxed, the edge of one trailing in the water, rather than tucked tightly at his sides. He makes a small crooning sound low in his throat, a sound of comfort. The Archmage's statement regarding death feels like a knife to the heart. "For the safety of my Clan, I cannot allow you the use of your magic. Luckily for humans, extended use of magebane does not permanently remove your magic, as it does in dragons."

When asked why Lorsan didn't just leave right away upon spotting the Archmage, the dragon's features seem to soften. At least, as much as sharp scales can. "Opportunity. You are here to learn, and sitting with you grants the opportunity to answer your questions. Others of my Clan do not share my patience, and many are prone to snide remarks where humans are concerned."
 
It's not really an answer to his question, and the half-answer irritates Iliro. Lorsan seems dead set on this learning business, on Iliro changing his mind about dragonkind.

Unfortunately for them both, it will never happen.

Iliro lifts a hand and examines his nails, ragged from his studies these past few weeks. A far cry less useful than Lorsan's claws. He has no questions he cares to ask Lorsan, because there is nothing he wats to know at this moment. He has no interest in learning about the dragon, and if Lorsan is going to maintain that he isn't a teacher and that Iliro needs to learn on his own, well, then, he can hardly blame Iliro for learning nothing.

Well... he thinks of one thing. He starts working on fixing a hangnail as he speaks, keeping his eyes on his fingers and off Lorsan. "I saw the spring, quite pretty. Surprised me that anything could grow inside this mountain. Any chance there is some patch of dirt somewhere that I can reach?"
 
The Archmage's question surprises Lorsan. He never would have imagined this spoiled human to want access to dirt. But that is the nature of humans, to be unpredictable. More honesty, as that, to Lorsan, is the gateway to trust. And he wants so very much for this human to trust him.

"One of the ground level tunnels leads to the next mountain over. We call it Eden. On foot, for you, it would be an hour's walk. That mountain is far more open at the top, to the natural elements. It has served as the perfect enclosed valley for certain flora to flourish. We also keep sheep there, as their wool is used in the tapestries we craft to cover the doorways to our caverns." Lorsan is well aware that giving the Archmage all this info is dangerous. But he wants to give the man the benefit of the doubt, and hopes trust can be formed. "It is too dark now to see there, as there is no crystal lighting the interior of the mountain. I can take you there tomorrow and-"

There's a loud bellowing echoing from the tunnel to the main cavern, and Lorsan's head lifts, abruptly turning towards it. He sighs, then rises to his feet. "Please excuse me." Lorsan leaves, wings once again tucked tight to his sides. In the main cavern, a tussle has broken out between two purple dragons over access to an empty basking pit, with neither wanting to share. With a shake os his head, Lorsan heads over to resolve the dispute.
 
All of this information is stored away in Iliro's mind with a healthy dose of suspicion. Why is Lorsan giving him so much information so freely? There has to be an ulterior motive to it, and to the offer to escort him, but before Iliro can sus it out, they are interrupted by a cacophany of sound. It alarms Iliro enough that he instinctively makes a motion that once would have encased him in a shimmering shield. Now it just looks like a weird flail.

Annoyed, Iliro glowers after Lorsan. Once the dragon leaves the pool and heads into the tunnel, the Archmage picks up his clothes. He doesn't bother with his smalls or his pants, instead just draping himself in his tabbard which falls to his knees to hude his nakedness.

He follows well behind Lorsan, arriving just in time to see the confrontation unfold. He leans against the tunnel entrance, watching curiously as Lorsan heads over to a pair of brawling dragons.
 
Lorsan is a great deal larger than the two purple dragons, who almost appear as though they could be twins. However, one has spikes at the elbows and hocks, the other has none. Fights between dragons are settled in feats of strength, but there are certain rules. One is to take physical fights outside, to the skies about the mountains.

Lorsan makes quick work of separating the dragons by pinning one's neck beneath his front feet, and thumping the other with the other, hard enough to produce a loud crack and knock the dragon to its side. "Enough, both of you! You disrespect these walls with your petty squabbles. The pits are for socializing, sharing tales, and connecting with your fellow dragons. Not for wrestling. Each of you will retire to your quarters, now. Tomorrow, you will go to collect fresh coal to burn in the pits."

Lorsan steps back, head held high as if daring either purple dragon to challenge him. When both take off to their respective quarters, Lorsan relaxes with a sigh. Other dragons around him murmur their thanks, glad the dispute ended quickly.
 
The conflict is over swiftly. The dragons seem to respect Lorsan to a degree, enough so that they lumber off to their caves like chastised children, heads hung low. Iliro watches them leave with a bit of interest, wondering if, like in human politics, there are any resentments simmering beneath the surface. If so, that could be a thread he could tug at.

Losing interest in the display, Iliro pushes off the wall and meanders back to his cave, letting the tapestry hang closed behind him. It's dark in here without a fire, but without his magic he has no way to light one, so in the dark he peels off his now damp robes and drapes them over a chair. The offerings of the dragons are not as fine and ornamental as his robes, but he pulls on a clean pair of smalls, a pair of short black pants, and a loose, sleeveless tunic. Dressed, he grabs a pillow off the bed and tosses it onto the ground to sit on.

There isn't much... well, there isn't anything for him to do. Mildly irritated he decides he can meditate, and folds his legs up with his hands forming a circle at navel-height. Of course, there is no deep thrum of energy to connect to, but he still goes through the breathing exercises and then lets his mind drift.
 
Lorsan shakes out the tension in his scales, sending a ripple through his whole body. He always worries his methods of leading the Clan are too abrupt, too harsh, but he's proven time and again by the loyalty of his Clan that they trust him. Loyalty keeps them following his lead, his 'rule', even in times of hardship. Lorsan turns his head in time to watch the Archmage disappear into his cavern.

**********

Two days have passed since the human Archmage's arrival. It's become clear their numbers total close to eighty. Far less than one would think for the number of caves set in the walls of the main cavern. The dragons aren't particularly happy about the human's presence, but for the most part they ignore him. No other dragonets have been seen other than the three small ones and two teenagers from the first day. It's quickly become clear that the green dragon frequently seen on the main cavern dais is a teacher of sorts, as she's often speaking with the young dragonets, often about dragon histories, sometimes about elements of magic. One female dragon, a solid yellow color with no spikes and only one wing, a scarred stump where the other was has been bringing magebane to the Archmage each morning. Her human form boasts small twisting horns at her temples, short blond hair, and a large ugly scar on her left shoulderblade, where her wing would be in dragon form. She'd given her name, Kalana, to be nice.

Lorsan had spent the last two days mostly away from the main caverns. He'd been taking dragons out hunting, or on patrols. When he was in the Dens, his time was divided between defensive planning with other dragons, and spending time with the Archmage, as much as that annoyed the human. More than once, Lorsan had gotten close enough to get a good inhale of his scent. Each time, his eyes would dilate, and intense calm would wash over him. His suspicions were becoming more solid by the day. Unfortunately, there are no Elders left to ask, and even the green dragon, Alessa, doesn't have the knowledge he needs.

Today, Lorsan is home, having sent a patrol of six to the forest border. He hadn't expected combat, as the humans have been quiet the last two days, or he would have gone himself. But as he's lounging on the dais, listening to Alessa tell histories to the enraptured dragonets, the patrol party returns, smelling of blood. Only five are flying. The sixth, red scales tipped with orange, is hanging limp from the legs of another. Lorsan is on his feet in an instant, bounding across the cavern to meet them as they land between the basking pits. Another dragon calls for healers.

"What happened?" Lorsan checks in with the party lead, a blue dragon. He listens as an ambush is explained, describing heavy ballista bolts fired out from a dense section of trees. "Kalloch took a bolt to the chest, Lorsan. He passed on the return flight." The blue dragon nods his head to the limp red, laying where he'd been set on the cavern floor. The ballista bolt is still buried in his chest, but to pull it out would mean to spill a lake of blood across the floor. A deep roar shakes the cavern walls, and a deep red-brown dragon drops from a cavern halfway up the wall. There's anguish in that roar, as she lands beside the dead dragon with a heavy thump. Lorsan's chest aches as he watches. By this time, healers have arrived, a collection of pale green and yellow dragons, and they're ushering the wounded toward the spring cavern.
 
Two days of skulking around the caverns has put Iliro in a bad mood, enhanced by the fact that Lorsan seems intent on 'checking in on' him. Whatever the dragon's intentions are, Iliro can't fathom them and that makes him anxious. And he swears that Lorsan keeps smelling him.

As to the other dragons, the only one he has interacted with is the mangled Kalana. Before she arrives every morning, Iliro spends a few minutes with his hand wrapped around the frozen crystal in the ice box. He hasn't quite figured out the timing just yet, but he has managed to tap into his recovering well of magic as the magebane wears off and siphon it into the crystal. It's not much, and he only has a small window to do so before Kalana brings the potion and watches to make sure he drinks it. Then the magic is gone again and he is left feeling empty and brittle. He doesn't interact with any of the other dragons, avoiding them as much as possible. One of the little dragonets had been dared by the others to approach him. That had ended poorly for all involved as Iliro had admittedly panicked a little. He'd tossed the notebook he had been supplied with at the creature's head to scare it away, and the creature had been startled enough to warrant Iliro getting a talking-to by the green one.

He had still not told any of these creatures his name, not that any of them had asked besides Lorsan.

So Iliro spent most of his time in his cave, in the dark, because he refused to ask for supplies to light the fire or leave the tapestry tied back in case any of these beasts took it as an invitation to come in. He was quickly going stir crazy, and had taken to copying down his stream of concious thought in a notebook. Lots of ranting and raving about this foolish plan and how if he was to spend the rest of his life here, he'd probably throw himself off a high ledge at the first opportunity.

He was in the middle of one such passage when the sound of dragons arriving and causing a stir. Concerned by the level of alarm, he watches from the slit between the cave wall and the tapestry as the scene without unfolds. Dread settles into his belly when he realizes one of the dragons is dead. He feels no sympathy for the dragons, only fear for himself. Will they blame him for this casualty? Take their anger out on the very handy target trapped within their caves? Anxious, he steps back from the tapestry and begins to pace, his hand at his mouth and his teeth gnawing thoughtfully on his finger. The crystal is not ready yet, he hasn't stored enough power in it to cast anything bigger than a few sparkles. And he can't find a tunnel that leads outside. All the exits are high above his head, accessible only by flight.

He is trapped, defenseless. Worried.
 
Other dragons are gathering around the red-brown female and her deceased mate, offering comfort and support. Lorsan offers his own condolences before turning away, heading to the spring to check on the wounded. There, the healer dragons are working clumps of white flowers into poultices, using a mix of spring water and magic-infused saliva. Claws work carefully to press the poultices into wounds. Once he's ascertained that no other dragon is at danger of death, Lorsan returns to the main cavern.

There's no speech to be made, they are all too familiar with the risks of combat. The red-brown female will be given time to grieve, before the body of her mate is moved. Lorsan's heart aches for her. Without thinking, he heads for the Archmage's cavern, shifting to human form a few feet from the tapestry. When he realizes it's dark, the first thing he does is move to the center of the floor, ignoring the human. His bare feet brush aside stone dust until they find a thin indent in the floor. Evidently, the human hands bothered to ask anyone about having a fire. Had he only been eating things he could eat raw, and not cooking?

Lorsan leans down and digs his claws into the indent. With a lift, he pulls up a slab of the floor, a square an inch thick and three feet across. It takes him little effort to slide it aside. There's a sudden burst of fire from his mouth, and then the room is lit. The space Lorsan had revealed is two feet deep, holding old, half burnt logs, now dancing with flames. Lorsan stares at the flames as he sits cross-legged, hands in his lap. "A patrol got ambushed today." His deep voice is quiet, sad. "One was killed, his mate grieves for him now. The other five were injured, but they will survive."

Lorsan is rambling, his own sorrow at having lost another member of his Clan driving him to inform the Archmage. Maybe the human will see that dragons mourn their dead just as humans do, perhaps even more so. "His body will be moved this evening, and his mate will spend the next week at his grave, mourning. She hasn't just lost her mate, Archmage, she's lost her future. Dragons don't get another chance. She will never take another mate, and she will never have hatchling of her own."
 
That the dragons could still breathe fire in their human form was news to Iliro, who had all but plastered himself back against the opposite wall of the cave when Lorsan threw open the tapestry and strode in. He sinks into one of the chairs, watching Lorsan warily as he sits at the fire and begins to lament.

What is he looking for here? Sympathy? How many families had been destroyed in dragon fire over the years? Children killed or orphaned, widows and widowers left to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives. There are losses on both sides in this war, and stretching back to antiquity between their people. He can't afford to feel sorry for the dead dragon and its mate, because he has his own people (and his own skin) to protect. So he sits quietly, watching Lorsan as if he expects the dragon to lash out at him as a handy target. Besides, there's nothing he can say that wouldn't sound hollow in this situation. 'Sorry one of your kin died, at the very least you know it wasn't me this time. Please don't eat me.'

Ilirio chews on this for a bit, letting them both sit in silence, stewing as the dragon wails her grief and it echoes around the massive chamber.

"The losses are only going to continue mounting on both sides." He finally says. "If you would just meet with us and hear our concerns over the treaty out, maybe we could come to an agreement." He knows he is treading dangerous ground, but he pushes forward, heedless. "If you want to stop the killing, if you want to keep your dragonets from knowing the cruelty of this war, send me back to my people as your emissary.." He holds up a hand, and lays the other on his heart. "I vow not to reveal your secrets. I'll even Bind myself to that if that's what it takes. But I can do nothing to help you end this from this little pocket of stone."
 
The Archmage's words pull forth anger. Lorsan has tried in the past to reform the treaty wherein his Clan kept their hunting forests. That had been met with hatred, and expulsion from the human court at the ends of swords. Lorsan stands, stalking toward the Archmage. Those silver eyed are swiling like pools of molten mercury. "This war would have never started if your king hadn't broken the original treaty to begin with! He sent men to cut down our forests, chase out our prey. We fight to keep what little we have left!" Lorsan stops before the Archmage, grabbing his wrist in a tight grip and hanking him to his feet. "You humans spread like wildfire, cutting down trees, burning meadows, building your cities-"

Lorsan catches the Archmage's scent, and his eyelids flutter. Suddenly, the rage is gone, and his sharp features smooth out. His grip on the human's wrist becomes gentle, thumb rubbing back and forth against the inside. All the tension that had suddenly pulled his muscles tight seems to melt from his tall frame. Lorsan stares at the Archmage's face for a long moment, before releasing his wrist and stepping away. "Without those forests to hunt, there is not enough food to sustain my Clan."
 
He half expects Lorsan to strike him and even braces for that. The grip on his wrist hurts, claws digging into his tender flesh. Once again he instinctively reaches for his magic and panics briefly when he can't connect, but by that time Lorsan has calmed down. Iliro still holds himself away, watching Lorsan with wide, untrusting eyes. The dragon lets him go though and steps away and Iliro mirrors him, quickstepping away until his back hits the wall again.

Iliro is quiet for a moment, wonders what the hell that display was. Why every time Lorsan gets that close, he gets all weird. Is it a dragon thing? Whatever it is, he doesn't like it. So instead he focuses on the conversation. "Maybe you're right," He concedes. "Maybe humans have spread to far, too fast, too greedily. But we have clans to feed too." Marginally certain the dragon won't immediately burn him to a crisp, he steps away from the wall and takes his seat again. His wrist hurts a little, but he doesn't try to soothe it, doesn't display that weakness. "And it's not like we can just pick a family to cull when we don't have the space. 'Sorry, we've decided there are too many of us and you drew the short straw. Now we are going to kill your entire family.' Then we'd be fucking monsters. Look..." For a moment, he chews on his lip, considering his words. "You're right, again. The king was foolish to betray the treaty without meeting with your people first. Mistakes have been made on both sides. But we cannot just... pick and choose who eats and who has a roof over their heads. The kingdom needs land, and resources, and if we could all stop killing each other for half a day, maybe we could come to an agreement."
 
Lorsan seems to ignore the Archmage for a long time, standing there, once again staring into the fire. Then a wry look passes over his face, and those silver eyes turn to the human once more. "The problem stems from your kind's destruction of nature, its unwillingness to live with what is already there. Your people destroy what they want, rather than adapt to co-exist." Lorsan's eyes drop to the Archmage's wrist, where his claws dug into his soft skin.

"I'll send someone to bring you a poultice. The last thing we need is you getting ill because my anger could not be kept in check." Finally, Lorsan leaves the cavern. He'd unconsciously come seeking comfort, seeking that sense of peace this man brings him. He'd got rage first, but he had gotten the calm he wanted. As he returns to dragon form, Lorsan fears his patience will not hold out.
 
Iliro watches the dragon go with a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Dammit." He hisses, shoving angrily back from the table and stalking after Lorsan.

Maybe he's right, maybe the humans take too much. Or maybe the dragons are to set in their fucking ways to realize that advancement is coming whether they want it or not. If they could just reach common fucking ground-

By the time he reaches the cave entrance, Lorsan is back in dragon form and lumbering away. More irritable than he had been before, he yanks the tapestry closed again and sets about pacing the floor once more. His situation is becoming more tenuous--he grabs his wrist to massage out the ache in the bones--and Lorsan is too stubborn to listen to reason. He needs to act soon, even if it means acting before he has stored ample energy in the crystal.

A healer comes to him sometime later, and Iliro sits somewhat impatiently as the creature wraps a poultice around his sore and indented wrist. Lorsan hadn't broken the skin, but he'd come close. The dragon is quiet and somber, but he's as careful with Iliro as he would be any of his kin, so Iliro thanks him politely and then resumes his pacing as soon as he is alone. Lorsan never had the chance to take him to see this Eden he had spoken of, and Iliro is unwilling to get lost in the mountain just to get his hands in some dirt. And who's to say there would be anything for him to cultivate there anyway? So he paces, and he picks up a notebook and jots down some of his thoughts, and then, exhausted from all the thinking, he strips naked and climbs into bed to toss and turn for a few hours before his internal clock wakes him up.

The magebane is wearing off; he can feel the pull of magic in his gut, so he trudges over to the icebox and sticks his hand into the cold, wrapping it around the frozen crystal and enduring the discomfort as he siphons what little energy he can manifest into it. Then he pretends to go back to sleep, waiting for Kalana to come with his dose of magebane.

Later that morning, he is at his wit's end in the cave. So he brings a fresh notebook and a box of charcoal out to the mouth of his dwelling and sits down. Though he has no interest in engaging with the dragons like Lorsan had suggested, they are fascinating to watch, and beautiful. So he does something he hasn't indulged in in many years, and sits down to sketch for the simple pleasure of sketching. No runes, no circles, just freehand sketches of the dragons in various states of rest in the cavern. At one point, he sketches Lorsan's face, frowning at it the entire time he draws. Lorsan is strange, unreadable, stubborn, and very irritating.

And why does he keep looking at Iliro in that weird way?

Annoyed with himself, he flips to a new page and starts sketching the dragonets gamboling around the cavern, leaping into the air to try and fly.
 
Lorsan spent the remainder of the day sitting on the dais with Alessa, talking in quiet voices. Alessa has always been his closest friend, his confidante, despite her sassy and sarcastic nature towards all but the younglings. He speaks of his concerns about the Archmage, and brings up his reactions to the man again. Alessa is of the same suspicion as him, but warns Lorsan to be cautious, to not let his reactions lower his guard.

In the evening, several dragons help the red-brown female to carry her dead mate away. Lorsan watches them go in silence. He stays in the main cavern long after the rest of the Clan has retired to their respective quarters. Lorsan is sitting a silent vigil for the loss of his Clanmate. The giant crystal overhead never dims, but instinct lets Lorsan know when the sun is rising. Only then does he fly up to his own quarters.

It's midday when Lorsan appears from his cavern, gliding down to the main cavern floor. He spots the Archmage sitting outside his cavern, and changes the angle of his wings to land nearby. His landing stirs up dust, and he shakes his wings gently before folding them. "Archmage, it's good to see you out of hiding. Are you occupied, or would ypu like to go see Eden?" Lorsan hadn't forgotten his offer to take the human to the inner mountain valley, but given yesterday's events, he'd felt it inappropriate to give his time to the Archmage over his Clan.
 
He spots Lorsan descending, and with a wave of unease notices the dragon turn towards him.

Why is this dragon so hell bent on speaking with him? Why won't he do the reasonable thing and delegate a guard to watch over the Archmange? That's what he keeps coming back to, that single question, and he doubts he'll ever get an answer.

When Lorsan lands beside him and quips about Iliro hiding, the human scoffs. "Hard to be in hiding when everyone in the vicinity knows where to find you." He's clearly in a poor mood, or maybe he just is that way because he can't figure this dragon out, but whatever the case he stands and brushes off his trousers. "I did have a long day planned of court meetings and arcane studies planned-" His voice is dripping with irony as he tucks the box of charcoal inside the tapestry out of the way, and pockets the book. "But I supposed I could use a walk." He eyes Lorsan in his dragon form, silently resigns himself to jogging to keep up with the great beast, and gestures for Lorsan to lead the way.
 
Lorsan has no intention of changing forms currently, but he doesn't want to be constantly waiting for the human to catch up either. Ever so gently, holding his breath so as not to distract himself, the black dragon grabs the back of the Archmage's shirt in his jaws. He lifts him, brings him closer, then sets the human on top of his left front foot. "Humans walk too slow. Hold onto my leg."

Lorsan sets off, just at a walk, but it's equivalent to a human's fast jog. The dragon's steps are surprisingly smooth, not jolting the Archmage around. Nobody pays them any mind as Lorsan sets off down the tunnel that had seemed to the human, on the first day, to have no apparent end.
 
Terror fills Iliro as that giant mouth comes towards him. He's getting more used to not having his access to magic, so he throws up his hands in defense instead of to cast a spell, but Lorsan just grabs onto the back of his shirt and lifts him up like a misbehaving kitten. It is so, so humiliating and Iliro is fuming as he clutches onto Lorsan's leg.

"Mercy of the Gods," He exclaims, clutching onto the scaled limb. "Next time warn me!" Traveling in this way is strange and unnerving, but at the very least the dragon seems to be trying to make it a smooth journey. So Iliro clings and stares at the beast's leg to avoid the rushing scenery, feeling a bit queasy as he remembers his arrival to these caves a few days prior. Hoping that he the motion sickness doesn't make him embarrass himself further by spewing, he speaks up. "What is it you do all day, Lorsan?" He asks, casting his voice loudly enough to be heard over the dragon's footsteps. "The only time I seem to see you around is when you are 'checking in' on me."
 
Lorsan rumbles a chuckles at the human's outcry, lips pulling into a small smile. As he walks, he occasionally glances down to make sure the man is doing alright. When asked about his daily activities, he hums. "When I'm not out patrolling with others, much of my time is spent in other caverns, helping where I can. The basking pits may be our main cavern, with our Dens, but there are many other places in these mountains."

Lorsan falls silent, and the remainder of the journey stays that way. It's not long, though. What would have been an hour at a human's walking pace is roughly twenty five minutes at a dragon's walk. Lorsan exits the tunnel onto a cliff ledge, overlooking what can only be described as forest and farmland. Half the wide valley is green fields, dotted with flocks of white sheep. The other half is forest, boasting a variety of seasonal and evergreen trees. The sides of the valley curve up into sharp cliffs, and the top of the mountain is wide open to the sky. This appears to be the only way in or out by foot.

Lorsan takes a moment to point out the carved stairs to the left, leading off the cliff and down into the valley. Then his wings spread. "Hold on tight." Lorsan hops off the edge of the cliff. Wind rushes past as he glides down, three legs held up close to his body. The one the Archmage rides on hangs down, to avoid disrupting his balance. In less than two minutes, the dragon touches down lightly in one corner of the field, again careful not to bounce around his human charge.
 
Iliro thinks that he might hate this dragon. His stomach falls down to his feet as Lorsan takes off from the ledge before Iliro gets the wits about him to jump off. Then they're sailing through the air with nothing between the Archmage and plummeting to his death being how sturdily he can grip the dragon's leg. He does so, clinging until his arms shake. The ride is short but it's horrible, and Iliro buries his face in gleaming black scales to avoid seeing the ground rushing up to meet him. The moment they land, Iliro lets go and falls onto his ass, scrambling away from Lorsan in an undignified sprawl. His face is pale and angry and he won't meet the dragon's eye. "Bastard!" He spits, scrambling ungracefully to his feet and spinning away from his captor. "Ingrate!"

Furious and shaky, Iliro stomps away from Lorsan towards the trees. He has no destination in mind, he just wants to get away from the infuriating lizard. Once he reaches the treeline he braces himself with a hand on the trunk and leans over, waiting for the dizzy spell that has come over him to pass.

He had always known he wasn't a fan of heights. He had never known he was this terrified of them.
 
Lorsan raises a brown ridge at the thrown insults, following after the Archmage. As a dragon, he can't fathom a fear of heights, so he doesn't understand why the human is shaking so badly. Nevertheless, he gives the human space to calm down, but stays nearby. "Archmage, I would not have let you fall. Any harm brought to you is not helpful to you understanding the lives of my Clan."

Lorsan changes the subject before the man can throw more insults. "You are welcome to come here as you please, though I would prefer you not come alone. The steps to the tunnel are dangerous, there's no railing to protect ypu against falling. I recommend you ask myself or another dragon to accompany you, should ypu wish to visit Eden in the future."
 
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