thisavrou_log | (no subject)

Who: Steel ~~and open~~ [closed as of 10/3]
When: Now-ish (some time after information about intermediaries has been spread to the civilian population of Thisavrou, or at least some of this information has leaked out)
Where: Region Five - The Time District
What: Assignment T1 - The Petrified Dragon
Warnings: There is a potential for harm to dinosaurs and one NPC in this plot. I don't plan to write anything graphic, though.

Deep within the Time District, between a Moorish fortress and a Vulcan school, an iron fence guards a delicate structure that seems to be shaped to mimic the form of its inhabitants. Both are shimmer-scaled and wide winged, with sinuous spines and delicate feather decorations at every joint or turn.

Under its scales, the structure is weathered stone, and its twists and turns are held in place by flying buttresses made of pink granite. The inhabitants once squeezed in and out through dilations of the ageless, weary eyes, and in happier days, the air above echoed with their sonorous calls.

Today, only one of them remains, deep within the twisting stone guts of the petrified dragon.

OOC:

This is not meant to be a world-affecting plot; all effects of this plot will be contained within the iron fence that encloses one lot within Region Five.

Sometime on or after the 4th of October, I will summarize the plot-relevant outcome for each thread within this assignment, and write a conclusion for the assignment based on these events.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The sky is not empty. Feathered dinosaurs have gathered, wheeling through the air, perching on bone spurs and buttress bridges. They're smaller than most of the dinosaurs from Region Six, as if they're younger or their growth was stunted, but their flying skills are breathtaking.

Like ravens, their calls are harsh, and their eyes gleam with opportunistic greed. Unwary passersby might find their possessions -- hats, bags, glasses, anything not tied down -- snatched away by a member of the wheeling flock.

They reconvene in a courtyard circled by two giant forelegs. The stony dragon's breast seems less worn, its scales shining -- almost a mirror sheen.

Steel is here, watching the dinosaurs place stolen items into a pattern, like art made of found objects. There is something disturbing about the pattern that's being formed; something that seems to warp each item as it's nudged into place.

Steel moves to block the entrance against anyone who tries to enter, even if they're in hot pursuit of something that was stolen from them.

"Do you really want to walk into the middle of that?"

Behind the structure, behind the back garden, there's an alley, barely passable because its surface has been torn up during the course of a recent skirmish. The iron railing is twisted here, and there's a large gap from alley to garden.

A board bridges the gap, and the dust on it shows signs of claw marks, overlaid with marks that suggest children running at full speed. The footprints continue on into the garden, but there are no children in sight, unless that's one in the distance, fallen, perhaps hurt--

But any investigator would find a pile of jackets and gloves and other random items at the base of a hidden staircase. A grinding sound comes from within, and anyone who put a foot on the staircase would find themselves transported up into the structure by a sudden, swift movement of the stairs.

The interior room is large, and lit by a bonfire in the center. Behind the bonfire, a bipedal dragon with her wings extended, casting a deep shadow on the richly decorated wall behind her. The room smells of fire and incense.

Steel is running toward the dragon, but the floor is moving under him, conspiring with the dragon to keep him exactly where he is.

"I don't doubt the family legend, the story of what the intermediaries told my grandmother, I just want to hear for myself! I want to know that her choice was worth it," the dragon shouts at Steel. "This is private. I'm not doing any harm!"

"What you're doing could cause infinite harm!" Steel shouts back angrily. "Interfering with Time is never safe, never a private matter."

Then, noticing someone at the top of the stairs, his eyes light up. "Get the incense away from her," he shouts, not caring who it is so long as there's a chance they might be able to act. "Quickly, while the floor over there is still."

"Don't listen to him," the dragon shouts.

Night has fallen, or maybe someone has just shot out the lights that make the distinction on Kauto. In any case, it's dark enough to make every object into an obstacle.

Steel walks along the iron fence, looking for gaps, plugging them with rubble from the garden when he finds them. One of the flying buttresses has collapsed, so there's plenty of rubble for him to use.

A weird humming noise causes him to double back, shoving aside chunks of rock until he reaches what might once have been a garden. The climate has not been kind to plant life on Kauto; the grass is brown, the flowers prickly with seeds to spread before they succumb altogether.

The ghost stands in a patch of puffballs, a vague glowing outline that has something sinuous about it. And something vast: though contained in a small space, it's a small space that seems to go on forever.

"Trespasser," she accuses, and Steel draws himself up, but she's not talking to him. Someone else has made their way to this cleared area from the less damaged side, perhaps trying to cut through to the alley (or perhaps trying to get to the sewer access near the alley, though Steel wouldn't know anything about that).

She blocks them, the eerie humming increasing in volume. Behind her, there is a darker shadow near the center of the clearing, vaguely round, but impossible to make out any detail. The darkness hides it, or darkness hides inside of it. And maybe other things hide there too.

"Be careful, stay back," Steel tells the person opposite him, low and urgent. He ignores his own advice and moves forward, now speaking to the ghost, the moving image.

"I know you," he said, his voice gentle. "You're the dragon who chose to turn to stone so that your offspring could live on this planet in peace, in the shelter of your wings. Aren't you? The ancient champion of metamorphosis?"

The humming acquires the hint of a melody.

[OOC: The ghost has the ability to turn flesh to stone with a touch (not instant statue, more like patches of stone along the surface of the skin, at least at first), so please keep that in mind when replying.]