[The threat of the lightning is merely a tickle against his scales -- and what is lightning without light? If Bahamut was ever to take threat from such displays instead of some filtered amusement, such times are far behind them now.
The Isle is not an ill-chosen destination. The great dragon growls his approval, stretching out his limbs and his length. He no longer recalls when he came to these waters to rest; his heartbreak is a near-constant pain he carries with him, after all, and time has little meaning anymore.
His spines rattle as he shakes off what might be years of stillness.
It will be the opposite of the dark sea. Bright, and lush, and with life not covered in scale and gill. There once was some faded memory that told him to be wary of the place, but even then his power was so great it was mere paltry concern.
The dragon tilts his head at his fellow god, looking himself, for a moment, catlike too. He knows Ramuh often speaks in tones of deprecating sarcasm, but after so much time, Bahamut finds he wants to match it, sometimes -- a tone more scathing, but playful as a flame.] Perhaps after eight hundred years, it is time you learned to carry a bit of weight.
[The King of Dragons shakes himself once more, and his form grows smaller -- rapidly, enough so that the ocean sucks and swells around the loss of mass within it. The long, scaled creature is now much more appropriately human-sized, a bit smaller, and he falls onto Ramuh's shoulder with some sense of feline arrogance, wings folded in against his body, whiskers twitching.] I should hate you to lose your opportunity to honour me.
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The Isle is not an ill-chosen destination. The great dragon growls his approval, stretching out his limbs and his length. He no longer recalls when he came to these waters to rest; his heartbreak is a near-constant pain he carries with him, after all, and time has little meaning anymore.
His spines rattle as he shakes off what might be years of stillness.
It will be the opposite of the dark sea. Bright, and lush, and with life not covered in scale and gill. There once was some faded memory that told him to be wary of the place, but even then his power was so great it was mere paltry concern.
The dragon tilts his head at his fellow god, looking himself, for a moment, catlike too. He knows Ramuh often speaks in tones of deprecating sarcasm, but after so much time, Bahamut finds he wants to match it, sometimes -- a tone more scathing, but playful as a flame.] Perhaps after eight hundred years, it is time you learned to carry a bit of weight.
[The King of Dragons shakes himself once more, and his form grows smaller -- rapidly, enough so that the ocean sucks and swells around the loss of mass within it. The long, scaled creature is now much more appropriately human-sized, a bit smaller, and he falls onto Ramuh's shoulder with some sense of feline arrogance, wings folded in against his body, whiskers twitching.] I should hate you to lose your opportunity to honour me.