"...Right. Maybe that's the last thing on my list to do before I die." Myr's tone is the kind that would properly go along with a certain twinkle in the eye--but, well. "Go out with a proper bang." And not the kind mages are normally known for expiring in.
"Think so. He was here when we arrived from Hasmal--" Here he's got to pause and count, ticking dates off on his fingers across days broken up by his erratic sleep schedule. "--two weeks ago. Likely been haunting the library." Or destroying it and getting banned, as the case may be, but Myr hasn't heard about that.
"And I've been assured," here his tone takes a turn for the mock-annoyed, and even the way he leans on his staff looks irritated, "that Messere the Dragon doesn't have any dragon-like qualities whatsoever, at least as his anatomy goes. But he's certainly pricklish to get along with."
Which is a far cry from the level of destruction a real dragon can cause, so there's that, at least. And, thinking of destruction--Myr sobers quickly at the thought of their unwilling guests. "I hadn't heard," he says, quietly--maybe a little apologetically, for the joke. "About that. Maybe there's room for turning them into paste after we've gotten useful work out of them."
Though he doubts it; pleasant as it is to speculate on enacting retribution against their prisoners for what the rest of the Venatori were up to, word had been given, and it weakens the Inquisition to go back on its promises.
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"Think so. He was here when we arrived from Hasmal--" Here he's got to pause and count, ticking dates off on his fingers across days broken up by his erratic sleep schedule. "--two weeks ago. Likely been haunting the library." Or destroying it and getting banned, as the case may be, but Myr hasn't heard about that.
"And I've been assured," here his tone takes a turn for the mock-annoyed, and even the way he leans on his staff looks irritated, "that Messere the Dragon doesn't have any dragon-like qualities whatsoever, at least as his anatomy goes. But he's certainly pricklish to get along with."
Which is a far cry from the level of destruction a real dragon can cause, so there's that, at least. And, thinking of destruction--Myr sobers quickly at the thought of their unwilling guests. "I hadn't heard," he says, quietly--maybe a little apologetically, for the joke. "About that. Maybe there's room for turning them into paste after we've gotten useful work out of them."
Though he doubts it; pleasant as it is to speculate on enacting retribution against their prisoners for what the rest of the Venatori were up to, word had been given, and it weakens the Inquisition to go back on its promises.