warforged | (no subject)

Who: Adolin and you, the lucky viewer!
What: A freshly arrived noble brat is here.
Where: The Sapphire Sanctum
When: We'll call it May 4th, before the missing people are noticed.
Warnings: Nyet.

Adolin had never seen a dragon before. Roshar didn't have dragons, for one thing, and they looked wrong to him. There weren't the sorts of carapace and the like that he expected of greatshells. They also appeared to be the size and strength of a greatshell, at a glance, but intelligent. He really wasn't sure what he thought about that.

The fact that no spren were here, anywhere, felt wrong. He thought they should be drifting up around him even now.

But, this wasn't Roshar.

He felt ungainly, for once, in his Shardplate. He didn't look it, though -- the perfectly interlocked blue armor, with its white lining, was immense but he moved with that uneasy grace that said it was far from assembled plates -- but he felt out of place. He felt small, which he did not like, either. The temptation was there to summon his Shardblade, but he was told they were his allies. Or, maybe, his masters.

He kept the helmet under his arm, so the confused look on his face as he scanned the room was simply hard to miss.

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Malygos' eyes don't leave Adolin when he starts an approach toward him, and the most movement that comes from the beast is a small shift of those legs. He's gained just a slight bit of confidence around the newer Dragonsworn to be present in such a visible manner, but he still pulls his claws back when the man stops a few paces away.

"Commander, Father, Overlord, that is for you to decide, mortal," Malygos trills from his perch, voice strangely hoarse for such a giant beast. "A title is but a title, and yet titles are strong currency on Azeroth, you know!"

Father... no, certainly not Adolin's father. There is only one father for him, and despite Malygos's size, the Blackthorn stood taller than any in Adolin's mind.

He nods up at Malygos, though he feels surprised by the sound of his voice. He frowns up at him, though. If there was ever a time to get some answers to his questions, and he has many, this is it. He wishes, and not for the first time, that Renarin was here. He would know better what to ask. "When I arrived," he says, "I saw something. Green flame, blasted lands, engulfing the warcamps I called home. Do you know what that could have been?"

The boney brow of the creature dips at the mention of that, and a hiss comes from him as he climbs higher on his perch. His tattered wings spread for balance before he answers in an almost hushed voice -- like someone who isn't meant to be listening might hear him.

"The Legion, mortal," Malygos titters, shifting his glance to the left, then to the right. "The Legion of demons, abominations, who sets to rend all universes asunder! Zerigosa has freed you from oblivion, and brought you to me."

"Then I have her and you to thank for that," Adolin says, with a sincere nod of his head up at the Aspect. He looks the wings over for a moment, and then he hesitates. Is this just Malygos's personality? Or has he lost something of his mind? The idea is worrying.

"What of Roshar?" he asks. "Is it safe? Was it a vision, or does this Legion overrun it even now?"