Author:
Bob
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Date Posted: 05:19:48 01/03/03 Fri
The now nearly fully mature Tailus swoops lithely down from his usual high perch atop the ragged peak that overlooks the great Lair. He flies painfully, having completed his Ordeal and is now suffering the agony of slow, natural healing. Thankfully his scales no longer appear quite so charred; the blackened layer gradually washed off, but now he is very sensitive to touch, heat and cold until his exposed underscales grow their protective armored coating. Vulnerable, he considers, though aware that his ancient enemy will probably not know. Also marring his body are many white scars, caused by boiling tendrils of water lashing his scales. Those run deep and will probably last between a quarter and a half of a century, not long in a dragon's world.
The painful changes are not the only differences in his appearance now, since last he encountered the Shadow Lord. His disproportionately-long wings now no longer appear gangly and awkward but finely, powerfully honed limbs that lie proudly by his side overflowing with potential when he stays on the ground, and burst with realization of that potential when he flies. The rest of his body has acquired the lean but extremely powerful classic Tailus musculature and the hue of his amethyst eyes has deepened into infinity.
"Raistlin," he says by way of a courteous greeting accompanied by a graceful but extremely perfunctory bow. "Welcome to the Dark Lair." His voice rasps from his recent torture but it was all worth it; though he knows that if he does not find a Healer soon, his gills may be permanently out of commission. After all, they were never intended to breathe searingly hot water. F&B was not in a merciful frame of mind when they had met.
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