[Training] (SE) The Dragon and the Hound

Jigano had requested the General's assistance with some rather unusual training this time around. His dragonform had grown more comfortable thanks to Remi's help in learning to control (kind of) the increased temper that came with the increased size and scales, but there was the wriggling doubt in the back of his mind that he was using it to its full potential. He hadn't quite gone to the other end of the spectrum, but there was a worry that he was holding himself back in it, afraid to let loose the more instinct-driven impulses of the dragon. He needed to learn to balance the two, to trust his instincts but not let them overwhelm him.

It would require a training partner who was both strong and experienced, and no one fit that description better than Deimos. He hoped the General would have some suggestions for him, and the wide open snowy Fields seemed a good place to meet. Fewer things to accidentally destroy, if he lost control. The sky was a startlingly pale blue overhead in the midafternoon sunlight, bright enough to dazzle and the silver dragon who awaited the newlywed General would have blended in to the snow if he wasn't sitting up, a pale beacon hard to miss once one got close enough. Nearby, Isuma dug in the snow, trying to find mouse runs beneath the cold cover, only her feline hindquarters, tail, and the tips of her wings sticking up from the hole she had made.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The Sword was never one to ignore a training exercise, regime, or challenge – the latter being a preference, a goading, an instigation that friends already knew well. And perhaps there was some mischief and impish decree embedded, infused, in the crunch of his paws against the snow, in the churning, undulating muscle mass of an entirely new cretin and shift in his repertoire. The Sage was likely expecting one of Deimos’ other forms; the eagle, the bear, or the tiger. Not the hound.

His form, dark and sleek against the snow and ice, maneuvered across the field in a slow, unwinding haze. The beast needed to adapt and hone his skills in this realm as well – not to be caught or snagged or turned by instinctual, carnivorous temptations, not to unravel, not to unwind, be further controlled and contorted by the monster within, rather than the precision in his mind.

Because the enticement to rampage along the powder, across the sanction, inveigled and lured, and perhaps the only thing that kept him from uncoiling every ether, every vestige, of predacious splendor and decadence, was the silver dragon nearby. The notion of devilish discretions meandered along his Machiavellian preambles instead, and so he wandered closer, before sitting down, haunches and tail within the rush of snow, in front of the lizard. Jigano, he addressed in his familiar, gruff, brief tones, tilting his head, the piercing slate of his stare rendered, waiting for the reaction.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Black over white, the hound's approach was hard to miss but the form was unfamiliar. Jigano watched the canine - the very large canine, he noted - on its bounding path towards him, trying to decide if it was a new threat or known friend. As loping turned to trotting and finally to stoic sitting the dragon crouched to bring his head down on level with the new beastie, tilting his head this way and that. The creature's intentions seemed benign for the moment, but he was certain he'd never seen it before...

The familiar voice in his head had him snorting and drawing back in swift shock. Deimos? As if that rumbling brevity could belong to anyone else! He dropped back down again swiftly, this time snaking his head from side to side to admire the new shift more fully. A handsome hound, no less! How long since you gained it? Ah, but casual conversation was not what they had come for today, and the dragon shook his head sheepishly.

Ah, thank you for coming. I was hoping you could suggest some ways to help me train this form, to bring out its full potential in a fight without losing myself to its rage, he clarified again, to ensure they were on the same page before fur and scales flew in mock-carnage across the snow.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The reaction immersed amidst shock and bewilderment had been about the same as his – though not so outwardly emoted – the time he believed himself to be unwound simply in a dream. Wandering amidst woods and pathways, carving his carnivorous reach through twilight expanses and reeling beneath outstretched boughs, listening to another speak to him, had ensured the predilections were a reality instead. Not long he answered, uncertain of when the alterations and shift had occurred, when it’d been gained amongst the footholds of all the others. Much like his magic, the incantations sometimes appeared or grew without warning, no matter how often he practiced; enigmatic rapiers in the pressing of time, and the unknown.

His eyes upon the dragon, still much bigger than himself, he tilted his head, pondering over the nature of the inquiry, of the suggestions the Sage hoped to embody and snag. It is a careful balance between instinct and logic. Unless, of course, the bard was like himself, and easily gave way to the more avaricious, inherent reaches of his soul – sometimes methodical, sometimes lethal, sometimes intertwined in their immense, overwhelming, cold rage. You have to keep a part of yourself. Not give totally in to the beast, no matter how tempting, how inveigling.

A pause then, in his thoughts, at keeping the carnage at bay when the world turned and revolved in different seditious efforts too; as if the sentiments were mere figments of imagination, and could only go so far. Situations called and harked and boomed and beckoned, until one day a soul simply gave in.

He clenched his jaw, felt the long fangs and ivories embedded within his mouth. How are we to train? Did the Lorekeeper have any suggestions? The size differential would make it difficult enough.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

The large head nodded at Deimos's careful words, lessons he would continue to learn for some time to come, he expected. The General's assistance would be welcome in the education, though, however long it took. Given that they were both finding new forms, perhaps they could even help each other. Though the current size difference did make it more difficult... Mighty though the hound was for its kind - more than a match for a wolf, if Jigano had to guess, and not just for the sharpened mind within it - the dragon did stand tall over him. None of their shapes were well-quited to equal contest, come to think of it; the General's mostly made for ending conflicts swiftly, or the hunting of large and cunning prey. The bard's forms, on the other hand, tended to smaller size or gentler aspect, all except for this one, which more than made up for the rest combined.

Still, the hound wasn't that much smaller than the tiger he'd expected to face, and they'd find ways to make it work. I thought blindfolds? the dragon suggested, though with a query at the end if Deimos disagreed. To focus on senses other than sight. My goal will be to try to tag you with my nose, I think. You're a smaller, faster target and I'll have to focus on sound and scent to find you, and better control over this body as a whole. You'll be trying to dodge me without being able to see me... I suppose you could try and tag me, too, but I'm a big enough target that I don't know if that would be much challenge, he admitted with a rumble of amusement as he dipped his head to lift a white blindfold from beside him in the snow, offering to slip it over the General's head if the hound acquiesced before wrestling his own into place.

Let me know when you're ready.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Sculpted from the arts of patience, nonchalance, and reserve, he waited for the suggestions, presuming impending lacerations were coming his way; an accepted result of training, no matter which form. Blindfolds, however, hadn’t been a portion of the machinations spinning in his head, and he tilted the cranium almost sideways in his confusion, listening before completely dismantling the idea. Once the bard finished, he could understand the logic behind it; senses corded away to heighten others, relying not simply on sight, but other possibilities, calculations, parameters meant to ensure damage and demolition when circumstances struck. He pondered it for a moment, and only because he hadn’t fought in this accord yet – but logical foundations won out any other apprehensions. The Sword figured the teeth, the vitriol, the acrimony, couldn’t be much different from all the alternative figments segmented in his blood.

Ordinarily his goals would be to maim, rip, tear, and plunge, or offer tutelage, instruction, and sagacity. Here would be a venture into uncharted terrain, and he pondered over the notions of dodging or tagging something he couldn’t see. I will try to tag you as well, in the midst of evasion – though the latter would likely be the biggest issue.

Before long though, the ivory blindfold slipped over his eyes, coming to a cease and desist on the start of his muzzle; some snort ensued, bridges of amusement before some ridiculous assimilation. Ready; he proclaimed, the ambition of his senses stretching, ears swiveling in all directions, hound body braced above the ground, feet honed and ready to move, to maneuver, to escape.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

He nodded agreement to Deimos's decision to add his own predilections towards aggression into the equation, resigned to being bumped into by the more agile hound while his own bulk made a tempting target that was - almost literally - the broad side of a barn. Then again, it raised the difficulty of his own training and that was why he'd asked for the General's help in this endeavor. Blindfolds placed (his own a messy affair, admittedly, thanks to spiraling horns) and the hound prepared, Jigano rose to his feet gingerly, relying on his tail and half-spread wings for balance as he turned his head from side to side, listening...

No crunch of snow betrayed Deimos's paws, no panting breaths in the Deepfrost chill. Jigano almost snorted in exasperation but managed to hold the sound in at the last moment, realizing it would give his own position away. Still, if sound wouldn't help, there was still scent, and he flared his nostrils wide to draw in the cold air, 'tasting' it for something warm and houndy amidst all the snow.

There... well, that direction, at least. Having nothing else to go on at the moment he tensed his muscles and then pounced towards where he thought the scent was strongest, sweeping his long neck in an arc as he sought to make contact with the black dog.

Though the pounce alone would make quite a lot of noise, and there was nothing he could do about that.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Still for a moment, a hush fell over him, the lull before pending storms. It had been the same right before a battle, in the brewing tempests, staring out over plains, over marching, advancing adversaries. But this wasn’t meant to be a siege or assault, a barrage, a demolition, a result of ruins and treacheries, neither led by avarice or acrimony. It was a test, a foundational press of capabilities, a loss of senses to hone and harpoon another.

He listened, raising his head to sniff, instead of maneuvering for a moment – the sound of motions, of a loud mass crunching through snow, ice, and rime alerted him to the dragon on his left, but not the sweep of a long neck. Despite the nuances, the immediate shift of his entire sleek body to the right, he couldn’t see the impending nape, and the arc connected on his hind.

The impact wasn’t so barbaric that it knocked him off its feet, but it was a warning, to do more, to be better, grinding down into the granules of his abilities. He didn’t loosen a howl, a growl; silenced despite the contact. Then he turned back, daring and bold, muzzle drawn towards the expanse of a larger being, intending to make quick executions of movement, of motion, to tag with the end of his nose, and then bid a hasty evasion.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

A fox might have been more silent, but it would never have reached Deimos on accident the way the dragon's long neck could. Even so, even trying to hit Deimos, the moment of impact startled Jigano as much as his training partner and he jerked his head back in alarm as not his muzzle but his neck impacted warm fur with a grazing blow that had him pulling his head up sharply in startlement. The dragon's instincts were muddled by the loss of sight - a predator made for soaring, spotting prey below and then diving for it - and this willing reliance on other senses was taking some getting used to.

He was off balance enough that even though his neck and head were removed from Deimos's return lunge, his forearm was not. The hound would find empty air where he aimed right up until it was filled with cool scales, tagged by an even colder canine nose, and Jigano snorted in dismay as he felt the contact. One for each of us, he chuckled through the bond, tilting his head again to try and find Deimos by sound as the hound made his retreat.

Somewhere... there? ish? But the dragon had learned the difficulty of masking his own movement and this time he changed his tactic. Sweeping his feather-scaled tail through the snow, he attempted to scoop and fling a shower of the frozen stuff towards where he thought Deimos had gone, listening closely to try and catch the wetter sound of it hitting a warm body rather than the softer shush of it falling back to the ground. If the snow did strike Deimos he would snake his head forward again, attempting to tap the hound with his muzzle, though distance was still hard to determine without sight.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

A surprised snort nearly billowed through his nares at the touch of cold scales, but he reeled, spinning in hasty evasion, retreat, before it could be truly unfurled. This was a different mode of attack and siege – one the Sword was not used to at all. He’d never been one to lunge and dive away; usually an all or nothing brand of fighter. He defended, he parried, he feinted, he launched, he overwhelmed. But these tactics only served him when he could see his opponent, could strike at weaknesses, at flaws in technique, in approaches to movement.

Which meant another mode, another means, another set of measures were required.

He could dash around and wander until twilight set in, but it held no structure, no poise, no precision. His ears flicked at the sensation of movement and motion nearby again (yet to realize it’d been a tuft of snow), this time seemingly to his right, striving to judge, to calculate, the levels and layers. Some managed to settle upon him too, and instinct told him to shake it away; and he froze midway through the process, reality settling in a little too late – tapped again by a maw.

He meant to snap back, to shift his muzzle swiftly, quickly, and then get out of range once more. This time, however, he had another notion. Attempting to not be so easily detected, he compelled, summoned, beckoned, a variety of other animals from nearby: a large rabbit, feet bounding through the snow, several squirrels chattering in the midst, and birds swooping. The intention was to mask his presence, noise, and direction entirely, attempting to ensure theirs were simply too overwhelming, too much at once for the dragon to identify the hound.

Only then did he saunter back in the direction he hoped the dragon remained within, trying to reach out with a paw, under the guise of so many other creatures.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

This time his stratagem worked, whether by skill or luck, and he found warm fur with his nose instead of his neck. There was no question of control; the dragon's temper and urge to hunt had been hobbled by the blindfold and Jigano's mind held firm sway over the sinuous shape even as he sank himself into the form's other instincts, using and being used by them in unexpected harmony.

His balance was thoroughly unsettled, but that was where having six limbs and a tail came in handy to counter the unsteadiness caused by moving while blinded.

Pulling his snout back, Jigano paused to try and orient himself once more, listening for when Deimos made his dodge to a new location. Snow crunched and he lunged for it, missing (the rabbit) by several feet. The chattering squirrels and swooping birds were obviously not the hound, but the sudden increase in stimuli had the dragon swinging his head back and forth in exasperation as he tried to hear past the distraction. Was that Deimos, or a deer? A rabbit? A fox?

Shifting his weight, Jigano sat back on his haunches, lifting his forepaws off the ground to reduce the amount of target he made, but he moved too slowly. A paw glanced over his wrist as he was manuevering and it was too big and warm to be some woodland critter. Probably. Was that you? Uncertain if it counted as a point to the General or to some hapless wolf pulled into their match. At least his scales made counting coup against him a simpler matter.

Just in case he reached out after whatever had touched him, dropping his nose like a snake, swift to strike, swift to boop, should he catch a retreating hound across the rump.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Yes, a little triumphant amusement resounding throughout the attuned measures, more or less laughter because of the measures required to even make it thus far. His own methods might have backfired on him though, for his ears shifted and turned in every direction, accounting for the animals lingering in all directions, senses chasing after one, and then the other. No time to breathe, to think, to ponder over which was which; not as he might have done with his eyes.

So he dismissed them entirely, striving to focus on the matter at hand. The rabbit bounced away, and he could identify that accordingly, the birds gliding off into the distance, the squirrels chattering irritatingly into the next clearing.

But by the time he’d deciphered all of them – the dragon was upon him, nose pressed on his tail, and he hastened forth with a deepened tone of either bemusement, frustration, vexation, or a combination of all. Ridiculous, he laughed again, shaking his hound head as he attempted to bound forward and away, then swung to the left, deciding the dragon might not have had the chance to get away. This would be a chance, an opportunity, for swifter contortions against brawn and might.

How odd, to find himself the smaller, quicker one today.

Utilizing the advantage as much as he could, he dashed, sticking his muzzle out, striving to obtain a touch of scales before the rush of movement and motion all over again.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Damn, Jigano admitted cheerfully, finding he was actually enjoying the challenge of their trial, even though he itched to take the blindfold off and see his opponent properly again. It would hardly be training if he did, though, and the effort to follow their contest (game, really, and he was having enough fun to admit it) with his other senses could be useful in future endeavors when light was extinguished or vision impaired.

This time he got lucky and knew it, but luck was as important in a contest as skill, and he whuffed his amused agreement to Deimos's declaration as the hound made his escape before a second boop could be delivered from a draconic snoot. He rose back onto his haunches, surprised to hear the earlier cacophony gone, all except one--

The Hound's path was predictable in the crunching of snow beneath his paws, but there was simply no way to shift thirty feet of dragon entirely out of his path in time. Still Jigano tried, attempting a leap to the side (and what he hoped was still flat ground), wings spread to balance his uncertain retreat.

If he had been smaller, slimmer, quicker, he might have escaped, but Deimos's nose caught his foot and then his tail as he bounded and then slipped as the snow gave way and he found himself landing with a Whoof! of exhaled air and a flurry of snow, deep in a deceptive drift, easy pickings for a final assault from his foe.

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The noise was a cacophony, a series of machinations invading his ruminations, his senses, and he shook his head more than once to allow himself an opportunity to study, to understand. The human mind worked against him in that way, and he finally gave himself over to the hound formations, where he dodged to the right as the draconic interludes surfaced. There was some rumbling, a slipping of feet, snow whisking over his spine, a whoof and then nothing else more.

The Sword would’ve arched a brow, and likely laughed had he been capable of seeing the sight.

Perhaps Jigano was lucky in that regard then, and he only received a howl of amusement, a long, low, loud bay, as the audible motions tempted him to give chase. He returned to the previous scene of the crime as best he could, a swift chase of his muzzle attempting to lightly tap upon icy scales, and then loping off to what he estimated being a peculiar situation. He tilted his head a fraction, ears swiveling everywhere once more. Are you stuck? A portion of him, likely the Reaper insinuations, marveled it could be a trap.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts