Well, [ is a little like a sigh-laugh, absolutely bemused by all of this, ] it... is technically a "winged beast with lion-like features".
[ So. G'raha wasn't wrong. Maybe the author just liked to exaggerate.
Clive lowers his sword, but doesn't sheathe it entirely. Vigilance is written into his bones, and he'd be foolish to be deceived by appearances alone－ even if the appearance happens to be kind of adorable and soft and cuddly and comes with rainbow-colored sparks of aether that feel like cotton candy instead of anything harmful or dangerous.
(Oh, he knows what this feeling is. He misses his dog.) ]
Have there ever been accounts of your people taming a primal...?
[ Perhaps... the ones that are friend-shaped...? Again, Clive knows better than to coo and try to touch a strange creature, but all Madeen Lite has done thus far is wave its noodly arms at the both of them with indignant purpose. Like a child throwing a tantrum at a candy store. ]
[ Ah, but maybe if Clive read the sheer gravity of the prose he would understand why G’raha was so apprehensive. Well, maybe. He thinks Clive would, and he has half a mind to grab that tome once he has a moment of time just to show it to the man for a laugh. Clive would like that sort of thing, surely.
But more importantly… ]
The answer to that inquiry is a… complicated one. [ He offers Clive a small smile. ] I daresay you would not like the methods of the ancient Allagans.
[ The subjugation of dragons, including the primal Bahamut, was a dark spot of history, one whose scars still remain.
He pulls a small emblem from his pocket, affixed with the scale of a dragon. It glows softly, clearly at work. But the little primal continues to float around them, making an observant lap around the two, its attention largely fixed on Clive.
The sparkles it leaves in its wake make this act seem completely without threat, however. ]
‘Tis a shame to witness a rather docile primal, yet one that still attempts to temper nevertheless.
[ And Ifrit is likely keeping Clive safe from it, same as the way this scale shields G’raha. ]
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🥹🙏 god bless... they won't know what hit them
[ So. G'raha wasn't wrong. Maybe the author just liked to exaggerate.
Clive lowers his sword, but doesn't sheathe it entirely. Vigilance is written into his bones, and he'd be foolish to be deceived by appearances alone－ even if the appearance happens to be kind of adorable and soft and cuddly and comes with rainbow-colored sparks of aether that feel like cotton candy instead of anything harmful or dangerous.
(Oh, he knows what this feeling is. He misses his dog.) ]
Have there ever been accounts of your people taming a primal...?
[ Perhaps... the ones that are friend-shaped...? Again, Clive knows better than to coo and try to touch a strange creature, but all Madeen Lite has done thus far is wave its noodly arms at the both of them with indignant purpose. Like a child throwing a tantrum at a candy store. ]
😌
But more importantly… ]
The answer to that inquiry is a… complicated one. [ He offers Clive a small smile. ] I daresay you would not like the methods of the ancient Allagans.
[ The subjugation of dragons, including the primal Bahamut, was a dark spot of history, one whose scars still remain.
He pulls a small emblem from his pocket, affixed with the scale of a dragon. It glows softly, clearly at work. But the little primal continues to float around them, making an observant lap around the two, its attention largely fixed on Clive.
The sparkles it leaves in its wake make this act seem completely without threat, however. ]
‘Tis a shame to witness a rather docile primal, yet one that still attempts to temper nevertheless.
[ And Ifrit is likely keeping Clive safe from it, same as the way this scale shields G’raha. ]