RO > call me out; a forever open RP post, version 2

[midvalley]

NEW OPEN RP POST

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[cultivations]

[ Dorian remembers some vague discussion with the Inquisitor. Something about a new wizard arriving from a guild from Fiore. The mage had been equal parts intrigued and skeptical, knowing little of magic from Fiore; evidently, neither did any of the other mages within the inner circle, to the Inquisitor's chagrin.

The mage had apologized, noting he would scrounge up what little information they have, for which the Inquisitor thanked him. She had also smiled wryly and said, Try not to get too jealous, either. I just want you to know, you'll always be my favorite, mysterious mage from a faraway land.

Please, my dear Inquisitor, Dorian had responded haughtily. I am everyone's favorite.

Dorian is climbing down the steps from Cullen's tower when he hears the commotion at the front gates. For a few moments, he merely watches from the battlements, amused by the growing agitation of all parties involved. He idly expects the confrontation might come to blows, and he glances back at the closed door of Cullen's office. The poor man had been suffering greatly from his withdrawal symptoms, as of late, and no doubt they would call on the Commander, should things get out of hand.

The mage sighs to himself, then climbs the steps down to the main gate. ]

Trouble, gentlemen?

[ironized]

[ Gajeel really doesn't know what to make of the look the guard gives Dorian- part annoyed and part startled. The dragon slayer crosses his arms over his chest, regarding the mage levelly with red eyes. (Perhaps Makarov should have sent someone less scary looking.) ]

There's about to be.

[ The guard, for his own part, lamely offers, He says he's from some place called Fairy Tail. ]

[cultivations]

"Fairy Tail."

[ Now, that's familiar. Well, aside from the obvious homophonous connection, and perhaps that is what's causing the poor guard his concern -- that the man was telling him he was "from a fairy tale."

And that's to say nothing of the man's frankly alarming appearance. Cloaked as he was, it did little to conceal the metal glinting along his brow and the bridge of his nose. Dorian tilts his head as he regards the wizard again with new appreciation. ]

And under whose direction were you sent?

[ironized]

[ Gajeel quirks a brow. ] This a test?

[ he doesn't wait for an answer- he figures it is- and instead says, ] Makarov Dreyar. That gonna work or do you want my full list of credentials?

[cultivations]

[ Ah, good. That was the answer he was looking for. Test, indeed. ]

While I might be interested in perusing that list later, for now I merely require your name.

[ironized]

Gajeel. [ and for dramatic effect, Gajeel tugs his hood off, offering a grin. ] What about you, mustache? You one'a the people I'm supposed to meet?

[cultivations]

The mustache is merely that -- a mustache.

The man to which it is attached, however, is Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. [ He offers a far less dramatic nod in return. ] Charmed.

[ The mage turns to the guards, both of whom look baffled and concerned. ]

This man is expected by the Inquisitor. I assure you, it would likely be in your best interest to admit him. I would not take his threat to eat your armor idly.

[ironized]

[ The guards exchange a glance, before finally stepping aside. Gajeel brushes past and moves to Dorian, putting a hand on the mage's shoulder. (Yes, there's metal in his arms as well.) ] Since you're bein' the welcome wagon, how about a tour?

[cultivations]

[ Dorian glances at the hand, returning his gaze to the man to which it is attached. His eyebrow arches, as if to say, Really? ]

This being a diplomatic exchange of sorts, Lady Montilyet would be more suited to showing you around the fortress. She has been greatly looking forward to your arrival.

[ No, she hasn't. She had been working herself into a tizzy, what with there being little by way of information regarding customs in Fiore. ]

[ironized]

Do I look like a diplomat to you? I'm here to be muscle.

[cultivations]

Like it or not, you are a representative of your homeland. And more than that, you'll want to speak with Josephine to settle the matter of your wages.

I can at least take you that far, if you'd like.

[ironized]

Wages? Nah. The old man's got a bleeding heart. This one's on the house.

All I really need is a place to sleep and some iron.

[cultivations]

[ SIGHS.

There's no getting rid of this strange bedazzled man, is there. ]

I can show you to the private rooms. As to the iron -- well, I'm not entirely sure how much assistance I can provide on that front.

[ironized]

Eh, I'll figure it out, but I'm gonna need it if you want me to do you any good.

But lead away.

[cultivations]

If it's any consolation, the Inquisitor seems fond of mining the stuff, even when it's of no use to us. "One can never have too much ore," is her motto. Or it would be, if she cared to have one.

[ He says it as he's striding toward the main hall, and along the way, there are more than a few men and women who stop to observe the newcomer -- some more subtle than others. ]

[ironized]

[ Gajeel really doesn't give a shit if people stare at him. He's used to it. ]

Good ta hear. Wouldn't want me goin' hungry, after all.

[ He doesn't know what all Makarov put in his letter about what he can do, but they're bound to find out one way or another. ]

[cultivations]

[ The mage falls quiet at that for a moment, then pauses in his stride long enough so that they walk side by side. ]

That wasn't an exaggeration, then. You-- actually eat metal. Truly.

[ironized]

Sure do. Nothin' like that around here, I'm guessin'?

[cultivations]

Eating metal as easily as one might eat bread? Hardly so. Unless, of course, you'd like to include illusionists in traveling acting troupes, which I doubt you would.

[ironized]

Those guys are fakers anyway. I’m the real deal.

I’d like ta see some circus act do this. [ He holds up a hand, letting his cloak sip down this elbow. His hand, very much flash and bone, suddenly transforms into an iron spike. Welcome to the wonderful, if somewhat disturbing, world of dragon slayer magic, Dorian. ]

[cultivations]

[ Dorian, naturally, is goddamned fascinated, while those nearby are horrified. There might even be a few muffled cries of alarm. ]

How does that work, exactly? The tomes I found were quite vague on the topic. Transmutation, clearly, but is it, perhaps, a form of alchemy? An illusion, maybe?

[ironized]

Nah, it's real iron. [ He reaches out and clanks it against the castle wall for emphasis, before his hand changes back ] Dragon Slayer magic can only be taught by a dragon. I ain't surprised it wasn't in your books.

[cultivations]

Well. Most of the dragons I've encountered or heard about grow inexplicably hostile when approached. Perhaps they find the drawn weapons and grimacing faces unpleasant.

[ironized]

[ It’s at that point that Gajeel stops absolutely dead in his tracks. When he speaks, his tone is low, level and cautious. ] When did you encounter a dragon?

[cultivations]

[ Dorian stops as well, turning to face the other man; there's a wariness in his gaze, though his tone doesn't change in the slightest. ]

A month or two ago, perhaps three. There are several wandering around aimlessly in Emprise du Lion, alone. Quite hostile, actually. Rather fond of attacking trade caravans.

Will this be a problem?