Voltaire

The dragon is only half Caleb's size, a runt compared to himself, but his green eyes are glowing with charged magic. His thorns, though they may be as dangerous as the chitin-based horns he sports, have an odd color at the tips: Caleb is not eager to test if they are as toxic as they look. Indeed, for all the reasons he shouldn't be frightened of the smaller dragon, the wandering student is aware he's crossed the boundaries of a mighty individual.

Such as his curse, to anger someone powerful by accident.

Carefully, the wizard steps back, affording them a bit of space to breathe and hoping against hope the other will NOT cast Gust Slash or worse, a Disorient. "Hey now, friend, I didn't mean any insult here. I just needed the book for my studies. Not lookin' to start a fight, much less with some blessed Wind's kid."

The veilspun pauses. His wings, which had been raised in intimidation, are folding back against his hide, nearly blending into his red-black mane. His green eyes are focused on the other, despite Caleb pulling at his collar and looking askance. "You...can tell I'm blessed? Wait a minute. You're not from the Tangled Wood?"

"I was born and raised here," Caleb answers, eyes lidded as he scratches his growing beard. "But my father was enough of a stick in the mud to force me to learn much, including how to identify origins in other dragons. You being blessed is from what I can see of your eyes. The Wind exists in them."

The veilspun makes an odd tittering sound, low and nearly whispered. For a moment, the Imperial wonders if it's something native in Veilspun, or more possibly, a regional dialect from the Windswept Plateau. He's actually not sure; he's never been farther than Flotsam Town, and that's not mentioning how he was only there for a day before being dragged back, kicking and screaming. Still, his thoughts end when the other begins to speak once more. "You're very perceptive. Not many people can tell that about me, much less understand I'm not from these parts."

"Understandable. Veils were from the Tangled Wood prior, weren't they?"

His long locks cascade off his shoulder, as the others confirms that. "Supposedly. Though like any other dragon, we can come from different parts of the world. Perhaps my ancestors were from here, but I was not born of their flight." With a wry smirk, he adds, "If that were the case, as an Imperial, it would be odd that you were born and raised here."

"Don't I know that..." Caleb sighs, not wanting to think of the irony the World seems to delight in. He looks back at the other, who has tilted his head at him, and he smiles, extending his paw. "Ah, well, it's not much a matter to concern ourselves with. I'm Caleb Morrow, by the by. I'm a wandering student of magic. And you are...?"

The veilspun looks between him and his outstretched paw, before sliding his slender yet no less sharp claw into his palm for a shake. "Voltaire Caldwell, of Millmeadows. I am a student of magic as well. It is a pleasure to meet you, Morrow-sir."

"Just Caleb is fine. But is it a pleasure to meet me, really?"

"...No, not really. But I ought to be polite anyway."