"Really? You want to go by boat? You admittedly can't even swim, and know that sailors go missing on these waters. And still, a boat?" Tyrael did not appreciate the way his nephew was staring at him. It was that look he always got whenever he couldn't seem to decide if he thought Tyrael was joking or not. Typically it was followed by snarky commentary, and the occasional way-too-in-depth explanation of some biology fact or another.
"It's not as though there is a faster, safer way." The former angel primly retorted. "Or any other way." Humans, unfortunately, were not naturally inclined towards flight.
The two of them stood in the chilly courtyard of their commune. In warmer times there were several fountains that had bubbled merrily. Now they were little more than cold, lifeless statues. Around them, the grass had been long fried and singed from Tyrael work with magic. He had hoped to be able to simply transport himself where he needed to go, but Rathma had assured him in no uncertain terms that he was not ready.
"If there were, I'd happily go that route, as we both know the island is a most pressing issue. However...what are you laughing about?"
Indeed, the Nephalem was now chortling merrily to himself. He stared at Tyrael with his wicked red eyes, the horns framing his head glinting with power and magic. Were he not so dismayed by the particular expression on Rathma's face, Tyrael would be more pleased by how far they had come from when the nephalem would've simply walked away from his presence.
As it was, he recognized this expression as one that frequently led to some very...strange things indeed.
"Is there...another way?" He hesitantly asked. Rathma's quick grin was almost feral. No doubt something just as feral up his sleeve.
"Not let's see. Why would you sail across treacherous, eel-infested waters,…" He murmured, turning about and raising his hands. "When you can go by air?" He began whispering the strange language of Necromancy, and before Tyrael could further question just what the hell he was doing, bright arcs of magic shot from his finger-tips.
The streams of energy met and coalesced in a myriad of twisting shapes and patterns. Tyrael could only watch, faintly impressed, and vaguely concerned. The courtyard was bathed in eerie white light as a glittering portal began to form.
It flashed and threw sparks this way and that, and Rathma strained to get it under his control. His voice never wavered from a calm whisper, even as a nearby statue was reduced to dust. Tyrael debated diving for cover.
Then, as soon as the rift stabilized, something began to emerge from its depths. Rathma continued his chant, now growing louder as the...thing, made its entrance. Tyrael really thought he should dive for cover now, but something held him back.
A thin, pointy snout poked through, followed by a boney muzzle, and finally the rest of a horned skull. Tyrael let out an oath as more of the beast - a truly massive thing, it was becoming apparent - emerged. The vertebrae in its long neck were visible, among withered muscle and tendon and sinew. First one skeletal paw, then another stepped out. It crawled forward, its portal stretching and surging to allow it entryway from...wherever Rathma was summoning it from.
The Nephalem's face was drawn as he called the creature forth. It slunk over to him, head bowed before its master. Thick-muscled legs clawed at the ground, busting some tile where the talons touched down. A great pair of wings sewn from bone and shadow were folded against its back, and a long tail flopped against the stones, its tip savagely barbed. Rathma finished his chant, and the power portal winked out of existence.
After a moment of gasping for breath, The King of Necromancy held out a hand, and his beast eagerly nuzzled at his palm. It's head was nearly as long as he was tall, and Tyrael was impressed it had managed to make its entrance without utterly destroying the courtyard.
Rathma mumbled something, and the creature shifted its attention to Tyrael.
All three simply stared at one another for a long, long moment.
"What-?" Tyrael blurted, but didn't know how to finish his sentence.
"Dragon bones." Rathma casually replied. "Very old, very powerful." The lich-dragon nudged at the nephalem with shocking delicacy, spectral eyes never leaving Tyrael. Having been the Angel of Justice, he thought it might have been passing some judgement of its own.
"...Exactly how long have you...had access to this?" Tyrael crossed his arms, hoping he didn't appear as nervous as he felt. He had never before encountered a dragon, dead or alive, though he'd heard tales of them.
"I found Syr'Val's remains shortly before the founding of the Triune. The original, not the one Belial took control of." Rathma affectionately ran a hand over his creation's teeth, and it made a loud grating noise that Tyrael thought might've been a purr.
"And only now you make use of them?" He couldn't help the testiness in his voice. Had Rathma really had such power all this time? The power to command such creatures as this…
Rathma simply shrugged however, either unnoticing or uncaring of his uncle's consternation. "There hasn't been a time to use them until now. I know your thoughts - I could not have used them against Malthael." Finally, the nephalem stepped away from Syr'Val, and looked the beast over critically. "One who knows the ways of the balance, one who is powerful enough, can rest control of another necromancer's minions away from them. I could not risk giving the Angel of Death access to a dragon."
Turning, Rathma favored his uncle with a flat look. "I did not know Malthael's limits, or his specific abilities. Trust me when I say, just one of these," He gestured at his lich. "Could've turned the tide against us easily."
"And against Vidian?" Tyrael asked evenly. Rathma simply frowned at him.
"He required a more delicate approach." Was all he said, eyes narrowed. Tyrael sighed, arms uncrossing. He looked over the boney dragon-thing, and it regarded him in turn.
"I would like, in the future, for you to let me know you have access to such things." Tyrael carefully said. "Or even that they exist. If you can raise a dragon from the dead, it is not too far of a leap to say others could too."
The nephalem scrunched up his nose at him, and Tyrael shook his head.
"Very well. We will go to Greyhollow Island on the back of a dragon." And hopefully, whatever evil lurked there could be dealt with quickly and easily.
"A dead dragon." Rathma corrected, looking very pleased with the whole situation.
Tyrael sighed, and looked up at Syr'Val. "Yes. On the back of a dead dragon."