I'll eat your worthless little soul
At the gates of hell tonight

The second that his horns locked into the lumbering beast's leg, Crowley knew he was in trouble. Its blood seems to burst forth from the appendage, draping the brindled stud in blue, but this is now ordinary blood at all. For several long, intense moments, the Weaver felt as though he had been struck by the Time God himself. His body quaked at the elecrical currents produced by the creature's blood, temporarily paralyzing him in place and leaving him at the mercy of the beast for much longer than he dared to think about.

But eventually, and if nothing more was done by the draconic thing, the currents died down and the brindle broke away from the close vicinity of his foe. His body would still tremor if he came to a stand still, and the effects of the blood would surely haunt him for the next few coming days, but it was petty compared to what else this beast could do to both him and the lands of Helovia. Behind him, he could hear the pounding of hoofbeats, and turning his head briefly, yellow eyes meeting the similarly hued ones of the Basin's dearest Corporal, Illynx. Crowley spared her a gnarled grin before looking away, focusing back on his own path and wishing the golden-clad mare the best of luck in this fight.

Just as soon as Crowley began to calculate his next move, he watched as Talbot was cast to the side by the tail of the beast, hitting the ground with an audible thump, the force enough to produce a yelp from the still young Hellhound. A pang of worry and fear welled deep within the Weaver's chest as he watched his partner get downed, but as luck would have it, Talbot regained his footing and could be seen darting away from the thrashing tail, but not without consequence. The barbed tail struck him in the rear, causing another yelp to leave the pup's mouth, but it didn't stop him from the rest of his escape attempt. The hound cast a quick glance of reassurance to his master before performing yet another attack, this time trying his best to dart beneath the belly of the beast and leap up, aiming to bite into the more tender skin of the underbelly.

Thankful that his canine friend was alright for the most part, Crowley turned his sights back on the towering behemoth, never stopping. Currently, he had circled back to the right, heading towards where the left shoulder should be. His earlier use of magic seemed to have proven useful, so willing the darkness that was his magic to form again, he cast yet another curse towards the creature, but this time... It all went south.

At first, Crowley was consumed by an all encompassing feeling of drowsiness, the very thing he had tried to inflict upon his foe. No... that wasn't how it was supposed to work! Had he truly cursed himself instead? His eyelids flickered as he slowed his pace somewhat, traveling now at a speedy trot. Giving a shake of his head, Crowley tried to shrug his sudden lethary away, but it was proving more and more difficult with every step he took.

But it didn't end there.

As he continued to gaze upon the scaly creature, the Weaver was suddenly overcome with a sudden, insatiable sense of both hunger and thirst. While being hunger or thirsty at a time like this wouldn't normally be a problem, for he could just worry about it after the destroyer of a land was defeated, this was different. Every fiber of his being demanded that he saite himself no matter the danger right in front of him, and if he did not, then he would surely fall over dead on his side. Or at least, that's what it felt like.

Planting his feet and coming to a sudden stop, Crowley dropped his head and gathered a mouthful of snow, as it was the only water source in his immediate vicinity. It did next to nothing to satisfy his primal needs, however, and his belly quickly reminded him that there were many more choices available in regards to ridding him of hunger. His eyes landed back on the creature of the Steppe, and while his stomach purred at the thought, a feeling of repulsion made itself known in the back of the Weaver's mind.

With a sudden burst of energy, undoubtedly driven by his outrageous need to eat, Crowley barreled towards the beast's left front leg, and if he was successful in even reaching it, he opened his mouth to deliver the most punishing bite he could deal, which admittedly wasn't much considering the dragon's armor-like scales.

But it just sounded so delicious.

[ooc - In case any of you are wondering, Crowley's curse got kicked back into gear and that's why he wants dragon stew for dinner. >___> And why he has a mouthful of snow.

Is temporarily paralyzed by the blood of the dragon, then scampers away to the left of the monster. Stops, eats a mouthful of snow. Charges forward and tries to bite into the dragon's left front leg. Talbot is hit in the rear by the barbed tail, then tries running under the dragon to bite its stomach.]

"Talk talk talk."