The Grand Vestibule

"...we did not negotiate the terms of leaving one of his men here." Grey said between clenched teeth. No matter, the straggler would be kicked out soon enough for violating a rule he hadn't been made aware of. If ONLY he had been wise enough to say so before taking part in the Citadel's experiments, it could be avoided. Grey grinned in spite of himself.

"Oh yes. Her." Grey said, finishing off his cigarette and dismissing it into a cloud of mist with a flick of his thumb. "...so what of these Knights, then?"

Roy Cullens simply began to rub the back of his head a bit. "Well to top it off I have received a 'package' which was from Isabella herself letting me know that she was going to stay within the Dwarven Stout for several weeks and wished to see me as she had something she wanted to discuss. This of course worked out perfectly because a Tiefling wizard by the name of Tieglis had actually borrowed several old tomes on the construction of War Forged, the same ones I had added to the libraries due to my studies, so it was only natural for me to go there anyway and I took what was sent with me so that I could pick up what I needed." Roy just sat his hands within his pockets of his robe only to then laugh a bit more. "Turned out after aquiring those books again I met up with Isabella only to find that the Blind Prophet was here on Gaia and that he wished to seek refuge against those who betrayed him. I swore I would hide him in which case I asked the Elf, Melthandon, who also runs that Tavern if he could hide Alger for a time...I know not of that location now....and more specifically I needed to ask Isabbella some things about the package she had left."

"Roy..." Grey said, clasping his face in a weary hand.

"...why are you trying to protect someone who is any enemy to all users of magic, when you yourself...gh...just...why?"

"It was the Knights not the Prophet himself and to be honest with the knowledge they had granted me in the use of Mechanica and when Isabella had asked me I had felt pity for the old man." Roy answered quit honestly. "Besides Grey if I truly had betrayed you would I have given you the name of the elf who I drink with from time to time? I also did not have much choice due to the nature of the package I was given." Roy was not known to lie, especially to those he considered close friends, and it was no different in this situation.

"I wouldn't recommend putting your trust in any of them, but I've said this in the past, and I'm loathe to repeat myself." Grey said, his mouth twisting into a grimace. He was never one to put his trust into any kind of followers of the divine, except, perhaps, the Suzerain himself. Not that Grey trusted Tyretlethen, really.

"Is that all? If not, I will be on my way."

"I, well, yes I suppose but can I ask for a small favor Grey?" Roy seemed a bit sheepish as he turned his attention else ware for a bit as if something had happened. "Would you happen to know of someone here at the Citadel who could help me take care of a child?" The question was a bit more direct as Roy himself seemed a bit perplexed right now. "That is what the package consisted of, a small boy who is apparently mine, I am at a loose of what to do with a two year old kid and I was wondering if there was any body who actually could give me a hand now and then?"

"Consider this your first lesson in parenting Roy; A citadel of ultimate magic filled with dragons is not a place to keep an infant. The only people I can think of off hand are the Nymphs down in the Ulhar Oth bathes, but they are not exactly..." Grey rolled his hand around, searching for an appropriate expression. None came. "...they're probably not the best choice either. If find someone outside of the citadel."

Surely Roy hadn't expected him to help. Grey considered the lad his friend, but by Io, Grey was not going to be a step-dad for him.

"I'll leave it up to you, Roy. You're an intelligent boy. Maybe you can make a construct or something for it." Grey said impatiently. With that, he barked a few magical words and soared off into the heights of the Citadel...

"That was rather helpful?" Roy muttered as he began to ponder what to do. The young wizard began to rush off towards his room thinking of what he would need to keep this growing child going until he could send his boy off someplace to study possible. It was very clear to Roy that he was not ready for being a parent.

Inside the ornate entryway, polished sandstone mosaics flickered in the pale witchlight that illuminated the cavernous space. Streams of clear, pure water cascaded down from the heights of the citadel in an opulent display of splendor. The locust-walker had piqued the Royal Mistress's interest, despite being a stranger among her ranks. She recognized very few of the talismans he wore, but could tell he was cast from the lineage of the oldest of the desert tribes; the same tribes that Tyretlethen had snuffed out during his rise to power over fifteen-hundred years ago. If nothing else, there was little harm he could do in the ensuing contest.

The full rank and file of her honor guard filed in behind them; their spears and splinted armor clacking and rustling softly. A few of Tyretlethen's own royal guard met Nedelethakor at the steps up to the Suzerain's antechamber. Though their expressions were inscrutable beneath their iron helms, the tone of suspicion was unmistakable in ther gruff voices.

"Greetings, Lady Nedelethakor. The Suzerain bids you glad tidings and hopes your journey was safe. You may leave your bodyguards here. We will escort you to the Suzerain's Hall." they said, turning on their heels and beginning to march up the long steps. The Royal Mistress flicked her tongue at a few of her soldiers; harpy women of the northen bluffs who were also her attendants. She also pointed at the curious nomad who smelled of old sand. Out of her collected posse, he most had the bearing of a wizard, and he would fit well into her cadre. The Suzerain's guards turned to glean what was holding the Lady from ascending, and butted their spears into the stone steps as her selected assistants walked along with her.

"Begging the Lady's pardon, but only you yourself are permitted to the Suzerain's quarters. All others must wait here." the one on the right barked. Nedelethakor emitted a long hiss and drew her face close to the presumptuous guardsman.

"Surely Tyretlethen would not begrudge his Favored Lady an attachment of footwomen to tend to her needs. The mating of blue dragons is no animal affair, like the hasty rutting of you humans. I shall have need of their attentions for the full length of this Ringshadow, else I shall require you to bathe me once all is settled." Nedelethakor said in the most honeyed voice a fifty foot long dragon could muster. The guard captain backed away slowly and swallowed.

"So be it. But what of...this one." the armored elite stammered, gesturing the tip of his ranseur at Sekhemkare. Nedelethakor slowly arched her long neck to gaze at the sunbaked shaman before looking back to the captain.

"What of him? The Suzerain keeps the Archmage by him at all practical times. Am I not permitted to have the council of my own wizard? Come, introduce yourself to the captain." The Lady crooned at Sekhemkare.

Water. He could hear it, thundering, before he saw it pouring from the spires. Clean, ready to drink, he couldn't fathom how they managed it. His people drew their water from the sand, or did without, baking like clay in the heat, becoming stronger. Yet, to have so much, a thing a valuable as liquid silver, the herald of wars, the tonic of empires, it was beauty to him. He stopped and gazed at the waterfall. Thoughts crowded his mind, snippets of memory, long lost.

The light of dozens of weapons glittering, warping, playing off of the stone. He had seen this before. He felt the locusts roil and willed them to rest. War? No. A slaughter. Great storms. Tubes of glass, wrought from lightening. The thirst. Another king forgotten. A heart held by a crying son. It beats.

The procession swept him back up, and he found himself standing alongside Nedelethakor. He had been selected, which was not expected. Why, he did not know. Probably due to his appearance, he did have an arcane feel to him, especially with his funerary charms. As for the winged ones, they seemed strong. He had seen similar things, in the past, with spikes and twisted fangs. Ancestors of the creatures before him, perhaps? He knew little of the world now. Now was his chance to learn, however.

He didn't understand most of what she was saying. His language had died out millennia ago, but some fragments of his tongue remained in use. The grammar was all wrong, but it was there. He got some it as result, and the guards extremely vivid expressions were helping. Entry was needed, and denied. She seemed to be explaining her retinue joining her in...whatever she was doing. 'Mating' translated, as did 'Human". He didn't know if that was entirely possible, but he wasn't familiar with dragons. Her retinue needed to be present, for whatever reason, and then she motioned to him. An introduction?

He stepped forward, stopping alongside the Lady. He spoke, voice carrying through the cloth covering his face. It sounded dry and distant, like it was being carried in on the desert wind, yet slow and powerful. It sounded...old.

"Sekhemkare. I serve the Lady, Man of Iron. My council is hers to seek."

A locust flew out from his cloak and lighted on the tip of the guard's spear. It stared, as much as an insect could, at the guard.

The captain waggled the end of his ranseur irately, trying to flick the insect free from its gleaming blade, but the gently buzzing vermin payed it no heed. The guardsman abruptly gave up and turned his attention back towards the Favored.

"Be that as it may, I cannot permit him passage. My apologied to you, Master Sek-" the captain said before being abruptly silenced by a crackle of lightning down Nedelethakor's spined neck. The air went sharp with the smell of ozone, and a glowering rumble issued forth from the dragon's belly.

"If the Suzerain forbids it, let him be the one to say so. Waylay me further, knave, and you shall know the peril of a scorned Wyrm." the Lady said gruffly, punctuating her words with an abrupt snap of her jaws. The scything fangs stopped just short of the guard captain's abdomen, causing him to lurch and stumble back in fear. He dared not bring the tip of his weapon to bear on the dragoness, however, for doing so was ensuring a swift death. He caught his breath while his compatriot took the reigns of the conversation.

"Do pardon Captain Masheed, milady. He is bitter, and has been stewing in his armor since the crusade left for Skyfall. You and your company may follow me to Suzerain Hall." the lesser guardsman choked out. He stood to the side and allowed the Lady to pass, the harpies continuing behind, carrying the long train of her deep, violet cloak. Nedelethakor was always insistent on being impeccably dressed when she departed her lair in the north, especially given her draconic body. Why other dragons were so insistent on flying about in the buff was always a mystery to her. Sekhemkare walked alongside the Royal Mistress as they ascended the immense, spiral staircase. The Lady glanced back over her shoulder at the wizened nomad and blinked, causing her reptilian eyes to m emit a pale, yellow gleam. Speech would drift across the surface of the desert shaman's mind like a stone across water; words without language directly from the Favored Concubine's mind.

Well met then, Sekhemkare. For good or ill, you now have a part to play in this evening's doom. I suspect you savvy enough to know that treachery of my design is afoot, but if you would make yourself a boon to my service, it behooves us to know one another. What knowledge would you ask of the Lady Nedelethakor?

The words echoed away into the aether as the scuffs and plods of the ascent were borne away on twilit breezes...

The scaled ones were strong. That became clear with the display of power the Lady used to ensure she would not be accosted further. Jaws like a primordial serpent, lighting ripped from the heart of a storm, larger than a war-tent of a king. Truly a being to observe.

Yet, when the thoughts of the Lady worked their way into his mind, there was a period of silence. Sekhemkare was staring at the sun, through the massive windows ringing the staircase. It had been a cool day, and now it was little more that a ribbon of orange cresting the dunes. He was seeking visions, and finding them. One could find the future in the sun, his people knew this. At times, it would hesitate to rise or set, for fear that it may not get the chance to grace the world again. On days which it blazed hot enough to crack stone, it was watching, hungry. And some days, it would hide it's eyes, unwilling to witness the actions of those who toiled below it. Today, however, it was sedate, sluggish, and dim. He had seen it before. It was saving its brilliance for a dawn brighter than any seen in a century. Sekhemkare would do what it took to see it through. The gods were watching now.

He returned to reality, his own thoughts answered the Lady's, his mental voice possessing faint notes of strength and life. A voice that was? It was distant, whispers issuing from the depths of a tomb, a thousand locust wings beating in a human voice. But, it found it's way to the Lady nonetheless.

We slay the one who rules this land? How does a scaled one die? Blades? Fire? Honey? What silences their roars?

Indeed. Suzerain Tyretlethen; Emperor of a Thousand years. He has sent his armies away on a great conquest, much to his own ruin. I strike now, and claim his land from him.

The collected procession continued to wind their way up the spire of the Azure Citadel, growing steadily closer to the sandstone summit wherein lay Tyretlethen himself and the Eye of the Suzerain; the immense, billion-faceted sapphire jewel that crowned the uttermost pinnacle of the arcane fortress. Sekhemkare likely would have seen it shining as a clear, blue beacon in the night, but very few people indeed were given the opportunity to see the Suzerain's pride so close. The air became more and more perfumed with dried herbs and incense as they ascended, all mixed with the whispering eddies of desert wind from outside the vaulted windows. The setting suns cast their final, red rays through the ring system that arched over the sky, tracing wondrous patterns on the walls where the sunbeams broke through. No one spoke, save for the silent rapport between Nedelthakor and her newly obtained councilor.

Blades and fire all well and good, but I design to slay the Suzerain with his own hubris. Once we have completed our coupling, for I do at least desire to brood another Royal clutch, I will challenge him to deadly combat. You shall be the executor of my will, and see to it that none disturb our power struggle.

Sekhemkare nodded at the Lady's words, quietly taking in the beauty of the fortress. It was opulence like he had never seen. This Tyretlethen had ruled for a thousand years, and in that time he had built himself a worthy home. Sekhemkare had been wandering for thrice that time, perhaps longer, yet he had not felt such pride emanating from every facet of a palace. The majesty of the beacon, the steadily increasing miasma of luxury, it all coalesced into a rather definite image. One that the Lady was quite willing to exploit.

None will. All kings must fall. All banners burn. It is his time. Let it be that he returns to the dust, wings torn from him. Your cold fire will be your crown and your scales your vestements. The desert whispers such words, and it whispers in a tide of sand and blood. Can you not hear it?

Nedelethakor smiled widely; an expression that never seemed to bode well on the face of a dragon. It seemed that she had truly picked an excellent specimen to accompany her to this fateful exchange. If by no other measure, he had a dangerous mind, and this was something that the Lady considered a boon. Sekhemare was clearly smart enough to be a threat to anyone, even her. It would forestall the temptation of complacency that she was exploiting even now against the reigning Dragon King.

The procession continued up through the final passages of the citadel, the spiral becoming every steeper and narrower. But, if there was one thing that people of the desert could weather, it was a long walk...