Snippet #2724844

It was on this very spot, nearly two solar years past, that Suzerain Tyretlethen had launched his great crusade against the Western kingdom of Skyfall. In those two years, money, soldiers, and food had flowed steadily westward to feed the war effort, and seemingly naught had come from it. That was perfectly acceptable, in the mind of the Suzerain; dragons had a patience for attrition that the lesser species find appalling. Many of his advisors had begged him to call the forces back, crying that he had left the Empire vulnerable and open to attack. Tyretlethen has scoffed; there was no other power on the continent of Siv'ven who would dare challenge them. If anything, hamstringing Skyfall's own military reserves was an act in the interest of their defense.

But that had not been the main reason for doing so.

No, on this spot two years ago, the voice of the Crawling Chaos had called to Suzerain Tyretlethen, and bade him launch this crusade against the human kingdoms. The Suzerain never questioned that voice, for he knew it well, and so he had done so without further concern. Now, tonight, as Nedelethakor swooned her way into the glittering, vaulted heights of Suzerain Hall, regret and treachery were the furthest things from his mind. Similar to Nedelethakor, Suzerain Tyretlethen was dressed in the current height of draconic fashion; a long blue robe that was bedecked with thousands of tiny sapphires. Golden bangles and brooches littered his claws and snout, and his entire body was tattooed with lettering from the ancient Sifleod people; the native desert elves who had lived along the Sapphire Desert's only river before Tyretlethen had systematically wiped them out. An ill omen for the dragon king, if ever Sekhemkare had seen one.

Now a great pageant was held by various clerics of the draconic faith of Io. Speaking in the language of dragons, they showered both the Suzerain and the Lady in sprays of perfumed water while singing doleful hymns to the Twin Gods. The Shaman and the Lady's handmaiden's waited patiently at the edges of the large throneroom, guarded in place by no less than four hulking demons wrought in masterful black armor. As Tyretlethen and Nedelethakor proceeded to engage in a ceremonial dance that would culminate in their mating, the Favored Concubine sent another missive to the shaman.

Sekhemkare, if thou wouldst aid me in this fate, try to obtain the Suzerain's shed raiments whilst he and I perform our deeds. His royal cloak contains the key to a great weapon that I might use to undo him. See to it, and I shall install you in great esteem within my court.

With that, and a series of rhythmic hisses, Nedelethakor sidled up to Tyretlethen, and the dance began. It wasn't easy at first glance to discern one dragon from the other, save that Nedelethakor was smaller and had a more lapis coloration in opposition to Tyretlethen's cyan cast, but it didn't matter. When the crucial time came, it would be easy to tell which dragon was which...