Snippet #2761528

Irral tilted his head at the man's humor, and his eye twitched at the appearance of the Servitors. But for now, Irral did not see them as a threat or a challenge. He understood that humans were less reverent of Dragons as they had once been; and that their respect would need to be earned again. The Dragon paid no heed to the map that projected itself before them, and walked through it, stopping a few feet away from the desk before Blackheart, his boots thumping on the deck.

"I am here for the Amulet. Not for you. How I acquire it does not concern me, what does is that I bring it back with me." He said, ignoring the snark in the man's voice as much as he could, annoyed by it. Slowly the Dragon held out his left hand, palm up, as if waiting for the Emerald Amulet. The Claws of his gauntlet gleamed in the light, and the tough Leather that formed the rest of the glove was smooth and battle-hardened. Irral did not speak, but his request- no, his command was clear:

Hand over the Amulet.