RP:A Dragons Meeting
Part of the The Dawn of a New Era Arc
Synopsis: After being summoned for a meeting, three of the five members of the Brood show up to discuss their thoughts and what direction the group should go in to establish a new Empire. Its decided collectively that Venturil is their target for now, with the aim to establish a new base on an island that Dyraxdiin discovered with Scandal.
A Dragons Meeting
As you step out onto this roof, a cool wind blows against your face. You are at the top of the tower, and the only thing that stands between you and falling to the ground below is a small wall. The stone wall that surrounds the roof is just big enough for people to lay down and take shelter behind from any oncoming onslaught. This high view is the place to confirm what lookouts might think they see from the first or second level of the tower. Perhaps to count the exact number of attackers, or to make sure they can see how many come from each direction. A telescope is bolted to the stone in the middle of the floor and covered by tarp, resting right next to the ladder and trap door that leads down to the second level of the watchtower.
Brynhild stands atop this human monolith, this structure meant to grant those within Xalious a view of the outlying areas. The tower itself is rather well crafted, using skills from the plethora of races that have gathered at the base of these mountains. Brynhilds gaze sweeps across the landscape with grim satisfaction, bothered by the current state of politics within the realm. Had their kind fallen so far? Regardless of the inner world of thought, she stands much as always. Garbed in the mithril armors of old, magically enchanted to tell the tales of a dragon who has died, a very long time ago. The red dragon stands clutching her helmet beneath the pit of her left arm, fingers idly tapping against its rim. Here Brynhild would wait for the gathering she had called forth. However, she is not alone, a human named constantine stands at her side, dressed in armor more befitting a gladiator of Gualon, and carrying the scars of a life beneath the whip. A singular tattoo adorns his bicep which reads: Murum Mors. They were of the warrior band that had fallen to shambles in Eborics absence, left to live a life of mundane and without pay for their skills. “What do you make of Xalious, Constantine.” Brynhilds words are riddled with the angst cursed into her true red dragons blood. “I don’t much care for mages.” His gaze sweeps over the landscape as well, “Most are high and mighty, but I can say that it’s at least not in shambles as Venturil or my homelands of Gualon. It wouldn’t be hard to defend.” The blonde warrioress sighs, he’s right.
Dyraxdiin arrives to the top of the tower, clad in his usual garb of Mithril half-plate and gray robes. He walks over to the small wall that rings the tower and sits himself down neatly, ignorant, of perhaps choosing to ignore, the words shared by Neferet to Constantine. He is here as Arbiter, and decides to take the approach to such a task with silent observation, for now.
Constantine is quick to retort beneath idle breath - a lazy response which reveals that Neferets words meant little to this battle hardened veteran. “Generally Mages have proven to be cowards, hiding behind the guise of arcane, and crushing those beneath them with a boot of oppression. Take the old ruler Rheven for example. Where is he now?” His brown eyes shift to Neferet, “Sunbathing in Cenril and drinking fancy drinks with umbrellas? You know he left Venturil in shambles. Though I suppose that goes to warriors as well. Eboric did much the same.” He shakes his head and returns his sights to Brynhild. “Constantine here,” Brynhild chimes in suddenly. “Has been trained in the arenas of Gualon as a gladiator, a place that nullifies magic of all types. When it comes to waging war against armed foes, there is no better man to have on our side.” Her gaze moves to Constantine, “But I won’t have you belittle those who’ve chosen to join. Keep your biased opinions to yourself.” With that matter settled she flicks her gaze to Dyraxdiin, who has also just arrived. Much like the era’s of old, he has taken the mantle of silence. With a nod to them both she speaks. “I suppose the other two will not be showing then?” Her words aren’t really a question, just a verbal affirmation of their refusal to join this summit. “I asked for this because I sought to have words with the brood. How do you see us moving forward?” The question is simple, and directed at both. Brynhild of course had her own ideas, but that’s neither here nor there.
Neferet locks eyes with the gladiator, though the heat in her gaze seems to lessen, albeit slightly. She doesn’t verbalize a response to the man, for in her mind, he is far beneath their kind, though he’s held higher than a puny human… At least once she hears Brynhild’s formal introduction of the man. He could dispel a magical field? This is interesting, and she cocks her head to the side, as though considering how she could put this gladiator to future use. He would most definitely be an asset, if only he learned his place in the realm. Respect was earned, not given, and Neferet wasn’t inclined to merely hand over admiration because Bryn was impressed with his past deeds. This was a new day and age, and unless she witnesses something firsthand, he’s heaped with the rest of the mortals. Nef glances over her shoulder to take in the magnificence of the arbiter, and her lips curve into a half-smile, as Dyraxdiin is appraised. “The arbiter, I presume?” She had gathered enough, based on her correspondence with Bryn over the past few weeks, though it’s the first time she has encountered a great wyrm, in the lands. “Neferet Falkenberg. Well met.” They all give Brynhild their attention as she muses over Xiembantointh and Scandal skipping out on this meeting. Truth be told, the cryomancer had an inkling that the mixed breed wouldn’t attend. He wasn’t made of the strongest material, and he wore his heart on his scales. She practically drew tears at their first –and- second meeting from the male! The memory is enough for her smile to widen, and she gives a nod to Bryn, before clearing her throat, “We have to gather allies. I’m sure we all want to move fast, divide and conquer, and move on to the next area of land. Right? But that would be foolish. We can start taking over the areas that are least guarded, those that only a few inhabit. Create a base of operations. Spread word of our triumphs, and gather others to our cause. Those that rebel, we force them to join us… Or they perish. And those that willingly become our allies, we reward, should they prove their worth.”
Dyraxdiin regards Neferet in kind - a white dragon, by the smell of it, and one with as sharp a tongue as the glaciers in which they choose as their domain. She would be useful, Dyraxdiin is sure of it, but will the eternal battle between ice and fire be their undoing, or act as boon to their cause? He idly wonders, his voice to answer in response to her greeting, "I am Dyraxdiin, it's an honor to meet you." The great wyrm decides to rise from his perch atop the low wall, an arm to sweep out to the village below and further yet, the lands of Lithrydel. "We could do as some of our ancestors did. Divide and conquer. Make the mortals hate us and instill a fear in their hearts so profound that they hunt us once again and finish the task they started some seventy millennia ago." He gestures with his right hand, a single index to hold up as if in request of silence, "Or..." The ancient gray regards the three others gathered beside hismself, "We could stake our claim in a land not sought, establish ourselves as a race of civilized beings and when wealth and education come flowing, the rest of Lithrydel will."
Brynhild takes the words of Neferet into mind, calculating and weighing the worth of them. The red dragon is known to be impatient, and haughty, but before Neferet, the Arbiter and Constantine, such signs have not revealed themselves. Next her gaze moves to Dyraxdiin, a man of honest neutrality, as he has always been. Where he is suddenly given the attention that Neferet always carried. “Perhaps -I- am out of touch with times. For even I oft think as Neferet does.” Her gloved hands fall to the edge of the wall, where she peers off into the distance. Because of her hibernation, it only felt as if the war and the empire where part of her history a mere month ago, not eons. “While I see the value in Allies, I also see the defacing of ideals. -If- I sought out more, it would only serve as another chink in the armor which could very well weaken it. The last thing we need are allies who cannot heed the call.” She is pointing to Scandal and Xiembantointh without actually naming them verbally. “I think it’s best that we let allies come to us. We are beyond gathering them and must lead by example.” She thinks over Dyraxdiins words further, “I do agree with some points you’ve made, that goes to you both, and think that it’s best to go somewhere in between. We don’t need to rile mortals up, and cause ourselves to go extinct, but we cannot skirt fights when presented. When they come, we must smash it. Obliterate it beyond contestation, that others might see the example. But not only in our strength, but our wisdom as well.” She turns to face them both once more, proud as ever. “You have both proven yourself worthy and willing this day.” A hand comes to rest on Neferets shoulder, “And you a counselor after my own heart. You’ve earned as much by your loyalty.” Dyraxdiin is as he has always been, sanity to Brynhilds fiery mind. “I believe working together in a land not sought or without current leadership is best. Help them to grow and repair. Protect them, and guide them. When the enemy comes to knock on their door, we do what dragons do best. Annihilate the threat. Through such wisdom and force, I believe that more will flock to us. To our ideals. To our protection. What say you to these thoughts?” She gives them both moments before asking the next question. “Where do you believe suits such thoughts best?” What country or city could use their guiding hand most?
Neferet can see why Brynhild appointed the great wyrm as her arbiter, as the male oozes an abundance of strength, and commands the presence of all gathered, merely by raising a single digit. This was a figure she would follow in battle, and Neferet was not one that took kindly to others, least of all to the male gender. A glance is given to the ground below, as his hand sweeps over the area, and she tries to see through his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she walks with the grace of a predator, those cornflower hues eyeing the forms that walk the earth. From this altitude they mimic ants, though her gaze is far more attuned than any human’s, and she can discern human from insect. Neferet is fully on board with forcing the unwilling to join their cause, and to stake their claim wherever they damn well please, as it had been far too long since dragons ruled the kingdom. It was their right, as they were the superior rare, was it not?! A sidelong glance is given to Constantine, as though she’s second guessing if the male can be trusted, though it’s Diin’s next line that has the woman lifting her head, and quirking a brow. “Begin anew?” That aspect isn’t nearly as exciting as wreaking havoc on villagers and appointing their kind as the new ruler. Nef falls silent again, as its Bryn’s turn to reply to their opposing viewpoints, and as that palm clasps atop her shoulder, she knows that her opinion is valued in this circle. Sure, the white dragon was far from being a peace keeper, but she held near unrivaled intelligence amongst her kind, and she was the youngest of those gathered. It counted for something, surely. “I agree. Setting an example is best. It will draw others to ally with us… And to fear us, should they dare trifle with our plans.” Glancing from Diin to Bryn, she ponders the next question, “I know not of a place in particular. However… Shouldn’t we begin with a land that is near to immortals? They are less expendable, and more likely to remember the Saurian Empire. Perhaps a land that caters to the Avian’s or the Undead that refuse to truly die?”
Dyraxdiin falls silent once again, his arms to fold across breastplate, head to tilt in thought. Truth be told, he has thought long on this question since before Brynhild's return. The current state of the Saurian race is a despicable thing at the very least, at the very best, it's... just chaos. A unified front is needed and that cannot be achieved without a base of operations. "Scandal and I shared lunch on an island between Cenril and Rynvale. It's uninhabited and would work well as a defensive point of origin for a new kingdom." Dyraxdiin shrugs his shoulders, "Such a thing would take time indeed to establish, but as dragons, a few years means little. Beyond that, Venturil, previously a land of dragons, might be suitable.
Brynhild once more listens to them and their words. It is exactly the empire of old that she does not wish to bring back. She wanted something new, unrivaled in its wisdom and strength. While Brynn admittedly succumbs to brash actions, she knows it's a weakness, hence this summit. “I do not want to bring our efforts into the world of undeath. I do not always agree with how they choose to live, and neither would most mortals. They'd fear themselves as livestock.” Dyraxdiin also makes two good points. Scandal had informed her of Venturil already. “That sounds best. However, we must establish presence here in Venturil, with the goal being the island which we can preside over things from.” She takes a moment to sigh, “it's decided then.Thank you both for your words. We shall focus efforts where it's needed first, with a goal for the future.” She gives them both a look, “If neither of you have any argument, summit adjourned.”