>>5762588“And yet,” he tries again, glaring up at you, “you still deny me command.”
You nod slowly.
“I do,” you say.
“Why?!” he asks, louder than perhaps he expected for he quiets himself afterwards. “Why, Master?”
“Becaussse Bloodrisse isss not yet ready,” you say. “Becausse it would paint a target on your back… And youa re too valuable to risssk.”
“A lot of shit,” he says, through gritted teeth, quietly but not so quiet that you do not hear.
“It isss truth,” you say, loud enough to make him flinch. “You, mosst of all, are the very PROOF of what we are doing her, do your ealzie that?”
That gives him a shocck. He points at himself, questioningly, and asks: “Me?”
“You,” you repeat, stepping towards him. “A captive, a slave, and lowborn and weak before that… Regarded as inferior, as a failure…”
He cringes, seething at the assessment, until you clap your claws upon his shoulder.
“Yet you rosse up, proved yourssself loyal, and sstrong, and invaluable. You ssserved me well, and proved yoursself the equal to any Reptilian—greater than many. You are the very EVIDENCCCE that Bloodrise isss a kingdom for ALL. You are the FACCE of the New Age of Darknesss… My Dark General.”
You produce a medallion—a magical one, repurposed from ancient draconic artefacts found in the odl king’s hoard—something akin to your <Ring of Protection>, but adorned with an eyelike, greenish gem half the size of a fist, cut into a lozenge-shape and set in gold. As the dwarf stares down at it, you pin it upon his breast.
Karz stares at you, at a loss for words. His face is torn between emotions. You sense conflict in him. A part of him still hates you, but it is more than hate now—it is fear and love as one, in fact. It is RESPECT, hard-won and twisted up inside him, but you have become the symbol of authority, of strength, and of striving to this simple, slim-bodied, beardless young dwarf who ahs become bardic mage and bloody-minded warlord under your guidance. Just as you looked to your Dragonborn brother, and the most noble ancestors which lent you your dragonblood and inspired your Dragon Soul, he now regards you: enviously, aspirationally.
The Dark General’s own soul swells, as he squares his shoulders, lifts his head, and straightens his spine. His black leather accoutrements crinkle and shift as he tightens his hands into fists, and you feel it, if just for a moment: his pride and power made manifest, the scintillating sparks of a burgeoning presence… If not yet quite <Fearsome> as he will need it to be, to be a true dragon at heart.
“Your dutiess are clear,” you tell him. “I will return. Do not fail me.”
“Live for the Dragon!” he shouts, pumping one fist in the air in imitation of the kobold chant of allegiance. “Die for the dragon! Kill for the dragon!”
You pat his shoulder, and dismiss him.
