>>5709248Hearing a scream, the Green Dragonborn grumbles, opening his eyes from a meditative half-torpor to peer around his expansive private cavern. There, he spots one of the so-called Red Dragonborn (really more of a ruddy brown) terrorizing one of the harem-mates he had assigned to their feeding. It seems the Young One has decided that SHE would make a better snack… Or at least, that’s the impression he’s creating, with his snapping jaws and the way he bounds to cage and corner her. One of his sisters looks on with obvious amusement, snickering.
“Ee-nuff!” bellows the Green Dragonborn, rising and spitting a gout of crimson-red fire at the ceiling above them.
All three Reptilians flinch at this, but the Silkscale is first to move, scampering away and towards her Great Master while the two young Red Dragonborn bow their heads in sulky, half-hearted submission. Tehya re not yet old enough for speech, but they understand the (admittedly still broken and poorly-enunciated) speech of their Big Brother.
Every day, that speech—and the thought behind it—grows clearer, sharper. This, like the company of the Red Dragonborn as dragons in truth capable of understanding ANYTHING rather than animalistic biological weapons—is a gift of the Copper Dragonborn. He made them each whole, by meditation and by magical artefact. The silver diadem upon the Great One’s brow brings him <CLARITY> such as he has never had before. It is only by its workings that he can properly reflect on the life he has lived, the responsibilities and opportunities of his daily life, and properly dream of the future ahead: a New Age of Dragons!
The Red Dragonborn whom he chastised now approach him and butt their heads against him. He wrestles with them—gently, they are still small compared to his great mass!—and eventually they join him for torpor. One of the females in particular has taken a liking to him. When she is old enough to have her first heat… Hmm. Well, maybe there will be many more Great Green Dragonborn, and he will need a new name yet again?
“Great One.”
The Great green Dragonborn grumbles again, nictitating membrane of one eye sliding open AGAIN at the sound of the familiar voice—that of the Chaplain.
“Arise.”
The Serpent priest orders him about like any of his other Lesser Ones, despite the Green Dragonborn’s station by birth. It is, the Green Dragonborn ahs come to realize, quite unpleasant and inappropriate. Perhaps it is because of the other males behind and beside him—a dozen, Serpent Priests and Steeltalons—that he puts on this dominance display?
“Whut doo yoo wahnt, Littuhl Puhreest?” he mumbles, rather than rise and address him more formally.
“The time has come for you to leave this place,” the Chaplain says. “To travel to Bloodrise.”
Well, THAT is worth rising for.
