Alaron’s head shot up as he awakened from the dream he had been having. He looked around, confused for a moment before realizing he was in his cave. His breathing slowed as he realized what he had seen had just been a dream, but that didn’t change the fact that it had had a hint of reality to it. He looked down at Illia, who was still asleep and presumably dreaming peacefully. It was then that Alaron realized what day it was. Silently, he rose from his ‘nest’ of blankets and padding and tip-toed as only a dragon could to the tunnel that led to his parent’s room, which was the main chamber of their home. Aronikus met him halfway down the tunnel, Alaron had awoken just in time, the leaders had arrived and the meeting was about to begin. As the prince, he was required to be there. He met his sister in the main chamber of their home, and together the twins walked down to the grand hall of the capital city, and on to the council chamber from there.
Tyran looked at his fellow rulers with a critical eye, yet he was still proud to call them his bothers, and friends. There was Sarion, a slightly smaller obsidian scaled male who was the king of the closest city to Drak’ir, Sintaron, which specialized in making the metal products their civilization needed. From armor to cooking pots, Sintaron was in charge of making them all. Being an underground city, they had no shortage of ore with which to make these things, and no fear of trolls since their tunnel entrances were so easy to defend. Skor’jon was the azure scaled behemoth king of the mountain fortress, Draco’gar. Draco’gar had always trained new adult dragons in the art of war-making, and not just on trolls, but elves and dwarves as well. The dragons had never forgotten what those three races had done to them, and they refused to be taken by surprise again, whether they were allies now or not made no difference. It was with Skor’jon that the commanders of the elves and dwarves coordinated, and although there had first been mistrust between them, the long years fighting the trolls had made them comrades in arms, if not friends. The emerald scaled giant Koran, and his equally large twin, the bronze scaled Elaria, ruled the twin cities of Salaron and Liz’okar respectively. Nestled as they were in the beautiful mountains of Dracon’ar, the twin cities had never feared attack or invasion, and were seen as a safe haven should the dragons ever need one. Salaron was the place for dragons with exceptional magical talent to learn and study. Liz’okar was the prime source of food for all five of the dragon’s cities, and with the Salaronian’s help, they were able to teleport the delicious cuisine of Liz’okar to each city every morning, noon, and night. Drak’ir was the largest of the dragon’s cities, and the only one, save Sintaron, that wasn’t in a mountain. Because of this, Drak’ir was both the capital and the organizational specialist for their race. Young dragons were sent from the capital every year to the other cities for training. Drak'ir was also where the young from each of the cities came to train and grow. Alaron and Alaria sat beside their massive father, in awe. Everyone had heard the legends that surrounded these massive dragons, from the master of war, Skor’jon, to the powerful sorcerer Koran, their stories were ones that would be retold long after they had passed. By comparison, the twins could now easily understand why they were still referred to as ‘hatchlings’. They had nowhere near enough wisdom or size to truly be considered grown-ups among these legends.
“My dearest friends,” Tyran began, “Too long has it been since we were all gathered here in our capital. Too long since I have had the time to speak with each of you who are like kin to me. It brings me untold joy to see you all again, but I digress. We have important matters to discuss. Firstly, I would like to bring up a plan I discussed in full with the elf king Lorian, and the dwarven king Tholin. Both of them agreed to this plan, I hope you shall as well.” While Tyran outlined the forming of a draconic armada, as well as sending scouts into territory dragons had never been in, Alaron studied each of his race’s rulers more closely. As he had been taught, he looked for the subtle changes in their expressions, where they looked, and how they sat. They were good though, he had to admit, not one of them gave away any obvious signs of what they were thinking, but Alaron could smell the outrage on the air. Odors were one thing dragons could not control very well, and they varied frequently depending on the dragon’s mood. Finally, Alaron noticed an eye twitch from Sarion, the obsidian scaled king of Sintaron as Tyran mentioned Dravaldar. He did not linger however, and kept his gaze jumping from each of the leaders. He had no doubt he was being watched in turn. “That is the proposal our alliance agreed on, but whether or not it comes to pass is up to you, my friends. I would hear each of your opinions, and then we shall put it to a vote.” Tyran said. The ruby king then looked to Sarion, indicating that he would be the first to speak. The black scaled dragon wasted no time, and Alaron knew that, like another certain obsidian scaled dragon, he possessed a silver tongue. “My oldest friends,” the black behemoth began, “I hear this proposal, and I find it unsurprising. Long have I said that the other races would eventually use us to do their work for them. The orc creatures are Dragon killers, and our high king would have us create an army to fight them? An army of dragons has not existed since the fall of the Golden Twins, if you can call that force an army. Such an army would be nigh impossible to feed efficiently, to outfit, to train, and the complete lack of support from elves or dwarves would hurt us. Many of our kin would fall if the trolls and their green friends were to attack. The foot soldiers and arrow-shooters are essential to victory. I would only agree to this proposal of Dravaldar if they send additional forces as well as builders. Perhaps if their builders could fight as well, we could all take shifts between patrolling and building the city fortifications. Unless they agree to send some form of military aid, I refuse this proposal. On the matter of the scouts, I have no objections. We should have searched for the trollish capital long ago.” Sarion looked to the blue battle-scarred giant Skor’jon, who sat next to him, indicating he should speak next. Skor’jon’s voice rumbled through the council room as an earthquake rumbles through a city. “Your concerns are warranted Sarion, but not valid. A force of dragons the size our king is speaking of would be led by me. I insist upon it. With me at the helm, such a force would be well fed, and well-defended. Do you doubt my ability to keep so many soldiers safe on the battlefield Sarion?” A hint of anger lay beneath Skor’jon’s words, and Sarion must have noticed it because he did not hesitate to reply, “Of course I do not doubt your ability Skor’jon. Ever have you been the wisest commander our race has, but these orcs are not a force you have faced before on a large scale. The fact that they have not attacked again tells me that they are either in a war with the trolls, or they are planning an enormous assault. One which even you may be hard pressed to defend against should they breed as trolls do.”
Skor’jon’s golden eyes flashed with rage, and a deep growl emanated from the blue as he spoke once more, “I can defeat orcs as I have defeated trolls Sarion! I don’t care how big they are, a force of our kind on the scale Tyran describes under my leadership would be invincible. I would go as far to say that we could easily take Misa’thral if not Anastheim with such numbers, though we would not want to. Holding off whatever force the orcs may or may not be gathering will be no problem. I agree with our king’s proposal, as well as the scouts. I will send the best we have at Draco’gar, should this proposal pass.” Sarion, who was revealing himself to be more and more a master politician every time his jaws opened simply stated, “My viewpoint remains unchanged.” Before Skor’jon could respond with his obvious fury towards the obsidian scaled king, Tyran spoke, “Koran, I would hear your thoughts on this matter. Our greatest spell-caster and wisest scholar’s viewpoint would be much appreciated.” Koran met each of his counterpart’s gazes in turn, and finally spoke, “Elaria and I are in agreement with Skor’jon. I will back up his forces with as many of my magicians as I can. No force the orcs throw at us would be enough to take us out with my additions. This I can guarantee sire, as we have foreseen a great battle that will take place far from Salaron. We have also seen we will lose this battle if we do not have as many casters as possible on the field. I agree with Sarion, ask our allies to send at least one thousand soldiers to aid us, should we need it. I would not demand it though; dwarves and elves do not take kindly to such things.” “Very well,” Tyran spoke once more, “We shall send scouts to find the trollish capital, and we shall prepare an army of dragons the likes of which has not been seen in millennia. I will ask Lorian and Tholin to send additional forces, I have a feeling they will agree. Their reserve armies are large, and their cities would not be in significant danger once Dravaldar is built. This is the plan. Any objections?” Nobody in the room spoke, one or two shook their heads. Sarion puffed smoke from his nostrils with a sigh, but kept his tongue. “Then it is decided. We have much to do my friends, let us hasten to do it.” Tyran said as he ended the meeting.