[R&S 1.5] Imrik Addresses his Court

10th day of January, 1526Throne Room of Crownhold

Chill winter air gripped the castle, so great fires were lit to warm the attendants. The freezing stone floors drained the warmth of those who stood upon them, so rich carpets were laid down in layers for comfort. High ceilings gave the room grandeur. Stained glass windows depicting their lord’s great deeds gave the room solemnity. Freshly cut flowers tied with twine adorned walls and pillars as was the custom. The one hundred and sixty foot dragon skeleton wrapped behind the thrones and along the walls was new.

Its joints were joined by finely crafted pins, its spine lifted in a graceful arch by thin poles. The workmanship gave the impression not of remains, but of a great beast of living bone. Those in attendance on this day watched for signs of movement, but none were forthcoming. The creature’s head rested between the occupied and empty thrones, its great teeth propped open ever so slightly, as if peckish. Fine musicians did their utmost to set a mood of nobility, but even the cantrips woven into their performance could not cut the danger.

The people of Mistrya had been ruled by a red dragon for the better part of a millennium. Twenty five generations under such a creature had a way of soaking deep into the bedrock of society. Such a way of life is not easily disrupted, not even by the dragon slayer who next came to rule Mistrya. Especially when he came with his own pet dragon. She died last year, and for a brief moment they were without a ruling wrym. Now her bones were back, and once again there was a dragon leading them.

King Imrik sat upon his throne as the last guests filed in. His knights in red dragon scale armor closed the gates and the music quickly found an end. The court hummed as people settled. Their king had given them many great favors. Unlike his predecessor, he made those loyal to his court wealthy. Also unlike his predecessor, he cared for the details. Whereas the dragon wanted you to bow, scrape, do as your told, and then hide without drawing notice, the king wanted to be involved in the little bits, the hows, the whys, and the ways. The days of unregulated self governance were just as far gone as the days of villages being torched for sport. This was a great improvement in the lives of the people, but all changes are hard to accept. At least that’s what Imrik told himself.

Gazing at the empty throne on the other side of the dragon’s skull - they had to move the thrones further apart to accommodate her head - the King suppressed his feelings of isolation. His pet now bones, forsaken by this family, his throne unshared. For a while he had the second chair removed, but brought it back to make a point.

“I am looking for my queen,” he had said once. “She must know how to lead, and must come from a family in high standing. If that is you or your daughter, do not be shy. Together we will build a better tomorrow.” The king was a great leader, a great warrior, a great mage, and he had always fancied himself a man of elegance and debonair ways; yet, ever since the war he found himself struggling with words like these. They came out thick and blunt, without grace or guile. In the before times, he put people at ease with his charm, now people stood in awe, in shock, or at least in a sense of duty. It just wasn’t the same anymore. And with the distractions of rulership he had stopped trying to find a bride, only to fumble and doubt his words when he tried again. Everything was different now. The empty chair was his way of reminding people that he was still looking for his queen.

Once the crowd’s murmurs had come to a stop, Imrik turned his attention to them. He was already standing. That was the way of things for the great mage, his mind could focus on the important or interesting while his body went through the motions of the mundane. Even now he could reflect on the perfection of his multitasking while he was giving his speech he had prepared and practiced a dozen times. He could let his mouth run the words about how “now is the time, more than ever, to work together, to take care, and to think before we act," while his eyes scanned the crowd for reactions.

They all had that same cowed look. That same trembling subservience that had been beaten into their families for centuries. As he spoke about the precariousness of peace, he noted the newly migrated families from Gadia, from the Free Cities, and from northern Drekkis. They may also have been awed, but at least they held their heads up high. There was a certain respectability to their gaze. If a queen were to be forthcoming, it would likely be from one of them - yet she really ought to come from a local house.

The important part of the speech was approaching, so Imrik’s attention returned to his body. His hand was on the shoulder of one of his knights, a certain Kel Thaeowin who had joined him in his excursion to the Drekkisian capital.

“By the actions of this man here, our opportunity for peace, for unity, for strength together against the coming darkness may have been destroyed. You are a fine man, an excellent warrior, but you lack the temperament we so need. You struck when I needed you to hold. You killed when I needed you to endure. The damage you have wrought cannot be easily undone, but we shall try. Remove your armor, Kel Thaeowin.” Mistryan was not Imrik’s native tongue, it wasn’t the language he kept his notes in, but it came easily and without notable accent after dedicated practice. It’s the details, like a king speaking smoothly, that pave the way for success.

Kel Thaeowin mangled some form of scraping apology. The sort of words that might appease a dragon whose only desire was dominance, but were worthless in the face of criminal incompetence. The man may have killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands, with that reckless strike. His man’s armor lay on the ground now. His face a portrait of suspense.

Imrik spoke. His eyes scanned the crowd before settling on Kel Thaeowin. “… for the sake of all Arcadia. The pretender King must know harm was never our intent. You will tell him.” Imrik’s right hand burst into light and was surrounded by an aura of flame. He grabbed Kel Thaeowin by the throat and the fires left the King’s hand to fully surround and immolate the knight. The man would scream horribly as he died, so Imrik strangled the sound from him for the comfort of his audience. It was important that they understand what is at stake. When your king gives an order to sustain through combat without harming your enemy, it must be obeyed. This man’s failure may have terrible consequences. Kel Thaeowin’s lips formed words that his breath failed to speak. What could he have to say at a time like this? It was almost curious enough to let him speak. But, as quickly as the flames came, their magic ended, they faded, and only a burned body remained.

King Imrik pointed down the dais at one of the junior knights. Junior in skill, senior in age. She looked to be in her mid forties - far too old to begin a martial career in most places, but he didn’t need excellent warriors. The king was more than capable of handling his foes, what he needed were trustworthy people, with the right mind, and with the right temperament. The red dragon scale armor would keep her alive long enough to become a great warrior.

“Kel Saylee Slag. Do not disappoint me. Be better than Kel Thaeowin. Understand the greater picture. Act accordingly. I am counting on you.”

As he turned to walk away, his body running through the motions of sending minions running to prepare Kel Thaeowin for transport, of the ration of gold to be distributed at the end of each meeting, of assigning Kel Slag a teacher, of resizing armor to fit her, his mind turned toward the important. Cousin Van was an annoying distraction from the real threat. If Arcadia was united, Imrik could manage the demons trying to break into the world. However, if Van succeeded in splitting attentions, in dividing loyalties, in sewing chaos, hundreds of thousands would die before King McGary could put it right. Van of all people should understand - he was a major actor in defeating the hell beasts the last time they came through, yet he wouldn’t listen now. He had his own plans on how to spend the blood of Arcadian youth.

Imrik had to prepare for the worst. He had to prepare to defend Arcadia alone. The Arcmage had lost a great wealth of literature when his library burned. There was one book in particular that would have been useful “Dreajaa’s Index: A Tome of Tomes”. While it contained no useful knowledge on spellcasting, components, constructions, or magic itself, it had a brief summary of every book, tome, scroll, tablet, and libram Draejaa had come across. Even though it had been years since he scanned is vellum pages, Imrik was certain he had seen within it a reference to Dracoliches.