[center][b]Ialu, Avarice Incarnate[/b][/center]
[center][u]9 Might[/u][/center]

Looming on the hill above the other houses in his village was Ialu's own. For something that was commonly called the 'Mighty Cottage' it was rather unimpressive, its height above all else in the grassland being the only thing that made it imposing. From the outside it didn't look that much unlike some of the other houses. Some were nearly as large, and this cottage was made of brown mud bricks like all the rest. It had a flat roof and was square-shaped, again like all the others. What made it different was the lack of any windows to allow light into the gloomy interior. There were only two openings: a simple door, and a small hole in the ceiling above the firepit that dominated the main room.

Ialu entered his seemingly humble abode, throwing open the crude wooden door. The door was neither locked nor guarded in the conventional sense. Nobody dared enter his home uninvited; perhaps it was because the inside was utterly dark, because strange and horrible things were rumored to lurk within, or because word had it that there was little of worth inside anyways. In reality they were all probably too terrified of what might befall them if the terrifying warlord so much as suspected that they had trespassed upon the only place that he claimed as his own.

It would be a while before the men that he had summoned would arrive. That was no matter; he would use this spare time to rest and look over his various collections once again. He was a rather vain and prideful warlord, and his grotesque collections of trophies attested to that.

In any case, Ialu now walked into his home and allowed the darkness within the cottage to engulf him. For a time he had kept a brazier near the door to light candles or splinters of wood that served as makeshift torches. Now he could simply sense his surroundings, light or no. It wasn't as if that mattered much, as he knew every black room and hallway in his little cottage. After passing through a foyer and then another small hall, he found himself within the main room. It was a great and vacuous place, dominating at least half of the house. There was a firepit in the middle of the room and an opening above that allowed in a lonely ray of sun from the world outside. The back of gloomy room had a large throne where Ialu could sit when he held meetings and the others crowded in, while to either side there were other hallways that led to different rooms. Through the left hall was a storage room, and at the end of the right one were living quarters for those others that shared his home.

Something was not right, however...there was an odd odor that pervaded the air. It smelled old like dust and mold, but with a subtle yet unmistakable addition: the foul smell of rot and death, coming from somewhere wet and dark. This was all beneath the normal smell of earth and damp thatching that overwhelmed one's sensed whenever they went into one of the mud brick houses.

The air inside was oppressively dark of course, yet it was also unnaturally still and silent. That was unusual; it had been some time for sure, but where had his concubine gone? Once he had many, but of course a long time had passed and he had found himself rather...busy as of late. There were so many people to gut like fish, and so little time...

The warlord walked into another room and held his fingers to the air. They emanated a pallid light, and in that sickly glow he saw a corpse on the ground along with no small amount of blood. [i]So that was the smell,[/i] he thought to himself. Already sensing what he was about to see, he looked with his own eyes anyways. One of his women, her body having been utterly mauled and beginning to decay. The memories suddenly came back, of one of his notoriously violent fits of anger... Had he rally gone into such a rage that he had done [i]this[/i], and then forgotten about it?

Grimacing slightly, he felt a pang of regret. That was a rare feeling indeed for the warlord, but it was short lived. He would give her a proper burial eventually, but for now she needed to be out of the way...using his magic to clean the bloodied floors and the fetid air itself, he slung her over a shoulder and carried her into a dark corner. In the back of that room was a staircase that led down into the lower level of his home, built deep into the hill. His cottage might have been unassuming, but it was hardly humble...he had a labyrinth of hidden tunnels dug into the hill, down in the basement below.

At the bottom of the staircase was a small armory, outfitted with all manner of swords, knives, axes, and spears. It was a fine collection for any warrior. Nearby was also a room with his clothing and armor, though that array was considerably less impressive. He didn't value armor much; most times he could kill someone before they could even touch him, and when they did, so what? Armor for a demigod was pointless.

Beyond that were his favorite collections...his trophies of war and hunting. One wall was lined with skulls. There were bears, deer, Dyun, even a few human ones. The largest of them all was the skull of the first dragon he had slain; however, that was not his favorite. The pride of that collection was at the very end, though it looked rather unimpressive. A dozen different pieces of splintered bone, that was all that remained of the head of the Dyun champion that had attacked the village, Blade of Chaos in hand. 

Ialu remembered both that fight and the Blade of Chaos fondly. He almost regretted smashing that Dyun's skull into a bloody puddle of brains and gore. It would have looked better if he had kept it intact...perhaps he would have merely eviscerated the monster, if given a second chance at that fight. Strangling it with its own entrails would have been just as satisfying...

But Ialu was forgetting himself. He had a new prize to add his collection! He walked down another room into the oubliettes. He did not shy from violence and indeed thought it a good thing for his people to occasionally see his strength and ruthlessness, but even he knew that sometimes it could go too far. That's why he had his own underground little place, for those times when his revenge would be too much for any witnesses to stomach. In any case, he slumped down the corpse that he carried on his shoulder. The smell of death already filled the room here, so he left the body in a dark corner. In would be out of the way for the time being.

He returned to the trophy hall and then went to the wall opposite the one lined with skulls. This one had a great many wondrous things! There were a few Cimex, Dyun, even fellow humans that were the types of outlaws and barbarians foolish enough to encroach upon his lands. They had been embalmed well and still looked perfectly lifelike, down to the very looks in their eyes and faces. Some of them had wild or angry looks, but most had something between terror and agony. The only thing that revealed the lifelike trophies for dead were the bloodied nails that went through their bodies and into the wall. Still, they were as lifelike as Ialu could make them. He had dragged most of them in here alive and kicking, after all. It made nailing them in so much harder, yet the end result turned out better. The warlord examined what he had so far and noticed that he lacked a specimen of the so-called 'Uri'. No doubt he would get a couple eventually.

Walking a bit further down that same wall, he came across some shelves and display cases. This was where he kept looted weapons, armor, and the like. He would have loved nothing more than to have a hundred of the shining helmets that had belong to "Vowzra's Victors" so that he could always relive the battle where he had whipped the insufferable holy warriors like dogs and his men had left them dead in the mud. Unfortunately, he hadn't struck the killing blow on any of those Victors and so their heads and helmets belonged to his soldiers and not him...

He did, however, have something that was even better. He walked to a corner of the room to find a great sack just where he had left it from before. Inside it were the remnants of Thulemiz's armor, though admittedly most had been corroded by the spatter of Ialu's own blood and then reduced to scraps when the crazed man had exploded and sent his armor flying off. The helmet, however, remained rather recognizable. A great crack ran through it, nearly splitting the thing in half, yet it was still very much recognizable. It would do for now, until Ialu found the swine and those six that saved him... Yes, soon enough he would move to slaughter them all and tear down their wretched castle in the south, but he had more immediate problems now. It seemed like he always did.

After taking a few minutes to clean and polish the armor, he set about displaying them properly. It wouldn't do to just haphazardly heap his precious trophies on some shelf. Then, he went even further through the labyrinth of dark halls and rooms. At the end was his bedroom, a simple chamber with a rug and one rather large bed in the middle. Of course, it was small by his standards. He hadn't come here to sleep, however. Such basely needs were no longer required to sustain him. He was here to check on something, perhaps his most valuable possession...

Rather eager to make sure it was alright, he put a giant hand of the bed's frame and flipped the whole thing over. Beneath the bed was something even more eery and macabre than his grotesque trophy hall. It was the headless, skeletal remains of some humanoid beast: the Dyun champion. The remnants of the thing's skull were of course with the others in the trophy hall, but the rest of it was here. He took some pleasure in seeing a mighty enemy reduced to a pile of bones, so he kept it close for his own pride and bemusement. It also made a rather good guardian for the [i]true[/i] treasure that he stowed beneath the bed: the Blade of Chaos.

The twisted weapon still cackling with malevolent energy, the dead champion's bony hands gripped it like iron bands, even tighter than in life. Ialu bent over to pry the fingers off, whispering, [b]"Remember, it's mine now."[/b] The grasp did not relent until he applied nearly enough pressure to break the skeletal fingers. Then he was able to flick the blade and slide it across the floor. Unable to hold it or swing the weapon around, he could still look at it. He hid it here always save for those few times when he came to admire its work. He had to keep it hidden or else some other fool would claim it and perhaps try to be his undoing. The divine blade was far too powerful to fall into another's hands. For all the times that the warlord had told himself to cease using it, sometimes he still heard echos of its bloodthirsty voice in his mind, telling him to claim it once more.

Now was one of those times. It tormented him and weathered his sanity, yet he could not pick it up, nor even a mundane dagger. He had to fight with Wi, and he could no longer rule through sheer might and fear...he had to be manipulative and clever. That part of Ferghus' curse had been a blessing by forcing him to grow into something far more devious and cunning than some mere brute, yet it was still inconceivably frustrating. 

Ialu had gazed vacantly at the ceiling as he thought such things, but eventually turned back down to the Blade. He would have to put it back soon and relinquish it to the Dyun champion once again, for safekeeping. Or not? Something curious had happened. The twisted Blade was there no longer; in its place had appeared a scepter of some sort. It was as if the sentient weapon had heard his thoughts, realized that its owner could only rule, and then transformed accordingly. Curiously, Ialu bent down to the scepter. He lifted it up with ease, yet it felt soft and spongy. Sure, it was posh and comfortable, but he also knew that it would do nothing if he struck someone with the thing. It was still no weapon.

Not knowing whether to roar in frustration at the thing's uselessness or simply be grateful that he could now carry it on him, the warlord then realized how much time had passed. He had been in the cottage's  depths for some time and now the others would be soon arriving.

Sitting upon his throne in the back of the gloomy room, he watched silently as they came in one by one. When they had all arrived he rose to his feet and stepped out of the shadows. The meeting could begin now.

One of his chieftains began, "With Cassios gone and the chaos dragons betraying us, some of the Garakains deserted our armies."

"There's only a few paths back to Garakai, so we found most of the traitors. Needless to say, there's now a few more skeletons out in the woods," another laughed.

"Still, some stayed. Some truly support you as well they should, and others are terrified by you. Still others realized that they did not go unscathed when the dragons attacked us, so they aren't so eager to run back to the traitors that nearly killed them."

Ialu snorted. [color=Gold][b]"The loyal ones will have their families spared when we return to that backwater cluster of hovels that they call a kingdom. As for the rest...we will have to purge their city. What is the status of the army?"[/b][/color]

Ryak grunted, "Our tribe remains unbroken. About two and a half hundred hunters could be raised."

The various vassal chieftains each talked of their individual settlements and warbands. Half the true warriors had fallen to the southerners, leaving mostly women, green boys, and cripples to replace them. The conquered Confederate tribes were still being brought under heel but the southern army's camp followers had been put to work or assimilated easily enough. They had no fight left in them.

Once again Ryak spoke, "Vowzra's Victors were said to be mighty and blessed by the gods, and yet we watered the fields with their blood, looted their corpses, and left their mutilated corpses beneath the sky for the crows to feast upon and all the world to see. Word has traveled as fast as the wind. They all either respect you and recognize you as the true God-King, or are at least terrified by you. We've put them in their place."

A more eloquent man explained, "What he means to say is that this great victory has given you legitimacy. The south will never recover and none will dare question your strength now. A few might still refuse you their worship, but in favor of what? The gods whose champions you just killed, who never come down to speak with their followers? You'll have gained more people than you lost on that day, my lord. Word will even be reaching the Uri, and we've sent men to the Uri kingdom to speak of your glory and convert those foreigners that would listen."

The scepter seemed to seethe with anger and that wrath was reflected in the warlord's eyes. He spat upon the floor and his saliva writhed and boiled. As the anger crept into him, he bellowed, [color=Gold][b]"But Garakai still defies me! That is our concern now.[/b][/color] The warlord looked down at his spit as it hissed and destroyed what it touched, as if it were the liquid fire that poured out of the fabled Mt. Vulcan. After a moment, he regained his calm and asked a strange question. [b][color=Gold]"How many slaves remain in Garakai?"[/color][/b]

Taken aback by the seemingly irrelevant question, one eventually answered, "Hard to say. Their ilk conquered and raided for years, they might have a fair many left. But why?"

[b][color=Gold]It is time that the treacherous and heretical worms in Garakai be rooted out and replaced with more loyal men. What better way to guarantee a man will stay loyal than to raise him from the dirt, turning a lowly slave into a lord? I have half a mind see about creating a slave revolt, and see to it that the roles are reversed. The treacherous masters will become the ones toiling endlessly in the fields, whilst the loyal ones that built their kingdom from the ground up will be at last rewarded.[/color][/b]

Then in that moment, a great roar came and shook Ialu's cottage.

[center]~==--==--==~[/center]

As fortune would have it, most of the hunters were out hunting. That was what they did, after all. When Mirtagn roared, the ones that were within the village spilled out like ants. They quickly found his wards and protective incantations made him immune to their magic, so most began to flee even before he commanded it. Sure, his crystalline breath killed a few, but he was attacking men who knew how to fight dragons. Who made a living off of it, in fact. Most weren't so easily disposed of, it was his element of surprise that caused the most damage.

Well, until his second roar shook the very earth and began to make the mud bricks start to crack and some buildings crumble. At this point Ialu stormed out of his cottage, the highest one in the village, and turned to examine the damage. Half the upper floor, the storage wing, had collapsed. He turned and stared down Mirtagn, strolling down the path towards the dragon when all else turned and ran.

Then Mirtagn began to talk. That was rather amusing. Ialu hadn't even realized that dragons could talk. In any case, by then he was ready to put the lizard in his place. He reached out with magic that he knew would be strong enough to smash through any magical protection a dragon could summon, but before he could do anything Mirtagn was gone. In an instant the dragon had soared into the air and returned to his star, but not before giving some ominous threat. Ialu gripped the scepter in his hand with enough force to crush a human skull, but the magical artifact was unharmed.

Suddenly, the warlord found himself having a vision of Sauranth. At first the god just looked like an oversized dragon, but from his speech Ialu quickly figured out who this was. 'twas very same dragon that had destroyed Orabil! As when before Ferghus and Vestec Ialu was foolishly unafraid. He eyed Sauranth down and with a level tone he began to respond.

[b][color=Gold]"So you want negotiations? Fine. My followers will attack no more dragons, and I will forgive the one that just landed and destroyed half of my village."[/color][/b]

And now his eyes narrowed. [b][color=Gold]"You must realize that this was no 'pointless hunting'. Indeed, with the Cimex and Dyun about, our very survival depended upon the armor that you call 'beastly'. We knew neither that dragons were intelligent nor that there was a Sauranth god that created and watched over them. After all, he never came to Galbar to aid our plight or even make himself known, not until we heard that he had destroyed Orabil. So we plead ignorance and necessity; those dragons were not slain for mere entertainment.[/color][/b]

Ialu was silent for a moment, but then his eyes gleamed. [b][color=Gold]"But there are some who would torture and kill dragons for sport, or worse, enslave them and create the beasts called 'Chaos Dragons'. No doubt you will have heard of them. The men responsible for this lay to the north in a kingdom called Garakai, and for every dragon that our tribe has killed, they have tortured, driven insane, and enslaved two others. The man behind all of this is the one called 'Aztoc', the so-called 'Dragon Tamer'.

They claimed to join us, yet then Aztoc and some of his traitors betrayed us. So we share a common enemy. In light of our newfound understanding and peace, we'll kill them for you.

Unless you want to help us raze half their city and kill the slavedrivers responsible for it."[/color][/b]

[hider=Summary]
-Ialu's house is completely dark, more than a little creepy, and filled with grisly trophies.
-He has an extreme lack of anger management.
-It's revealed that he's been hiding the Blade of Chaos beneath his bed with the headless skeleton of the weapon's former owner. Because even in death the freaking skeleton doesn't want to let go of it.
-The Blade of Chaos transformed into a scepter to signify his rule. He can now carry it again, although it doesn't serve as a weapon.
-Some Garakains have been deserting his army.
-He met with some chiefs to discuss plans and the state of his army.
-He's telling Sauranth that he won't kill more dragons, and changing the topic to Aztoc and his chaos dragons. He said that he will deliver justice upon them, with or without help from Sauranth's dragons.
[/hider]