The heart of Zarkoum, far from civilized eyes, was abuzz with activity. The air hummed with the heat of nearby volcanoes, and the sound of drums being furiously beaten by enthusiastic Fire Goblins competed with the calls and drones of many bugs, birds and beasts. In the royal encampment of the Dragon King, Crowned-By-Fire, a wide variety of men and beasts and things in between went about their business, bustling between many hide tents and roaring bonfires. Elvish fletchers shaped arrows with obsidian knives. A grey, old Denmother taught a litter of eager cubs to make poultices from chewed herbs. Bragging warriors proudly displayed skull-trophies as they regaled their Clansmen with boastful stories.

However, the busy camp was suddenly stilled and silenced with the arrival of a newcomer. A tall man, clad in war paint, furs and scavenged armor, strode through the camp towards its heart. He was flanked by a pair of Werewolf guards, one keeping an eye on him, the other watching his "pet." The man led along a baloth, a burly beast of scale, horn and aggression. Though this one seemed oddly placated, its eyes dull and unfocused, and many whip scars stretching across its back. It followed the man blindly as he pulled it by a heavy chain wrapped about its neck. As the small party marched into the center of the camp, the many Clanfolk and other inhabitants stared at them with tense, inscrutable expressions.

They eventually reached the tent at the center of the camp, only different in being slightly larger than most. Leaving the baloth's chain with one of the Werewolves, the man was led by the other into the tent. A small fire burned at the center of the tent, and an unkempt, dark-haired man sat nearby it on a bearskin, staring intensely into the flames.

"Dragon King, I have brought Gorusk, Chief of the Fleshripper Clan." The Werewolf introduced the visitor.

Crowned-By-Fire only nodded slowly, gaze not wavering from the fire. Grouse, unsure of how to proceed, crossed his arms and stared curiously at the legendary God-Chief of the Fireblood Clans. He then looked to the Werewolf for any advice on how to proceed, but found no help his the stoic, muzzled face.

"Gorusk..." Crowned-By-Fire spoke, rising slowly from his seat. "You have come to me with your desire to join my Clan of Clans. Tell me, what is it that you hope to gain by pledging yourself and your people to me?" The Dragon King stood eye to eye with the large man, though his gaze was ablaze with divine flame.

Gorusk paused, but then spoke surely, "I hope to crush the oppressors of my people, and teach them to live as hunted beasts as we have."

Crowned-By-Fire studied this "Chief." His size hinted at the Were-beast blood somewhere in his ancestry, though it was likely well diluted. His mismatched armor outed him as a scavenger of downed knights and other such warriors. His Clan was likely little more than a bunch of bandits from the borderlands of Zarkoum. People turned to depravity by poverty and social stigma; sad products of the sickness of the world.

"If you seek to overthrow tyrants, you cannot be a tyrant, yourself. Do you vow to forsake slavery and corruption, the tools of our enemy?"

Gorusk tilted his head, "Of course, we discussed this before by messenger. This was why you granted me audience, remember?"

Moving past him, Crowned-By-Fire again muttered, "Yes, of course...." He walked out of the tent, Gorusk and his escort following close behind. 

Gesturing to the chained baloth, Gorusk proclaimed proudly, "My tribute, as agreed: the finest beast in my hunting pack."

Crowned-By-Fire's gaze sharpened as he admired the creature, running his hand along its scars and brushing against the chain around its neck. With a tug, the chain shattered into pieces on the jungle floor. The baloth stirred, but barely moved.

"As we agreed, yes. We also agreed that you would forsake slavery. I can forgive the truly repentant, but let us see if your victim is as merciful."

The gaze of the Dragon King met that of the baloth, and the creative's dull gaze was suddenly replaced with a sharp clarity. It lurched, whipping its head around to search the camp. Its vision locked onto Gorusk, and the baloth was upon him before he could react. With a mighty snap of its jaws and a sickening crunch, Gorusk was made half a man. The baloth lumbered off into the jungle, busily chewing, and the bloody remains of the man were set upon by hungry Werewolf cubs.

Crowned-By-Fire watched the baloth retreat as he issued orders to hid nearby subordinates, "Send a soulmender to the Fleshripper territory to liberate our new Clansmen. Any human survivors are to join our vanguard forces."

A female Weredragon of middling age strode up to Crowned-By-Fire, dressed in woven reeds and carrying a ceremonial staff. Golden flowers were tucked into her thick, black hair, matching her yellow, reptilian eyes.

"Are you well, Dragon King?" She asked in soothing tones. "You seemed distracted."

He regarded her carefully, with almost equal reverence that she held toward him. "War is a distracting matter, Clutchmother. My thoughts are quite thinly divided. The day of judgement draws close."

Smells-Of-Lilies gave him a motherly smile, "Perhaps putting your enemies to your axe would ease your stresses for a time?"

He returned her smile, "Perhaps, but business must come before pleasure."