Merat's blood continued to boil, or at least that was what he felt. He was not even sure he had blood, but rage filled him all the same. He turned, instinctively knowing the way north as if guided by a hand, in the direction of Traeton. "Rughoi is weak," he declared. "He will fall. I am Son of the Dragon." His captains, all giant horrors in their own right, cheered with guttural voices impossible with natural throats. "Rally," he said. "The gift goes to all kobold. We will destroy the Empire. We will destroy the Dracons. The world is kobold." Voices not of his captains shouted their support. Voices he could not find the source of, but he knew on some base animal level were as present as his captains.

"Excellent, Merat," encouraged a voice, or voices, it's difficult to tell with them. "You are taking the first steps to power, just as Master had done once. No, you will be better, won't you? You will succeed where he has failed. You are master now."
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"Let us go," Krakas sighed. "The problem won't be solved by waiting."