Lurias carefully placed on the formal armor. Dragons knew only the tongue of wealth, and those with wealth. The ornate piece was covered in swirls of silver, and sported a golden trim around the shoulder plates. It was solid green otherwise, beautifully crafted together from the various metals used, shining like the morning star. He'd wear it more often, but it prevented almost all forms of movements, and could barely stop a rusty spoon. He sighed, placing on the overly decorated and wholly impractical helmet on his forehead, his black hair flowing through it like liquid night. The sound of crashing footsteps heralded the arrival of the dragon, and Lurias stepped out of his home and war base to once more speak to him.
"Greetings, Favnir. I must thank you once more for being so graceful as to help our people." Courtesy, Lurias reminded himself. It was a bad idea to be impolite to a two ton beast that could breathe fire. "Tell me," Lurias continued, getting down to business, "Does the Alliance move against us?" His scouts had reported nothing, but the dragon had the advantage of a bird's eye view.