[center]
[h2][b][color=red]Elgahad[/color][/b][/h2]
[/center]

“Is he the one?” asked Shor-Khâr Arûn, lord of Elgahad. The gruff-looking Golden Guard commander standing by his side nodded. “Yes, lord. I brought him right away as you asked.” Arûn snapped his fingers and a slave girl brought a gold goblet filled with cool water flavored with rose extract to the young soldier kneeling before the Dragon Lord’s throne. He wore the dark red cloth and the bronze scales of the Dragon Legion, their shine dimmed by a layer of desert dust. The legionary grabbed the goblet with both hands and hurriedly brought it to his cracked lips, drinking to the last drop before handing the goblet back. “Tell the Shor-Khâr what you told me,” the commander’s voice imperiously snapped.

The soldier bowed his head, intimidated by Arûn’s piercing gaze. “Raiders, my lord. They burned Anta and took the people captive. They… burned the temple of Oran-Shor, killed the priests."

“Who were they?” Arûn’s tone was cold and promised naught but pain if the young legionary dared lie to him.

“I… do not know, my lord. Foreigners. Some of the people who fled the town before taking refuge in Bardast said they were Kurgan.”

“You were too busy running to take a good look, weren’t you?” The soldier shrunk at the Golden Guard’s accusation.

“Let him speak, Kursh.” The Shor-Khâr shifted his attention back to the legionary. “What of the garrison?”

“We were too few, they attacked without warning. I… My lord, there was nothing to be done, I swear-”

“Silence.” Arûn stroked his black-bearded chin. “Kurgan, hmm. You did well to come here, legionary. Give me your name.”

“Herush, my lord.” His head would have touched the marble floor had he bowed any lower.

“Take your horse to the stables and rest at the city barracks. You are with the Innas Shor-Mairan of Elgahad now.”

Kursh turned towards Arûn after the legionary thanked his lord for his life and swiftly departed from the throne room. “You let him go?” He knew better than to sound accusatory, but just barely.

Arûn had the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “Of all the places he could have gone, he rode through the desert from Anta all the way to my palace. He knows duty.”

Kursh snorted with disgust. “He remains a coward.”

Arûn stood up and left the room, Kursh following in his steps. “Yes, he is. I have more uses for dutiful cowards than I do for fearless fools. I will send word to the Shor-Kharai, have the Legion double garrisons from here to the border and make preparations for a levy in the meantime.”

[center]
[h2][b][color=red]Unar[/color][/b][/h2]
[/center]

“I will not let this insult go unpunished.” The High Dragon Lord, Shahaiar, silenced the gaggle of advisors before him. Nearly an hour of them arguing and dithering about the incursion had exhausted his patience.

“Likely the actions of a single one of their so-called Tyrants, your Majesty,” one of them spoke up.

“It matters not. Oran-Shor will have retribution.” The Shor-Kharai addressed one of his aides. “You will send the word to all Bikhaan tribes. Ördûn requires their riders.”

“A call to arms, your Majesty?”

“No. Volunteers only, with the promise that all slaves and plunder are theirs to keep.”

“Your Majesty, loot from the settlements of Tacenian slaves may be… sparse.” Another advisor said with pursed lips.

“Indeed,” Shahaiar replied. “Every warrior shall be awarded four silver drachma for every head they take beyond the border. Arûn of Elgahad will also be required to provide three hundred Innas Shor-Mairan for the army, with support from his Golden Guard and my own. How many lived in Anta?”

“More than six hundred, your Majesty.”

“Tell the men that they may return only after taking no less than two thousand heads. We shall give the elves and their slaves a taste of what it means to rouse the Dragon’s wrath.”

[b]tl;dr: The Dragon Lords are not amused by the Tacenian raid and make preparations to retaliate.[/b]