A low growl escaped her throat mixed with blood and hatred, â€œTir ti yenta vi lex. Ehis!â€ she called out as the syllables of a forgotten tongue slice through the air. She started forward after him only to be further restrained by her bindings. Viciously she struggles, causing stress upon her shoulders. It was just far enough to spit at his feet as Lezarr turned and left her. The burning in her arms was justified by the translucent glimmer of spittle upon the back of his shoe; the foaming wrath of a caged animal.<br/><br/>Silent came the deepened voice penetrating into her mind and raking itâ€™s claws down the back of her neck.<br/><br/>â€¦<span style="font-weight: bold">Yth geou yenta ehis, sia plisoiv. </span><br/><br/>~<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">â€œ<span style="font-style: italic">Come not between the Dragon and his wrath</span>.....â€<br/>King Lear.</div><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">â€œSeradin travelled for many months by land and sea until he came to the forests of Lanathril. Here he met a poor hermit who told him that everyone in that land was in great distress, for a dragon had long ravaged the land. 'Every day,' said the old man, 'he demands the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden and now all the young girls have been killed. The king's daughter alone remains, and unless we can find a knight who can slay the dragon she will be sacrificed tomorrow. The king will give his daughter in marriage to the champion who overcomes this terrible monster.'<br/><br/>When Seradin heard this story, he was determined to try and save the princess, so he rested that night in the hermit's hut, and at daybreak set out to the valley where the dragon lived. When he drew near he saw a little procession of women, headed by a beautiful girl dressed in pure silk. The princess, Jayden was being led by her attendants to the place of death. The knight spurred his horse and overtook the ladies. He comforted them with brave words and persuaded the princess to return to the palace. Then he entered the valley.<br/><br/>As soon as the dragon saw him it rushed from its cave, roaring with a sound louder than thunder. Its head was immense and its tail fifty feet long. But Seradin was not afraid. He struck the monster with his spear, hoping he would wound it. The dragon's scales were so hard that the spear broke into a thousand pieces and Seradin fell from his horse. Fortunately he rolled under an enchanted orange tree against which poison could not prevail, so that the venomous dragon was unable to hurt him. Within a few minutes he had recovered his strength and was able to fight again.<br/><br/>He smote the beast with his sword, but the dragon poured poison on him and his armor split in two. Once more he refreshed himself from the orange tree and then, with his sword in his hand, he rushed at the dragon and pierced it under the wing where there were no scales, so that it fell dead at his feet.â€</span><br/><br/>Zara absentmindedly ran her fingers over the long obsidian metal of the blade as she listened to Armada tell her the tale of what had happened. It was a decent folk tale, to be sure, and one of legend. Still, the point of the story had eluded even her; and Armada had rarely anything of little importance when he spoke to her. Her interest was waning thin. â€œThatâ€™s nice, dear.â€ It had become an automatic reply when she wanted to signify that the current topic interested her very little; and her fingertips danced more defiantly on the blade.<br/><br/>The dull roar of a chuckle filled her mind.<span style="font-weight: bold"> â€œNothing strikes you strange about that story, mistress?â€</span>It often unnerved her; his tone of voice he had taken up with her. Hell would freeze over before she would let him realize just how much it had unnerved her.<span style="font-weight: bold"> â€œA dragon, defeated by an orange tree? Have you never thought of anything more absurd?â€</span><br/><br/>â€œWell, I suppose it is a little suspicious. It must have been one hell of an orange tree.â€<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"> â€œThe lore is not necessarily how the story went, Zara Kerrigan. The dragon was far more cunning then the king or Seradin could imagine. They did fight that day in the forest clearing, and the orange tree was not affected by the poison. However, there has never been a dragon to which a flimsy tree has proven an obstacle. The dragon turned and swiped his tail against the tree, and it wrapped from the lash and crushed the young hero. Insulted by such a worm to think that he could truly best a dragon, the dragon disguised himself as the young knight, and shrouded the body of the dead man as a dragon. It wasnâ€™t the would-be-prince that stalked his way into the castle; the dragon did. The princess became a willing sacrifice and wed the dragon.â€ <br/><br/>â€œThe dragon had no concern for human rituals and in three days time the dragon revealed himself to Jayden who was beside herself with horror. The dragon left her to lay wastes to the lands. Jayden had no where to turn but the one place she had been forbidden to seek help. She went to the Queen of the Fae to rid of the dreadful dragon who is the cause of the fair maidenâ€™s sorrow for laying waste to the land of her parents, the king and the queen. After three days and three nights, with help of the Queen of the Fae, Jayden had formed a field of magical flowers and poisonous roots. Jayden stood in the center of the field to lure the dragon down. When he landed the roots coiled themselves around the dragonâ€™s limbs and the vines struggled to hold the massive force. The poisonous plants had been enchanted, and their poison started travelling through the dragons blood. In one last destructive effort the dragon freed one of its claws and dealt the princess a mortal blow.â€ <br/><br/>â€œThe Faerie Queen soon stood above two lifeless corpses of the princess and the dragon. Faeries have never given without taking; so she imprisoned the soul of them in two crystals to be put to her own use at a later point in time.â€<br/></span><br/><br/>â€œAnd, what happened after that?â€ said the impatient huntress as she meticulously went over every part of the glaive making sure that there was no blood left behind and that he could sense her affection. â€œDid the Faerie Queen ever get to use her poor unfortunate souls?â€<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"> â€œI canâ€™t answer that question as I do not know exactly what transpired as such a long time has passed since this story saw the present. Though I do know, somehow we ended up in these shells, sia plisoiv.â€</span>The low rumble of his laughter seeped through the air.<span style="font-weight: bold">â€And here I am again, with a beautiful maiden at my side.â€ </span><br/><br/>Zara had frozen deathly still with her hands upon the glaive. â€œI am sorry to disappoint you but I am no maiden,â€ she said in the indifferent tone she generally carried when she wished to conceal herself.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">â€œNo, you are not. You are a thief, a killer, and a conartist. I see within your soul the scars from your upbringing and the blood on your hands.  I have had enough virgin sacrifices in my day to grow tired of the taste, and I do not shy away from a kindred spirit. The difference between you and the others is that you have survived the sacrifice already.â€ <br/></span><br/>Zara paused for a moment. â€œLess talk.â€<br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><br/>â€œAs you wish, sia plisoiv. My last words this night will be to remind you that while you can conceal your hatred of self from others, you canâ€™t from me. Donâ€™t fight your nature; revel in it as I did when I was of scale and blood. You are my last remaining link to this world; I will have you of my blood, huntress. My mark on this world will not be just a distant memory.â€<br/></span><br/><br/>~<br/><br/>She faded in and out of consciousness, biding her time and waiting. She had bought herself some reprieve from torture, but knew it was only a matter of time before the thief in her ran out of cunning and tricks to delay her death. In her soul she felt as if this would be her grave; but Armadaâ€™s words were etched in her mind.<br/><br/>She knew the pair would not say a word at Lezarrâ€™s hands. She did not look forward to the point where her torturer realized that he would not be appeased.