<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://orig07.deviantart.net/a3ce/f/2015/081/d/1/dragon_kingdom_by_subtle_war-d8mp5qr.png"><img alt="Image" src="http://orig07.deviantart.net/a3ce/f/2015/081/d/1/dragon_kingdom_by_subtle_war-d8mp5qr.png" style="max-width:700px; max-height; 700px;"/></a></div><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #40BFFFFF;background:#40BFFFFF;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Magdeburg;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">A</span></span>shorn had not taken human form, he had not taken any form. That he thought of himself as a he at all was interesting enough. Since being a God meant he was technically genderless. Did it really matter however. Not in the least for far greater events had come to pass this night. Events that both amused and angered the god. As he regarded the priestess within his temple screaming and weeping at the base of his statue. He regarded the scene with a sense of foreboding.<br/><br/>Ashorn didn't care for the humans of his realm unless they died, then he did care, well as much as anything else anyways. Caring wasn't in his nature. He simply wasn't a pleasant person to begin with. Ashorn laughed bitterly, he wasn't a person at all. Shifting slowly into the material plane caused some discomfort to the being. It felt rather like he was being torn apart. In a way he was. His shape slowly solidified from the shadows. Coming together into a man who looked more fit for war then a god. Shiver in discomfort Ashorn stepped forth from the shadows where he had come to mortal form.<br/><br/>His long bone white hair born in cornrows along his head cascaded about his shoulders and down his back. His thickly muscular build was clad in long black robes with gold and black armor atop it. His pale white flesh a sharp contrast to the all black clothing. His eyes were like pools of empty night. Pure black with no white, pupil or iris showing what so ever. Like the eyes of a skull peering out of the harsh angular features of his mortal face.<br/><br/><span style="color: #40BFFF">"You lost that which I gave you to hold dear,"</span>his voice thundered through the temple shaking it's very foundation with his anger. He advanced towards the woman who knelt by the base of his statue. She looked up. Eyes wide in her pale startled face. Her long black acolyte robes flowing into the shadows. It was night, so the temple was only lit by two eternal flames in either of the statues hands. Casting the young pale redhead woman into shadows. The terror his presence caused the acolyte wasn't lost on him. He smiled.<span style="color: #40BFFF">"Utter one word and your life is forfeit mortal, I tolerate no failure from those who serve me, your failure displeases me greatly. However, I cannot take what life remains the, for I need you for a task."</span><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #40BFFF;background:#40BFFF;"/></div><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #FFFFFF;background:#FFFFFF;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Magdeburg;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">M</span></span>eanwhile on the border of Kealath there are armies that are moving into position. From the north the large armies of Creria are gathering. Each tribe setting up camps well within it's borders. It is clear from the reports that King Nexeus is receiving that trouble is brewing along the borders. Trouble for which the young king has sent his regular military to deal with.<br/><br/>The dragon army of Kaelath have been kept at home. For they are not needed to deal with such a threat as the Crerian barbarians, or so the common thought of the Kealathian's is. For to them Creria is but a barbarian state barely fit to be called civilized.<br/><br/>Along the eastern border Codoania's forces have begun to amas, but the animosity between Codoania and Creria are still stronger then their desire for the richer lands of Kaelath.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #FFFFFF;background:#FFFFFF;"/></div><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #FFBF80;background:#FFBF80;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Magdeburg;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">K</span></span>ing Najja Nexeu sits upon his throne in the large throne room of Shironor. The capital city of Kaelath is alive with activity. Something that is quite typical for a normal day in the town. Behind him Najja can hear the bickering of his seven advisors. He knows that the snakes are vying for his throne. Najja may be only twelve years old, but he is no fool.<br/><br/>Kneeling before him at the base of the throne is a man who bows to now one, Roshderk, the leader of his Dragon Army. Roshderk of course brought with him a few of his chosen Dragon Riders. Najja noted with a faint sense of pride. The man always did have a flare of displaying strength. Najja's mother Salihah sat next to him on her smaller throne. Her sharp eyes focused on Roshderk. It did not escape Najja's notice that Salihah's gaze held a lot more secrets than it had before Roshderk entered the throne room. This wasn't important right now, so Najja didn't focus upon it. The man's report was far more troubling.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00FF80">"The scouts have shown an increase in the forces on both the Crerian and Codoanian borders my king. Their numbers are growing to such an extent that I believe we must send more than just the regular military. For certainly they will attack us soon. Their little conflicts have now slow them down."</span>Roshderk said rising to his feet without any more thought to his actions than that. Roshderk met Najja's gaze with his light green eyes. The force of the elder man's gaze was enough to unsettle the young child king. Roshderk wasn't a pleasant man to deal with on the best of days. On this one he was even worse.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF80">"Be that as it may Commander, we have a far worse problem,"</span>the young king said his voice light and conversational, even though he was shaking. For the report he had just been handed by one of his advisors less than two minutes before the commander had entered the throne room, bore tidings of an even worse nature than those of the brewing war.<br/><br/>Total silence had fallen, even from the advisors who were always bickering in hushed tones through every proceeding in the court. Yet when he spoke, Najja commanded a certain level of authority, even if it wasn't always recognised by the man who were suppose to be advising him. This however, he knew, was something they all wanted to know. Since the note had come sealed, none but Najja could open it. Thus no one knew what it had stated. The chance to gain such knowledge was a powerful weapon behind closed doors in the schemes that often went on at court.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBF80">"Ashorn's white hatchling has been stolen from his temple,"</span>Najja said into the silence. Chaos erupted around him. The nobles in attendance began to whisper in loud voices to one another about the trouble that this would cause. The advisors went into a round of bickering so loudly that Najja couldn't discern their voices as they spoke one over the other. His own mother gasped in shock and fear. A white dragon, had been a gift from Ashorn to the people of Kaelath, a gift to protect them in the coming war. Or so the people had believed, few knew the real reason the god had placed the egg in the care of his temple staff. Najja was one such, as was Roshderk and those he had chosen to trust with the secret.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00FF80">"Do we know who did this?"</span>Roshderk asked his voice resonating above the sudden burst of noise in the throne room. Roshderk was a battle-hardened warrior who knew how to speak to be heard. If Najja replied those words were lost as the doors to the throne room flew open shattering from their hinges by the force of a blast of pure winter air that caused all in the room to suddenly shiver violently. Everyone within the room turned to see who had entered and the room fell into utter silence.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #FFBF80;background:#FFBF80;"/></div><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #40BFFF;background:#40BFFF;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Magdeburg;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">A</span></span>shorn had spoken with the acolyte for what seemed like forever to him. How he hated speaking to humans. How they bored him so. After she had finally stopped crying, something the god was greatly grateful for. Her tears had grated on what little patience he did not possess. Watching the acolyte run out of the temple gave him a sense of pleasure. He stepped past the statue without looking at it as he made his way towards the palace which sat in the center of the four temples.<br/><br/>It didn't take him long to reach the palace, and even less time to find the throne room. He could have just appeared, but this way he made more of impression on the crowds in the street. Every time he moved they would bow and retreat from his path. Something the god greatly enjoyed watching. He watched the cowering humans with a faint smile curving his lips as he left them behind him and entered the grounds of the palace. His steps light, barely touching the ground, gave him the appearance of gliding. A faint frost lingered on the ground after his steps. He walked up the steps and down the long hall to the main doors of the throne room. A vengeful smile curved his lips as he threw his hand out and blasted the doors off their hinges into the room with a blast of winter air.<br/><br/>He laughed as he entered the room to find the gaping crowd within. He didn't care for any of them and instead focused upon the would be king and his commander.<span style="color: #40BFFF">"You will find that egg, or you will all die!"</span>he declared a moment before he vanished back into immaterial shape. His body simply fading away into nothing as he crossed back over into the celestial plane.<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF40FF">"That was harsh brother,"</span>Maisofiat said once Ashorn had returned to the Great Hall of the Gods.<br/><br/><span style="color: #40BFFF">"It was necessary,"</span>Ashorn replied before he left the room altogether ignoring the others who all watched him frowning. He heard Maisofiat sigh heavily and he laughed. This would be fun to watch. He headed out to the scrying globe and watched the fallout of his words on the people of Kaelath.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #40BFFF;background:#40BFFF;"/></div><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #00FF80;background:#00FF80;"/></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Magdeburg;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">R</span></span>oshderk had just finished speaking when the door exploded into the hall. His gaze turned instantly to it. His hand rested on his weapon, but he did not draw his sword. He took up a ready stance, but was instantly glad he had not reacted with violence. For standing there framed by the shattered remains of the door was the god of winter himself Ashorn. Like all those within the hall Roshderk was utterly speechless and stunned. Not to mention shivering and cold.<br/><br/>His whole body shook from the ice that seemed to suddenly fill the air. Making it hard to breath. As the god spoke he knew the threat was real. He couldn't help the fear that grew inside him at the pronouncement. He was used to feeling that fear, he had felt it often enough in battle. He turned his sharp gaze to those who had come with him as the god vanished.<br/><br/>Would this lead to all out war with the gods? Would they survive. A part of Roshderk wished that he wasn't in charge of the Dragon Legions and another part of him was immensely glad he was.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: #00FF80;background:#00FF80;"/></div>