Mordrake was furious.<br/><br/>It had taken a full day for his army to be mobilized. Upon the execution of the rogue lord Rorzen, he had announced the march on the surface. Although he understood the constraints of mortal muscle and the fact that Azkha-Gharak's size could equal that of any human state, a full day seemed too long to wait after the years he had spent in preparation. He glowered silently as his hand flowed instinctively to his axe. A calming aura seemed to ebb from its grip, and he could hear his father whispering into his mind.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Patience.</span><br/><br/>Despite this, Mordrake's patience continued to swiftly erode. Picking his axe from it's grooves at the base of his throne, he stormed out the doors of his throne room. He wanted to march, and he wanted to march now. Burning braziers extinguished their flames as he walked past them, leaving the hall in an all consuming darkness. Waiting attendants drew the doors to the hall open for him as he approached, and the firelight-illuminated city awaited him.<br/><br/>The full might of the city's army had been assembled. Ten thousand Drakengard stood rallied before their master, falling to a single knee and bowing in supplication, their armor and weapons clattering with their movement. Of this ten thousand, but one was allowed to stay standing.<br/><br/>The armored general of the half-dragon's personal guard was foremost among them. His glinting mail of burnished steel betrayed his position, and a crimson hilted sabre was scabbarded by his side, a blood-red ruby embedded promiscuously. A dragon-winged helmet adorned his head with thick cheek plates and a nose guard, and the thick gold<span style="font-style: italic">hadrilkar</span>collar of service around his neck was stamped with Pyreclaw's house emblem.<br/><br/>"We are ready, my lord." The general said, bowing as his master walked past him, stepping aside before.  Mordrake's open wings folded as if in calm grace at his words. The drakengard got to their feet and shuffled to the sides in a manner only disciplined marching and training would allow at such a rapid pace, paving an open path for Mordrake down the road. A dry wind blew through the courtyard.<br/><br/>"However," the general who followed behind him continued, "It will take longer to mobilize the rest of the army. Most of them are still sitting in the barracks being equipped and preparing to march." Mordrake stopped in his tracks and reared his head to face his vassal for a moment, before turning and continuing on his way. "<span style="font-style: italic">We will go regardless.</span>"<br/><br/>"Very well, my lord."