<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Jahl'Ra</strong></span></div><br/><div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Landscapes/DeepCityMagma.jpg)</div><br/>The old Wyrm's sensuous lips curled into something that had likely been intended as a pleasant smile before it twisted up into an arrogant sneer.  Even after so many years of unnatural life Ancalrung had not been able to master the subtleties of facial expression, and so he commonly wore his emotions on his sleeve for all to see.  It was also well known that his current range of emotion spanned all the spectrums of loathing, vehement dislike, disgust, derision, arrogance, sadistic glee, and everything in between.  As far as the Children of Aurelis were concerned, Azazel's dragon had never learned to form a genuine smile.<br/><br/>Especially towards Piren, who brought to mind memories of a sickly infant who had whined and cried so deliciously as he stared at it from across the room.<br/><br/><strong>"Of course.  Even within My Lord's shadow we cannot be certain that traitorous ears do not strain to catch fragments of critical information,"</strong>he said agreeably, though his face did not match his tone.<strong>"My intelligence officers have informed me that even that swine Ichiro is on the move again.  May he try another foolish assault, so that your dear Father might rectify the mistake he made in letting his wayward child live."</strong><br/><br/>He snarled, and for a moment the flesh around his neck rippled and flaked.<strong>"But come.  Surely you and My Lord have much to discuss if you would arrive in person." </strong><br/><br/>Ancalrung turned without a word, taking off down the Hammered Spine faster than any horse.  Oily thoughts twisted about in his skull as he glanced back to see if Piren's abhorrent mutant of a dragon could keep pace without straining itself.  It disgusted him to see an infant altered in such a way.  It was one thing to turn a useless orc into an intelligent warrior, but to use such blasphemous magics on one of his own kin repulsed him utterly.<br/><br/>Soon the entrance of the Siphon yawned before them, a semi-permeable membrane that reflected things that even Ancalrung could not begin to comprehend.  A wide ridge of cartilage formed a dome over it, forcing it to keep a coherent form instead of rushing off out of reach.  He placed his hand upon it, and at his touch the membrane shuddered and retracted to reveal a gaping passage that seemed to be in the middle of an attempt to crawl away.<br/><br/><strong>"Such a marvel, isn't it?"</strong>the dragon said idly, flicking his gaze back to the Prince.<strong>"You know, it is said that the disloyal will forever become lost should they enter this place.  Fortunately you are guided by me this day.  Of course,"</strong>he added, not quite hastily enough,<strong>"I am sure a loyal Son such as yourself would find his way just as easily alone."</strong><br/><br/>Waiting momentarily for Piren to dismount his dragon, his stare making it clear that he and he alone was welcome, the two would enter the writhing hall.  For a moment nothing at all seemed to happen, but then a sudden tremor went through the tunnel.  The way in front and behind sealed up with an audible sucking noise, and with a terrible lurch the fleshy capsule was spirited off into the upper reaches of the tower.  Ancalrung seemed entirely calm and steady despite the chaotic shaking, though he likely had experienced the sensation millions of times already.  Before their makeshift carriage even had a chance to stop he was already walking forward, and the solid stone hallway of the Throne Room opened up before his feet.<br/><br/><strong>"I trust you can make it from here, my Prince,"</strong>he said with a cruel smirk, bowing his head and gesturing towards the still lounging form of his Lord off in the distance.  And that was that; his duties fulfilled, the dragon vanished back into the wall without so much as a sound, leaving both Father and Son alone.