<strong>Name:</strong>Draahzallyk (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=287132.msg14135191#msg14135191)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>At the map table in Elfbane's command tent<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Elfbane, Aryz'Endor, and all others present<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>3<br/><strong>Free Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Swift Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Standard Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Move Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Feats or SA used:</strong>--<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>None (PG rating).<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Draahzallyk pulls back slowly but firmly on Aryz'endor's skull, tilting her muzzle up and baring her throat. The faintly glowing yellow eyes narrow to barely-visible slits behind the reptilian skull-mask. She can almost feel him thinking. Deciding. It's not an immediate decision.<br/><br/>The hand held before her, cupped and crawling with unholy light-swallowing flame, slowly closes and snuffs out that evil unlight.<br/><br/>Aryz'endor feels the chill material of the death-mask he wears brushing her cheek as he lowers his muzzle, dropping it down to her bared throat and slowly inhaling, then holding his breath. The Tyrant almost seems to drink in the rich scent of her fear, savoring it for long moments. Neither his lips nor his bared teeth ever quite touch the fine purple scales of her throat, but his breath washes the hollow between her collarbones as he slowly, warmly exhales. Her titling of him gives him pause, and for a moment he is tempted to ask her what she thinks of dragons.<br/><br/>...But if she answered...wrongly...Draahzallyk might be forced to kill her here and now, and that might displease his new Master.<br/><br/>He leaves the question unasked.<br/><br/>One sharp claw brushes delicately down the curve of the female kobold's throat, tracing the pulse beneath her orchid scales. “Trying to help<em>me</em>,” he husks. The language of dragons is not one of subtlety, but the contempt and disbelief in his voice are clear. “No. My scales are not so...black as those of my ancestor...But they are black enough.” He inhales again, but the initial pleasure of her fear is gone, and he exhales with the faintest sense of disappointment. He could as easily intimidate any other kobold in the encampment, and most would not have the taint of good dragons within their blood. “I think you will agree that no further...Demonstrations...are needed. A warning, yes. You will<em>help</em>me, and you will<em>serve</em>...as a warning. But not...just...yet. The Elfbane requires your abilities. Time does not wait for this foolishness.”<br/><br/>Draahzallyk roughly shoves Aryz'endor away, releasing her head only at the last, forcing her off balance. “Keep whatever thoughts within your skull you may, but you<em>will</em>show me respect, henceforth.”<br/><br/>The dark kobold turns his back to the quivering female and makes his way to the tent flap and out, now that the Hordemaster and his wife have had time to leave the radius of his power.<br/><br/>