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[h3][color=steelblue]T R E S P A S S E R[/color][/h3]

[img]http://orig11.deviantart.net/48f3/f/2011/208/a/b/divider_by_canzeda-d41w92p.png[/img]

Erebus scarcely spoke while Ronan droned on, explaining what had happened in the intervening millennia since his last stand. He spoke of many wars, of the Shadowlands becoming clean, of the dragons Grael and Fafnir- along with most of their brood- being slain by a single man. Five thousand years of history, and Ronan attempted to compress it into the short hours they had spent talking. Aside from the occasional question or request for clarification, Erebus was strangely quiet as he listened, a far cry from the passionate figure from his people's history. It was a lot to absorb, how much had gone by while he watched the stars go out across the Boundary. It was difficult, but he had to agree with Ronan's declaration- the land was indeed cursed. He would have to remedy that- his kin should be taken care of. 

After making his declaration, Ronan got up and retrieved something. A scroll, bearing a picture, that of Ophel. Erebus narrowed his eyes, staring at the rough drawing of the Diamond Dragon. While they hadn't precisely been allies, they had respected one another and their territories while he was alive, before he'd gone to the Necropolis. It would have done his heart good to know that his kin had been taken care of in his absence, but Ronan's voice said that he should feel otherwise. He stank of fear and anxiety, of regret and longing. Clearly things had gone wrong, somehow. When Ronan explained his fears, such thoughts were confirmed. Erebus' hands clenched, and he grit his teeth, which were even now sharpening and elongating, blue sparks dancing up his arms. Ronan flinched, startled by the sudden change in his king.

"Er... my liege?"

[color=steelblue]"He is scouting. [i]Scouting,[/i] in [i]MY TERRITORY.[/i] He means to take this land for himself, for his own brood. Which means, very soon, he will strike."[/color]

A storm began to rumble outside at the Uncrowned's words. He knew his scaled kin better than anyone in history. And the first rule of taking an enemy's holdings for your own was to strike at his lineage. Slay his kin, smash his eggs and hatchlings, take his mates for your own. The fact that Ophel's arrogance was such that he was surveying his domain with intent to take it- to [i]betray him[/i] in such a way...!

He stood suddenly, horns erupting from under his scalp, such was the extent of his anger. He turned to Ronan, who again flinched in the face of the Dragon-Blooded's rage.

[color=steelblue]"Our kin. How many of us remain touched by our bloodline? How many bear our gifts?"[/color]

Ronan thought only briefly before answering. "There are few of us in this settlement- myself and a couple of my fellow elders, as well as some of our hatchlings, have been gifted with storm-calling. But our elders are not as strong as we once were, and the hatchlings are untrained. As for... other gifts... none have possessed the gift of dragon's shape since your day. And none have ever possessed so strong a gift as you, besides. Anyone else of our kin who could help us are elsewhere in the land, searching for mates or territory or what-have-you."

Erebus nodded. Storm-callers were good enough, even somewhat weakened by the dilution of his blood. He hadn't really anticipated shape-changers, anyway. [color=steelblue]"Find all the gifted in the village that you can, excepting those too young to concern themselves with battle. Tell them to gather by the north side of the settlement at dawn, with me. We're going to send Ophel a message about what happens when you try to deal poorly with my clan."[/color][/center]