Already, harrowing reports are flooding in from the battlefront on eastern Lake Draconis. Messages speak of scouts raiding on the water brigades, when they are suddenly ambushed by armies carrying the flag of Aredor. More letters come in from within the walls of Aredor, where even worse tales are being told. The Aredors have put their city on lockdown, and closed their doors to all immigration. Any who try are killed. Captain Reoam was executed on the walls of his city, and his head was tossed down to his men below. According to the informants who snuck into the city via their efficient sewers, the Baron Elector of Aredor has called an inquisition on all kobold people in the city and any unlucky enough to be born non-dracon are taken from the streets and purged. Rughoi read these notes, his worry and paranoia growing with each word. Eventually, he set down the last one, rubbed his eyes, and gazed into the cozy fire burning merrily away in the hearth. Kutur sat a little further away, reading up on scrolls of magic. An occasional burst of fire or red light emanates from the tips of his claws, and he congratulates or curses himself depending on an outcome only he can recognize. 

"There is corruption in our midst," Rughoi declared. Kutur looked up from his scrolls.

"How can you tell?" he asked, afraid that he was about to be declared a traitor and sent the way of Merat.

"Look at these reports. The enemy knows what we're doing, even before we do it. They must have informants inside the city. Perhaps I was wrong to trust in the dracon tribal leaders. Perhaps I was even more wrong to trust that all my people want change and freedom. I need to have them found and executed."

"Perhaps I can offer a better alternative," Kutur said. Rughoi said nothing, but sat up and focused all his attention on the dimunitive kobold. "As everyone knows, Your Might is a powerful, ambitious figure focused on introducing his people to freedoms and rights, forcibly if possible." Rughoi nodded at that. "Perhaps what they need to see is a new side of the coin. As every kobold knows, His Might is not complete without Her Mercy."

"Are you suggesting a match?" Rughoi asked, his eyes narrowing. "I have no time for mating."

"But please, Your Might. Keep an open mind. Another hand on the throne could be what you need. For every act of violence you make, she will perform an act of kindness, balancing out the authority of the crown in the eyes of your people. You are always saying that our morale is beginning to weaken, wouldn't a huge ceremony raise the people up again? Think of it. Another name to shout on the battlefield, another figure to raise mighty structures to. Have a huge binding, where everyone can see it. Organize a breadgiving, then call the purge. The people will stand behind every head you take, once reluctant kobolds will flock to the city to see the beautiful empress, and soon, you'll have someone to carry on your purpose if . . . something happens."

Rughoi though about it, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. "Send for the tribal chiefs. Select a daughter from them. We will bind on the coming of the new moon." Kutur bowed, smiled, and was about to stride out when Rughoi stopped him. "Before you go, tell me the stories again. The ones about the Son of the Dragons. I may need some help from my predecessor." Kutur stopped. He stepped back in the room and began talking.

"Yes, Your Might. It all started with Arjun, first of the short lived Arjunid Dynasty. He started life as a criminal on the streets of the Ancient City. When he was approached by guards of the dracon King, he spit in the face of the captain, and . . ."