Year 5515...Day 40...Alfheim Continent...Nidhogg Empire...

Crimson drapery waved in the wind.

Whistling echoes from open windows resounded through the high rising hall.

The Emperor sat back in his golden throne.

Beside him sat a woman clad in crimson red, in her arms a baby rested its tired head.

The red carpet warped like liquid, shapes took form to introduce the missing dignitaries.

The emperor turned his gaze upon the corner of the hall.

The echoing sounds of his empress’ pitch black heels tapped against the stone.

Beside her walked a child in white, the first princess, the emperor’s oldest daughter.

The Emperor, Sigurd of Fafnir, smiled as they took their place at his side.

The young girl rushed then to the side of the Emperor's mistress and looked upon her sleeping half sister.

She seemed troubled, more troubled than a little girl should ever be.

The emperor frowned at that, then turned to face his wife.

She hid it, but he could sense the scorn in her eyes.

What’s a man to do in this situation? He loved his wife, Brynhilda of Valkyrie, and he treated his Mistress, Gudrun, quite well despite how not-ideal this situation was to him. He simply couldn’t do much more about the matter given the troublesome cause, the will of their sovereign deity who confirmed Gudrun as part of the long lost and most pure imperial bloodline.

The Emperor put his home life out of mind sure enough, for now was neither the right place nor proper time.

He peered forward into the gathered crowd, the royal hall was alight with faces at this time.

All the doors opened upon the adjacent walls, men walked in from every chamber to greet his council of war.

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Within the palace lay a courtyard.

Within the courtyard lay a pitch black beast, a mighty dragon.

The creature stirred, raised its head to peer upon the palace walls.

The smell of many humans with auras it both did and did not know, the sense of many powerful figures all concentrated in one space, only a fool would not knew something was about to take place.

With a scowl, it raised its chain bound neck. The soldiers on duty trembled and backed away, else they felt it would have them all for dinner this day.

While all of this was happening, hiding within the creature’s flesh, fused to it through aboriginal means was a middle aged man with the physique of a slender warrior.

That man, Avance of Mercury, General of Jupiter and the Black Dragon's master, opened his hazy eyes.

The creature calmed, then closed its jaw. Slowly but surely, it laid down its head and returned to slumber.

“So it's finally happening,” Said the resigned and patient old soldier.

He closed his eyes and fell back into slumber.

The Dragon did the same.

“We must be patient, the time to strike will present itself.”

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The dragon's stirring went all but unnoticed by all in that hall.

Everyone save the Empress, who smiled through her scarlet lips.

She alone knew the truth of the matter.

She alone knew why it was that this day her husband, the Emperor, could not get that beast to regard him as its master.

Naturally it wouldn't change allegiance while it's former liege lived.

The dragons were a faithful breed, whether by their own will or otherwise.

The cause of her silence on this matter, however...

She spied her rival, the mistress with blood of an ancient imperial.

That existence in her arms, something she found intolerable.

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The hall grew silent.

A young woman clad in furs took her seat.

Beside her, a masked figure silently poured her a cup of wine.

This fur-clad woman, Lady Rosa of Tiamat, did not even need to turn her head towards the servant whose eyes were dead and hollow.

Like the dragons, she was a vacant creature with no will of their own.

In other words, it was a lowly existence called a slave.

The Empire was nothing if not thorough in its means of bending others to their will.

The blood of their God, The Crimson Vanir, Grimnir, held great power.

Those who drank of it were robbed of their memories first and then their will second, it was merciful in its own way, yet also very cruel.

Rosa felt no pity towards these women.

Might was the rule of their God, and the Nidhogg Empire obeyed it.

The weak were purged within and without, and it was always right.

She wouldn’t change anything if she could.

The reality was that by strength's merit, she had risen from such a slave’s daughter to the Lady of her own house.

Anything was possible so long as one had the power to back their claim.

Grimnir was nothing if not fair, he desired competent servants, the lazy and slovenly were subjugated as well as the incompetent.

Rich or poor, no matter the established power of their houses, he purged the individual who was lacking in merit. 

“General Rosa of Tiamat House, present,” The speaker said, and the people in the hall fell silent soon after.

The only sound from then on would be the voice of that speaker calling out the names of the men and women of status.

He alone was charged the duty of announcing them in a strict order of their hierarchy.

Rosa hailed from one of the Five Platinum Houses, though she was not their only scion.

The Emperor himself was from one of the five, who had ruled this land since ancient times.

His bride too and even his mistress both hailed from one of the four dead houses and the original Imperial line.

The third of the five still extant houses, was then finally announced after fifteen others made their presence known.

He was late, but none were surprised to see it.

None could argue his tardiness was absent cause or merit.

“General Ahzi of House Dahaka, in attendance.”

The lass, Rosa, opened her eyes to behold him.

Ahzi was a man with skin and hair both white a snow, and he clad himself in sapphire armour, or so it was the last she saw him.

On this more formal occasion however he adorned a formal set of robes that were dark of colour and draped in cerulean symbols.

She let her eyes fall upon that man for a time, allowing herself to muse in silence.

His skin and hair, they were not normal, and it was not a trait of typical albinism either.

The sharp eared trait shared by Alfheim's ilk didn't bother her much, but that paleness was a sign of recoil.

He had bathed in the blood of Grimnir.

When one takes that risk, one may fall and become a dragon themselves.

All of the Empire's beasts of burden were men of conquered nations turned in this way.

That was a fate far worse than just losing one's mind and memory, they were robbed of their very humanity.

Only a fool would willingly subject themselves to this.

Yet there were men like Ahzi, men who'd bathed first in the blood of a dragon themselves, who had the hope of braving that greater trial.

She would never dare, hence to him she could not compare.

Their slave driven economy and dragon mounted war machine made them the world's most powerful Empire, but therein lay the problem.

That model could not last forever, Grimnir would surely take his leave someday.

Though they would still have the remnant blood and their current crop of slaves and beasts of burden, they would not be able to make any more after that.

Their emperor feared that this time was drawing near.

His solution then was to launch yet another war.

He bid to stock up as much as possible before Grimnir departs, like a village storing food for the winter.

She mused on this matter as she turned to face her Emperor.

Now was the time to declare a new war.

A war which would decidedly shape their Empire's future.

Perhaps even, to some degree, their very world's future.