The training grounds fall completely silent as you rise to your full towering height.
Your words roll across the warriors like warm thunder:
"The gold dragons have agreed to help us…"
A shockwave of awe ripples through the Snake Tribe.
Ogres straighten.
Druids freeze mid-gesture.
Minthara's vanguard halts — blades lowered in shock.
Even Orpheus's eyes widen with rare, genuine respect.
The tiefling girl's jaw drops open as if trying to catch the very words before they fall to the dirt.
Shadowheart watches you speak with a soft, steady pride — the kind she never had the courage to show back in the days of the Absolute.
Minthara's grin returns, sharper, hungrier.
"…to dethrone the tyrant Vlaakith."
There is no cheer.
No roar.
No celebration.
Just a unified, collective exhale of purpose.
Your people understand the weight of this:
a promise of war, sacrifice, and destiny.
And at the edges, the Myconids' caps glow faintly, the closest thing they have to excitement.
"Treat them with the same respect you give me…"
Even the wind seems to bow its head.
Gold dragons — beings of legend — will walk these training grounds.
Eat at these tables.
Speak with these warriors.
And your people accept it without question.
Because Mamba said so.
And because Mamba brings the impossible home with him.
The Call for a Diplomat
"I need a volunteer…"
The moment the words leave your mouth,
every warrior straightens.
But they hesitate.
This is not a position for just anyone.
It is sacred, delicate, and requires someone who can speak to dragons without trembling.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—
A Single Voice Breaks the Stillness
"…I'll go."
Every head turns.
It's Minthara.
She steps forward, blades sheathed, chin lifted, her obsidian eyes locked on you.
Not arrogant.
Not domineering.
But resolute.
"Warchief," she says, and for the first time in front of the tribe, her voice carries a rare softness,
"I have spoken to dragons before — though never one so ancient.
I know the customs of elevated beings, the protocols of court, the dangers of a misstep."
She kneels smoothly.
"If you would trust me with this honor…
I will ensure the bond between the Snake Tribe and Arcaeon never falters."
The Crowd Holds Its Breath
Shadowheart watches her carefully, protective but not hostile — she understands the gravity of what Minthara is offering.
Orpheus looks impressed.
The tiefling girl who asked the question gasps, tail flicking with excitement.
Everyone waits for your judgment.
After all…
You are the Warchief.
Your word shapes the fate of every soul here.