Serpentis Family/Durion/Negev
Domain. The new Margrave of Negev imposed his control over the lands and people. Each commoner was now a shadow of the past. Merchants who had some gold in the past... they had not in those days. Some farmers were obligated to serve in the new estates. They could eat. The region had suffered a few days with hunger, but now everyone were fed. But they had to resist the shadowy presence of the Dark Ones. They patrolled the region in constantly raids to punish any rebellion. The people hated Dürion Eyolf Serpentis. But the Margrave had everything under his black wings in a hostile region that he had won in a gamble.
Dürion always walked to a high point to observe the woods of Braga. The place where he was born. He sharpened his daggers while still had to bear the sword. He wanted to find Gabriela and open a new smile on her body. Wishes. And responsibilities. The task now was to hold Negev. The elf did so with pleasure. His mother was a low priestess of the Flow. Then, he walked with reverence into the temple. Just a minute's silence before smiling and order the destruction. The walls collapsed around him. No pillars to keep the memories.
A horde of believers incited a rebellion. It certainly would have been devastating if the region was in good condition. And if the region was not in the claws of the Black Dragon. Like wolves and coyotes, the Dark Ones have put the sheep under control once again. Dürion was a Margrave now and maybe good as his father. He liked that feeling. In an instant Knight Parm was campaigning against the Sultanate. Just an ordinary, hard-Knight. In an instant he was Knight Parm marching against the Sultanate. Just an ordinary hard-Knight. In the next moment he was in the south, keeping an enemy region. The elf had Knights under his oaths and fine estates. That region had the potential to be a new Trinbar. Maybe better. Along with the city of Fontan, Karbala and regions around, that was a great place for the foundations of a rich and warlike colony. To punish Fontan with the same hard blow. But Dürion knew that was just a dream. For some reason, Sirion wanted to return the same arid regions to a former ally. Nonsense. He knew that the south was much better than north. The lands would be devastated anyway. War does that. It was better to start in the south than north. Rich and productive lands at the south. Around two important cities. North? Just a bunch of arid lands waiting to be devastated. To erect in that poor regions a new old realm.
The old men and their foolishness. Dürion liked Negev even knowing he would have to leave if a surrender or peace was accepted. He could always look to the ruined walls of Al Amarah. The Black Dragon had experienced the first flight. Now he wanted more. He was born as a bastard son of a famous and important father. His mother was not noble. She was just a woman of faith who accepted the impressive words of a conquering enemy. But he had noble blood running through his veins. He was an elf. Perhaps a new middle ground. And he was watching Negev under his wings.
That would be a pleasant night.
