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Brenan took one last check at his equipment, seeing if everything was in order. Spyglass? Grappling hook? Lockpicks? All set and ready as far as the nobleman was concerned. Some late night espionage was the primary goal for Brenan tonight, a chance to get some information, a commodity and a resource in his circles. He wasn't popular, or very strong as far as nobility was concerned, but that was fine with him. All he needed was to hang a sword made of knowledge over those who did have power... such as his Lord Castillian, the elected Emperor of his lands. Maybe he could even shift the favor to have him elected Emperor in the future. Who knew?

He leapt off the balcony and clung onto the the railing above. Dangerous work, but the prospects were great. What he did this one night could decide the fate of many, many more nights to come. And any risk today might pay back in ways he could scarcely dream about. Whatever the case, whatever happened, it was better than playing the royal political game, the long process of building and pretending to harbor loyalty to whomever the reigning royal ended up being. Yes, it was far better than the boredom of politics that may never end, and may never grant him anything more than a knife in the back. Besides, it isn't treason if it causes the political balance to shift....

He sidled his way through the ancient fortress walls, careful not to be caught in the lights. The guards were not doubt going to be a nuisance as always, especially the royal guards.

He jumped over the nearest crenelations and used a gargoyle statue as an anchor to pull himself upward. The King's bath was just above. It was a massive security hole, in Brenan's opinion. The thing had far too many windows and the skylight wasn't exactly sealed. All it took was for a dedicated climber to get in and go through there and then it was just a straight walk to the King's private quarters.... Someone like him.

He does this, leaping up and through the opening and silently clinging towards the door. He heard nothing, perfect. The noble knew he was in the clear. Silently, he moved into the hallway, no one here at this hour and slowly navigated his way towards the King's private study.

The door was cracked partially open, allowing the thief to hear the voices inside.

"...my lord, our ancestors were said to have...power of flight and fire, power that waned through the years." He recognized the voice of the court magician, some sorcerer named Dessan. A phony as far as Brenan was concerned, he had never heard or seen the magician do anything particularly impressive, at least by the standards of proper arcanists who could at least enchant weapons. Clearly just another stooge. "This artifact I found, it's the key to unlocking some of that heritage."

"Yes, yes, you've said this before... now, are you sure this ritual will grant us that?" the king, Castillian-was it the third? The fourth? Brenan couldn't be bothered to remember.

"Of course, sire, I would be wasting your precious time otherwise! It's all so simple really, the stone does all of the heavy lifting, you see the etheric projections of the stone promulgate to..."

"Sorcerer!" the King snarled. "I am not one of your apprentices. Explain it to your king, not some hedge wizard. What needs to be done?"

Brenan peered in. There the King and the sorcerer stood in a room illuminated only by a large glowing purplish stone that rested between the two. At the moment the King stood with his arms crossed glaring at the sorcerer while Dessan stared at the stone, apparently at loss for words. For a time, there was silence and then the sorcerer looked up at the King and spoke once more.

"You must touch the stone first, sire," the sorcerer said. "Afterwards, I shall touch it and say the Incantation of Derlios the Dread so that--"

The King grunted.

"I mean, afterwards I shall touch it and say some words that will cause the magic to activate."

"And then?"

"Well, sire, the magic shall activate and you..." Dessan smirked. "You shall have your power."

"How?"

Dessan blinked, the smile fading away. "What do you mean how?"

"Explain yourself, sorcerer. I feel like you are hiding something!"

"Hiding?" Dessan shook his head, though Brenan spotted that same smirk flashing over the sorcerer's face for half a second. "I am hiding nothing. You shall have your power because..." the sorcerer paused. "You shall have your power because you will be infused with the essence of the bloodline. You will be as strong as those who came before."

The King nodded. "Fair enough, sorcerer, fair enough. Let's do it."

"Now?" There was panic to Dessan's voice. "But--"

"Yes, now!" The King growled. "Are you not prepared? Did you not call your King here to conduct a ritual, not waste his time with fancy talk of dreams and grandeur."

"No, sire, no!" Dessan protested. He looked down at the stone and frowned. "Very well. I can... I can conduct the ritual now." He nodded at the stone. "Place your hands upon it."

Brenan, still lurking in the shadows, grimaced. A ritual of accession, powered by the bloodline. And the King, that pompous prick, was planning to ascend? Laughable. It was his right! As a Prince of the Realm, he was of course of similar noble blood, and thus, eligible. The only real difference between the current King and himself was that he was elected when the last one died just a few years ago. Of course, he should take what rightfully belongs to him and end the charade, a Game, that had been played since the start of the Empire itself.

But how to do it?

He had a weapon of course. As a nobleman, he was entitled to the greatest of enchanted weapons, even though he wasn't a mage himself. And, of course, he had a few such weapons on him.

Taking a deep breath, Brenan unslung his crossbow from his back. He inspected it quickly and, once he assured that it would shatter the crystal even if he wasn't sure it was entirely true, he lifted it to aim at the stone. He cursed under his breath when he found where his point of aim fell. The King and the sorcerer stood in such a way that firing would no doubt hit one or the other. It just wouldn't do. Sabotage he was here for, not assasination.

Brenan considered what to do. He could move in closer for a better shot, but that would risk detection. Or he could shout and distract them and hoped it proved enough time to shatter the crystal. Or...

Or he could just do both and take the crystal for himself. If he could obtain even a fraction of the power the sorcerer had promised the king...

Brenan kicked the door open and shouted. A smile sprung beneath his mask as the King and sorcerer both turned towards him with surprise in both their eyes. Before the pair could react, Brenan shouldered his crossbow and fired.

Although he didn't have much time to aim, he didn't quite fire blindly. Instead, he had adjusted his aim just enough that the weapon's quarrel wouldn't hit the King, crystal, or sorcerer--or so he hoped, given the crossbow's properties.

The bolt sprang from the crossbow. It crackled as it sped past the King and over the crystal and exploded with an electric boom as it hit the wall. The Stormbow was the weapon for the refined and elite, a weapon that was potent, elegant, and deadly for the more... modern noble thief. The sorcerer, closer to the explosion, fell to his feet while the King staggered and reached for the sword sheathed at his side. Not missing a moment, Brenan dashed into the room and reached for the crystal. Just as his gloved fingers curled around the surprisingly cool crystal, however, he heard something hiss and then there was sudden heat very close by. He looked up and found himself staring at a very angry King wielding a very hot flaming sword.

With an unloaded crossbow and his hand scrabbling at the treasure, Brenan could barely fight and only flee yet he wanted the crystal ever so badly. Thus, he gripped at the crystal, meaning to take it with him as he stepped back. Unfortunately for the thief, something pulled at the stone: an invisible, yet very powerful force. He looked to his left to see Dessan had recovered and was pointing an outstretched hand at the crystal and focusing very intently on it. Brenan snarled and swore, but he was helpless as the crystal sprang from his grasp and to the sorcerer's open palm. Still, he had different matters to worry about

A wave of heat swept over his head, causing him to stumble back and remember that the King and his sword of flame were very much after him. He returned his gaze back to the King just in time to see the reigning royal bring the sword down upon him. With no other defense at hand, Brenan raised his crossbow. A mundane weapon might have shattered from the blow, but instead the magical weapon chose to reload itself with another quarrel of thunder. Thinking quickly, Brenan tapped a spring on the crossbow's stock. Rather than fire the bolt, however, the electricity of the projectile discharged just as the sword came into contact with the bow. Though the sword was alight with flame, it still was mostly metal. The King reeled back, shivering and swearing from the shock while Brenan got to his feet, his weapon and himself unharmed. He looked down at his insulated thieving gloves, for once glad to have spent the money on that extravagance. Despite the practiced ease of the last few seconds, it had been the first time he had tried that trick.

Brenan considered the King for only a moment before turning towards the sorcerer. The King was fine--he had had quite a shock, but he would recover after a bit of time, too short for Brenan's liking. He need to take the crystal from the sorcerer, and fast.

The thief noticed that, Dessan, however, seemed far more prepared for him this time. The sorcerer held a wand shaped like an icicle in one hand and the crystal in the other. Brenan raised his crossbow and thought better of it as a torrent of ice spewed from the sorcerer's implement. Tucking the crossbow into his chest, he rolled to the side and briefly shivered as he felt the ray of frost whizz past him. He got one knew and reached into a pouch by his side as the sorcerer spun towards him to unleash another bolt of cold. Luckily for Brenan, he was quicker than the sorcerer, lobbing what he had procured at the sorcerer's feet before the Dessan could activate the wand one more time. Dessan looked down in surprise to see a small, spherical black object fall there.

Brenan held his breath just as the smoke bomb exploded, saving him from coughing as greyish black smoke spilled out of the detonated device. In mere moments the room was filled with a thick layer of smoke. He couldn't see anyone, but neither could they see him. Still, he could hear the two other inhabitants choking on the smoke, and he guessed that the closest was the sorcerer.

The thief dashed forward and found that he had guessed correctly, for he had bumped into the sorcerer. He could see the wiry man this close, and the crystal he still clutched in his hand. Brenan quickly stowed his crossbow before reaching out and grabbing at the crystal.

"Give it!" Brenan hissed, modulating his voice deeper just in case. "Give up the fight!"

"No!" Dessan sputtered. "You don't know what--"

Brenan pulled, and the sorcerer pulled back. Surprisingly, the sorcerer wasn't quite the pushover the thief had expected him to be. As much as Brenan struggled, he could not get the sorcerer to just give up the crystal. After a few seconds, it was quite annoying. Just as he was beginning to get desperate, something gave--both of them.

Without meaning to, both sorcerer and thief lost their strength simultaneously. The result was that the stone fell out of their grasp, fell to the floor...and shattered. Both men stared at the stone, shocked.

"Drat," Brenan said.

"You fool!" the sorcerer gasped. "What have you done?"

Brenan might have answered had he not heard the sound of many booted feet upon the stone floor. So instead he socked the sorcerer right in the face and took off running.

"After him!" the King roared. "Don't let that thief escape!"

But escape Brenan did. Aided by the smoke and a window he easily broke through with his crossbow's help, the thief slipped away, more concerned that he had gained nothing from the experience than that he had broken some crystal. After all, it was just some crystal, a broken thing that the sorcerer hadn't even fully activated. There was no reason to worry, none at all.

******

"Where have you been?" Fiora snapped.

Brenan, now unmasked, cleaned up, and clad in nobler attire smiled at his soon-to-be wife. He was beaten and bruised from the escape, but nothing that couldn't be hid under the right clothing.

"I've been preparing, dear," he said, retaining the smile. "Where have you been?"

Fiora scowled, but before she could get another word out, there was a blare of trumpets. Fiery birds made of flame, not merely wreathed in it, leapt into the sky, all of them merely magical constructs devised to deliver a message and burn out the next day, for no mortal bird could withstand the cold in this time of year. By the center of the court yard, others poke their heads into wells, all to divine secrets.

She rolled her eyes. "Ah, that again. Our Lord truly loves making his mealtimes known to the whole Duchy, if not the whole Imperial State."

"It might be more serious than normal, my dear," Brenan scowled. He took his chance at divinity and failed, no doubt that the manhunt for him was going to escalate until people knew what he was. Hm, maybe he could frame one of his rivals for it... One politically expedient disaster needed someone to fall.

Prince and Bride to be went their way towards the keep's dining hall. Nightfall had fallen long ago, the sun's light at its weakest and shortest, leading the world cold and harsh. Thankfully, the keep was well warmed, enough spellwork had been weaved to ensure that its temperature was always kept warm even in the open air... it didn't stop the snow from coming, but it was better than living out in the cold.

As they went towards the dining hall, the duo ran into a rather unusual pair. They looked human enough, enough that most wouldn't have realized they were different at all... if not for their notched ears, that extended a few inches away from their heads.

"Syl and Byl of the East," said Fiora. "I thought the Elf Queen had said someone else would be coming."

"It is not as though our Queen controls us," said Syl. Which was confusing, since as far as Brenan was aware, that was contrary to what a Queen is supposed to do. It might have something to do with their what was it? Constitution?

Byl shrugged. "And that and the alternative being stuck in a glacier at a moment... He'll thaw out by summer."

"And in the meantime, well, we had experience what with us attending every tournament and all."

"Still don't know why you were allowed to compete." It wasn't that the elves were better than men. In many ways they were. However, jousting wasn't one of them... they weighed less and that tended to be a huge disadvantage as history has shown. It was at such a point that one way of ridiculing an elf was to let them participate in the junior leagues.

To Brenan, the main problem with elves was that it was often hard to tell whether or not they were men or women, and it wasn't like anyone was interested in looking closer. The men were too soft, too gentle almost like women themselves... which made it hard to tell if an elf combatant was well, qualified. After all, it was a man-centric sport. It was especially worse since elves were able to reshape their appearances to suit the fashions of their liking or moods.

"Well, perhaps you should join us." And be a useful cover to hide behind, Brenan thought. He smiled and the two nodded. Perfect. Maybe they will come in handy when needing an alibi.

The four of them moved into the dining hall just after that. It seemed that the Speaker for the King, in his proper place at the back of the place with his podium, was already in his spiel discussing things, despite most of the seats being empty. "...make no mistake, this vagrant will face justice for his crimes!"

Hedron the Bold was the King's Speaker, his Hand, his Warrior. A hand picked from the best and rather pious and obnoxiously selfless. Brenan always felt he was too much of a goody two shoes to be of any value in scheme, and it didn't help he was too smart for his own good.

The crowd however loved him, cheering and applauding. If he wasn't sworn to his faith, he might have been elected. Thankfully, the kingdom didn't quite work that way.

The King motioned his warrior to stand down and stay by his side. Dessan the sorcerer was apparently busy this night.

The King gave a speech, stuff about solidarity, the strength of culture and the power of their nation. But it was all propaganda made so that the scribes would have something to say in the future. It wasn't as if he could falsify the seeing gems that were focused on him, watching his every move. However, Brenan didn't care. He listened to the others nearby, the allies and rivals or both he possessed amongst them.

"Clearly, there must be some reward for this," said a duchess nearby. Brenan struggled momentarily to remember her name until he recalled it was Emalia. "I wonder who it might be."

"Some traitor, I say," said Galen, a man who drank from his glass, his moustache bristling from the ale's foam."Or some fool who lost the Game."

The Game, Brenan knew, was a discreet way of saying the party politics that happened behind the scenes, the espionage and elections, and all that.

"And one who can so easily be used for our purposes. We find him, we could perhaps gain power over him." Harnis, the other man, older, wearing a bronze mechanical eye, an arcane device of immense sophistication. It was a gift, for years of service in the military.

"Yes. Either we get a sum of money, or we could measure his worth and then profit so long as he tows our line," said Emalia.

Brenan interjected himself. "Or you end up being double crossed by the spy and framed as being part of a conspiracy and hanged. Maybe even your supposed victim can have it so you take the fall while gets away with no consequence, being forced against one's will." Which was more or less what he was planning to do to these companions of his, should things come to a closer. More convenient that way... such a shame he couldn't just end the Game then and there.

The others looked at him, skepticism in their eyes. Not convinced. Didn't matter. There was already a seed of distrust.

Fiora looked at them with a scowl, turning to Brenan. She probably already figured it out and knew full well of what that meant for her.

"Unless that fool was maybe some sort of lower classman."

"With a stormbow? You're joking!" said Galen.

Harnis shrugs. "Lots of retired soldiers have them. Soldiers tend to keep their weapons because they've been bound to."

The King spoke some more, loud enough to silence everyone else. "...and I urge you to be ever watchful, let the guards investigate..." He sighed. "And I suppose... it's time for the feast..."

Ah, finally, Brenan thought, that fool shuts up.

"You know," The King pondered. "We should all be very grateful for this food. Actually..." he tapped his chin and smiled. "All of you should be grateful I am providing it. As King of this land I..."

Brenan rolled his eyes. Or not. He closed his eyes, prepared to listen to the King drone until sudden he heard a clamor and a collective gasp from the assembled royalty. The thief's eyes flew open and he found that not only had the King shut up, but Dessan had made a reappearance, and he was the reason for both the silence and the surprise.

Except Dessan did not look quite the same as he did when Brenan had seen him a short while ago. There was a purple glow around his eyes and he staggered as he walked, shivering slightly with each step he took. Brenan heard movement amongst those assembled and he turned his head to see the elves, Syl and Byl, had stood and were making their way towards the King and the sorcerer. The King's Speaker, far back from the King, too had left his podium and dashed towards his ruler.

"Dessan!" the King cried. "You've interrupted my speech, you've--"

The King paused and seemed to notice the strangeness of the sorcerer. He took a step back, but the sorcerer continued to stumble forward.

"My King..." the sorcerer mumbled, barely audible. "I apologize, but it...it must start with you."

"What must?" The King said. "Away from me, sorcerer! Guards!"

But it was too late. The sorcerer lurched forward and a purple haze materialized around him. With another lurch he reached forward with a glowing outstretched hand and touched the King squarely on the chest. Immediately there was a loud bang, an expulsion of purple sparks that faded as soon as they materialized, and a rush of wind that rustled the dining hall's cloth, food, and finery. The King staggered back with eyes wide, staring at the sorcerer. Dessan blinked, the purple haze lifted and for a second it seemed as if he saw where he truly was. Then he fell unconscious into a heap.

The feasting hall was silent. The elves and the King's Speaker stood still, while the King looked down at himself. After a moment more of silence, he laughed and looked towards those assembled.

"I don't know what that was about," he said, motioning towards the sorcerer. "Guards, why don't you take the poor sorcerer away and make sure he's kept away from me. Permanently. No one should be--hm?"

The King lifted his previously outstretched arm and gazed at it. Brenan squinted and saw that the King's hand had begun to glow with a strange purple haze. The King wiggled his fingers and then screeched for his fingers were no longer fingers--in just a moment they had transfigured into claws.

Claws, the king had curved claws and bronzey scales were already starting to cover the hand and moving down his arm. The monarch shrieked.

"Someone," he called. "Someone stop this!"

This sent the room into motion. The elves and the Speaker once more rushed towards the ruler while various servants rushed in and out of the hall. The royals in attendance, however, merely watched. Brenan himself smiled, wondering what sort of sabotage was in play. Had his accidental destruction of the crystal done something to advance the Game after all?

There was an audible crack that resounded through the room as the King fell on his hands and news. His crown fell off his head and rolled away as he grimaced in pain. The King appeared to be growing larger, muscle and mass piling into his but there were other parts of him changing as well. The purple haze, a veritable miasma, swirled around him while both of his now clawed hands scrabbled at the ground. There was another crack and his boots burst, revealing reptilian clawed feet and haunches., complete with bronze scales. Abruptly he tried to stand but then he fell on all fours, the configuration of his arms and legs changing so that he could do nothing but assume a quadrupedal stance the majority of the time.

By this time the elves and Speaker both had arrived near to the king, but they could get no closer. The purple mist lashed out at them when they tried to near him, and although such substance should have lacked material, it had enough force to keep them away from him. Brenan smiled at this for obviously the King was turning into some sort of beast and there was nothing anyone could do about it, and beasts couldn't rule now, could they? Of course, the King was growing rather large--he was already bigger than the largest warhorse he owned and was growing still.

The King shrieked much like a beast in the next moment as his cranium restructured. It was all very messy to watch, what with his hair falling out and his visage losing and gaining features he had never possessed before, but Brenan watched it all as the King's seemingly small head and face pushed out, reshaping and reforming into a proud draconic snout covered with bronze scales. The King's purple reptilian bronze eyes widened and his mouth opened as he seemed to notice his new muzzle. His maw fell open, exposing his jagged, carnivorous teeth and a flicking serpentine tongue. The King grimaced as his neck grew out, long and soft and slender with bronze scales too.

In the next moment, the King curled in on himself, roaring in obvious discomfort as his torso barreled out and reshaped so that it was in keeping with the rest of his large, draconic body. He only had a second's respite before two nubs pushed out of his shoulders, eliciting more cries of pain as the nubs grew and twisted. They resembled an extra set of appendages at first but then twisted again into small wings, like those of a bat but obviously belonging to something greater. They flapped quietly, and flapped again, growing with each motion until they appeared to match the King's size.

The King looked over his changed body in bewilderment while the rest of the room did the same. He looked very much like a dragon of legend, large and reptilian and winged and covered with bronze scales though he was a bit more slender and smaller than the creatures were usually depicted. The tattered remnants of his royal clothes rested upon his larger frame, clothes unfit for draconic dress. There was something missing about the King though--a tail.

Lack of a tail was soon rectified as the King gasped and groaned. He scrabbled on his claws and spun himself around so that his rear and haunches faced the assembled crowd. Quickly the tail grew, large and thinning to a spade at the end. The King looked over his shoulder and moved his new limb around. Momentarily the tail lifted and Brenan spotted something beneath it that was decidedly less than masculine. Just as the thief realized that the King hadn't just turned into a dragon--she was a dragoness!--the tail fell, covering her draconic nethers.

"I--" the King began, and stopped for her voice was soft and decidedly feminine. The dragoness turned back towards the crowd. Still surrounded by the purple mist, she stared at her former subjects and opened her mouth, but there was nothing she could say.

Suddenly the mist rushed towards the king. She shrank back and covered herself with her wings, but it did not strike or harm her. Rather, it moved to infuse her clothes. The torn fragments of cloth rose in the air along with the crown. Under the miasma's influence, the tattered cloth swirled together and reshaped into clothing of different material--some purple silk, but mostly refined trappings of fur and hide--and then came to rest upon the King. The dragoness let out an "eep" as she first became garbed in something that properly covered her hindquarters so none would have a chance to see what Brenan had saw. Next came the hides and skins, soft furs that covered parts of her chest, legs, and slender neck, so that she looked slightly more regal. Finally, the crown, which too had reshaped into a simple golden circlet, came to rest atop her head. Abruptly two horns burst from her cranium, spiraling out shortly, and the left one came to hold the circlet. The dragoness looked over her clothed form in confusion and then a portion of the purple mist rushed into her eyes. She staggered back, her eyes glowing like the sorcerer's before her. Shivering, she closed her eyes and promptly fell onto her side. She held herself up with one claw while the other rested upon her draconic muzzle.

"My King!" the Speaker called, rushing towards the downed dragoness. This time, the miasma actually parted for his entrance.

"Wait!" Syl called.

"Don't touch him!" Byl said.

Brenan chuckled despite the situation. He turned as he felt Fiora touch his shoulder. She looked towards him with narrow eyes.

"Are you involved with this?"

Although he was unsure what he meant to say, Brenan opened his mouth to reply. He never did get to speak, however, as a collective gasp drew his attention back to the King and "her" Speaker. The Speaker had indeed reached the King and he had just bent down to touch her. When he had touched her, he recoiled and fell back, staring in horror as the purple miasma sprang from her scales and clung to his gauntleted hands. In the next moment he lay writhing on the ground as the stuff played on his body, changing him like the king before him. The elves meanwhile looked on in displeasure as the Speaker shifted. Together, the two similarly looking elves joined hands, their eyes and palms glowing with power.

"Ooh, look at that!" Harnis said. "They're trying some magicks! And here I thought they were behind this!"

Brenan knew better. The shattered crystal was behind this and he wondered how far its influence would go, and also whether it's influence had gone too far already. For now, he supposed, he could only wait and watch.

The Speaker growled, his form suddenly exploding with muscle and mass. Fragments of the warrior's armor burst off his body, jangling as they landed around him. Apparently the Speaker too was becoming a dragon, for his body glowed with the sheen of greenish scales and his reptilian eyes glistened green. He fell back on his now draconic haunches, grunting and huffing as further growth and change wracked him. His huffs and grunts became not only more bestial, but also higher in pitch. Like the King, the Speaker's draconic form was sleek and slender and yet far more muscled. To Brenan it seemed as if the Speaker was retaining his musculature even if his former gender seemed to be forfeit.

"Hmm," the duchess Emalia said. "They've both become dragonesses. How peculiar!"

"How can you tell?" Harnis asked, squinting.

"Just look there," the duchess laughed, pointing. "She's all but exposed!"

This statement was true for only a few seconds longer. The scraps of armor that had left the Speaker and those that remained on him recompiled and reconstituted, downgrading into the furs of bear and wolf pelt. When the new dragoness felt onto her foreclaws and let out a roar as her wings grew in, the pelts attached themselves to her, joined together with crude leather loops. Compared to the King, her attire was neither as regal and and she was a bit more bare than he. She resembled a more barbaric, tribal dragoness warrior. Even her scales were rougher than the King's, and one of her two horns was broken off near the base. She growled and looked down at herself. Instantly fear flooded her eyes and she stood on all fours, something that seemed to further fuel her fear. She looked towards the King.

"My King," she said in a voice that was still rough, but feminine. "My King, I--"

The King dropped her claw to the ground and looked up to her Speaker. The royal dragoness's eyes suddenly glowed purple and this seemed to infect the Speaker too. The barbaric dragoness stumbled back, wings flapping in confusion.

"King?" the King said. "I am your Matriarch, warrior."

The Speaker blinked and blinked and then nodded.

"Yes," she murmured. "You are my Matriarch and..." she looked over the assembled royals and servants. "Your people!"

"This is getting strange," Galen said, taking a swig from his glass. He looked down into its depths. "And it's not because of this."

"Do you think someone ought to do something?" Harnis questioned.

Brenan was wondering the same thing--who knew how far this thing would go--until his gaze fell on the elves. At present they stood, hands still joined as they chanted some sort of spell under their breath. Under their efforts the purple miasma seemed to be fading away. It seemed that if they succeeded then the effects of the crystal wouldn't have any further chances to spread...which meant that only the King turned Matriarch dragon and Speaker turned female barbarian would suffer any consequences from the event. Brenan hoped this would be the case, because then there would be an empty throne and a spot for the new ruler's Speaker. Again, after all, how could a dragon, a creature of legend. rule a kingdom when the people much preferred a human one and there were many royals to oppose her?

"My Matriarch!" the Speaker called, nodding towards the elves. "Have you seen those before?" She growled, opening her maw to reveal many, many sharp teeth. "They're strange."

The "Matriarch" sniffed. "These are the feykin, dragons of nature, my warrior. They are our guests...."

Dragons? The two elves looked to each other in confusion and then yelled in panic as the purple mist suddenly surged, filling to expand the platform they stood upon. Their magic abruptly fizzled and they both fell backwards as the mist overwhelmed them. Through the mist Brenan could see that the elves and their lithe, slender forms were changing but something was soon upon his and everyone else's others minds as the mist began to spread off of the platform and to those dining royals below.

"Oh," Harnis said. "That's no good."

The crowd stepped back, vaulting over tables, overturning chairs, moving past their peers. Servants even went so far as to put themselves before their lieges as the mist roll in. Abruptly it vanished as soon as it had appeared. The clouds parted, becoming as air.

"You're so tiny," said the Matriarch.

To their credits, the elves did not change the same way. Though Brenan couldn't tell who, was who from the twins, it was obvious they had changed many ways. Both were shorter, maybe the size of dwarves now, wings like dragonfly's on their back, possessing lumpy semi-draconic muzzles with large black eyes, yet their slender bodies gained the sort of pudginess and proportions of a frog, whilst their scaled skin was so soft and delicate, became a greenish tinge. Unlike the Matriarch and her new Warrior, the pair's clothes simply dissolved and reformed. Even stranger though was that one of them continued to grow shorter and smaller, even more than the other. That one let out an excited giggle as the other picked him up. It seemed as if one was the child, and the other was the mother.

"I wanna be big!" complained the smaller one, sounding like having a tantrum.

"Well, not all of us can be so big," said the mother.

"How cute," laughed the Matriarch.

"Oh, that my child is!"

Everyone held their breath. Confusion reigned.

The Matriarch was pleased, but a growl loud enough to be heard throughout the room echoed She turned to the nearest servants. "Oh! You there give me a bite to eat!"

The servants looked like they wanted to jolt, but all the while they were afraid of their ruler, uncertain.

"Well? We're waiting!" complained the warrior.

And they couldn't disobey, not if they didn't want to be punished later. Or worse.

Three servants approached hefting platters of food, but it seemed pretty obvious dragonhood was not going to be their fate. Their fine clothes slightly mangled and stained by scattered food in the sudden chaos, were reduced to nothing but dirty loincloths as their bodies shifted and shrank and chains wrapped around their wrists. Their faces turned into snouts, eyes golden slits and small tails. The servants now were nothing but mere frightened slaves.

"Oh, kobolds!" commented the the fey.

Dessan the sorcerer rose from his garments. Well, what used to be Dessan. Now he, she was now a small whelping, almost the same size as the fey mother. She wore strange robes and had the skull of some great stag for a hat. "Oh hi!" she said to the fey. "I'm a priestess in training! Cause I gots a hat! Ooh snacks!"

She and the young dragons then assaulted the kobolds and snatched food.

The Matriarch seemed amused.

It was at this time that guards from outside the feasting hall swarmed in in the numbers, holding bronze spears that hummed with energy and decked in the best plate armor. Several men, the houndmasters who led the hunt brought forth beasts of savage ferocity, the finest and most vicious dogs the empire could muster.

Brenan and the other nobles stepped aside. This madness was getting worse and it was up to those who were paid to do it to earn their keep.

It was all for naught.

They raised their weapons and shouted to get their opponent's' attention in angry cries... and...

All the Matriarch had to do was turn her gaze towards their commander and they were reduced to lizardmen, brawny halfman creatures covered in scale and wearing animal skins in place of armor. The commander in particular received an additional change, dark wings as long as his arms, as if to mark him significant among his would-be peers. These new reptilian seemed momentarily confused before taking their places posted around the room. The houndmasters who once wielded monstrous dogs, had their beasts turn into winged terrors, like serpents with wings, yet no smaller than they were before.

The room was changing as well, the dining chair and tables grew larger, the hall so much larger--and cruder too. The tables were no longer refined pieces of furniture that could double as art; rather, they were great big stone slabs and their chairs rudely cut boulders. Those servants and royals attempting to flee flee towards the oaken doors to the hall watched in surprise as the portals grew wider and thicker into a set of heavy bronze doors that none of them individually or together could budge. These would-be-escapees had only a second to contemplate this change when the Matriarch looked upon them and change too was wrought upon them. They squealed as they shrank and in a matter of moment royals and servants both were transformed into kobold underlings.

Brenan blinked at the sight of the new kobolds. It was if as soon as their former King noticed something was off, the world changed to suit her new state... whatever it was. It just wouldn't do.

Now there were very few humans left at all, just a handful--Brenan, Fiora, and the three nearby royals.

Duchess Emalia stepped forward first. "My... my King, don't you realize what is happening?"

The barbarian dragoness turned towards her. "Oh... my nephew, don't interrupt our lord. You'll get in trouble like always."

Emalia recoiled as if she had been slapped.

"Nephew?" The woman wondered, her voice deepening halfway through the word. The Matriarch gave the woman a passing glance and a toothy, smile before moving her gaze to look at the fey dragon child and the former sorcerer turned priestess in training playing together. Brenan and the rest of the remnants, however, had their gaze solely focused on Emalia. The duchess staggered back and afterwards fell on all fours. She growled and roared and Brenan watched as she grew larger and larger and more and more draconic, her fine clothes atrophying into rough furs. In seconds, where once had stood a slender royal woman was a powerful drake dressed much the same as the barbarian dragoness. He was smaller than her, however, and seemingly younger too. He sauntered up to to the Matriarch again, but a hiss from the barbarian caused him to flee with his tail between his legs. She laughed, but the rest of the human watchers didn't quite find the situation so serious.

Galen dropped his mug on the stone table and watched as the wooden cup shivered and transfigured into a huge stone goblet. He sighed and turned to the others.

"Well then," he said, placing his hand on his sword. "There's only one way to end this." His tone lowered. "We've got to kill the King...or Matriarch...or whatever. It's all connected to him...or her!"

"I don't think we have a choice!" Fiora hissed. "You saw what happened to those guards!" She turned towards Brenan. "You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

Brenan stepped back, hands raised. "Not exactly...I may have shattered a magical crystal promising to unleash a bloodline but I never thought..."

Fiora spat and turned back towards Galen. "You're right. We have to kill her. We'll need someone to distract her and that brute so..." she turned towards Harnis. "Sir Harnis, could you..."

She stopped. Harnis smiled and tilted his head, his mechanical eye plopping out. Beneath it was a slitted, reptilian eye.

"What's that?" Harnis hissed, his face pushing out into an albino draconic muzzle . "Conspiracies of violence against our matriarch? This will displease the gods."

Galen, having not noticed Harnis's starting shifts raised an eyebrow.

"Harnis, what are you--?"

Harnis slinked over to the other man, shifting to a quadrupedal stance as his torn tail and crippled wings grew out. By the time he stood before Galen, he was totally a dragon, thin and emaciated with blood red eyes. His royal clothes had metamorphosed to patchy black robes. This along with his size and scales of pure white made him quite the intimidating dragon. He stood over Galen and sniffed.

"I am talking of fate, youngling. When you grow older, you may understand."

Galen's eyes bulged and then he suddenly disappeared into his clothes. The royal garments fell to the ground and something squirmed beneath them. Harnis bent down, and scooped out a squirming whelpling as the discarded clothes shifted into a pile of rough fabrics.

"Arla!" Harnis called. The whelping wearing the animal skull that was once Dessan squeaked and turned towards the fearsome white dragon. "Come take this whelp and find her mother. She must be missing her."

Arla retrieved the whelp in her arms before scampering off. That left Brenan and Fiora the only humans in a large room full of dragons, kobolds, and lizardman. Brenan's mind raced, but he knew of no way to escape the current situation, unless...

"Fiora!" he said, tugging on his wife's sleeve. "Galen was right, we need too..."

Fiora turned him and there was fury in her eyes.

"This is all your fault!" she snarled. "You meddled too far with the Game. What did you do? What did you DO?"

"I don't know exactly," Brenan admitted. "But listen--"

"No!" Fiora shouted. "You've ruined everything!"

"Fiora, please, I--"

"Kastos," the Matriarch spoke.

Both Brenan and Fiora froze.

"Why are you arguing with my daughter?"

Brenan and Fiora stared each other intently in the eyes. Brenan's breath caught in his throat. Was the Matriarch talking to them? She had to be, right? And if she was who was her daughter?

Brenan received his answer when Fiora lowered her gaze and turned towards the Matriarch.

"My apologies, Matriarch," Fiora said, her voice lowering to a rumble as her bones snapped and cracked and she grew right beside Brenan. The thief daren't shift his gaze even as he heard Fiora unfurl her wings, wincing as her claws clacked against the ground. "I did not mean to be trifling."

"Ah, it is of little matter," the Matriarch said. "I expect my daughter to be temperamental until she's had her first clutch. Gods know I was."

Brenan shuddered. He turned to look up at Fiora, and indeed "she" was a drake with bright blue scales and adorned with fur that were a bit nicer than the barbarian's. Fiora looked down at Brenan with a smile and in that instant the thief knew his fate. He was the only human in the room, the last one to change and that meant the Matriarch's daughter could only be one person-

"Oh, but we haven't had a chance to... couple yet, right, Auriane?"

Fiora... wait... that wasn't his name.

Brenan backed away from his former wife, holding up hands in protest. He shuddered when he saw his fingers start to elongate into claws. "No... no...!"

"Oh, my bride." His...husband spoke. Brenan shivered at the words. His skin prickled and crawled and his head felt suddenly lighter. He looked down and saw his hair had fallen out in clumps. In addition, there was something at the edge of the center of his vision, an annoying protuberance that seemed to always be there. He whimpered and reached for his face and felt what was his muzzle pushing out. He whimpered again, grinding his sharpening teeth together while his tongue lengthened and pressed against the roof of his mouth. All over his body his skin prickled and crawled as his once human flesh became scales.

Down below was a different story. A tingling feeling in Brenan's crotch hinted at great and terrible things, heralding the sensation of withdrawal and yet, at the same time, growth. He placed his hands down and hissed as his masculinity reduced in size. Even more troubling was that his undergarments felt so... delicate, laced out, like frills were growing on them. His clothes were so feminine, and so was he becoming in body.

Brenan struggled against the feeling. No, he didn't want to be reduced to the woman in the partnership. He was here to gain power, not to lose it... but then why was he looking to be male? Females were stronger...

He gagged and shambled away, moving towards the door and laying his back against it as he slid down. Abruptly, his legs cracked, their configuration forevermore altered. A thick tail slid out from the base of his spine and in-between legs, flicking lazily this way and that. Brenan looked at the alien appendage and felt it move, for it was his after all. He looked at its tip and let his gaze trace his way up its length until he was gazing at his nethers, partially exposed under the frilly lacing of his draconic dress. They no longer resembled human organs nor that of a male. He whined, and then snapped his muzzle shut. His voice was already becoming higher in pitch.

A moment later, Brenan groaned. His body grew in ways both painful in pleasant, the addition of extra muscle adding power to his ever increasingly draconic form, but the extra mass reminding him that he was becoming a dragon.

"No... I'm not...."

"Not what?" Kastos asked, gazing curiously at Brenan.

"...A dragon?" he struggled to speak as wings burst from his shoulders and attempted to unfurl. Of course, this was impossible given that he had pinned himself against the door. Still, he kept trying to stand away, stand aside from his husband. Although how long he remained a "he" was steadily shortening.

"Gah!" the crowd roared. Whatever panic the room had had disappeared entirely as the reptilians all turned inwards and saw the beginnings of a bloody spectacle happen in the middle. The entire room was so large, enough to house everyone. Slaves lost all dignity and were fetching meals for their hosts, barely avoiding being food themselves. The once dining hall had been converted into some sort of primitive gladiatorial arena.

In the middle of it all was the former Speaker... Shouter. The dragoness fought against weaker, smaller males...not that there were many males bigger than a female like her of course. She cried and broke apart scale with ferocity that she would have never been capable of in a life before. Well... Hekir... was certainly well deserving of it.

Brenan straightened his spine, his tail stiffening. No. No. He mustn't think of them like that. She wasn't a berserker... well, she was....

He felt sick. New hormones flooded his body and he felt fire rush through his veins and into his throat. He vaguely felt as if he could breathe fire, but there was another some else he had gained, a privilege unknown to him before...

His gaze wandered over the image of a small dragon, playing with the feykin whilst swaddled in delicate clothing. He was starting to have a hard time recalling what they were. Was that dragon supposed to be a rival of his? And those strange looking fey dragons? Brother and sister? That seemed so impossible, not when they were obviously mother and son...

She wondered about having children like them, of the laying of eggs and.... Oh no.

Brenan turned down to see her fine trousers reduced to some sort of dress, frills and soft cloth chafing around his now scaly legs. Her clothes were completely feminine and so...so was she.

Kastos, her husband...no, he was Fiora...turned to her, licking his tongue against him. "What're you talking about? Did you have too much spicewine today?"

Brenan backed away, still adamantly refusing. "No... I... " She gulped. Her voice was different, so high, so... female. Why was she so worried about it?

She turned her gaze towards the Matriarch. Mother was so busy attempting to teach something to the young Priestess in training with the Elder. Some sort of lessons on how to conduct....

Kastos seemed so much smaller now that she noticed it. But of course. Females of her kind were larger.

"Dear... " he urged. "Are you feeling okay, Auriane?"

"I'm fine..." she half-lied. She had vague ideas. Of learning these complex rules of "etiquette" and "sciences" and services to some bizarre and arcane society where direct daughters didn't marry. Why would she care about males inheriting? It all made no sense.

And then she blinked a few times. Confused. There were memories there too, of walking on two legs and of backstabbing, both literally and figuratively. Was that her? A treacherous individual?

No. She shook her head. that old whelp of a man had no spine. How could a creature like her have anything resembling him? She was far too proud ... too noble... and powerful...beautiful...and perfect in many ways.

"Dear..." urged her husband.

Auriane licked him. No longer conflicted, she felt so much better.

"Let's go to bed... I think you'll want it..." He licked her back. "We can always watch more of the spectacle later."

"Mmm," Auriane rumbled. "There's better spectacle to be had."

Kastos smiled and pushed open the great door with his snout. He opened it wide and then looked over shoulder at this mate, his tail flicking. Without a word, Auriane followed on all fours as she was meant to, just as her subservient mate was meant to lead her. The dragoness walked proudly and regally because she was royalty of a sort after all.

They exited onto a craggy cliff. Below, around, and above were structures made much the same as the one they just left--crude, tribal buildings that were the common dwelling places of her people scattered on places of varying heights. For a moment, the sight did not seem so familiar and Auriane moved uncomfortably back. For some reason, she felt as if everything should be at the same height or at least not so crude.

But no. It was what it was. These lands weren't hers...but when her mother passed on responsibility, they would be. Perhaps that unfamiliarity was just fear of ownership, of responsibility, and of complexity. And yet...

She shook her head and watched as Kastos, her handsome husband spread his scaled wings and leapt off the cliff. She followed him, flapping her wings and circling up and over the village for a few minutes until Kastos dove down again. She tailed closely behind and noted with pleasure where they wear heading.

They soon reached their destination--a crevice on the side of a mountain, a place distant and private. It was perfect for their intent.

Upon landing, Kastos quickly entered the cave. Auriane meant to follow, but there was a single bit of reluctance. She stood outside the cave, idly flapping her wings as the thought came to her that there was something wrong about this, that the positions should be reversed, that Kastos should be the female and she the male, and that she shouldn't even be a--

She quelled the errant thoughts with a growl, only to have them resurface again albeit weaker. She hissed and stared into the cave, knowing that inside was her destiny and yet a very, very small portion of her mind was telling her otherwise, that she wasn't a dragon, a soon-to-be queen, a would-be mother and--

The thoughts whisked away, her attention taken by a purple glow that emitted from the cavern. Curious, she stepped in and peeked around the cave's been. There Kastos lay, obviously ready for the events and hand, and around him were a multitude of beautiful brilliant purple crystals.

"They're beautiful," she murmured.

"But a pale reflection of your beauty, my queen," Kastos said.

Auriane grinned, and wondered if everything was in order. Privacy? Mate? Calm? All set and ready as far as the dragoness was concerned. They were far from the others, away from the spectacle of blood and violence, her mate was more than ready as she could tell, and she did feel a sort of calm. She was strong, and popularity had nothing to do with her rule. Her fate and destiny were one and the same as Matriarch of her people. The only election to be made was her own choice.

Without any doubt in her mind, Auriane pounced and clung to Kastos.

*****************************************

Auriane awoke and blinked. It was early morning, and still dark. Something struck her so she opened her maw to speak, and then thought better of it as her mate roused behind her. He stood, yawned, and then looked down at himself in surprise. Afterwards, he looked towards her.

"Brenan?" he asked.

Auriane shook her head. "Just call me Aur. Brenan isn't..."

"But..."

"So you remember too?"

Kastos nodded. "Yes and I..." he appeared to blush. "I remember what we did last night too..."

Auriane grinned. Her memories were there too; distant and dreamy, of being something before and what she was now. As moments passed, they became clearer and clearer and yet they were still something of a different life. After all, how could she be Brenan the noble thief when she was clearly some sort of dragoness princess?

"I do too," she said. "And I remember more, Fiora."

Kastos stared at her for a moment before looking away, shuffling his foreclaws on the stone.

"Don't call me that," he murmured. "I like Kastos and..."

"You like how this ended up?"

Kastos tilted his head. "Yes?" He nodded. "Yes, I do. I know it's not the same but..."

There was silence. The pair became lost in their own thoughts. Finally:

"Do you think anyone else remembers?" Kastos asked after a bit.

"I...I'm not sure. Why don't we go check?"

"Well..." Kastos' voice trailed off. "About last night..."

"What about it?"

Kastos looked up at Auriane hopefully. The dragoness's maw cracked into a smile.

"Oh. We'll check later then."

**********************************

Kastos eyed his mate with knowing eyes, knowing more than simply just the events before. "You know, shouldn't I be the one caring for the children?"

Auriane blushed, gently nudging a head towards a small clutch of eggs in the corner, the product of a night's successful labors. "You? You're the inferior sex, after all."

Kastos laughed. "Well, I would have, but then you up and decided you'd rather do it!" He smiled and gently blew a breath of hot air. "And you even get to have it easy! I would have had to carry them inside of me like some mammal!"

Auriane shrugged. Oh how things were still so much the same. She wondered what their sexes would be, after all. A month ago, she might have wanted more sons, but... why would she do that? Much better to be the superior gender after all.

The duo silently kissed and nudged one another, safe in the knowledge of their new, better lives.

They take the eggs with them, flying slowly and carrying them in one paw each, careful not to break them, as they traveled to their keep.

It was so much bigger now, now that it was made for proper reptiles. The small city of laborers and servants were much more subdued than they had been in any point in memory. After all, it was a human thing to let them be so liberated.

Upon entering, the first group they met was the black drake of a priest. Disarad was known as Harnis in a different life, one where he was far less devout and less devoted to when he was now. He smiled at the duo. "Ah, young ones. Care to have them blessed by blood? I have spares."

"No, not yet." said Auriane, although she was considering it. "The gods will smile favorably upon them...."

They heard a squeal. And turned to a young female dragon, a little whelpling in the lap of another dragoness.

Kastos turned to the elder one. "Say, weren't you her wife?"

Auriane struggled for a moment, remembering an older woman, human of course.

The dragoness laughed. "That I was!" she said. "But my little girl is much better off now. Much better this way, isn't that right, Iris?"

The little dragoness squealed in delight, agreeing.

So funny, Auriane thought. She remembered this "Galen" being a rival of hers in a previous life, this man who had been in many ways his most immediate threat to his chances. He had once been an educated, well-dressed nobleman with a penchant for conspiracy. Now, she was dressed in soft clothes and fed prechewed meats. It was so endearing. Yes, definitely an improvement.

Auriane and Kastros made their move away from the mother and daughter as they were blessed by the high priest.

Next came the young prince. In a different life, Auriane and he were distant cousins. That was more or less true now. And it wasn't like he was any threat to his rule, being male and all that.

"Well, look what we have here?" said the young prince. "Oh, will I be an uncle?"

"You never wanted to be one before...." Auriane said.

"Because we were being so silly. I mean, pretending "elections" matter?.... Still, I do wish I could have been an aunt..."

Kastos laughed. "Tell me about it. We were female first, right?"

Auriane and Kastos passed through a line of lizardmen all shouting and doing drills. They were far more loyal now, always a plus.

The two passed into another room, this time finding the young priestess in training Alra and the Feykind. The mother was teaching.

"Well, look what we have here?" Auriane said.

"I'm learning!" cheer Alra, her animal skull chattering as she bounced in her seat. She was no longer a well reserved sorcerer... merely a young girl eager to learn.

The small fey dragon nodded his head aswell. "Uhuh, momma wants to teach us!"

"Isn't that right? I thought your kind didn't teach us because we were so... backwards, short lived?"

The mother looked a little shy. "Well, that was before, wasn't it? I mean, little Arla is only fifty now. She's got plenty of time to learn now!"

Alra nodded vigorously. "Cause they never shared before!"

"Good!" said Auriane. "What'll you be once you grow up?" Technically, Alra was once older than him, but that was before she was now back in schooling age.

Alra was pleased. "I'm gonna be the bestest priestess!"

The two then followed a loud chorus of noise of battles. There they found the Shouter carving up and cutting down men, whipping them into shape.

"You're all so soft! I shouldn't have been so keen on coddling you! Work worms!"

They clearly didn't enjoy it, but it wasn't meant for their enjoyment. They were to be the protectors of the tribe, after all. Battle was not easy. It was marvelous that the warrior maiden was ensuring the community's strength. Kastos let out a pleased whistle at the sight of the Shouter. Oh, he was admiring her body, as he often did. Auriane snorted and brushed against her husband.

"Hey," she growled. "You're already mine."

"I know," Kastos said, looking dreamily at the priestess. "But maybe in another life..."

"You already got one."

"Yes," a familiar voice spoke. "You did. We all have."

Kastos and Auriane turned and found themselves face to face with the Matriarch perched atop a rock. She looked down at them and smiled, gently flapping her wings. In particular, she stared at Auriane lovingly.

"And that," she said. "Is all your fault, is it not?"

"If there can be fault in something so marvelous," Auriane replied. "We were so...mundane before. And petty."

"Hmm," The Matriarch murmured. "So we were, so we were..." Her voice trailed off as she looked away. A moment later, she looked to her daughter and her husband and smiled again. "I have heard you laid your first clutch."

Auriane nodded, though she wished to say more. The pride swelling in her chest prevented her from doing so.

"Ah..." The Matriarch said. "Now that is a new beginning. My daughter's first clutch, the continuation of our legacy." She sighed happily. "I can't blame you for the happiness you have brought, purposeful or not. What was your original intent?"

"To rule."

"Of course, and rule you shall." The Matriarch smirked. "Just give me a little more time, and a few more clutches and you may have the throne and tribe. Sound fair?"

"It's a deal," Auriane chuckled, already looking over to Kastos. Her husband stepped back and looked at her sheepishly. "I'll just need some help."

"A-already?" Kastos stuttered. "B-but--"

Auriane chuckled again. Many things had changed within the kingdom, many for the greater good, some with a neutral effect, and very little was bad. There had been so much change that Auriane sometimes had difficulty remembering who was what before and why. Very few even remembered her as Brenan, and she wasn't sure what she said. Still, one thing that hadn't changed, however, was that she still remained the one in power most of the time in her relationship with Kastos. Perhaps it was for the best anyhow.

"Yes, my mate," Auriane said. "Let's work on that tribe to come today."