Darius

Darius The Opulent King Usurper|Patriarch|Scheming Darius joined the clan of another dragon, seemingly as a model citizen. He was polite, charming, and never challenged authority -- at least, not directly. So it came as a surprise when he overthrew the clan, claiming it as his own. No one had seen it coming. Not even when he had begun making friends, building alliances. Not even when he courted the most powerful friends. Not even when he began planting ideas in the minds of his new allies. The revolt was bloody, but Darius rose up on top -- and those who remained, became loyal. The greatest shame for Bloodborne, the patriarch who had been run out of the territory, is the realization that Darius is actually a very good king. Now reigning in peace, Darius oversees a clan of prosperity, putting his charm and diplomacy skills to good use.

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We are dragons of Plague. And in Plague, we survive. Those were some of the first words Darius heard. A hatchling, barely big enough to hold his wings upright, and already the lessons were taught. Respect the Plaguemother. Take nothing for granted. Fight with fang and claw for what is rightly yours, and never – never – allow anyone to tell you your limitations. The words pierced deep. They settled into his chest, wrapping around his heart like protective armor, and long after he grew to adulthood they remained there, an incontrovertible truth. Even when he came to hate his homeland. Even when he came to hate his kin. Even – especially – when he came to hate their god. The Plaguebringer. Oh, how he reviled her. He despised the sickness and decay that settled over the territory of his birth. He hated the way they suffered beneath the eyes of their deity, who did nothing to alleviate this gruesome, festering wound of a homeland.

Darius harbored a love for the finer things, and as he grew, he became increasingly irritated with their absence. He was bright, with flashy colors that clashed against the muted shades of so many in his clan. He loved treasures that were shiny, glittering jewels and gleaming metals; he had no interest in bone and blood, conquest and decay.

And so, when he became old enough, strong enough, brave enough – he left it all behind. He took flight, stretching his wings to rise over the miasma of the Wasteland, without a glance back to his kin.

He would, eventually, find himself on Starfall Isles, among the dreamers who wasted hours star-gazing. The glittering landscape appealed to him; the glowing doorway to the neighboring human world called to him.

And the natives….well.

The magelings were soft, malleable, naive. Easily influenced, and even more easily manipulated.

He couldn’t help himself. You can take the dragon out of Plague…but you cannot take the plague out of a dragon. Like a virus, he burrowed into another’s clan and, from inside, tore it apart to re-create in his own image.

“As we spread, we will thrive.”


Darius was a very good chess player.

He picked up the game naturally, as though he'd been born to play it. And like any good chess player, he knew that the best way to win a match was to leave as many pieces on the board as possible. An opponent's own pieces could get in the way, block escape. If you were careful, you could pin down a king using just a few of your own pieces.

But Darius also knew that sometimes a sacrifice was necessary, on both sides. Sometimes pieces needed to be removed from the board.

That's just how the game was played.

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It was the look in Bloodborne's eyes that Darius would remember, long after everything else was finished -- long after the casualties had been tallied, the resources re-allocated, the decor changed. It was that look of betrayal, the pained expression in such normally blank and ice-cold eyes.

Was Bloodborne hurt because he had lost members of his clan in the battle?

Was he hurt that his own beloved daughter stood beside Darius -- that she had been the one to turn the key, to open the passage, to ensure the usurper's pawns could flood the chamber in the dead of night?

Or was it that, deep down, Bloodborne had loved the guardian; as a brother, an apprentice...perhaps as something more?

Darius never got his answer. But some nights -- growing ever rarer, as his influence spread -- the look of betrayal crossed his mind again and he wondered, if only for a moment, whether he had done the right thing.

But the thought passed quickly, and he would fall back into peaceful slumber, undisturbed by further pangs of conscience.

His conscience was clean, but Darius was no fool - he knew better than to overstay his welcome. He lingered in the territory of the Arcanist just long enough to build some alliances and allow his clan to recover from the changes before preparing his next move.

He wanted a territory far from home, a place no one would know his name or remember his deeds. A blank slate, as it were. And so he sent out his scouts, and nurtured his connections, and waited for the right opportunity.

"The Sunbeam Ruins," Prometheus said, nodding his approval. His kin, the fellow desert tundras, stood silent as they awaited the king's decision on the matter, but all were attentive to hear the next words. "I have heard good things, My Lord."

Darius did not require the use of a formal title from his beloved Faeder, but it was an easy way to placate him; he liked the sound of 'my lord' when spoken by anyone, but it had a special significance from Prometheus.

"If the intelligence we've gathered is correct," the tundra went on, "there should be ample territory, ripe for the seizing. There's just...a small political matter."

Darius hand-waved this. His eyes had already settled on the map, the details painstakingly inscribed upon it in margin notations. The ruins of a grand culture, villas and manors left abandoned and ready for the taking. A nearby doorway to the human realm, facilitating trade and easing the abandonment of the Arcane gates. In his mind, the city gleamed like gold in the sun.

"I don't fear politics. Let them play their games. We'll beat them all."

Prometheus shrugged, knowing better than to argue. "As you will. Shall I tell the others to begin packing their things?"

The king nodded, a satisfied smile crossing his features. Yes...yes indeed. He had grand expectations for this Light territory.