A Tyrant, Sort Of

Look, it wasn’t Nexr’s fault the city of Gadenrock had been condemned to consumption by primordial deity.

Sure, he’d pushed far beyond the agreed upon plan, and most certainly had already decided to betray Chieftain Gore and the rest of the Rustspike Tribe, but that said, he wasn’t the reason everything had gone so catastrophically wrong. Why Lady Xenaya had been unleashed in full, and the city consumed down to the smallest living organism.

No. It wasn’t his fault. Rather, it was that idiot Bracken.

Because how was Nexr supposed to know his weakling mind would collapse so easily? He was supposed to be the best Gadenrock had. More than capable of withstanding a minor mental invasion of a deity. Clearly, the Chieftain had vastly overestimated his trusted champion’s fortitude. So the fault lay with that decrepit man, too.

Only Nexr, really, was blameless in this event.

The plan had been so beautiful. It had almost felt like divine providence when Bracken’s team had lugged back the [Gem of Hunger]. An access point to a primordial power, unearthed from a dungeon and dropped into his lap?

Him? A [Cultist]? He couldn’t have imagined a more delightful prize. And Chieftain Gore had been happy to give it to him. He saw the benefits too. He was far-sighted in that way. Though not in others, obviously, seeing how he’d never noticed Nexr’s duplicitous nature. Nobody could be wise in all ways.

Perhaps it had been fate, even. The workings of the heavens were nothing if not inscrutable. Maybe Lady Xenaya herself had delivered the gem to the Red Plains with explicit intention it was used by him. Who else had even half the experience in occult workings?

Certainly, the events of the past day did seem to indicate he was favored by her. Insofar as an unthinking deific force of nature could really favor a person. Because he’d been left alive in the aftermath of Gadenrock, and likely the only person to have been so. And he had kept hold of the [Gem of Hunger], albeit mildly damaged from the previous experiment. That was a miracle and a half, Nexr knew, and he thanked his lucky stars.

Undoubtedly, Lady Xenaya had sent him scurrying away so he could try again—and this time on a vessel not so pathetic. That unleashed form of hers that had torn through the city, her [Greater Aspect], was simply unsustainable: her raw essence, scouring everything it touched, could not last long in this world. While she would surely enjoy her romp through Gadenrock and nearby territories, she would want something more lasting. Or so he’d surmised.

Then the dragon had come.

That was another turn of events that had left Nexr baffled. He’d barely escaped the wildfires the beast had unleashed. He’d thought he was hallucinating at first—not only because it was a dragon, an obvious impossibility, but also because why would it risk itself to cleanse Lady Xenaya’s presence? Why would it care? It made no sense.

Regardless of the creature’s reasoning, it was awfully convenient as a cover-up. Nexr’s luck just kept coming. Well, minus the Gadenrock ordeal. It simplified his future explanations to the rest of the Rustspike Tribe; he could blame Gadenrock on the dragon and wash his hands of its fall. Telling them the truth, obviously, was off the table. Even the story as it had been approved by the Chieftain, before Nexr had taken the ritual too far. He suspected that anyone who listened to those explanations wouldn’t understand. They’d irrationally find a way to blame him. People were so dreadfully small-minded about every little thing.

The dragon’s presence was fortuitous in more ways than one. Pulling a stable aspect of Lady Xenaya into the mortal plane had failed because the vessel had been too weak. Bracken, that pathetic worm, had crumpled in moments. But the arrival of a dragon meant not only a way to wash his hands of what had really happened to Gadenrock, but it also meant a stronger vessel. If there was anything on the planet that could properly hold a portion of a goddess without their soul shattering, it would be a dragon.

And with this change in events, his previous plans to conquer the Red Plains seemed suddenly pedestrian. So unambitious. A dragon, corrupted and enslaved by him, using Lady Xenaya’s essence? Why, even the world wouldn’t be out of his reach, wielding a weapon like that.

And how many levels would he earn for such a feat? Surely at least half a dozen. Such an accomplishment would be the work of a lifetime.

So many perfect happenings, all lining up just for him. It had to be fate.

The hard part, of course, was going to be arranging everything just right. It depended on how the dragon behaved in the coming days. Undoubtedly it would be seeking to conquer, hence, he would get an opportunity to meet with it at some point, so long as he rejoined with what remained of Rustspike’s leadership.

But convincing them of what he had seen, and then his plan. Or his ‘plan’. Obviously, they wouldn’t know his true goals, as the Chieftain and Bracken hadn’t.

So, he would have to concoct just the right lies. Fortunately, he was quite skilled at that.

***

They didn’t believe him at first, of course. Then news of the black scar left on the earth where Gadenrock had once stood trickled in, the clear working of dragonfire, and Nexr’s status in the tribe was restored. He was labeled a coward, of course, for fleeing where all others had died, but nobody had ever considered him courageous, so it was perhaps the most reasonable part of the whole event. Certainly more than a dragon.

The story still didn’t fully hold up, with the consumption of the city being far too perfect and absolute, but Nexr cobbled together what mistruths he could invent, and they swallowed them soon enough. Explanations didn’t need to be perfect—they just had to last him through his plan.

Discussions for revenge began. Nexr let tensions boil and churn as the remaining classed of the Rustspike Tribe discussed how to proceed. Near everyone had loved ones lost in Gadenrock; even the most cautious seemed grimly determined to slay the beast, despite low odds of success. They would fall as Gadenrock did, they quickly resigned themselves to, but such was the warrior’s path. Better that than letting themselves be ruled by such a tyrant. Nexr doubted the general populace would agree, but what did they matter?

Nexr nodded along, trying not to roll his eyes.

Finally, he edged in, right when passions were burning hottest. He presented his solution. They were horrified, of course. At least to start with. Most were loathe to associate with him and his darker workings—and they didn’t know the half of it—but what other path did they have? How else would they avenge Gadenrock and slay the fell beast?

The irony was, of course, delightful. If anything, that dragon had been this entire blasted wasteland’s savior. He still didn’t understand why it had bothered to cleanse Lady Xenaya, and that set him on edge. It said something odd was going on. But he would hardly forfeit his plans because of a little uncertainty.

And so, the collected classed and scattered leaders of the Rustspike Tribe having come to an accord, Nexr had his second chance. He could swear the black [Gem of Hunger] pulsed in excitement to the tune of his own heartbeat.

Because really. A dragon, made into a vessel for the goddess of hunger? And put under his control?

It wouldn’t be easy, but oh, the potential.

It practically made him salivate.

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