Late in the night, under a star studded sky, a pale figure sat at a large oak table covered by a silk tablecloth of embroiled gold and white silk. Upon the table was a banquet of sweet rolls, cakes and other fine morsels. A ceramic tea pot let off a bergamot scented steam. Yet he sat alone. The desert wind was dry but smelled of the various confections served by other vendors. He did not eat or drink, yet, in a rather elaborate chair he rested his back. This was indeed a private party, of one with only the vendor and his employees servicing the rather regal man. The market was open, a red cloth above them but two sides covered in large cloth of the same material. Candlelight and lanterns of colored glass spread their luminance inside. A Bard of moderate talent played a lute in the far corner, a melodious song from olden Zeinav some thirty minutes in length. 

"Is everything to your liking, my lord? The pheasant is roasting now and nearly done...we can prepare something else." A young woman with sapphire hued robe spoke softly. 

"That won't be necessary. All is well." Bellighul nodded and waved her away with a half smile. His red eyes seeming to pierce into flesh. 

The young woman suddenly rushed towards the opening, waving her hands at a Lizardfolk of large stature. "Sir! This is a private affair, I am afraid..."

The Tomb King thundered. "This one may join me. Let him pass." He stood up from his chair quickly but with poise. His normal black robes have been changed for something much more elaborate and expensive. He was covered in a silk high collared jacket over fine woven robes and traditional Zeinavian boots.  Though the attire also black, as if Bellighul could choose another hue, its stitching and embroidery marked a distinguished gentleman. His Ashen hair braided back and held by golden collars. 

"Allow me to introduce myself, I am known as Bellighul. This was to be a celebration but, I confess, I was in little mood to host royalty and high society tonight. You see, I am fond of people of interest...there is little interesting notions about that lot aside from gossip and courting. Thus, I chose to cancel. However, a banquet is nigh and you appear to be one of most intriguing stories. Please, join me for tea and a meal." The Ebon Enigma eyed the weaponry of Xalmann keenly, his boldness was an attribute he was becoming known for over time. His curiosity and elegance though, had been ingrained into the minds of all he met. 

With practiced grace, Bellighul approached him, strange shadows forming in his wake as his attire seemed to produce a strange small and odorless pitch black smoke. Reaching his hand outward to shake the hand of his hopeful guest, he bowed slightly and shut his scarlet irises momentarily.

"Tonight is a joyous occasion, as tomorrow, my villa is complete yet I shall suffer the nobility evermore."

Xalmann walked through the streets, his cloak loosely flowing behind him. The night in the desert was chilly, but he had found that he'd stopped feeling cold some time ago. The Lizardfolks scales were warm to the touch wherever he went, despite being cold-blooded. He had been changing ever since he had nearly burned to death along with most of his tribe and his village. He didn't fully understand it, but he accepted his newfound powers and embraced them. He would accept anything that would aid him in his goal.

As he walked through the town, he realized he was hungry. He should find some food stall or a tavern to get a meal. The desert wasn't a good place for him to hunt his own food. He had used up all of his rations on his journey. He glanced around, but his eyes weren't the first thing to detect any food. Instead, he smelled the scent of roasting meat drifting through a sandstone archway along with the sound of music. That must be some kind of market area with food stalls and street performers. He turned and started making his way over.

As he was about to pass through the archway, he was suddenly stopped by a young woman in a blue robe. As she was turning him away from the apparently private area he had been about to mistakenly enter, he heard a loud voice from behind her and turned to look at the source.

He saw a pale man with red eyes and ashen hair. He was immediately reminded of another man he had met, Elquel, but they had completely different faces and demeanors. The man reached out a hand to him. He stared at it for a moment before grasping it. He was hesitant, but this man seemed to be inviting him to join him for a meal. He was curious as to why, but they seemed friendly enough. He might as well.

He walked behind the man back to a table covered in a lavish assortment of pastries and confections. The blue-robed woman came over and pulled out the seat for the man before doing the same for Xalmann. He sat down slightly uncomfortably, his tail forced to the side by the back of the chair. He looked toward the man who had invited him.

Bellighul reached for a small silver plate and placed a number of small cakes up it; anise, buttercream, chocolate and walnut made up the bulk it. The Tomb King placed the plate in front of Xalmann and he himself, poured a cup of tea for the mighty warrior. “You see, this is the difference between my people and those nobles of the Western realms. I am not so arrogant to not serve a guest, as if it is a common born dealing. Thank you for joining me.” 

The red eyed Zeinavian himself to a small dram of tea in from a ornate cup, setting it down on a tea plate he held with his other hand. He was saturine in demeanor, a sense of despair in his eyes that his smile attempted to evade. His brocade jacket danced lightly as a strong wind blew inward, the candle flames dancing wildly as he spoke again. “What brings you to Zeinav City, I have a sense you hail from the southern regions, but whereabouts I am unsure.” Bellighul’s eyes narrowed in inquisitive fashion, he had pondered for a moment on the subject. Certainly no tradesman he knew, merchants don’t deal in weaponry of that sort unless they plan to sell it. Perhaps a mercenary. It mattered little to the pallid debonair, he consorted with all manner of backgrounds. Caring more for conversation than maintaining a sense of loftiness. 

Before Xalmann had the chance to answer, if he wished at any rate, the vendor sent the girl in the blue dress once again. “My lord, the pheasant is roasted in a local inland white wine, fresh lemons and capers from the southern coast. Bathed in butter and served with a citrus and sage sauce. It is accompanied by fresh greens and Darkveilian tomatoes.”

”Exquisite, thank you. My guest has traveled far I am sure and is famished. A bottle of white wine for him as well.” Bellighul transferring his gaze to the girl from his companion. “Or does he prefer ale?” The Tomb King asked politely to Xalmann. 

"I do not drink alcohol" Xalmann replied to Bellighul. He still couldn't stand the smell. He found it reminded him of that night for some reason. He couldn't fully understand why, but the smell repulsed him. He looked toward the woman in blue. "I like tea" he said before turning back to Bellighul.

"I am Xalmann Dakarr, last of the Bloody Axes. I am from the Marsh Flats. I am travelling to find... someone." he introduced himself. He avoided saying Dagon's name. He didn't want to become enraged in front of the man. "Thank you for inviting me" he finished, trying to be polite.

The blue robed woman came again and placed the meals in front of the two along with a bottle of white wine. She placed a wine glass in front of Bellighul before uncorking the bottle and pouring some into the glass. She glanced at Xalmann's empty wine glass, but didn't try to pour any for him. She left the bottle on the table for them before leaving with a bow. She seemed to have forgotten to bring any kind of drink for the unexpected guest.

Xalmann looked down at the food on the plate in front of him. He had never had something so lavish before. He was hungry, so he picked up his fork and started eating. It was good. The pheasant was very rich from the butter, but the richness was cut nicely by the lemon. The capers added a bit of saltiness. He had never really put much thought into the taste of his food before, focusing purely on survival. He usually didn't even use salt unless he had stolen some from a merchant recently.

He finished his plate quickly. He looked toward Bellighul who was still eating his meal slowly and elegantly. "Thank you for the meal. I have not had one like it before"

“Last of the Bloody Axes; how powerful and tragic.” Bellighul mused over his words, though, refraining from eating what was given before him until his guest was nearly done. He pressed two fingers against his high cheekbones as he leaned against them. Eyes, like scarlet stars, watched as Xalmann, who lacked the refinements that he himself possessed but a bearing of a strong warrior and capable adventurer. This, the Lord of Ghouls lacked. Xalmann politely thanked him for the meal, from this Bellighul continued. 

“You may think I do not know loss, as I have gained much in my lives.” His choice of wording was intentionally enigmatic but did not expand upon the subject further. “But as you, last of your people, I am as well. The last of the Banu Enzara…a nomadic people gone for centuries now. How I long for those nights with my kin, by fire light and song. Yet, as the last, we are meant to carry them into memory of others. This is how we give the fallen immortality even in death.” He skillfully carved a piece of pheasant, taking in the accompanying lemon and herbs in a noble slow chew. 

The Tomb King had not been hungry as of late, even the finest meals do not satiate anymore. Perhaps it was boredom or apathy, certainly melancholy but a great malady had befallen him. He just was not aware.

”Speaking of carrying…what weapons do you wield into the fray? Into certain death to only overcome fate himself…” Bellighul had been eying the dagger since Xalmann arrived. Interesting. He continued. “I am not as skilled in blade as I am in other arts; I’d be enchanted to hear a story of war. This I have yet to experience.” Taking in a large swill of wine, emptying its contents he poured himself another, a refilled the tea of his guest as he listened. 

The Lord of Ghouls may seem to be a mere voyeur, a wealthy socialite living vicariously through the deeds of a battle hardened fighter. But, not a deceitful person by nature, he was darkly cunning. Beneath the pomp and glamour he displayed, there was a Necromancer, tactician and honorbound nomad.  

Xalmann hesitated to tell Bellighul his battle tactics and abilities. It was not wise to share your strengths with everyone you meet in case they might prove to be an enemy and use that knowledge against you later. But, this man didn't seem to be an enemy. He didn't seem to be plotting anything against the Lizard, just curious and somewhat bored. Seeking entertainment, not advantages in a battle.

He slowly pulled the battle axe and dagger from his waist and placed them on the table in front of him for Bellighul to see. "I fight with an axe. The symbol of my tribe. And this dagger. I found it after my village burned. My tribesmen died running into the fire. Commanded by Dagon." His stoic expression was tainted by a growing look of anger. He was furious, just thinking about the night that Dagon had destroyed his tribe. At Dagon's name, he lost control of himself.

His hands began to glow, the scales appearing as if they were pulled from a forge. He clenched his fists and banged them on the table with a growl. As he held them there, the tablecloth beneath them started to burn, smoke rising. Noticing the smell of smoke, he returned to his senses and looked down at the holes he had burned in the cloth which were continuing to grow. He waved a hand over the flames, willing them to die out, his hands returning to normal. He looked down in shame. He was embarrassed that he had lost control of himself again.

"I apologize. Thinking of that night makes me very angry. Thinking of..." he spoke quietly as he took deep breaths to calm himself. He couldn't say the name again, knowing he might lose himself once more.

The blue robed waitress came out with a look of concern and confusion caused by the smell of smoke that was quickly followed by a look of anger at the Lizardfolk and his weapons lying on the burnt table.

"Apology is accepted but, not needed in this case." He waved off the concerned waitress with a dignified nod of approval. He would pay for such damages gladly and he had a reputation of generosity thus, the waitress bowed and made leave again. This left an opportune time for the Lord of Ghouls to speak freely, for even he was bound by politics and not immune to gossiping. Least of all, against the King himself. "We live in a society that harbors the ill witted and the faithless at the pinnacle of power. Those such as you, are called barbaric in comparison to the fools who wear crowns. For who are they to rule over the strong? They fear your rage. Thus, They make you apologize for your own emotions and would rather see a shovel in your hand than that axe and dagger. Wield them knowing they despise you...as you despise Dagon."

He spoke plainly, hoisting he chalice still as to prevent it from knocking over in Xalmann's ferocity and furnace like presence. Though, the Tomb King was unalarmed and deeply curious. He moved a number of plates, ceramic and now broken from the quaking table and set them aside. He began to pour another cup of tea for the Lizardfolk as he continued. 

"I do not mean to cause you strife in your heart, warrior. I know that name brings pain. I have many names that cause such a fury. But I merely mean to assert that if you wish to be strong in this world, then be yourself...and never apologize for it." Bellighul drank from his chalice again, his ruby eyes hinted a sense of deep thought. Speaking to himself, with Xalmann as proxy. Yet, his words were almost poisonous, his charm and wit allowed him to masquerade as a decorative bachelor and patron of the arts. Yet, while not a facade, a scheming and ambitious Necromancer lurked in galleries and ball rooms. 

Bellighul, after speaking the last sentence, poured a bit of his blood-red wine onto the smoldering tablecloth. His wrist covered by the intricate brocade of gold stitching amongst black silk. A dancing darkness emitted from his hand as his breath, even in the heat of the desert, began to be visible liken to a mid-winter's eve. "To the Bloody Axes, may they live forever in legend...and may your ax find your enemy's skull." 

A sinister toast to the dead was spoken as the blue robed girl brought over a lemon tart and fresh milk for the table.

Xalmann watched the red stain spread on the tablecloth, dousing some remaining embers. Luckily there was no open flame left on the table to ignite the fumes of the alcohol, but the smell hit Xalmann's nose and made him recoil. The spreading wine made his mind reel as he continued to stare at it. He was broken out of his trance by a lemon tart and a glass of milk being placed in front of him by the blue robed waitress.

He turned away from the wine stain to the face of Bellighul. They seemed genuine in everything they said and their words were oddly comforting.

"Yes." he said, moving his hand to grab the handle of his axe and holding it in front of him. "It will."

He placed the axe back onto his waist before doing the same with his dagger. He looked down at the tart and milk in front of him. He had never had food like this before either. He ate and drank, a bit slower this time, not wanting to be rude. Bellighul had been very kind to him during this short time, feeding him, comforting him, and shooing away the waitress he had angered. Protecting him from himself. Why? He looked at Bellighul.

"Why did you invite me? Do you want something?" he asked. His voice sounded slightly suspicious, but had no aggression or hostility in it.

“I will answer your question with another question; do you believe it is law or chaos which guides this world?” Bellighul began to shift forward, pressing his elbows against the table as his intensity seemed to leap off of him. Prone to drama and earthly vices, a dandy and a scholar, he was not being dramatic in this instance rather, purely real. Another drink was poured into a chalice as he let the sentence stir in the wind for a few seconds and began to expand on his question. 

“Look at this, all that is before you. The server, the patron, the vendor, the tablecloth…the candles. This is law. This acceptance and compliance and, it is unnatural. It is norms that we have allowed ourselves to be governed by. Perhaps, I could summon forth a monstrosity and destroy everything you see. Maybe you could turn this table to ash for nothing but a painful memory. That is chaos. Chaos is impulse…it is rage. Emotion.” He paused, pointing beyond the veils above into the great cold distance of the sky, star studded in a maddening display of white sparkles. The moon was high, large over the desert in majesty. He poured forth a bit of the chalice's contents, a bead of red trinkled past the blue deathly hue of his lips. It was thicker than wine...darker still than most vintages. 

He began again, in somewhat a lecture-like demeanor, not to insult the intelligence of his guest but rather expand upon his philosophy. For, an armchair and brandy make good conduits for such thoughts in the lonely nights of Zeinav. “In any manifestation, good, evil or in between or lacking any such things… law is merely conformity. The blossoming sciences say Law is structured in everything from the speed of comets to rings of trees. However, my faith declares it is Chaos that governs all; especially the sentient…and Law is merely an afterthought.”

“I will tell you this Xalmann…I am chaos masquerading as formality.” He leaned back into his throne like chiar, shadows dancing from his body now. It was not an act of intimidation but a manifestation of his emotions. He was slipping into despair and anger, but remedied such by strong drink and a breathing excercise that would be apparent as he spoke. Deep inhales followed by a slow unlabored exhale. Destruction called to him in the night. He stayed its calls. 

For now. 

“What you are, is Chaos. A great wildfire that clears the forest for new growth to emerge in the ashes. Yet, you leave it stumbling inside, quelled…broken. Renounced even. Embrace that which is inside you, if you will, when I call upon you for aid in the times to come. Then you will have all these formalities available to you. Tea. Fine foods.Wealth. Further, I will send for further information to aid you in locating your enemy.” A dark wager, yet tempting. As Bellighul was made well aware of Xalmann's purpose in life, what guided him through the days. Revenge. Power. He was sinister often in his dealings, yet, was willing for a much more lucrative arrangement. This was Bellighul's strongest power, it was not his mastery of the dark arts or spirits. It was bargains. Brought forth by his nearly malevolent charm and ambition.

“Now, are prepared to to help me, or are you going to be governed by Laws meant to stop you from being yourself Xalmann of the Bloody Axes? The Scaled Inferno. The Death of Dagon.”

They sat and thought for a moment. They weren't the greatest speaker of this language, far more fluent in the Lizardfolk language, but they could understand Bellighul's meaning. It was simple. This man was much more than he appeared to be and he was offering to help Xalmann find Dagon in exchange for an unnamed favor in the future.

The man had been polite and courteous to him. He spoke in very grandiose and philosophical terms that Xalmann didn't completely understand, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything that might bring the Lizardman harm. He seemed surprisingly honest for someone so mysterious. They had even given him some interesting titles. He had just called himself The Last of the Bloody Axes because that was the truth. He had never really thought to have some grand title, but the names Scaled Inferno and Death of Dagon did bring a smile to his face, metaphorically speaking.

"I will do anything to kill Dagon." he answered after a short silence. "I do not know what laws you speak of. But the laws in my tribe are we are stronger together. And the strong survive."