Decessus

Decessus was born with a talent for violence, and the Plaguemother gifted him with magic that made short work of most enemies ill-advised enough to try him. It seemed sensible to hire himself out as a guard. For years, he worked as freelance muscle, moving from clan to clan in search of a challenge and failing to find one. Some of those clans he'd felt a vague protectiveness for; none of them could pay him what he felt he was worth, and in the end that often provoked their parting. He often found himself between jobs. It was disappointing, but that was the business.

The Lair by the Sea's hiring call interested him immensely, because he'd rarely seen such prices offered for guards. The old, wealthy clans tended to breed their own muscle, trusting them more than strangers. This announcement was unusual, and he prowled the dragon fora, trying to find out more about these people. He'd heard of them, maybe... something about selling protective runes? They'd been around long enough, but he didn't remember them being that wealthy. Some cynical part of him thought they'd run out of cash a few season into their contracts, and he'd be once again on the move.

But he'd at least be ahead a nice nest egg. So he applied, and was interviewed... and surprisingly, found himself having to work for it. The Lair's warriors were tough; their positions were no sinecures. It made him wonder why they didn't do the guarding themselves.

"We're busy," the imperial Imbrius had rumbled after their bout. "Hunting. A clan does not prosper by sitting still."

"Or by ignoring its borders," Hephaestus said, pushing up his spectacles. Decessus had also fought him and found him doughty--and that was the clan's hoard manager, not even a dedicated fighter.

He found himself hoping. That was interesting; he wasn't used to caring about his latest gig.

The Lair by the Sea hired three Guardians to see to the security of the hoard, and Decessus was one of them. That was when he was finally admitted into the caverns to see his charge.

Hundreds of chests, labeled, full with copper coins, or silver coins, or gold. Smaller chests with gemstones, polished and cut to showcase their brilliance. Barrels of precious ores and semiprecious stones, waiting for jewelers or blacksmiths. On shelves, almost a hundred boxed spells containing rune magic, to be sold at the Dragon Markets, and alongside, many times that in boxed spells with painted magics made by other dragons, collected over decades. And that was only the first cave. There were others: one with enough clothing to decorate a clan three times the Lair's size in everything from rare silks to handmade lace; another stacked with food to outlast years of famine, pickled, dried, preserved and neatly sorted by type; caves filled with books, with clockwork wonders and beastclan plunder, with priceless maps and notes.... even a cave with fetishes, incense, and candles fit to propitiate any god.

Walking out of the hoard, Decessus caught sight of another of the clan's warriors, jogging past followed by a line of potential exaltees. One of the Lightweaver's sprites was floating alongside him... a creature so rare Decessus had seen them caged and auctioned for more gems than all the clans he'd served before could have dreamed of seeing in one place.

He glanced up at the hoard manager, who was watching him.

"Now you understand," Hephaestus said.

"Yes," Decessus said, his head rising. And he did. He had finally come into a challenge worthy of his powers. "I do."