“No….”
Monarkea could be seen desperately trying to keep from expressing both immeasurable anger, sorrow, and fear all at the same time as she gazed down into what once was a neatly ordered treasure horde. Now, though, what was here in this once great dwarven hall was nothing neat and orderly.
“Father… why?” she nearly sobbed. “This is… just… so wrong….”
Vyviir, for his part, did nothing to assuage the shock his daughter and heir was feeling and simply continued to recline atop a mountain of treasures of various kinds. If he was right in his head, the pile he would have used as a seat would have been made entirely out of precious metals and gems, be they uncut and unpolished ores or more finished products, but not one of them would have been anything too ornate or delicate.
But Vyviir was not right in his head, and the pile he sat upon, while made of the previously mentioned materials, was made not of hardier ones, such as coinage, cut gems, and the like, but instead was made of ornate armor, crystal statues and other such very fragile products. And, as you might imagine, his massive frame had already reduced a great many of these delicate, fragile artifacts to shattered and broken remains.
At least if he was right of mind he would have been able to easily use a minuscule fraction of his power in a passive manner to prevent his weight from crushing everything, but once again it must be stated that this Vyviir was most definitely not someone who currently possessed the mind that one of his species, age and status should have had. And this, this treatment of so many treasures, each of such high value, was what finally snapped the camel’s back.
“You are not my father…” Monarkea growled, her lips parting to reveal her massive, serrated, steak knife-like teeth. “You are not worthy of the mantle you bear, you mongrel.”
Vaile began to panic as Monarkea’s rant continued. He was not prepared for a fight with Vyviir right now, nor was he of the mind to think that, even with Monarkea’s help that he could win. He would need to call in some of his Tamed Beings to win that fight, and he had already made that clear to Monarkea ahead of time.
Now, though, it seemed like she was about to let the cat out of the bag, and that would almost certainly cause the impostor Vyviir/ the thing possessing Vyviir’s body to lash out. In fact, Vaile could see the old dragon, or what could be him, starting to rise and prepare for battle.
“I, the rightful heir of your throne, the next ruler of the Dragon’s Domain, declare this unto you; I, Monarkea the Dragon-Lord, am declaring my intent to succeed you immediately via the Trial of Wrath and Avarice! Accept my challenge, or face eternal shame, disgrace, and humiliation beyond even your final days! Should I claim victory, you must immediately secede your position as the absolute ruler of these lands and all of your power, wealth, and status to me; should I lose, then my life is forfeit, as are my possessions, status, and my very soul! Now, Vyviir, do you accept my challenge?!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Vaile was about to pull a few things out to stop the conversation in its tracks, but Monarkea had done something he had not expected. Now, while Vaile did know a metric fuckton about Dragons and their inane and often Byzantine series of laws, codes, traditions, and whatnot, he had never, ever heard of such a Trial.
“Uh, Monny, what are you talking about?” Vaile asked, looking up at the scowling reptilian face of the irate dragoness.
“I beg forgiveness, but be silent, my Lord. This is something that must be done.” Was the reply.
There was a long, tense silence as Monarkea’s words hung in their air. Vyviir’s eyes narrowed, and then a smirk formed on his draconic lips.
“Fine. If that is your choice, you rebellious brat, then so be it. When shall we start?”
Vaile looked back and forth between the two dragons and sent a telepathic question to Monarkea.
“Monny, given that all the treasure in this land belongs to him, you can’t exactly beat him in a battle of ‘who has the most treasure’, and he is also damn powerful, so trying to out-destroy him would be pointless as well. At least, I think that is what your trial is all about…”
Monarkea’s answer via telepathy was a single line.
“Just watch.”
Straightening but, Monarkea set the date and time at which the Trial was to begin, and with that, Monarkea and Vaile parted ways with Vyviir, leaving the altered dragon to lounge around upon his disorganized and damaged horde.
…
Vaile tapped his foot incessantly on the ground as he sat in a chair made of some very fancy material.
“How do you intend to win such a trial?” he demanded of Monarkea, to which the second largest and second most powerful dragon in the entire New World merely laughed and sent a telepathic response back to him.
“Oh, he won’t win, and even if he asks other Dragons what the Trial entails, he will be met with confusion at best.”
“Why?” Vaile asked mentally before the lightbulb lit up. “You made the trial up right then and there, didn’t you?”
“Yep.” Monarkea boasted with a visible grin as she continued to speak secretly with Vaile. “Long ago, my father, before he became whatever he is now, gave all of the administrative tasks to me. He was, and technically still is, our absolute ruler, second only to you, my Lord, but for all intents and purposes, I ran the show. One of my jobs was to create new traditions, and I just decided to exercise my position then and there.”
“So, what does this Trial of Wrath and Avarice entail?” Vaile asked.
“Well, it involves several things, but depending on who is involved in it, the being or beings directly above them in the ‘social ladder’ so to speak must be the one or ones to judge who wins.”
Vaile let those words sink in for a moment before he let a smile cross his face.
“So, I’m the judge, aren’t I?”
“Yep.”
“So this is going to be rigged out the wazoo ahead of time, right?”
“Yep.”
“…” Vaile remained silent for a time before uttering a pair of words. “Fucking brilliant.”