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Lazhug & Brute

• Interspecies Diplomacy for Beginners

Lazhug Gro-Sharog paused in her exercise as she heard a polite knock on her door. Straightening up, she mopped the sweat from her brow and set down the massive stone club she used for her daily thousand practice-swings with a loud thunk. The knock had sounded a bit hesitant, but it came from up high on the large gate that covered the entrance to the cozy chambers she shared with her mate, Brute - rather than the smaller, human-sized door set into the bottom of it. In other words, the visitor had to be a dragon.

She glanced briefly over at Brute. He was napping on his large, comfortable nest, and hadn't even stirred at the knock. He napped a lot, and when he wasn't doing that, he was probably busy eating, fucking her, or occasionally taking on his fellow Blacks in practice-bouts and similar training-exercises. Technically, this was_his_ home, and she was simply cohabiting with him by virtue of being his rider. Nobody ever said it out loud, but it was obvious that the basic assumption was that for every pair, it was the Black Dragon who was in charge, with their Riders simply following their mate's lead and assisting as best they could. Indeed, she understood by now that most of the power she possessed as a DragonRider came directly from her mate - channeled into her through the unseen bond they shared, making her stronger, tougher, immortal. It made perfect sense that she should defer to her mate and steed.

However, the simple fact was that she hadn't given Brute his name for nothing. If challenged, he'd fight with the berserk ferocity of a bloodied bull but, outside of that, he had very little interest in anything beyond sleeping, eating, and mating. Though, to his credit, he did all three of those things with both passion and flair! Thus, he'd made no bones about the fact that, for anything falling outside_those core competencies, he'd be _perfectly happy to let her handle it without his input, if at all possible.

Hence, it was without even bothering to wake the supposed master of the house that she called out "Enter!" Unless the visitor came bearing an invitation to a feast, an orgy, or a sleepover, it was probably for her anyway, after all. As she stepped over to the edge of her training-area to grab a towel and start wiping down her sweaty, pale-green skin - most of it exposed, since she'd been wearing naught but a loincloth as she did her exercises - she watched out the corner of her eye as a very handsome - and somewhat nervous-looking - silver dragon pushed open the front gate and stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him again.

He looked familiar. Also ill at ease, but she was used to that. Ever since the big battle, the dragons' respect for her kind - for DragonRiders - had gone from being a long-held tradition, to being an acute awareness of just what they were and what they were capable_of. She tried to put him at ease with a smile - not a technique that _usually worked well, considering the sharp tusks she'd inherited from her orcish mother, but surely a dragon of all things wouldn't find her fangs intimidating. "Welcome. What can I do for you, then?" She asked, getting right to the point as was her habit.

The silver dragon bobbed his head. "Ah... thank you, noble DragonRider. I am Silfir - the head of the Utopia's diplomatic service. We've met at a few events, though I do not think we have ever been formally introduced." She nodded - that checked out. She still struggled to tell dragons of similar color apart sometimes, but this one had a particularly handsome aspect, and she did indeed recall having seen him here and there before. She felt no need to reply further - after all, he still hadn't actually told her what he needed.

Silfir hesitated for a moment, before pushing on - looking increasingly nervous, as if he was afraid that his errand wouldn't be well-received. "Um... I am currently dealing with a somewhat thorny diplomatic issue, and it was suggested to me that I seek your_counsel on it. You may have a... unique perspective to share on the matter..." He hesitated again, and despite the fact that he_still hadn't actually answered her question, she finally sighed and nodded, taking pity on the poor lad. "Let me guess. orc-trouble?"

As he nodded sharply, seeming to shrink away from her a bit, she ran an assessing eye over his gleaming, silvery bulk. Certainly, he cut a fine figure, which was probably why he'd been chosen for his current role - he looked magnificent, without being overly intimidating in his aspect; just the image the Utopia wished to project. But he was clearly young for the responsibility that had fallen on his shoulders... young, and inexperienced. That last part, of course, he could hardly be blamed for - the Utopia hadn't needed a Diplomatic Service until quite recently, so there wasn't really any dragons around who had any experience on it.

"Ah, yes, more or less..." he finally replied, after having ascertained that she wasn't about to leap over and grab the massive, diamond-studded steel bludgeon she had facetiously dubbed the 'Hard Rock Club' after the smith had explained to her that diamonds weren't just shiny rocks for soft nobles to wear around their necks and fingers, but indeed were the hardest kind of rock there was - making them potentially useful as weapons, if you had access to large enough specimens. "As I understand it, you grew up among your mother's people, and thus presumably have some insight in how Orcish society functions and is directed..?"

She nodded, growing impatient again. "I know how orcs think, when they bother to at all, yes. So what's the issue, exactly?" Taking a deep breath, the nervous silver finally let his tongue - which seemed to be suitably skilled for a creature in his line of work - flow freely as he explained the problem that had landed on his desk recently.

Apparently, shortly after abandoning the secrecy they'd once concealed themselves behind, the dragons of the Utopia had forged a trade-agreement with a conveniently-situated Dwarven kingdom called Khazad-Dûm - the Great Battle had exhausted many stores and resources, and the mines of Moria that extended for miles beneath the kingdom could provide a variety of valuables metals and ores, from plain old iron and steel on up. The dwarves, in turn, were eager as ever to trade for gold and gems - the price of such goods had dropped somewhat as they stopped being quite the status-symbol they'd once been, owing to the Utopia trading the bounty of their own bottomless mines with outside merchants for years now, but the actual market-value hadn't declined all that much. Precious metals and stones were useful for enchantment, after all, so as the supply had increased, the demand had risen with it, and Dwarven smiths and enchanters were eager to get their hands on as many raw materials as they could.

Unfortunately, Khazad-Dûm was situated in the Misty Mountains, neighboring the wasteland of Mordor - one of many places across the continent that had been scorched by some ancient, magical conflict, and been left largely barren as a result. Though most people would naturally avoid such a territory, orcs - and their frequent allies, the wargs - were an exception, and Mordor was no different. The lands adjacent to Khazad-Dûm were home to the Ashen Scar tribe, and they had made a habit of raiding Khazad-Dûm's lands for many years. The orcs hadn't been foolish enough to venture into the actual kingdom under the mountain - in those dark tunnels, the dwarves would have easily surrounded and destroyed them - but they struck relentlessly at all of the necessary above-ground facilities the dwarves sought to maintain. Trade-enclaves, farms, outposts, and even the storehouses found at tunnel-entrances had been repeatedly hit by vicious raids. The orcs often paid dearly for these attacks, but it clearly hadn't deterred them.

The dwarves, of course, were too proud to ask anyone for help with this matter. However, recently a caravan bound for the Utopia - carrying a vast load of steel ingots as well as a smaller shipment of rare and precious ores - had been waylaid near the borders of Khazad-Dûm. An official communique from the King Under the Mountain had stated that while this shipment had already been paid for by the Utopia, a refund would not, unfortunately, be possible. However, if the Utopia wished to reclaim their property from the orcs, and maybe make sure that something like that didn't happen again, well, the dwarves would be willing to allow them free passage through their lands for that purpose...

It was pretty clear that the dwarves were rather hoping the dragons would now descend on the orcs in an orgy of fire and flame, wiping their enemies from the land for good, and thus putting an end to the raids. The Utopia's official stance, however, was that this should be considered a last resort. It set a dangerous precedent, if nothing else. Though, on the other hand, so did letting the orcs get away with robbing the Utopia-bound caravan. Worse, the independent traders who carried goods back and forth were now refusing to run any more shipments unless their safety could be guaranteed - be it by the dwarves or the dragons. In the meantime, several promising projects that had been in the works among the Utopia's large population of smiths and craftsmen were on hold until the supply-lines could be restored.

Lazhug nodded as Silfir wrapped up the lengthy explanation of the current situation. He had the eloquence to suit his station even if he still lacked some of the confidence to go with it, that much she had to grant. "So - you're hoping I have some idea of how to deter my 'cousins' from raiding out shipments, short of just burning them out?" she grunted. He winced a bit - it was starting to annoy her - and nodded hesitantly. "Indeed - I would value any insights you could provide, noble Rider."

Rubbing her chin, she pondered the problem that had been placed before her. There were ways, of course, though none simple. A lot depended on what was really going on over there, details she couldn't divine just from the broad overview Silfir had provided. "Why don't you just let me handle it?" She ventured after a minute or so of pondering. "I know some of my sisters have flown around playing diplomats and troubleshooters already - and besides, this is the Utopia, right? Everybody's expected to chip in and provide something to the common cause, and I've been sitting on my muscular ass doing squat for way too long."

Silfir reared back at this suggestion, his head rising several yards atop his serpentine neck. "Oh, I certainly did not intend to suggest something like that!" He rushed to assure her. "While it is true that we have relied on your sisters in this regard before, we have only requested such assistance in the case of serious, large-scale problems - empires about to go to war, covert conspiracies directed at the Utopia itself, that sort of thing. Not a... a single missing caravan, and some random orcish raids!" He was practically sputtering at the idea of leveraging a DragonRider- not to mention, inevitably, her dark-scaled steed - at such a minor issue.

"And while you are perfectly right about the underlying philosophy of the Utopia, of course..." Silfir continued, shaking his head while Lazhug impatiently drummed her fingers against the back of her other hand, "The DragonRiders provide an invaluable service simply by_existing_, as a deterrence for any who would dare threaten us. Like... a well-stocked armory, yes? You needn't actually use_it, nor even parade it around, for it to serve a purpose - you just need everyone to know that you _have it." He seemed to be about to add something more, but at this point he finally noticed the exasperated expression on her face and clapped his jaws together with an audible smack. "Maybe..." she countered, a warning in her voice. "But pikes and breastplates don't get bored sitting on their racks. I'll handle this - unless you think I'm not up to the task, huh?"

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