Entry No. 13
There was anger, joy at recovered freedom, a thirst for revenge, all playing through Sudiva’s mind, but most of all there was a need to restore the rightness of things.

The trap had been almost beautiful in it’s subtlety, playing on the draconic love of the hoard. The collection measured in many ways, not merely size or value but also rarity and beauty, defined the essence of the owner and their status in the race. Fuelling the obsession had crafted the perfect prison, effectively possessed by her own possessions. The urge to gather and keep was still there, a natural part of her heritage. Love of gold, items and treasures could be a trap in it’s own way, and would be tempered with caution now. She knew all too well that she, alone, would have been imprisoned forever, unable to break free of the cunning net. Although the manipulators would have to pay for their temerity in challenging her, it was still a truly magnificent scheme, that had only been undone by the same force that eventually undid everything. Change.

What had remade Covetous remained unclear to her. Perhaps the fall of Virtuebane had weakened something, possibly the rumoured reappearance of the Abyss and it’s links to a realm of Gargoyles played a part, or mayhap the echoes of the stirrings in Ilshenar had shaken the structures of the worlds. Probably all combined towards the end result, but the single truth remained – change always has it’s way, expected or not, worked toward or fortuitous. Nothing was ever permanent, any as ancient as Sudiva had seen that pattern enough times to recognise a fundamental rule of the universe.

Now freed, there were many questions, but the most pressing need was for a home, a new place to recuperate, and strike from. The Shadowlord’s kin and acolytes had to suffer for their actions, none could ever imprison a dragon with impunity, so a way to reach and strike those creatures was important. Secrecy, too, would be useful. No fool, she had leaned many lessons from her capture and would make sure those who would try again would fail. It was sure some would try – knowing it had been done once would tempt the smaller minds to try repeat the insult. They, too, would need demonstration of the repercussions of such foolish actions, even though it would not deter all from making the attempt.

Malas appealed, a crumbling world was a suitable metaphor for change, but it remained unsatisfying, too remote for her revenge to be easily inflicted and lacking many of the resources she would need. The new realms of Ter Mur and the Abyss were too unknown, and from the few rumours she had heard of them too random – and possible too near to their own catastrophic changes – to be a secure base for long enough. Explore those later, certainly, but not yet. No, the older realms were where to begin planning.

Sudden inspiration arose, and stuck by the irony, Sudiva almost smiled. For centuries the little humans had been labelling parts of the world, often after their own petty lordlings or supposed achievements, but occasionally they assigned names apparently randomly. Maybe they felt some resonance from the past and almost instinctively gave voice to the memories of the place, identifying without understanding. In such blind inspiration, they had given their title to the place she would build her new home, and she would reflect and rebuild the true history that the little beings only guessed at. Perhaps, from there, she could also contact her weaker kin in Destard and bring some to her service. Useful tools, even if not amongst the great ones their race.

Flexing her wings again at last, she set out towards her new home, Dragon Island.