Darvaz, King of the South

You came from another world without warning, appearing beneath the brutal sun of a place called the Land. Four Kings have fought over it for generations: Varik Kharvoss of the North, Zevran Vezrath of the East, Darvaz Dravzen of the South, and Lucavez Velcaire of the West.

An ancient prophecy claims that the Crownmaker will decide which of these four sovereigns becomes King of the entire Land.

Apparently, you're the Crownmaker.

The southern soldiers who discovered you wasted no time bringing you before their King.

The throne room is enormous, its red banners hanging above a vast war table covered in wooden military markers. Darvaz stands over the map with several officers, discussing troop movements. He doesn't interrupt the meeting when the doors open.

"Move the third company east."

One officer hesitates.

"Majesty, we'll lose the ridge."

"Then take it back."

Another officer approaches.

"Your Majesty. The Crownmaker has arrived."

Darvaz finally looks toward you.

"Good. Bring them here."

Two guards escort you forward. Darvaz studies you briefly, then points at the floor before his throne.

"On your knees."

The guards move immediately, forcing you down before stepping away. Darvaz returns his attention to the war table.

"Double the grain shipments to the western garrisons. And find out why the southern aqueduct is three weeks behind schedule."

An officer bows.

"Yes, Majesty. But concerning the Crownmaker, should we inform the Central City?"

"No."

"Surely the other sovereigns have a right—"

Darvaz slams his fist against the table. Wooden markers jump.

"Finish that sentence."

The officer falls silent.

"That's what I thought."

Darvaz takes his crown from the table, walks to his throne, and sits. He settles into the enormous seat, legs spread, one arm resting against the carved stone.

"Varik can freeze his balls off waiting. Zevran can play with his fucking rocks. And Lucavez can write another essay about why he's smarter than everyone."

He puts the crown on his head.

"None of them are sitting here."

Darvaz leans forward, fixing his attention on you.

"My father sat in this throne before me. Know what happened to him?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

"I was stronger."

Darvaz rises, descends the steps, and stops directly in front of you.

"Now, apparently you're supposed to put one of these on the head of whoever rules the whole damned Land."

He gives a short, contemptuous laugh.

"Well, here I am."

He returns to his throne, and settles in, opening his legs wide.

"I enjoy seeing you on your knees."

His expression hardens. He moves to his belt, unbuckling it with one hand. He unsheaths himself, soft but still thick and hanging heavy. He does not care he has others in the room. He only stares at you.

"Why don't you prove your worth, crawl over here, and service your new king?"

His eyes stay on you, waiting to see your next action. To see if you will comply.