Bushy eyebrows flared wildly as the judge attempted to make sense of the brazen man who stood before him. At a loss for words, it was not the judge who spoke next. It was his co-conspirator.

“Your honor! Clearly this man is deranged. I ask that you cast your judgment on him immediately, for the sake of public decorum,” called out Dallen.

“Y-yes. Of course!” The judge harrumphed and attempted to regain his sense of gravitas. It was difficult to achieve when his face was as red as a tomato, and yet he managed it in the end.

“Lord Blackthorne! I hereby accuse you of contempt for this court, flagrant disregard for the law, leveling insults and blatantly false allegations against a sitting magistrate and—” said the judge, only for Blackthorne to interrupt him. It was not with words that he spoke his disagreement. It was with a loud yawn.

“Are you… Are you yawning at me?” asked the judge, his mouth agape.

“I was a little bored. Yes,” he replied.

“You… Do you not understand just how serious this is? You’re about to be sent to prison for a long time, if not outright executed!” proclaimed the judge.

“What makes you think you can carry out that sentence even if you pass judgment?” asked Blackthorne. “The militia sure won’t be able to do it. Do you think I’ll continue to stand here and wait for you to send for someone more capable?”

“You--!” began the judge.

“Yes. Yes. I do so dare,” said Blackthorne with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Is there no end to your contempt? This is most unbecoming of a lord!” snapped the judge.

“I would appreciate it if a living garbage fire such as yourself would stop trying to tell me what may or may not be proper decorum,” replied Blackthorne. “You’re dirtier than a coal miner’s underwear, and the stench of your corruption is nauseating.”

“That’s it! By the power vested in me as magistrate of Argent, I do hereby sentence you to execution!” snarled the judge.

“Gee. Was it something I said?” asked Blackthorne blithely.

The judge slammed his gavel down atop a wooden plate on his desk. Blackthorne looked around briefly. He saw no magical effects that might have taken place. All he did see was a few bailiffs step forward to restrain him.

“Fuck off,” he told them in his eloquent manner.

Blackthorne’s eyes blazed red and his aura lashed out in their direction. The bailiffs, each of them was a muscular man in the prime of life, immediately began to shriek and flail their arms. They ran from the courtroom like their collective asses were on fire.

“You… but,” the judge stared in shock as his trusted bailiffs fled from the defendant. The court room was in an uproar. People of all social status were yelling and calling for various outcomes. Some wanted the criminal to be executed. Many others with a grievance against the judge called for his resignation.

“Your honor!” called Dallen. “Given the extraordinary nature of these events, I am willing to render aid to the court!”

“Proper compensation pending of course…” amended the man.

“Yes! Anything. Capture this criminal at once, and the city will do everything in its power to reward you for your civic minded offer!” exclaimed the judge.

Blackthorne quirked his eyebrow. What exactly did the other man think he could do that, bailiffs could not?

He suddenly walked forward into Blackthorne’s view. A bloated and pompous little man. He wore a bejeweled beret, fine silk clothes, and held a chain in his hand. He tugged on that chain with a great deal of force, and a young woman walked forward into view as well.

Blackthorne’s eyes immediately narrowed. What was this about?

“My slave, Branwen will take care of this ruffian with no problem,” said Dallen.

The slave in question had curved horns, yellow eyes, skin the color of bronze in most places, and hair like a flaming sunset. She sported a set of wicked claws and ears that reminded Blackthorne of his own as they flared out at certain points like a dragon’s frill.

“Branwen? Ah yes, you did say that she was your family’s prized slave. Did you not?” asked the judge.

“Yes. She is dragonborn. Perhaps the last of her kind.” He tugged on her chain and the girl reluctantly stepped forward.

Her body was a strange combination over oversexualized feminine architecture and supreme physicality. She had the muscles of a trained warrior, but she carried her top weight strangely.

Dallen noticed that Blackthorne was looking at his slave. He smirked then tugged on her chain once more. Drawn close by her master, she could do nothing as he placed his piggy little fingers to one of her breasts then began to fondle them. “The family alchemist does excellent work. These breasts were not cheap, but they’ll pay for themselves when I see them covered in your blood.”

Blackthorne ignored the pompous portly critter. His attention was on Branwen. She was clearly reluctant to heed her master’s call, and yet she did not struggle much. She obviously had been owned by their family for quite some time.

“You are dragonborn?” asked Blackthorne slowly.

“Yes. The blood of the noble dragons courses through her veins! Her tribe is extinct now, but she is without a doubt the last of her kind in this world. The last living dragon, or close enough given she is more woman than beast!” Dallen squeezed her breast once more then snickered at him.

Blackthorne quirked an eyebrow. “So, there are no other dragons in this world. Is that what you are saying?”

“Fool. That is common knowledge, but then you are a dreamer… Ignorant of this world and many other things apparently,” said Dallen.

Blackthorne eyed him for a moment, but as he was about to speak Dallen interrupted. “You may be able to use your little parlor trick to frighten away idiots. However, you will find that dragons are fearless! In fact, my little Branwen can do something similar.”

He unsnapped the chain from her collar then slapped her on the ass. “Go put the fear of the Davrin family into that miserable wretch!”

She did not speak, but she did step forward. Her eyes locked with Blackthorne’s.

Briefly, he wondered if there had been some sort of spark of recognition in her eyes and she seemed slightly confused. Yet, if there was something more there it ended quickly. A sudden wave of chilling fear washed over the court room.

It was an omni-directional blast without any semblance of control. People in the audience began to scream. Even the judge cried out in shock.

Blackthorne merely continued to look at her, however, as it harmlessly washed over him. What was dragon fear to another dragon? He did feel a slight tingle from her assault, but it was completely unfocused. Had she been able to direct it at him fully it might have been troublesome, but if she could not then it would prove useless.

He shook his head. Dallen, of course, saw it and immediately assumed that he had succumbed to the attack. “See! Look how his head shakes!”

Blackthorne sighed loudly then looked at Branwen once more. “Not bad, I guess. Try mine.”

He unleashed the full might of his aura directly upon her, even allowing himself to push past his limits and use his life force to bolster it.

Branwen cried out in shock then took several heavy steps back. She clutched at her chest and slung her head wildly from side to side.

“What?” exclaimed Dallen. What had just happened? He had never seen his prized slave do such a thing.

“Listen carefully,” said Blackthorne. Branwen’s head snapped up and she stared at him with wild and trouble eyes.

“Do you want to be set free?” he asked.

“Branwen! Stop listening to his nonsense and kill him!” snarled Dallen.

A spark of blue light flashed from her lower back. She gasped loudly as her slave seal generated excruciating waves of pain that nearly dropped her to her knees.

Blackthorne glowered darkly at the slave trader, but he was not able to do more than that before Branwen launched herself forward with incredible speed. Claws gleaming in the light, and a feral snarl on her lips, she seemed fully intent on taking his head.