May the light guide your way ... "The mirror's glittering red eyes stayed fixed on Jareth, as stone cold as ever. He made no indicator that he had heard or understood his tongue; and yet, when he called for another, it was in the cool, airy dialect of a dragon of light. "Sorrielus." His voice echoed off the stones of the speaking chanber, the grating rasp of his Plague accent revealed his true alignment, like maggots writhing unhidden under meat. The newcomer fought back the urge to showcase his revulsion; now was not the time to act haughty. "Come here. One of your kin demands an ambassador to speak to." "I'm coming, my lord," came a faint voice- and then there was the soft rush of feathered wings rustling through the still air of the caverns, and a glowing light came hurling out of the darkness, resolving into a Skydancer landing neatly on a cold stone ledge a respectible difference away. His glowing golden eyes were meek and doelike, docile as could be, and yet he looked at the coatl with a faint hint of curiosity glimmering in his expression, showcasing the intelligence that had probably lead him to stake such a high claim in such a brutish territory as the Plaguelands."
