A big thanks to AtticDweller, Unazaki and XxHikenNoHitaloxX for providing a few ideas and potential resources, which will be a big help. Once again, I also offer thanks to annbe11 for allowing me to adapt a few ideas from High Priestess Marci.


Chapter Eight

Motive And Desire

Shabarra was drinking more these days.

That suited Kashurra, provided the man was relatively sober when it mattered.

When he stepped into the throne room, Shabarra was holding out his goblet for a servant to fill. Callardis stood towards the back of the dais, the double-headed labrys in hand as always. His armour was immaculate right now, but Kashurra knew that it had recently been bloodied. He could still smell it. A couple of Senators had been overheard criticising some of Shabarra's recent decisions. In the early days of Shabarra's rule, they would have been flogged. A few years in, he had taken to cutting out the tongues of Senators who spoke out.

This time, he'd had them beheaded for treason. Janulus' "betrayal" had seriously unnerved him, though Kashurra thought this a poor excuse for his recent acts.

Around the room were more of the Sun Guard than usual. Shabarra was growing even more paranoid.

Good.

Kashurra bowed low before the throne. 'You summoned me, divine majesty?'

'Yes,' Shabarra was not in the mood to waste time on courtesies today. 'I want to hear of your progress in killing the bitch of a Princess and rounding up malcontents in this city.'

He must have drunk a fair amount of wine. No mincing of words today. But that would make him gullible, and pliable.

'There are troubling rumours from the nations around Kestren, divine majesty. Apparently, Trestaine has fallen and King Dendrall is dead.'

'What does that have to do with the Princess?'

'Apparently, she was somehow involved.'

Shabarra drained his goblet and leaned forwards, waving the servant forwards to refill it. 'Was she responsible?'

Kashurra could have smiled. He kept his face under careful control. He was an expert in deception. He'd been at it for a long time, after all. 'It is possible. She left the Temple of Selemene for a reason. She may be trying to raise an army to challenge you.'

Callardis frowned. 'Janulus believed that she had no intention of doing so.'

'Janulus was in league with her!' Shabarra spat. He held out the goblet, but no wine poured forth. He glared at the servant, who shuddered under his gaze. 'Pour, girl!'

'I… I'm sorry, your divine majesty. I've run out of wine.'

Shabarra shoved her. The girl yelped and tumbled down the dais steps. Kashurra managed to suppress a wince. The poor girl was crying when she staggered to her feet, blood running from her nose and mouth. 'Get some more, you imbecile!'

Kashurra tried not to be distracted. He was briefly reminded of Marci, and sadly there was no Mirana around to protect the servants these days.

That would change. Hopefully.

'Where is the Princess now?' Shabarra demanded. 'And are your agents any closer to eliminating her?'

'I believe that she is still in Kestren, but will leave soon.' Kashurra said truthfully. 'Candoness and Varrowin are preparing to send in their armies. They intend to take advantage of the chaos. Even if the exiled Princess had taken Trestaine, she could not hope to hold it for long.'

'She has no military experience.' Callardis added. Though Mirana had some theoretical knowledge of warfare, it was customary for an Emperor or Empress to leave strategy to the Grand Legate. Kashurra had to wonder how Mirana would approach warfare now, considering that, unlike her parents and a great many rulers of the Imperium, she had been forced to fight and kill to survive.

'My agents continue to pursue her, but she is well defended, your majesty. In addition to her handmaiden, she has somehow convinced three members of the Dragon Knight Order and an elven assassin to aid her.' Though he had told Shabarra of the Princess' allies, the rest was a downright lie. He had not sent anybody after her, though he had made it seem as though he had.

Agents he had not considered useful, and who had been favourites of Janulus, had been sent away from the Imperium. They would not be coming back, nor would they be found.

'We should punish the Dragon Knights for their treachery!' Shabarra hissed.

'I am sorry, your majesty, but that would not be prudent or practical.' Kashurra inclined his head. 'The Dragon Knight Order has not held a presence in the Imperium for over seventy years. Furthermore, I believe that the three who are aiding the Princess are renegades. One of them has officially been declared a traitor and is to be slain on sight. If we were to attack the Order, we would lose many useful soldiers, and other nations would turn on us.'

This was mostly true, again. Since the Dragon Knights were neutral, and had withdrawn from the Imperium decades ago, they had technically not performed treason, especially since the members aiding Mirana were acting independently. And Kashurra had no desire to get the Imperium tangle up in a meaningless, pointless war which would cost them too dearly in the long term.

Too many nations on the continent were grateful to the Dragon Knights to ignore an attack on the stronghold nearest to the Imperium: Dragon Keep. An assault on that fortress would go poorly anyway. Though the Imperium had more than enough troops and siege engines to take it, the casualties would be immense. A single Dragon Knight with dragon scale armour and an empowered weapon was a deadly opponent.

Shabarra grimaced. He'd probably been itching to declare war. 'I want her dead, Viceroy. Her and anybody who helps her.' He gesticulated fiercely in the direction of the Sunrise Gate. 'I want their heads on spikes!'

Kashurra quashed the mental image conjured by this statement. 'It shall be as you order, divine majesty.'

'Good.' Shabarra leaned back, idly toying with his empty goblet. 'What of the plague?'

'Dissipating, divine majesty.' Callardis reported flatly. 'It is unknown how many are dead, assuming the slum-dwellers can even count that high.'

Kashurra said nothing. At his suggestion, the Wraith had managed to secure medicines and had been supplying the apothecaries of the slums. She had surpassed his expectations.

Spreading the plague in the first place had not been difficult, not with conditions in the slums as awful as they had become under Shabarra. It had just been a matter of quietly acquiring the right kind of rats.

'Then we will have some good news to report in my Ascension Day speech.' Shabarra said. 'Though I would have preferred something better.'

Again, Kashurra said nothing. Recently, many noble families had started to lose faith in their God Emperor for a simple reason: he had no heirs.

After the events of the Bloody Dance, he could have named his cousin, Larisden, a temporary heir until he had children of his own. But Larisden had been found smashed against a wall—Marci's handiwork. Shabarra had been known to briefly invite noblewomen into his bed, and Kashurra was painfully aware of how the man forced himself upon some of the palace servants, but he had yet to sire a child. He did not seem to care if it was technically legitimate or not.

Rumours were spreading, rumours subtly started by Kashurra himself, that Shabarra was incapable of fathering a child, and that he had no desire to marry a suitable woman. In the eyes of the nobles who had supported Shabarra, this made the God Emperor an unsuitable long-term investment.

But though many did not know it, Kashurra was also aware that Mirana might have a similar problem. He was fully aware of her inclinations. But what mattered was getting rid of Shabarra. They could deal with Mirana's problems later, since there would actually be a future to worry about when she reclaimed the Throne, and she was not unreasonable.

Kashurra was keeping a careful eye on the situation, and acting when he felt he needed to. If Shabarra did produce a child, no matter whether it was with a willing woman or not, even if it was conceived out of wedlock, he would have an heir. And that would not do. Though he suspected that Shabarra was infertile, he had taken precautions: slipping drops of certain concoctions into Shabarra's wine and quietly providing certain potions, and kind words, to the servants Shabarra defiled.

He wished that he could have just assassinated the man and been done with it. But the Imperium would descend into anarchy if he did. And it had to be an uprising.

More importantly, it had to play out a certain way.

'Viceroy?' Shabarra glanced irritably at his empty goblet. His increased drinking also helped with Kashurra's need to keep him from siring unexpected heirs. 'I recently had to punish Geltani for writing inflammatory slander and spreading distasteful rumours.' In truth, this had been Kashurra's doing. Again. He had needed Galtani to be neutralised somehow, and he had implicated him just as he had done Janulus. The man now had no fingers with which to write and no tongue with which to speak. 'It seems I can trust nobody but you and Callardis these days, Viceroy. I need you to write a speech.'

'I shall see to it at once, your majesty.' All part of the plan, of course. The Ascension Day speech would certainly be memorable, as would the rest of the day itself.

It was a day which would go down in history, for good or ill.

'Good. You are dismissed.'

Kashurra bowed and left the room, the complex scheme, with all of its moves and counter-moves, proceeded exactly as he wanted it to.

None of it made him happy. That was just the way it had to be.


Kashurra felt weary as he stepped into his chambers. Sleep was becoming ever more elusive. It was not just the silence, he had put up with that for a long time. It was what he saw when he dreamed.

He had sworn to himself that he would not become attached. He had failed dismally.

Kashurra approached the balcony and leaned on the stonework, gazing out across the city as the sun set behind the Sovereign Peaks. Leagues beyond them lay the Keening Canyons and Sereles, a town set into the snaking canyon walls, a place he tried not to think about. Shame or guilt? It mattered not, it was still painful to recall that place and what he had done there.

But he needed to remember, if only to remind himself why he was doing this.

There was a quiet knock on his door. 'Enter.'

Tethan—or was it Tathen? Kashurra kept forgetting which. He wasn't even sure if that was the man's real name—entered quietly. He bowed to the Viceroy before speaking. 'We have done as you asked, Viceroy. The devices have been moved to the locations you specified.'

'Thank you, Tethan.' Kashurra acknowledged. 'Make sure they are watched closely at all times.'

'I will, Viceroy.' Tethan dithered. Though his face betrayed nothing, Kashurra could tell that he was troubled. 'May I speak freely, Viceroy?'

'Please do.'

'I am… uneasy about leaving the explosives as they are. Would it not be prudent to make them safe?'

'I understand your caution, Tethan. But if our enemies suspect a trap, they will not fall for it.' Kashurra explained, lying once again. It was not fair to say that lying came easily to him, not for something like this. It was just necessary, and therefore had to be done well. 'Believe me, my friend, I would like nothing more than to render those devices harmless. But our God Emperor has decreed that they should not be interfered with.'

Tethan accepted this. Possibly. He was not an easy man to read. 'Then they shall remain as they are, by the God Emperor's order.'

'Good man. And thank you.'

Tethan bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Kashurra slowly approached the table in the corner and sat down on one of the low chairs. Again, he saw those ghosts of memory staring at him.

This time, there were accusations in their vaguely formed eyes.

How much might they have changed since the Bloody Dance? Would they even be the same Mirana and Marci he had cared about?

They had to be. Everything depended on it.

'Sometimes, the right thing to do is the hardest, and what is right is a matter of perception.' Kashurra whispered to the empty air. 'I pray that you never have to make choices as difficult as mine.' He sighed and looked to the balcony, the sunlight now fading and giving way to night. 'They have been given fear. They have been given anger. Now, I will give them hatred.'


'He's been down here almost constantly,' Jorsen's voice echoed off the narrow stone corridor as he and Father Carliven strode down to the archives under Dragon Keep. 'He barely emerges for training. He even takes his meals down here. He spends more time reading old tomes than anything else. I am concerned for his health, as well as his balance of mind.'

'Indeed.' Carliven leaned on his staff as he walked, his limp becoming more pronounced every year. 'And does he refuse to attend to his duties as your squire?'

'He insists that he is still Davion's squire.'

Carliven sighed. 'He is loyal. Loyalty is no fault, but blind devotion can be.'

'He seems to have convinced himself that the traitor can somehow be cured.'

'Ah. Hope. Beautiful and cruel in equal measure.' Carliven murmured. 'We cannot afford to become divided after the loss of Steelpoint Vigil and the chaos in Kestren.'

'There are rumours that Davion and his demonic ally were involved in the fall of Trestaine.'

Carliven did not respond to this. By now, they had entered the archives. Carliven closed his eyes for a moment and a bright white glow emanated from the end of his staff.

Jorsen followed him into the vast chamber. Bram was not hard to find, due to the flickering lantern he had left at the far end of the archives. Jorsen hated the archives. He was a man of action, and he had always been surprised that Davion, despite his attitude and approach to life, had bothered to delve into the tomes here.

Carliven, on the other hand, knew that this was an invaluable treasure trove for the Order. Yet it was only the surface of their collected knowledge. There were some things known only to to a select few, hidden away in secret chambers deep beneath Dragon Keep, secrets which could not see the light of day.

Amongst them was information he had recently been driven to reacquaint himself with, secrets which the Dragon Knights had gone to great lengths to hide or eradicate. The reports he had heard had caused him to wonder about certain secrets from the earliest days of the Order, particularly those pertaining to the old dragon cults, the wyrm-kissed, the wurm-forged and the Dragon Clans of yore.

His paralysed hand had been a hindrance in turning those old pages and unfurling those ancient scrolls. But the knowledge he had learned, the possibilities…

If he was right, then the Dragon Knights could become so much stronger. They could be unstoppable.

And this was why Bram could not be allowed to find a cure for Davion—not that he would, Carliven thought—and why he planned to revise the orders regarding Davion and his allies.

Bram placed another weighty tome on the table and blew the dust off the cover. When he opened it, he saw that same mark inside: a blue wyvern in flight. It had kept appearing in tomes which were highly informative about the habits and legends of dragons.

Annoyingly, many of these tomes had entire pages missing. He had stopped believing that they had simply fallen out. Once was strange, twice was unusual, thrice was a trend. Somebody had been deliberately removing certain pages from the tomes.

'Squire Bram,' Jorsen called.

Bram reluctantly stepped away from the tome. He had resented being reassigned as Jorsen's squire, if only because he believed that Davion could somehow be saved.

'You did not attend training today.' Jorsen stated. 'I am disappointed, Squire Bram.'

'I apologise, Sir Jorsen.' Bram sounded less than contrite.

Carliven's staff clicked against the stone floor as he limped closer. 'Sir Jorsen, please leave us.'

Jorsen looked briefly affronted. He attempted to master his expression and he nodded. 'As you wish, Father.' He turned on his heel and marched from the archives.

Carliven sighed and hobbled over to examine the tome Bram had selected. 'Memories of Embers. Fanciful prose, but highly informative when it comes to fire dragons. The enigmatic Auroth is very knowledgeable, or was. Many of these tomes are hundreds of years old.' He noticed another open tome next to that one and squinted at it. 'Dreams of Radiance.' He frowned, wondering. Maybe Bram was smarter than they had thought. 'I can understand you studying fire dragons and their ilk, but why radiant dragons?'

Bram hesitated. 'One of these tomes mentioned something which… I could be wrong, but it seemed to apply to one of Davion's friends.'

'Which one?'

'Marci. The mute they claim is a Demon. The one who killed Kaden.'

'You sound doubtful.'

'I remember her having an appetite. A huge appetite, despite her size. And the tome also mentioned something else she had: abnormal strength. Father Carliven, I don't think she is a Demon. If this tome is right, she might be like Davion. She might have dragon's blood.'

So he had guessed, as had Carliven. Well, there was no denying it now. 'I believe that you are correct.'

Bram stared at him in shock. 'You knew?'

'I suspected. Little is known of her kind now, not since they were purged. They were known as the wurm-forged, mortals bearing the blood of dragons, able to pass on their powers to their offspring.'

'Why were they purged?'

Carliven gave him a look which was almost pitying. 'Because they were dangerous. If you and I are right about this friend of Davion's, then she is living proof of that. They possess great power, a power which allowed this Marci to kill one of our greatest dragon hunters. Many of them went mad, Bram, succumbing to the Madness just as dragons do. Many were mistaken for Demons due to their freakish, unnatural abilities and their bouts of insanity.

Do you understand, Bram? They had to be destroyed.'

Bram sighed and shook his head. 'I don't know her well, but Marci seemed to be a decent sort. Davion… I… I could be wrong, but he seemed to really like her.'

Carliven pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, then gestured at Bram to do the same. 'Based on the reports of Lady Eserren and Squire Caewyn, this Marci likely bears a radiant dragon's blood.'

'Why hide this from everybody else?'

'I have only just come to this conclusion, Bram. But she and Davion are still a danger to the Order and civilisation. However, I plan to revise the orders and have them brought in alive.'

Bram's hopeful expression fell after a moment. Yes, he was smarter than others said he was. 'You want to study them.'

'No wurm-forged have been documented for over two centuries, Bram. Marci may well be the last of her misbegotten kind. And Davion is still a unique case. But I have no intention of killing them, Bram.'

Bram looked up, surprised. 'Then what will you do with them?'

Carliven knew full well what he intended to do with them, but though Bram may well guess, he was not going to tell him. Not now. 'That remains to be seen. That depends on them.'


The lotuses were growing ever darker. Soon they would be ready.

The Invoker peered down at the pool, watching his army marching closer to the Nightsilver Woods.

They moved at night, their sorcerers cloaking the army in shadow. Any living creature which crossed their path was slain, lest it somehow alert the Dark Moon Order.

Selemene and her soldiers had grown lax and complacent. Though Selemene had destroyed Coedwig, she had not achieved a victory. If anything, she aided the cause of her enemies. Word would spread, and Selemene would gain more enemies.

More enemies of Selemene were potential converts for Mene, assuming they did not already worship her in secret.

Selemene had also neglected her forces. They were more than capable of flattening a village or two, but a sustained battle would go poorly for them, a siege more so.

The Invoker glanced down at the pool, watching as Fymryn and her temporary charges, as well as her newest unintentional allies, came ever closer. They would be here soon.

And then it would be time to strike.

It was times like this that he sometimes wondered how it had come to this. Though he now hated Selemene and sought to bring an end to Her reign, there had been a time when things had been different.

There had been a time when he had loved Her.


Before…

She had always been beautiful.

Back then, she had been easier to behold, her features less severe and less sharp. Still tall, but not as tall as she would present herself later.

Then, the Invoker had also wondered how this had come to pass. In those times, he had wondered how he had been so lucky to win her heart.

And before she had taken the path which would turn them from lovers to foes, he had also lived by a name rather than a title.

They had been happier times. If he could have cast a spell to make them last forever, he would have gladly done so. But nobody had that kind of power.

She was sitting by the tall window in the library, peering intently at the large tome on the table. Her long, pure white hair trailed down her back and cascaded over the back of the chair. Her amethyst eyes were slightly narrowed as she read, a look he found both amusing and adorable.

'I thought you disliked reading my tomes,' he said as he approached her.

Selemene looked up, her eyes twinkling. 'I have little else to do, my love.' As she shifted in her seat, he noticed the slight bulge under the robes of the Moon Goddess. 'Mene suggested that I should not exert myself too much. I see no harm in exerting my eyes a little.'

'And your mind.' He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Back then, her skin had been warmer to the touch.

'You're not insulting a member of Mene's priesthood, are you, Kael?'

'I wouldn't dream of it, my dear.' Kael, his name before he had taken the title of "Invoker", sat opposite his pregnant lover and peered at the tome. Even upside down, he recognised the prose. 'The Fall From Grace. A dense tome, even for me. I'm not sure how Mene would feel about you reading that one.'

'It is fascinating.' Selemene purred. She was something of a mystery, even to him. Some amongst the Sisterhood of the Moon whispered that she had been born of a union between Mene and a mortal. Others said that she had been raised by Mene Herself. Others simply said that she was an orphan whom Mene had taken pity on. Whatever the truth was, she had actually been named in honour of the Moon Goddess.

Kael liked the first theory best. He felt that it explained Selemene's unearthly beauty. 'We can't have you getting any ideas, my love.' Kael teased. 'Mene might become jealous if you start dreaming of divinity.'

Selemene laughed. 'I am but a humble priestess of Mene, Kael, and I have other duties to worry about.' One hand absently stroked her belly. 'There are better things to want. Besides, how would I handle all of that responsibility?'

'You do a fine job as Mene's High Priestess.' Kael leaned forwards and took her hand in his own. 'And you will make a wonderful mother.'

Selemene smiled. 'I have to wonder what our child will become. Another adherent to Mene's will? Or perhaps a gifted magician and loyal friend like you?'

'Perhaps both.'

'That would please me and Mene.'

'So what secrets have you delved from my books?'

'I have to say, your theories about deities being more vulnerable than they let on is interesting, and alarming. I know that Mene invests much of Her power in Her lotuses, and that the love of Her followers is as lifeblood to us. The idea that a god could fall is… troubling.' Her face fell.

Kael squeezed her hand. 'What worries you, my love?'

Selemene sighed. 'Lately I have been… wondering.' She lowered her voice when next she spoke, as if afraid that they could somehow be overheard despite being alone. 'Some of the things Mene has decreed, the things we have been asked to do… they weigh heavily upon my heart.'

'You are not responsible for what She asks the Nightblades to do.'

'I pass on Her wishes. I feel like I am.'

'But it is necessary, my love.' Kael assured her. 'Sometimes, distasteful acts much be committed to ensure peace and prosperity. It pains me that you feel responsible. But you must surely know that Mene Herself would not ask for such things without reason, nor would she do so if there was any other way.'

Selemene mustered a smile. 'Yes. Yes, you are right, Kael. But that is why I would make a poor goddess. I couldn't make those decisions.'

'I think you'd make a wonderful goddess, Selemene.' He beamed widely at her. 'You already have one devoted admirer.'

Selemene laughed and leaned forwards, clasping his hand with both of hers. 'Perhaps I only need one.'


Lina inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of the flowers spread throughout the park. As much as she had resented Rasolir to begin with, she had come to appreciate the city. She especially liked this park.

Would it improve under Mirana? At the very least, she might replenish the fish ponds.

As Lina walked down the paths, her hair fluttering in the warm breeze, she wondered what she might do if she was the ruler of the Imperium.

Back home in Misrule, she had been greatly respected by the various clans and tribes of the desert. There had even been talk of naming her High Clanmaster one day, for she was greatly respected due to her power.

She was known as "the Slayer" for good reason. She was amongst the very few to kill a sandreaver, and perhaps the only one to do so without suffering significant injuries. There were many benefits to being wyrm-kissed. Though she had not intended to end up facing a sandreaver, her victory was a rite of passage many would-be Clanmasters had failed to achieve.

She could understand why Shabarra had usurped the Solar Throne, and why he was so keen to hold it. Misrule was a small nation, and not a rich one. But the Imperium was the opposite: vast and wealthy.

It would be Ascension Day soon, the anniversary of the completion of Rasolir's construction and the coronation of the first Emperor. Shabarra apparently had something planned for that day, something which Kashurra was still trying to learn of and was plainly concerned about.

She was not sure which matter worried her more: that Shabarra was working so hard to keep his surprise secret, or that Kashurra could not discover the plan and was worried about it. Most likely, she worried about both problems.

It could not be helped. She just had to keep her head down and wait for the right moment.

Lina sat down on the bench where she had first met Gavenus, thinking hard.

What if Kashurra was wrong? What if Mirana had changed during her exile? He was putting a lot of faith in a woman who had been away from the Imperium for six long years. What if she did not want to return?

Lina glanced up at the palace, wondering.

They wanted her to be regent. Perhaps she might become more than that.

'Soon.' Lina whispered under her breath. 'One way or another, it ends soon.'


Luna strode across the top of the wall, peering out into the shadows of the Nightsilver Woods. Two of her Marshals, Lhara and Tefolyn, followed in her wake, almost jogging to keep up with her brisk steps.

All was quiet, yet Luna's misgivings were not.

Though it was not undefended, the Temple of Selemene and the Dark Moon commune was not a fortress. The occupants trusted in the power of Selmene and the beasts of Nightsilver Woods to keep them safe.

Luna might have felt better if they'd had some siege engines in reserve, and maybe more soldiers.

Still, they had advantages. The lunar dragons had been held in reserve, as had the griffons. The army of Selemene was heavily reliant on its mounted troops, and Luna planned to take full advantage if an enemy was foolish enough to attack, or if she had to go on the offensive again.

'Any word?' Luna demanded.

'Nothing yet.' Lhara answered. 'Our griffon riders are still scouting the perimeter, as are the Moon Riders you sent out.'

'If there is any sign of a disturbance, no matter how trivial or minor, I want to know immediately.'

'As you order, Commander.'

Luna knew how dangerous the beasts of the Nightsilver Woods were, but Mirana and Marci had almost reached the Temple before Luna had been alerted to their arrival by a griffon rider. She could not trust solely in the night-beasts. 'Make sure the off-duty troops can be armed at a moment's notice. In fact, make sure they are armed now. Station the archers in the grounds and have all of our night-beasts saddled, tacked and ready for battle.'

'Commander? Are we expecting an attack?'

Luna was not used to being questioned. 'I have been told to prepare for war by Selemene Herself. That is what I will do. See to it. Make sure my orders are obeyed without exception or question. Unless Selmene demands otherwise, we will be ready for anything.' Luna glared out at the shadows beyond the walls. 'If anybody is so foolish as to defy Her and attack this sacred place, they shall pay dearly for it. They shall pay with their lives.'


Quick note for this AU: regeneration and fast healing only applies to fire dragons in this story, which is why Marci's muteness is incurable despite her being a radiant wurm-forged.

Further notes: Selemene's backstory is obviously going to be a bit different from how it is in the series. This is just how I chose to implement it, as there seem to be some gaps when it comes to explanations. I hope this is satisfactory. Nobody seems to mind the backstories I have invented/altered for other characters, especially Marci and Mirana, so I'm trying to be inventive. The main thing I wanted to provide for Selemene with her backstory was simple: opportunity.

I am also aware of the fact that the Invoker is known as "Carl" in DOTA 2. However, I don't think it suits him, and AO3's tag system dubs him as "Kael", which I think is better.

Lunar dragons are mentioned in the DOTA 2 wiki, but are not one of the eight "pure" dragon types. I regard them as a separate species. I am likewise altering the griffons featured in the game so that in this AU they have wings. I like the idea of airborne cavalry.