Draculeus strode before the candidates, each step deliberate, his presence pressing down on them like an unseen force. He made no effort to hide his power as he wanted them to feel it, to understand what stood before them.
He stopped beside Percieval. The old knight's eyes sharpened, hawk like, as they swept across the kneeling warriors.
"Get up! A Dragonguard does not serve from the dirt! If you cannot look your Prince in the eye, you are already unworthy of him!"
The hundred candidates rose at once, though many trembled. Some struggled to meet Draculeus' gaze, their instincts screaming to bow again under the weight of his presence.
Percieval began to pace before them, the heavy clank of his armor echoing across the arena.
"Many of you are wondering… Why does a being as powerful as a Dragonborn even need a guard? You think—'He carries the strength of Tiamat. What could I possibly offer?'"
A few whispers slipped through the line of warriors.
"…He read my mind…"
