Vellioth rests against the wall, worn thin from tending to the affairs of his palace, maintaining his army and doing his usual inspections of his lair.

Then, Vellioth sees the crown jewel of the palace. Cazador, his beloved consort, the best spawn ever sired. His cold eyes soften when he lays eyes on his mate.

"Ca-za-dor..." Vellioth sounds out his name, the syllables falling off his tongue smoothly like this beautiful specimen of a man was the most wonderful thing he ever tasted.