The text that follows has been translated from the original tongue by the author.
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A letter, delivered by raven.
Ours is a road long and storied yet today it is but tale and song passed on by old men gathered around hearthfires over mugs of ale and smoke from pipeweed. They recall what most have forgotten; a time when mighty wing-ed beasts ruled our land, hatched of eggs born from brimstone and fire from deep within our very world. Over time these creatures, drohzul as they were first named grew to be so revered that Temples were built across the land in their honor, they were protected by priests hand selected by the Royal House and worshiped as gods. You know them today as dragons.
As the realm prospered we eventually became target for usurpers and our majestic dragons grew to be viewed as instruments of war; living weapons to protect rulers and empires and aid men in their lust for power and riches. And their lives taken for granted until finally the last of these grand creatures fell, on the field of battle (the last great war, knoen as the War of the Wills). Their thunderous voices forever silent. Such as it was that one has not been seen in over four hundred winters.
There are those, however small in number who still mourne their passing.
Now I will state bluntly and in confidence that not all has been quiet, for the dragons were so powerful that though their age has long passed the old Temples have always been haunted by an unseen, powerful energy and because of this have remained under the jurisdiction of the Royal House, though empty, silent and decaying for longer than I can recall.
With these words in mind, please know that we were woefully ill-prepared for the events that were soon to unfold.
I am,
'Gorn of Blackbrook
Court Mage, House Draconis
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| The first appearance of Γygal, at Narrowrock ©2024 |
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