A Tale from the Bard Ardwrith, Chief Scholar of the Faea
ong ago many thousands of years ago, a race of Dragons ruled the World. Now these were
not your standard leathery winged, bile breathing, long clawed, scaled Dragons. They could,
if they wished, adopt that form, but more often than not they used a bipedal, five digited,
opposable thumbed form. Legend has it the Korylani look somewhat like these ancestral Dragons
did, although Legend has been known to lie. Many Korylani certainly believe that myth, and
were you to meet one of these fine strong man-lizards, you would do well to at least
pretend you believe. But I digress.
The Dragons ruled for a long time. They were creatures of intelligence and magic,
strong warriors, and powerful leaders. Their civilization rose to a golden era, and they
were beneficent towards the other races around them. There were the worms that were to
become Human, the Erlorten ancestors who died in the light, little tiny flying beings which
gave rise to the Velinga, and great hoary frosted giants who eventually became Jotuni. And
there were Faea, as there have always been Faea, and always will be Faea. The Grulorten had
not yet traveled from their tropical overseas island to the World and the Korylani were
presumably not yet formed.
In the great cities and palaces of the Dragons the ur-races lived. The Faea came from
their eld city in the thick woods and traded with the mighty civilization, and peace reigned
in eternal sunlight. And the Sidal cast her glance over the world, and decided it was
unbalanced. The great Dragon Goddess was displeased for chaos was her element. She stole
to the World from the heavens and planes above and disguised herself as a dread Dragon King,
and she sowed war. Bridha looked down and stopped her idle play with Epacan, the God of Peace,
and took up arms at Sidal's side. Together the two bloodthirsty Goddesses created havoc
in the Empire of the Dragons. When they ascended again to the Gods' palaces in the sky, the
Empire was in turmoil, King and Prince rising up against King and Prince, and the Dragon Council
of Elders driven into flight from Draconia, the preeminent city of the Empire.
War raged for ages, eons upon eons of time. When it was done the Empire had changed
irrevocably. Gone into legend was the Dragon Council. The other races, even the elusive
Faea were enslaved. Dragons lived by conquest, by rape and pillage and turmoil. The Dragon
Emperor, Kel'Anar, rose high over all the other petty kingdoms, and conquered them all, and peace
once again reigned.
But this was not Epacan's peace and it did not bear his gentle stamp. It was a peace of
dominance and control, of harsh servitude and slavery, of glittering riches in the hands of the
few and eternal misery the sentence of the many. The Empire continued, built walls around itself
to keep out strangers and keep in the miserable. Emperors grew rich, with stables of Dragon
females, the Dracona, for their pleasure and multitudes of syncophantic followers and helpers. Konna of Happiness,
Gilaran of Love, Amonerth of Learning,
Silvara of Wisdom and Epacan of Peace appealed to Venataron. Venataron, the oldest of the Gods,
listened to their entreaties and called a council of every God and Goddess.
All the Gods attended the Council of Venataron and honored him as father. They listened to
the arguments and pleadings of those that had come before the eld God first and they deliberated
amongst themselves. And they agreed, even Black Soldua agreed, the Dragon Empire must be ended.
Bridha brought them war yet again, and they repulsed her. The mightiest Dragon emperor to date,
Kal'amon, met the Goddess herself on the battle field, and he would have killed her but for Epacan's
quickly cast peace.
The gods were in an uproar. It was unthinkable that mortal Dragons could kill a God, could
turn on their very makers, and yet the Dragons did so. Sidal ranged over their lands, and they
turned her aside. Kal'amon's iron hand refused to let her penetrate the defenses he had built
over his Empire. But there were whispers of dissention amongst the Dragons, and rumors of a reborn
council hiding somewhere under the glittering city of Draconia. Kal'amon hunted these rumors down
and killed the sources of their origin, but still they arose.
Somewhere in the bowels of the earth under Draconia, a council of Dragons, freed slaves, and
down-trodden Faea prayed to the Gods for deliverance. The Gods listened, and did all they could,
but Kal'amon protected his Empire. Venataron, Peligrinu, Cerialis and Bridha formed a great magic
and sent it at Draconia. It flew to earth as a huge bolt, white and crackling with energy.
Kal'amon called on his own great magics and sent his own black bolt at that of the Gods'. It turned
the Gods' bolt aside and crashed it to the World in the mountains between the IgnisRain desert
and the Badlands south of Draconia. So powerful were the joined bolts that they sundered the earth, creating
a huge jagged chasm which rents the dry soil of the Badlands even today. Erta cried out at this
blow to her body, and began to die.
Mithros sobbed at the side of his dear sister, the Goddess Erta, and his anger boiled and bubbled.
And he called forth Flaminus his brother, Sidal his sister, Bridha his grandmother, Soldua his
daughter, Somnifero and Nephya, the dark twins, and Mortu his father. He summoned Vincalta for
Victory and Artos and Anthras, freezing winter and boiling summer. Together the Gods traveled
into the Dragon Empire, disguised as Faea slaves. They climbed high onto the shoulders of the
great mountain Sera'lil and worked with the Ertlorten slaves in the mines the Dragons controlled.
Deeply they dug, straight into the heart of Sera'lil, and once there, they chained Artos and Anthras
back to back, put Flaminus with Kiltaran, Mortu with Viviana (from whence their legendary love sprang), and Mithros with Vincalta. Their sons
and daughters and brothers and sisters gathered round the pairs, pouring their magic into them, augmenting
the mighty division between the apposing Gods and bringing forth greater magic from those divine struggles,
until a great bubbling fire ate into the very rock that surrounded them.
Still they poured their powers into the fire, hidden in the heart of Sera'lil. The fire rose,
melting rock and summoning hissing steam, vile vapors and caustic waters, all rose, and Sera'lil trembled with
the strugglings inside her. Erta arose from her sickbed and traveled to the mountain and touched
the molten rock that it might someday join her earth. She called down Desmorna and the two
Goddesses chanted, until the flaming magic of all the Gods burst forth from Sera'lil in a cataclysmic
eruption.
Under the city the Council prayed, and Epacan, Venataron and Viviana came to them. Sera'lil
disappeared in a fiery black cloud that spread for thousands of miles across the sky. Lighting
jagged through its darkness as it approached Draconia. Kal'amon laughed at the cloud, and the
cloud roiled and boiled in return. Kal'amon raised
his hands to smite it, but it began to rain ashes, and the air became thick with grey soot. The
Dragons and their slaves ran in fear, and Kal'amon was buried until he could not move his hands or body.
He laughed again, and called forth more magic, twisting in his ashen chains until they broke asunder
and he stood atop the soft grey pile of glowing embers.
But the cloud was followed by more blackness while rolled down the sides and breast of Sera'lil,
burning everything in its path. Under the blackness was molten rock, sulphurous clouds of gas, and
boiling waters. The rock hit Draconia like a great tidal wave of flame and black obsidian and buried Kal'amon
hundreds of feet deep. When Epacan, Venataron and Viviana felt the burial of Kal'amon they quickly
freed the Council and those who prayed, spiriting them away to the mountains that rose to the north of
Draconia. The other Gods left the dark and smoking crater that was all that was left of Sera'lil's
beauty and made their way wearily to their homes. For many it would takes centuries of recovery.
Viviana of Life, Desmorna of Birth, Erta of Earth, Cerialis of Growth, Lucatalra of Day, Sephiros
of Dawn and Kiltaran of Water journeyed through the World, blessing and renewing as they went.
Slowly the World recovered. The Ertlorten ancestors learned not to fear Lucatalra as they saw
the wonders she and Sephiros wrought. The Faea went back to their wooden homeland, where they
would remain in seclusion for many hundreds of years. The proto-Velinga and pre-Jotuni fled to the
north and flourished in isolation. And so the races we know today slowly came into being as the
Humans evolved from their worm-like ancestors, and the Velinga, Jotuni, Faea and Ertlorten prospered in
relative peace and harmony.
But what of the Dragons, I hear you ask? Well perhaps some of them did go south and west, and change
into the race we know as Korylan. But... it is whispered that some live still, deep in mountain fastholds,
far under the waters of the oceans, it is whispered they have a small civilization, one which no race of
today is allowed to see and still remain alive to tell of. And sometimes, if you look into the sky at the right time,
you will see leathery wings against the blueness and feel a cold shadow cross over the ground, and hear
the harsh rasp of Dragon breathing...
Return to 'the Sidalician World'
Story meant solely for SidaliciaMUD and copyright RDG