"My dearest children, my hunger should have never been sated with you. Yet what is a cursed serpent left to do except eat away at its own tail, hoping no stray scales will fall from it?"
- Writings of Ceriph The Condemned
To fully understand the events of the coming age, one must know the full history of the Dragonkin, not just the circumstances of their creation. Upon being placed under the immense weight of Onus, the mother of all dragons Drakorn toiled endlessly, but her will remained strong. Her scales marked by overlapping bands of green, blue, white, and red, her gaze and form would remain fixed one her singular purpose. Despite this, she would make for herself a second purpose. Drakorn birthed four children from her blood, sweat, and flesh, four pillars from the direct bloodline of the first of all archwyrms. While Drakorn slaved away under her noble weight, she commanded her children to go and create something for themselves outside of her created purpose, and so Dragonkin multiplied and created the City of Drakorn, a testament to their mother’s nobility.
Drakorn’s sacrifice would not be in vain for a time, as Dragonkin increased in skills of smithing, artistry, and knowledge. They would build themselves a city named after that of their mother: the city of dragons, Drakorn. Made from glass and gold carved with the alphabet the Elemental Crucible had taught to them, the city would refract and reflect the light of that most precious to Dragonkin, the Elemental Crucible, the shining sun of the city. Placed upon a high hill and built within a sacred pagoda, the Crucible would lay dormant, upheld by the efforts of Drakorn alone. With this, the city of Drakorn would flourish and expand, hidden from the eyes of Artukos and the Dollmaker as the Lords' Rebellion pushed ever closer, distracting the Lord of Pride. Under the watchful guidance of the four pillars, the city would become a spectacle few would ever see.
Hedera the Erudite, the first of all emerald-scaled wyrms, created the archives of the mother, a great repository of information regarding dragon history, forging, smithing, and a rare hub for information regarding the scarce magics of the Wraith Globe during the first age. It is said that her verdant scales themselves smelt of wafting magic and shone like that of a Prismatic Archwing’s.
Helianthus the Watchful, the first of all ivory-scaled wyrms, set up a system to keep the legacy of Dragons protected for an eternity: the Sentinels. Such warriors were ordained with metallic armor resembling flowerbeds, a reminder to their mother’s sacrifice, and it was said that helianthus stood constant watch for the Elemental Crucible sitting on its hill overlooking the city of dragons, turning to face the golden sun of the city.
Gungnir the Relentless, the first of all ruby-scaled wyrms, went to conquer the greatest foes the tunnels caverns, and crypts underneath Artukos' palace could offer. She founded the bloodscales, the judicial system of Drakorn that functions on honorable combat, and brought home a great bounty of trophies, which she wore as countless hanging piercings and earrings across her body. Free spirited and ordained with a multitude of skulls, weapons, armor, and banners, she wished to show the rest of the Wraith Globe the might of the Dragonkin.
Ceriph the Condemned, the first of all sapphire-scaled wyrms, first served as the ambassador between his three other siblings, acting as the glue that bound all Dragonkin together. When Drakorn the old was waning in her years, a new great wyrm had to be chosen to inherit the glassy heart of their people, all that embodied the drive and determination the Dollmaker had so meticulously designed into her first creation. After some light contention Ceriph was chosen, and he nobly waited to take the heart when Drakorn passed. Unfortunately, with the coming fall of his people's city Ceriph would exile himself, despised and condemned by the few of his brethren who had managed to escape their purpose.
However, the influence of the city of Drakorn would soon grow too far upwards, and the legions of Artukos would finally take notice. A hidden war with the Wraith legions began, taking place in the great subterranean forges in which the Crimson Thread, Artukos' great blade, had once been forged. Ultimately, Ceriph would choose to take the heart of Drakorn prematurely to protect Dragonkin from the invading threat rather than their crushing purpose. As a result, the strength of Drakorn would fail in the following weeks, and she would breath her last. All Dragons within the city felt a sudden crushing weight above them, and all were suddenly aware that there was no one was fulfilling their purpose any more. In a desperate scramble, the countless Dragonkin in the city crowded underneath the weight of Onus, desperate to lift up the weight Drakorn had singlehandedly.
When Ceriph and his fellow warriors returned to their city, they found the streets empty, all of Dragonkind now taking the dead Drakorn’s place. A gruesome scene of twisted, strained dragons lay udnerneath the Elemental Crucible, so tense that they could not say a single word. In a desperate attempt to free his people Ceriph joined in the lifting the weight, but the pride of his people's glass heart had rusted in his chest, and it was too late. All of Dragonkin would be cursed to be crushed underneath the weight of the elemental crucible, crushed underneath the weights of their own dead and dying kin as they slowly crept towards death themselves.
However, despite this dreariness, birth would ocne again find its way into this cycle. From the sweat of her children, lesser descedant of Drakorn would be born, that of Kobolds and Dragonborn. Kobolds, who were smaller than their Dragonborn siblings, would choose to stay beside their parents, attempting to lift the weight of Onus besides them until their own frames gave out. Dragonborn, on the other hand, would seek out what lay beyond their people's purpose, leaving the city of Drakorn before the siege of Artukos' palace. They would be nomads in the wilderness of the Wraith Globe for a time, a rare yet exotic sight for all but their own clan.
Ceriph would flee, a disgrace to his people and himself, his scales rusted a dull bronze. Through his own distress he too would form Kobolds and Dragonborn of his own, but he would vow to slaughter and devour his own children, believing that his bloodline was not fit to continue. Ultimately, Ceriph the Condemned would be killed by the servant of Urgyzarlou Razwind Vowlere, having his soul siphoned and used to form the essence of one of the Seven Giant Spider Queens.
However, this crushing weight would not be the eternal fate of Dragonkin. In the golden days of the city of Drakorn, the divining of Hedera's magic had revealed a prophecy, a promise of a warlord over all Dragonkin. These are the words of this infamous prophecy:
From the toiling of their peoples, a leader second to only the first mother will emerge. They will be a leader not of industry nor honor, but of brutality and instinct like that of no other. Marked by the bands of their oldest ancestor and preceded by a long silence, they shall be born from the Dragonkin combined, bearing also the black features of the lover to the feathered guardian. They shall take the elements of Onus as their very blood and free all of Dragonkin as a champion against all other peoples. In the coming age of their people, they shall be known as Erṣetu, the Primordial Warlord.
Unsettled by the nature of the prophecy, Hedera would share its exact details with only the three other pillars. Despite this secrecy and the crushing weight Dragonkin would soon be subdued by, the prophecy would eventually come to pass near the end of the third age.
The Arrival of Erṣetu
"These primordial urges will continue to persist, unlike some flimsy worthless code of honor. The urge to destroy all life distinct from your own kin. The urge to spread one’s bloodline across the sky, sea, and earth. Even the imprints of our creator will erode away upon this coming sea of blood!"
- Erṣetu, the Primordial Warlord
Under the immense weight of Onus the Dragons would remain, utterly silent in their suffering. Yet, there would be a dishonorable few who would sacrifice the lives of those around them, using their brethren as a crutch to escape from underneath the immense weight. Such wyrms would selfishly abandon their people’s code and search for any power they could find, instead choosing to follow their most primal and base instincts. One such usurper, a fated scarlet wyrm named Šamû,
Šamû would crawl her way out from underneath the Elemental Crucible, devouring three of her own brethren to do so. However, along with her freedom she would find an opportunity to gain even more power.
Long ago in the first age, the guardian of the billowings Clamor would rebel against the authority of Artukos. This would not be a rebellion of blades or blood, but rather of birth and creation, for amidst his loneliness Clamor longed for a companion. Using the weapon gifted to him by the Wraith Lord, a dagger capable of cleaving and devouring souls, Clamor would cleave his own soul in two, forming a jet black body for his second half from the Billowings of Void.
This being, born of blasphemy and loneliness, would be named Remi, and would take the form of a female Kenku much like Clamor. Clamor and Remi would have many children, and this hidden community within the Soulful Depths would gather bodiless souls rising up towards the palace, bottling them so that they would never be born and witness the hardships of the Wraith Globe. However, Remi would become sick, her very essence not meant to exist alone. She would die in her sleep, leaving Clamor alone to fend for the safety of his many children. The body of Remi would be lowered into the Billowings of Void once more, left to dissolve back to the dust it had been formed from.
Ultimately, the fate of Clamor would intersect with that of the only mortals to survive the Trial of Disobedience. They would choose to kill Clamor after attempting to convince him against his dreary philosophies. Razwind Vowlere would siphon Clamor’s soul for the purposes of Urgyzarlou, and the guardian of the void would become the center to one of the Seven Giant Spider Queens. Without their father, the remaining Kenku would lose their voice, having to mimic the voices of others just to survive. Regardless, some Kenku would indeed survive to see the surface and would become a nomadic people scattered across the world.
Nonetheless, the cleaved Soul of Remi would endure, drifting deeper and deeper below the surface of black. Seeping through soil at the very foundations of the world, the Soul of Remi would fall near to the Elemental Crucible within the Old City of Drakorn just as the wyrm Šamû had crawled her way out from underneath her people’s burden.
As the unrecognizable form of Remi fell to the void-soaked ground sprinkled with silver lilies, scarlet Šamû would eagerly devour it, sensing the emanating power from within. Her sole hunger was for power, and that is what she would receive. The intermingling of souls and void once more would cause a churning voice to emerge: a voice of destruction, a voice of return. Unlike Artukos or Urgyzarlou, this voice would not wish for power over the Wraith Globe, but instead for the Wraith Globe’s return to nothingness. With a shrieking scream the red wyrm would spiral into the air contorting in pain, the souls of Remi and Šamû each vying for control. The powerful souls of the three wyrms Šamû had so eagerly devoured: one white, one green, and one blue, would rise to a tumult in the dragon’s heart before reaching a climax. Such would mark the arrival of the prophesied Erṣetu, Primordial Warlord and Prophet of Nothing.
Still in the meager form of a young scarlet dragon, Erṣetu would consume the condensed Onus straight from the Elemental Crucible, gaining a fearsome new aspect and the power to crack the Wraith Globe at its seams, just as Onus itself had begun to do. The elemental strife of Onus ripped through the body of the late Šamû, causing it to grow much larger and gain a draconic head for each soul that had birthed Erṣetu: one crimson, one emerald, one ivory, one sapphire, and one black and sleek with both scales and feathers as well as a long curved beak.
With this, the weight of Onus was no longer on the backs of the Dragonkin, and it was thanks to the new warlord of Dragons. The meek Hedera would not stand up to the figure of such a fearsome prophecy, and with both Helianthus and Ceriph long dead, Gungnir the Relentless would be the only of the four pillars to challenge Erṣetu’s doctrine of chaos and destruction. Gungnir would challenge the beast, but even she knew that this duel was likely beyond her. Mocking the code of honor Erṣetu knew she could so easily crush in her claws, she agreed to duel Gungnir according to the laws of the Blood Scales. Blood would be shed, and the future of the Dragonkin would be decided.
Surrounded by the age-old bones of the mother Drakorn underneath the foundation of the now empty crucible Gungnir and Erṣetu would fight, the old order versus the new. Gungnir’s countless trophies would sparkle and sway across her body as the champions spiraled into the air, unleashing bouts of elemental destruction from their maws. However, it was clear from the start that the might of one head could not stand up to that of five.
With fearsome awe Erṣetu would beat back the relentless flames of Gungnir until all five heads pulled back tense, like that of vipers preparing to sink tooth and fang into their prey. Gungnir would attempt to block the blows, but it was too much. The will of the final pillar had been broken, marking the death of the old Draconic honor. Despite everything, the cracks in the world I had hurriedly mended had coalesced, forming a singularity that would not be sated until the end of everything.
Five heads rising triumphantly from the corpse of Gungnir, the smiling heads of Erṣetu would turn to her people and describe her new order. Dragonkin would ascend to the surface of the Wraith Globe and scorch all before them. The once noble people would return to their primal and primitive urges, forming distrustful tribes and longing for riches, destruction, and pleasure rather than knowledge, honor and civilization. Dragons would no longer be the kin they once were. Once all was annihilated before their might, Erṣetu would use her fearsome breath and blood, Onus itself, to shatter the very fabric of Artukos’ creation and return it to the void it once was.
The First Bastion, Kragzbarg
"Upon my vow, I will not return to my peoples until I have descended the causeway of our fallen, to the brooding pool of Erṣetu. I will not return until I have severed her heads and brought them here for all to see. This is my vow to all mortals."
- Arha Katash, First Dragonslayer
As the might of Dragonkind emerged and ignited the peak of Mount Karar’at like that of a fireworks show, the fourth age would begin proper, and the dread of the mortal peoples would only grow. None still alive would remember the Dragons, even those few who had discovered Irly’s Trek, but that would all but be made up for in the coming years.
The first city under siege was the Khazanian capital of Kragzbarg, built upon the ashes of the late Ansulf and previously used as a brutal fighting pit by the peoples of Ban-Rock-Buren. After the formation of the nation of Khazan, Kragzbarg would become a city of warriors and tacticians hoping to test their mettle in the most renowned gladiatorial pits across the Wraith Globe: The Emerald Champion. Since its creation, the confederancy of Khazan had grown exponentially in strength, boasting the largest, most elite, and best outfitted military thanks to Ucrua and the Alliance of Rurobron. Many would come to Kragzbarg to witness the spectacle of combat, fight in the pits for a chance at joining the Khazanian legion, or study the art of war in its expansive wealth of history and knowledge. It is all too fitting that this great force would be the first of many to fall.
The elemental might of Onus mounted on countless scaly wings would descend the heights of Karar'at, throwing all of Kragzbarg into a panic. The smallest of the wyrms would sweep the city, igniting the wide bustling streets in roaring flame, freezing ice, and pungent acid. The forces of the capital had been caught utterly unaware, and the defenses of the city were all but destroyed or abandoned within the hour. With this, the streets of Kragzbarg became a hostile maze for all within. Survival was all that mattered to most, but there were a few who turn to utter depravity instead. Those watching over the multitude of knowledge within the city would fall into disarray and superstition, choosing to destroy their precious records rather than letting this wave of annihilation have it. The city would be set aflame not only from above, but from within.
As smoke continued to rise from Kragzbarg, Erṣetu, the Primordial Warlord, would begin to smell the carnage from within Mount Karar'at. Arroused by this inkling of annihilation, she would finally fly from the depths of the mountain, perching her hulking form above the Khazanian capital. As the last of the mortals within were slaughtered and devoured, Erṣetu would raise her great wings and glide over the remains of the grand colosseum, the Emerald Champion. With fury in her lungs, she would exhale the strife of Onus upon the ampitheater, burrowing deep into the earth below where Onus would pool and collect, a fountain in which she would bathe, slumber, and command her most trusted warriors. Fumes would rise from within, the antithesis to the fumes of magic: rather than reuniting the fabric of the Wraith Globe, the stink would unravel the fabric of creation itself. Within this pool Erṣetu would breed with countless of her brethren, birthing the first of the polychromatic Dragons, amalgams of Onus itself.
Time and time again, the lands surrounding the first mountain had come to ruin. Time and time again, the curse of the creator had reared its ugly head. Smoke plumed and draped itself across the central continent of the Wraith Globe, a precursor to the death and loss that would follow. The few who narrowly escaped the burning of Kragzbarg would tell their tale, and news would quickly spread of the coming tyranny of Dragons. Ucrua, seeing the capital of their ally crumble, would begin mass production of their most potent weapons and armors, aiming to stave off this sudden threat. Algos, the Order of Wizardry, and Necrotus would stay within their own borders, bracing themselves for the coming onslaught. Ban-Rock-Buren, doubting the accounts of their half-blood siblings, would do nothing to prepare themselves. But prophecy, especially that of the Dragonkin of old, would not be so easily thwarted, for only prophecy can overthrow prophecy.
The Rebuking of the Dragonborn
"Character is a measure of neither strength nor impact. It is a measure of soul and purpose."
- Drakaras Kroltuc
As this destructive wave would sweep across the central continent, destroying and pillaging all in its wake, the mortals left would turn to the Dragonborn people in suspicion. Unlike their Kobold siblings who had chosen to follow Dragonkind’s new doctrine, the majority of Dragonborn had chosen to continue as nomads with no single code or creed. With no strong ties to mortal nations, the Dragonborn peoples would not have the connections or status to fight against rampant allegations of their involvement with this calamity. What would begin as prejudice and avoidance would spiral into a worldwide movement to drive the Dragonborn off of the central continent and into waters unknown, never to return. Some Dragonborn clans would fight against this rebuke, some would hide from, and yet others would swept away by it.
Those who fought would mostly die out, but the few who survived would become hooded bounty hunters, revered enough that none would dare to threaten them or question their loyalties. As Dragonkind grew in power, some of these survivors would turn to the Dragons, offering themselves as spies and advisors. Only the most cunning of the Dragonborn would succeed in this endeavor, for the primal tendencies of the Dragons promoted great unease, even amongst themselves. One such figure would be Ugal Fulmen, a sapphire Dragonborn raised within the desert crags of Ban-Rock-Buren near the Triplici Point. Ugal would use his raw strength to climb the hierarchy of the Orcish nation, procuring a small fortress which he would use has his base of operations. Within would be built an arcane gate not to one of the sixteen stars, but rather to a central hub of travel between the planes of the Wraith Globe: the Unending Stairwell. A backdoor originaly constructed and often sued by Akina, the Higher Lade of Secrets and Doors, the stairwell has no upper or lower limits, a spiral stretching into infinity with countless one-way doors leading to the many pockets of reality within the Wraith Globe. Ugal would strike a deal with one of Erṣetu's warriors, ensuring not only Ugal's safety from the coming firestorm but also free access to this arcane gate for all of Dragonkind. Piece by piece, Erṣetu's plan for annihilation was coming together.
Many of the Dragonborn clans who would choose to hide would fade from the Wraith Globe much like the Serbantu so long ago, finding corners of the world filled with beauty and fantasy to distract them from the rebuking of their people. They would find themselves in the Feylands, a reflection of the material plane filled with all manners of barbarous and treacherous beauty. These five clans, known as the Pentiter, would be the first of all mortals to tame the wilds of the Feylands. With their unifying duties not only to the Dragonkin but to all other mortals left behind, the bright colors of their scales would fade over the coming generations, marking the first metallic Dragonkin since the first age.
For those Dragonborn who chose to neither fight nor flee, great tribulation and hardship would await. Forced onto fishing boats, skiffs, or even rafts by their mortal brethren, these refugees would sail from the mainland, desperately hoping that some uncharted isle may exist. From this chaos a leader would arise to lead his peoples: Drakaras Kroltuc. A jeweler by trade, Kroltuc had grown up in the outskirts of Ucrua, travelling althrough out both Ucrua and Algos during his early years. With scarlet scales and gentle demeanor, he would gain some friends within Cygnar, the capital of Algos. Those connections would be all but necessary during the rebuking of the Dragonborn, for it helped to provide Kroltuc's people with much needed vessels and supplies to have a chance of surviving their banishment. But Kroltuc was not blind to the overwhelming possibility that his people would not survive, and so with the help of the other clan elders Kroltuc would record the journeys of his people across the waves on the wooden hulls of the very ships that were their salvation. These canvases would become known as the Boats of Mortomare, and some choice excerpts from Kroltuc's Records are described below:
Entry one, one day after the rebuking - I, Drakaras Kroltuc, am leading what is left of our people on a journey which will most likely be our demise. With only a small fleet of 25 fishing boats and minimal food supplies, we are left to survive out at sea and sustain ourselves. However, against these overwhelming odds we must persevere and support each other rather than ourselves, so we can continue to nurture this coming generation.
Entry two, three days after the rebuking - We have been adrift in this endless horizon of waves for 3 days now. I fear that a lack of food will soon be our people's end. However, I still have a sliver of hope that there may be a spit of land out here in the vastness of the ocean, no matter what the nautical charts say. Honestly, it is the only scrap of hope we have left. We must hold on.
Entry three, four days after the rebuking - Two of our fishing boats were sunk by a passing warship today. The anger within the hearts of our past kin is a complete mystery to me. Why do they think leaving us adrift in the sea will help the situation that all of us have found ourselves in? I do not even think they know of the tribulations our kins have endured since their very conception. A certain part of me has pity for the wyrms, for we could have so easily been them. Onto other matters. The fishing boats left have become increasingly crowded because of the survivors, but if I were to leave them, I would be no better than the people that set us Dragonborn on this disastrous course.
Entry four, seven days after the rebuking - I am writing this as hurriedly as I can, as for the last 2 days we have been surrounded by a swarm of reef sharks. There has been no chance to fish or forage for any local sea life, so I fear our numbers will dwindle if our luck keeps up like this.
Entry five, eight days after the rebuking - Viaabas has smiled upon us! It seems that the reef sharks have found some other quarry and have moved off! I am more hopeful than ever that we might find refuge somewhere! I continue to push for a boost in morale for my people and comrades, no matter how futile it may seem in the moment.
Entry seven, eighteen days after the rebuking - We have had the first death from starvation. It is an extremely sad occasion, but we must push forward and continue to support each other through this difficult journey.
Entry eight, twenty days after the rebuking - There have been seven more deaths in the last two days. However, our fishermen have been able to find small groups of fish to sustain us. My hope in our survival is starting to waver.
Entry nine, twenty one days after the rebuking - Something strange has happened other than six more deaths among my beloved kin: seagulls have appeared above our fleet of small vessels. Could this mean we have found land, or that we have simply accidentally come full circle? Only in The One's time shall we know the truth.
Entry ten, twenty two days after the rebuking - Something strange has happened other than 6 more deaths among my beloved kin: seagulls have appeared above our fleet of small vessels. Could this mean we have found land, or that we have simply been swept up in a circle? Only in the Pantheon's time shall we know the truth.
After more than three weeks adrift, the Dragonborn survivors had found a secluded isle, a uninhabited fragment left over from the Lord's Hammerblow. Although mountainous, the land would prove hardy and fertile, and so the lineage of Dragonborn who neither fell to the primal urges of the warlord nor left purpose to rust would endure. the Boats of Mortomare would be propped vertically upon the craggy shores of the isle, a memorial to all who began the journey and those who did not complete it. Drakaras Kroltuc would act as the first leader of the Dragonborn, who would name the isle Corevia, translating to "heart" in the language of Dragonkin. Even after Kroltuc's death, the symbol of the nation of Corevia would remain a carnelian crescent, a homage to the ceremonial jewelry that adorned their first leader.
The Tyranny of Dragons
"One spark and it's lit
Trust your heart and your wit
Join our circle and sit
Dragon's age but a whit"
- Hopeful Lullaby
Following the fall of Kragzbarg and the rebuking of the Dragonborn peoples, a dark age would descend upon the Wraith Globe. The skies would be clouded by smoke and poisons as the structure of the nations fell before the might of the dragons. Years would pass in brutal war as the mortals of the Wraith Globe were once again forced to wage a campaign against the inevitable. Khazan would be the first to crumble, even the industrial might of Ucrua would not keep it from its end. Ucrua would follow shortly after, a bedfellow undone. The central continent would be eclipsed in a storm of dust and ashes as the light of the sun turned to a dying crimson. All that would remain of cities would be dilipitated ruins, all that would remain of farmlands would be scorched and barren earth. The second tyranny of the Wraith Globe had begun: the Tyranny of Dragons.
Even the stars of Viabaas' rings would not remain safe, the pathway to the Unending Stairwell within the remains of Ban-Rock-Buren acting as a staging ground for Erṣetu's invasion of the stars themselves. Nonetheless, the dominion of the five remaining Fegnaór would defend themselves well against Dragonkind, keeping a foothold of their own in the world. Some fools among the surviving mortals would even choose to find amnesty amidst the Fegnaór, believing that they were the lesser of two evils. In a sense they may have been right, for at least the Fegnaór wished to bring about something rather than nothing. I suppose the state of the Wraith Globe is nothing more than that now: something.
The fledging nations on the outer continents of the Wraith Globe would be safe for a time as the influence of Dragonkind spread across the world. The Dragons would only just begin to reach that of Istren and Astren as the birth of the first dragonslayer would occur. In that time, the few survivors on the main continent would make use of the smoulder remains of the nations as best they could. Some of privilege and nobility would hide away in secluded caves and bunkers until they either starved or were found out by the wyrms. Most others would hurriedly scavenge what was left of the greatest cities, finding whatever supplies and allies they could. Community was a rare thing during the Tyranny of Dragons, for some of Dragonkind could take mortal forms if they so wished. Nonetheless, a few mortal bonds would endure despite superstition, and companionship would be born from it.
New traditions would form, most meant to restore hope that this tyranny would end despite the Lordly Pantheon's inaction. For some, this hope would come in the form of some future generation outliving their Draconic oppressors. To keep this flame alive, a tradition was born in the central regions of the late Khazan: bone burning. By scorching bones until they were charcoal black, the concept of a Dragon's death by both pride and old age was passed down from generation to generation. It was a simple act in which even the worst off could participate, and one to keep away the greatest monster of all: the despair in each mortal's heart. These scorched bones were also commonly arranged and used as indicators to other mortal survivors, marking safe areas.
However, some of these groups were founded on fear rather than hope. Warlords and warriors would take advantage of the desperation, supplying safety in return for servitude. Many of the Vyignati of Ban-Rock-Buren would survive this way, creating underground tunnel systems using the labor of indentured servants.
Outside of these small pockets of relative safety the Wraith Globe was in ruin. The skies were enveloped in a darkening haze, causing very little to grow and for sunlight to be tinted a vibrant red-orange. Dragons would inhabit the ruins of most cities within a few years, forming territorial groups that would horde gold, valuables, and the occasional mortal slave for themselves. The bubbling elements of Erṣetu's breeding pool, buried beneath the Emerald Champion, would seep their way into the Underdark, forming an entirely unique ecosystem. Waterfalls of pure elemental strife would cascade and splatter across the half-melted rock formations, freezing into beautiful shimmering crystalline formations. Elemental beings, byproducts of Erṣetu's mating, would fall down into the Undark and inhabit these spaces, as well. Erṣetu would continue to fester and brood in the depths, birthing more and more of Dragonkind. She would often kill her mates and preserve their bodies, ensuring that Dragon flesh would be the first meal for every one of her offspring. Nonetheless, mating with their grand warlord would remain the highest honor among Dragons, for appeasing the hungers of their destined leader, both violent and sexual, were just as the new Draconic order dictated.
Although creation would come from Onus for the time being, the Primordial Warlord was simply waiting for the moment to melt all of it away. All that remained was subduing her one last rival: a fated mortal with no prophecy or merit to her name.
The First Dragonslayer
"If we look to what we imagine the future to be, there is no need to look to the past."
- Ahra Katash, the First Dragonslayer
The story of this fated mortal begins underneath the windswept landscape of Ban-Rock-Buren, within one of the layrinthine tunnel systems built to evade the prying eyes of Dragonkind. Amidst the full-blooded Ga'Nesh militants was one half-breed so brutal that he had gained unprecedented respect from his pure-blooded brothers and sisters. He was known by many names: the Bloody Sultan, Houndmaster of the Vyignati, Matrems' Bane. Although few knew it, his true name was Soldanus Katash. Born as a slave within Ban-Rock-Buren, Soldanus had served one of the Vyignati as a house servant. His hatred towards his captor mounted further and further as his parents were slowly driven to a breaking point a killed, thrown into the Vyi pits to as food for the hounds. Soon enough, the adolescent Soldanus would devise a plan to get his vengeance.
While presenting a platter of food to his master in a bustling ballroom, he would pilfer the keys from their belt and slink away unnoticed. The Young half-Orc would have very little time before the keys' absence would be noticed. Descending into the depths of the desert fortress while the guards were preoccupied, he would open the gates to the Vyi pits, unleashing the horde of predators open all within the castle while he fled to the ramparts to wait out the massacre. Many were slaughtered that day as Soldanus Katash sat and watched from above, observing the carnage he had caused. Soon enough the Vyi would be driven back and Soldanus would be put to blame, but not before his Vyignati master would be counted among the dead. Instead of being met with death and punishment, Soldanus was met with praise and unforeseen inkling of respect from the Ge'Nash. In a government based solely on power, such acts of carnage were praised even if they came from the most unlikely places.
Soon enough, using more acts of bloodshed and brutality to gain further favor among the Ge'Nash of Ban-Rock-Buren, Soldanus would become a houndmaster to the houndmasters, a coordinator of the Vyignati. His influence would grow even further as the Tyranny of Dragons fell upon the main continent and those in Ban-Rock-Buren were forced underground. From there, Soldanus would live luxuriously trading slaves and pulling the string of what remained of the nation's hierarchy. Over time, he would come to have many wives. Some would be for politics, some for pleasure, and a few for both, but one of these unions would result in the fated bane of Erṣetu. The First Dragonslayer would be born.
Saadia Katash, one of the many unwilling wives of Soldanus, would give birth to a daughter, Ahra. In Ge'Nash culture, neither men nor women were favored over the other on the field of battle, and so Soldanus would teach his daughter all that he knew of battle. Ahra would take a keen liking to the ceremonial weapon of her family's house: the Allorack. A light J-shaped blade with a short handle, the weaopn not only acts as a curved sword much like the scimitar, but also has the balance and weight to be thrown much like a boomerang. At the age of twelve, Ahra would be well versed in the art of combat, survival, and intimidation. Even if her mother was human, her Ge'Nash blood was as strong as any full-blooded Orc. Even compared to her sibling who had come from much more desirable mothers, her father Soldanus took a liking to Ahra's instincts and chose that she would inherit his responsibilities upon his death. However, despite her showings of strength and resolve in front of her father, Ahra was a very different person in the small moments of solitude. More than anything, she was afraid. She was afraid that her future had already been decided for her.
After fourteen years of this, Ahra finally decided to escape, bringing her mother Saadia with her. Through their travels north into the remains of Eastern Khazan, Ahra and her mother would pass through a number of underground settlement, learning of the state of the world outside of a Sultan's abode in Ban-Rock-Buren. Ahra's new surrounding taught her what a truly desperate state The Mortal Races were in, and her unstoppable drive had something to say about this. It was simply waiting for the right moment to speak.
On the cusp of her sixteenth birthday, Ahra Katash would join a radical group of fighters traveling across Khazan. These fighters, known as the Five Blades, were one of the few groups brave or ludricrous enough to fight back against the Tyranny of Dragons using guerilla tactics. Despite her mother's persistence not to go, Ahra would join the Five Blades and quickly become their most honored swordsman. At the young age of sixteen, just six months after her joining the Five Blades, Arha killed a juvenile Dragon singlehandedly with nothing but the broken haft of a spear. As the creature charged recklessly at her, she launched the cheaply-smithed polearm directly down the worm's throat, choking the all-consuming fire from its hateful eyes. From then onwards, she hollowed out the skull of the beast and wore it as a helmet. She was a calculating machine on the battlefield, moving like a dancer across the bloodied soil, always knowing exactly where to strike. Despite their humble beginnings, the Five Blades would soon begin to take a more direct approach in their escapades thanks to Katash's unflinching bravery. Barely a year after her first dragon, Ahra would narrowly manage to take down an adult red dragon, tricking the wyrm into a calculated bluff. During the destruction of a hidden settlement, Katash and the Five Blades would cover the rear of the fleeing refugees from the bouts of elemental breath and snapping jaws. Katash would strow forward into the fray with out fear, throwing off the cloak covered in countless dangling trophies and charms. Getting the attention of the largest Wyrm there, a marble white Dragon, Ahra would taunt them, screming how if such a beast was not even capable of devouring a few helpless refugees, that it had no chance to even take a bit out of her. The wicked creature slowly turned to face the diminutive figure, and she returned its awesome presence with a single taunt: a full-bellied Orcish laugh. In one moment, The maiden had been swallowed whole by the ravenous beast. However, that was not the end of her. After sliding down the slime-covered esophagus of the Dragon, she produced two curved Alloracks from her waist and started to slash away at the insides of the monster. She slowly tunneled through the boiling-hot flesh until she reached the vulnerable heart of the unwise brute, and cut it to ribbons, immediately killing the dragon. twenty minutes later, she emerged from the mouth of the corpse, hoisting a enormous slab of its heart over her head in one hand as she proceeded to route the rest of the Draconic force before her.
The Campaign Against Dragonkind
"The tyranny of Dragons over the nation of Khazan will end today. The Lords themselves have gifted us with this land and the very breath in our lungs! Today, we will not settle for just one desperate gasp! We will not cower to keep our lives, we will fight for our dignity and honor!"
- Ahra Katash, the First Dragonslayer
With Ahra Katash, the First Dragonslayer, acting as their forerunner and champion, The Finite Races slowly began to conquer the land which had been theirs more than a century before. From smoldering ashes the formidable military of Khazan would be reborn under Katash, who was known by many in her ranks as "The Firedrake Queen" for the various talons and trophies that were adorned upon her body as thick armor. Settlements found on the surface of the central continent would be seen again for the first time since the beginning of the fourth age, and the boldness of the Mortal peoples was restored once more.
The great fight to take back the Material Plane would be a fated campaign for the ages. Katash would rally the countless undeground settlement throughout the desert expanses of Khazan, remindinf them of their nation's past as a confederacy. She called for them to band together once more, and so it was done, the actions of the Mortals' champion giving all others hope that this was the time for victory. As Khazan would begin to accumulate the largest fighting force since the start of the Tyranny of Dragons, Ucrua would come to the aid of all other nations, relighting the fires of its old subterranean forges to supply weapons and armor to all their neighbors. As Ahra Katash would lead the nation of Khazan, the home she had always dreampt of, to freedom, leaders would rise up in Necrotus, Algos, Ucrua, and the Order of Wizardry to echo this hope of liberation to all that could hear it.
Prophecy, fate, and the unlikely future of a girl born of the Bloody Sultan. Although I fought against the grand design with all my will and soul, stories such as these remind of the pride in each and every Mortal. There is a certain part of me that admires how the design so effortlessly weaves together the strength and weakness of so many individuals.
As the Five Blades became many, Katash and her forces would sweep across the surface of Khazan in somewhat of a spiral, slowly tightening the noose around the capital of Kragzbarg. There Erṣetu would remain, waiting unafraid for the confrontation with her final enemy. Five years of a long and bloody campaign filled with countless losses would follow, but soon dominion over the Material Plane would hang on a razor's edge. All that was left for the Mortal to conquer was the first bastion: Kragzbarg, where Erṣetu and her countless protectors lay in wait. However, instead of proposing a direct and massive assault upon the crumbling ramparts of the late capital, Ahra Katash would choose to challenge and overcome this final hurdle alone.
Despite their reservations, those within the ranks of the Five Blades had come to trust their champion to a fault, and so Ahra Katash would journey into the heart of Dragonkind alone after pledging an oath to all Mortals:
Upon my vow, I will not return to my peoples until I have descended the causeway of our fallen, to the brooding pool of Erṣetu. I will not return before any of the Mortal Races until I have severed her heads and brought them here for all to see. This is my vow to all Mortals.
With that the great Firedrake Queen, Ahra Katash, the First Dragonslayer, would dissappear into the darkness of night, stepping forward towards an uncertain future. Sneaking through the remains of the forested Rhyms, Katash beheld the grey crater of Kragzbarg, the chasm from which black smoke billowed and covered the sky in a crimson haze. In that moment, Katash felt a sensation entirely unexpected: a frenzied revenge. Not a revenge for the wrongs done against all of the Mortal Peoples or even against the Wraith Globe at large. This boiling blood was born from something far more personal, yet she could not remember what. Nonetheless, she pushed onwards towards her final conflict with Erṣetu.
As she approached the outermost boundaries of the city, the crimson sun began to rise behind her. There would be no more skulking in the shadows for the Firedrake Queen. Upon their warlord's own orders, Dragonkind was to let "The Bane of Erṣetu" pass through the city freely, and so it was done. Without a word, Dragons of all shapes and hues perched passively upon the upper ruins, watching the lone figure walk unfettered into the heart of their leader's domain. at the brink of Erṣetu's pool sat two Draconic guardians, deformed and conjoined twins of Erṣetu herself. The Primordial Warlord was testing Katash with a penultimate challenge. In a furious dance Katash would whirl countless curved blades, evading all that the amalgamation before her could muster. She climbed the beast and slit both its throats in quick succession leaping from its back as the behemoth crumbled to the cracked ground lifeless.
The First Dragonslayer, covered from head to toe in crimson Dragon's blood, descended down the causeway of her ancestors. The mesmerizing pool of colors below was strangely stagnant, with not a ripple to be seen across its surface. However, as Katash approached the pool erupted, the twisting form of Erṣetu bursting from its surface until it stopped, turning towards the small figure above.
You... You shall be my last hurdle before I melt this world away! You have returned for nothing!
In words not entirely her own, Ahra responded in kind and raised herself into an offensive stance:
I am relentless in my purpose. You will fall here, worm.
And so the fated duel between purposeful existence and destitute void began again. Erṣetu would turn to cause a tumult in her pool, letting loose a wave of the elements themselves towards Katash, who would step and twist around the dancing spray. With her heft arm she would launch an Allorack towards the eyes of Erṣetu's black feathered head, leaping into the air and clawing at her scales with the allorack in her right hand. The serpent would curl and contort itself attempting to crush or loosen the insect on its neck, but the Firedrake Queen would not relent. As the five heads of the Primordial Warlord thrashed about wildly, spewing fire, frost, and corrosion in every direction, Katash would slowly slash away at the neck of Erṣetu's crimosn head, attempting to sever it completely. The wailing voice of Erṣetu was suddenly heard from all five heads in unison:
You would not dare to spill the holy blood of Onus! Worm indeed! I will devour not just your head, BUT YOUR VERY ESSENCE! You shall be the first thing to melt away before the might of Onus, the great entropy!
With that the blood of Erṣetu began to flow faster within her, and she prepared to unleash it on everything surrounding her. There was a strange feeling in Katash's skull, as if this should not be allowed at all costs, and so with reckless abandoned she scaled the crimson head of the giant like a climber with ice axes in both hands and threw herself into the precipice of Erṣetu's open maw. As she fell like a puppet falling withits strings cut, Ahra Katash slashed along the length of the Primordial Warlord gullet, causing Onus itself to spill forth and melt away even the form of its own bearer. The entropy of Onus is indiscriminate, and so the crimson head let out a gurgling cry as it was drowned in its own holy blood. Ahra Katash dangle at the edge of this flood as she clung tightly to her blade imbedded into the Dragon's throat, and despite the immense thrashing she crawled her way from the drowned head and jumped to the causeway to see the state of her opponent. Four heads remained, and yet the blood of the warlord was clogged and stagnant. The wish of Erṣetu to wash the Wraith Globe away had been prevented, or at the very least delayed.
Erṣetu did not utter a word to her adversary, for her eights eyes glaring with hatred and bloodlust said all that was necessary. With renewed anger, the serpent lashed out at the Firedrake Queen, an unending flurry of teeth and the elements. Despite her small victory Katash was being beat back, her immaculately forged blades bending under the immense stress. The four heads would pull back together once again, preparing to finish off their rival prophecy. They would lash towards the small heroine with viscious speed and the area would go up in a cloud of dust and debris. When it finally settled, Ahra Katash was nowhere to be seen.
Nonetheless, this loss would only serve to bolster the resolve of the Finite Races in the campaign against Dragonkind, and Erṣetu would slink away to the stars of Viabaas' Ring, searching for a way to once again have Onus flow through her veins unfettered.
The Disappearance of Dragonkind
"For we are kin and will be forevermore even if some have fallen from honor. I will lull us to slumber so that perhaps we may dream of what we once were rather than live as what we have become. It is a cruel fate, but one that I choose for them and myself as the last standing pillar of our kin."
- Hedera the Erudite
As war raged on the central continent and Erṣetu fled her perch in Kragzbarg, the last surviving pillar of the Dragonkin, Hedera the Erudite, saw that the conclusion of this conflict would be exceedingly bloody. The primal ferocity of Dragonkind would only grow stronger as they were cornered, and although Hedera thought it likely the Mortals would prevail regardless, it would cost too many lives to count. Hedera had survived the Tyranny of Dragons by cowardly bowing to the whims of Erṣetu and her new order, but no longer. The green dragon had heard from the few Dragonborn who had sided with Erṣetu that the majority of their peoples had either gone into hiding or been rebuked by the other Mortal Races off the edge of the map, so Hedera fled across the sea, hoping to find even a small trace of benevolent kin.
Instead of lone survivors, she would find a flourishing community of the Dragonborn who had survived the journey to the isle of Corevia. The mountainous terrain would give way too towns and villages perched upon the cliffsides, invirogated by runoff from the snow-capped peaks above. After convincing the Dragonborn that she was not a threat to them, she would go to meet with Drakaras Kroltuc, now the democratic leader of Corevia. From the isle's northmost peak carnelian veins would run like rivers down the scarred earth shaken by the Lord's Hammerblow, causing the jemstone to quickly become a prominent part of Corevian culture. Upon this peak known as Mount Carnel, the leader of the Dragonborn would live in solitude, busying himself with deep thought and manual labor in his abode. He would come down from the mountain to meet with Hedera, and there the plan to make all of Dragonkind quietly disappear from the Wraith Globe would devised.
Both Hedera and Drakaras wished for Dragonkind to be reunited as kin once more, but only Drakaras thought such a feat was still possible. After witness the countless atrocities done by her people during their tyranny, Hedera only wished for all of it to come to an end without further bloodshed. She offered an alternative: to lull herself and her people into an eternal slumber, hidden away beneath the surface of Corevia and protected by the Dragonborn peoples. In order to achieve this, Hedera would sing the cry out in the call of her mother Drakorn, the mother of all Dragonkind, and thus use the one last thread of authroty she had left over her people.
Drakaras reluctantly agreed, for he could see the dreariness in the ancient wyrm's eyes; She would settle for nothing less. Hedera would then return to the main continent while Corevia hade preparations for the disappearance of Dragonkind. To unearth the Crucible and hollow out a cavern large enough for all of Dragonkind, the green dragon would need help from the last ally among her kin: Raduga the Mountain-Shaker. A white wyrm who often kept to himself, Raduga preferred to quarry for his hordes rather than steal it from others. He had become quite skilled at his trade during the Tyranny of Dragons, heralded as a purviewer of fine jewels yet an undesirable outlier from the brutal community of Dragonkind. He paid no mind to such things, for he was the first of Dragons to consume gems and jewels for sustenance and flavor, leaving him no need to feast on or vex the Mortals. In time, the bloodline of Raduga the Mountain-Shaker would result in stone wyrms who burrowed through the earth rather than the sky.
Hedera would have counsel with Raduga, proposing her plan to bring peace to their peoples after the long age of destruction. Raduga agreed to help her, but requested that he and his descendants be left awake to explore the depths of the Wraith Globe. Knowing the gentle nature of her ally, Hedera adhered to Raduga's request. After countless hours within the new shattered ruins of the old city of Drakorn, the teeth and claws of Raduga hit against arcane gold at last, unearthing the now worn Elemental Crucible. Returning to Corevia, Raduga would help to hollow out the highest peak on the isle, carving the final tomb of the Dragons. From then onwards, that place would be known as the Mount of Eternal Slumber. With everything prepared, Hedera would Ask Drakaras to kill her as the ceremonies of their ancestors, of the old city, dictated. Through this, the memories and knowledge of Hedera the Erudite would live on in the leader of Corevia, Drakaras Kroltuc. With a shaking hand, Drakaras would drive a blade upwards through the skull of the ancient green Dragon, and with her last ounce of strength Hedera would let out the cry of her mother for all of her kin across the Wraith Globe to hear.
Dragonkind would hear this call echo out to every crevice of the Wraith Globe, and they would be powerless to resist. They would fly Southwest from the central continent, perching themselves upon the slopes of the Mount of Eternal Slumber. One by one they would enter, as docile as livestock walking to the slaughter. All was finally silent. To all but those in Corevia, the Dragons had all but disappeared, and the secret of the Mount of Eternal Slumber kept from all but the Dragonborn.
However, a few of Dragonkind would persist, including Raduga and the Primordial Warlord Erṣetu. Hedera's call to slumber would only reach Dragons left upon the surface of the Material Plane, and so the rare few who remained would wander the stars aimlessly, legendary predators with no purpose left within them. Raduga would wander the depths of the Wraith Globe before stumbling upon the vibrance of the Feylands, where he would stay for a time.
Another Path - The Age of Symbiote
"Our justice demands blood in equal portion to one's misdeeds. Hear me, you Blight of Dragonkin. You do not have enough blood within your body to atone for your wrongdoings."
- The Firedrake Queen
Although unlikely, perhaps the fateful duel between the Primordial Warlord Erṣetu and the Firedrake Queen Ahra Katash ended with more than a cloud of dust and uncertainty. Perhaps as the five heads of Erṣetu tenses and prepared to spring towards the dragonslayer, something held deep within the soul of the Mortal was lit ablaze.
Just as bellkeeper Frammen of Ansulf was the spiritual descendant of Koudouni in the second age, Ahra Katash was born with the spirit of Gungnir the Relentless, foremost of the scarlet wyrms. Even Katash herself did not know this herself, and Erṣetu only realized it as the warrior approached the gates of Kragzbarg alone. Realizing that her duel for the order of the Dragonkin at the beginning of the age was now unfinished. She order her kind to stand idly by according to the laws of the Blood Scales, but Erṣetu had to be sure of Katash's identity. She placed her most vicious offspring before the Firedrake Queen, and as the blood-drenched warrior descended the path to the warlord's pool victorious, covered in her crimson scales once more, Erṣetu was sure of her epiphany.
As the fateful duel progressed, the five-headed serpent would begin to become uneasy. This Mortal did indeed fight with the relentless ferocity of Gungnir, but there was something more to this champion. There was a flame within her unlike that of any dragon she had seen, even the four pillars. After all, those created from the whispering fingers of Artukos have a potency absent in those formed by a Lordborn gifted power, no matter how skilled they may be.
As Katash drowned one of Erṣetu's heads in its own blood, the Primordial Warlord was filled with an overwhelming anger. She would not lose to the old order of Dragonkin. Not after her new tenets had born such tyrannous fruit. With a swift movement she coiled her remaining heads, hoping to end this battle in the same way she had so long ago.
Time seemed to slow for Ahra Katash as the four heads lashed out, teeth bared and eyes filled with the tumult of Onus. Her heart pounded in her chest like a steady drum. Sweat, blood, and dust dripped slowly down her brow. Ahra blinked to flick away a speck of dirt, and as she opened her eyes, she saw the world anew. In Ahra's eyes, all but Erṣetu blazed brightly like a crimson wyrm's flame. In a flash of inspiration, the Firedrake Queen realized her spiritual predecessor. Their purposes were intertwined: the two champions, one of scales and one of flesh, both wished to end the blight of the Dragonkin.
As time continued once more, the Firedrake Queen dropped her curved Alloracks and outstretched her arms, scarlet scales and claws sprouting in their place. With inhuman strength the advance of the four serpentine heads suddenly stopped. Erṣetu looked on with bloodshot eyes as the being before her, neither Mortal nor Dragon, who sneered at the warlord with a grin as curved as a wyrm's claw. As Erṣetu recoiled suddenly in primal terror, the Firedrake Queen's grip held tightly to the jaw of its adversary's emerald maw, separating its jaw from its head in one quick movement and killing it instantly.
So, this is symbiosis...
The voice of Ahra Katash boomed deeper than it did before, like that of a rumbling storm on the horizon. Erṣetu barely managed to murmur a response:
What machination of cruel fate are you?
Just two words would suffice as an answer.
Your death.
With a swift leap, the Firedrake Queen raised her claws, latching onto the sapphire and ivory heads of the Primordial Warlord, scraping down along the serpent's length as Erṣetu, the Primordial Warlord, Blight of Dragonkin, finally fell dead in a brooding pool of her own bile, blood, and fluids.
What would then emerge from deep within Kragzbarg would no longer be Ahra Katash, nor would it be Gungnir the Relentless. It would be Dracodeus, the symbiosis of creation. The lineage of souls was the antithesis to Onus' entropy, and so it brough forward its greatest symbiosis of Artukos' most precious creation. Unification had overpowered dissolution. Dragons would fall from the new order of Erṣetu and return to their old code of honor. Mortals would praise the victorous return of their champion, yet the wise among them would suspect that nothing remained of Ahra Katash.
In time, Dracodeus would rise to the Lordly Pantheon itself, sitting on a throne of its own creation as the first and only artificial god. It would leave the Dragonkin behind to settle the Wraith Globe and recover the lost artifacts of their once great knowledge. In time, the Mortal peoples and Dragonkin would come to coexist, forming a sort of symbiosis. Some would ride the Dragons, others would learn from them, and yet other would fall in love with them. All the while, Dracodeus would sit upon it's throne of scales and blood as the rest of Pantheon grew suspicious or uneasy of the new deity born from the broken roots of Artukos' creation.
