From the Lips of Sages

[Black Plauge]

A lone Gold Dragon sits on a lonely peak. A cave opens up behind it, but surprisingly no glitter of gold or gems can be seen reflecting on the cave’s interior. Instead it is dark, and the sound of stone grating on stone emerges from its opening. A sound so faint and yet so full, that it can only be caused by very large stones grating together very deep in the roots of the mountains.

Over head a shadow wheels across the sky, momentarily blotting out the sun. Looking up, the gold dragon sees an unmistakable silhouette. A dragon flies over head. A study of the silhouette reveals that the wing membrane attaches to the dragon’s tail, but doesn’t run its length like the gold dragon’s own. The wings themselves have four rearward spines, and a single forward “thumb.” While the former might indicate the dragon to be silver, when combined with the second, it’s clear the dragon is red.

“At last. He comes.”

Lowering his gaze in a look that might be mistaken for sadness, the Gold Dragon looks at the edge of the ledge on which it sits, ignoring the Red Dragon wheeling overhead.

For its part, the Red Dragon circles a few more times, and then descends towards the ledge. It was a well known fact that Gold Dragons were faster fliers, and now that it had been spotted, remaining on the wing carried no advantage to it. Landing in the spot where the Gold Dragon is looking, the Red Dragon furls its wings as smoke trails from its nostrils.

At first the two dragons simply stare at each other. A small breeze catches both the smoke of the Red Dragon and the whiskers of the Gold Dragon, causing them to drift and sway in kind of oddly synchronous dance. The smell of sulfur and saffron mix, giving the air an exotic tinge that is some how both repulsive and attractive at the same time.

“You’re late,” the Gold Dragon finally says, its voice a melody of deep tones that seem to sing like a thousand trumpets.

Snorting at the implication, small tongues of flame dance in the Red Dragon’s nostrils, sending out a large puff of smoke that the wind catches and blows gently away. “Punctuality was never my strong suit,” the Red Dragon replies.

“Then you will learn. The duties of Custos demand it, and Io will broker no deviation.”

“You Golds were ever trying to curry favor with Io. You seem to forget that it was he that bound us to the service of lesser creatures. You would do better joining with Tiamat and throwing off the reins of bondage.”

“Such is not for us to decide. Even Tiamat bows to the will of Io. You are here are you not? Ready to take up your turn in service as Custos?”

“Yes,” the Red Dragon replies, as flames flare from his nostrils again. It is clear is not here by choice and practically pains him to admit it.

“Then let us begin...

My name is Desolo, and I am Custos of the Great Wheel. I know not how many dragons have held this position before me nor how many will hold it after you. Even for us dragons, the history of Dünya stretches back into time immemorial and the future stretches ever forward. I can tell you how many have held the position since the stabilization of the planes, but that would be starting the story from the end. Instead, let me start from the beginning, or at least as much of the beginning as is known. When one discusses the events of time long before the current age, and indeed long before recorded history, the details of such events are bound to be lost and confused. As Custos it has been my responsibility to remember these details and sort through them where possible. This responsibility now falls to you, my young apprentice. My term is ending and in a few short gün I will take my place within the Great Wheel to serve as all dragons must serve.

Enough of such thoughts though, it is time to begin the history.

In times long ago, Pelor was the only sun to rule the skies over Dünya. And unlike today, back then it ruled over the whole planet. There was no starside or sunside. Pelor rose and set over the whole planet like Io does today. In that age, during that time, we dragons ruled. Our lives lasted as long as we could hold our hoard. Death was always a violet ending, never the appointed termination that it is today. Lairs were plentiful and well proportioned. None ever had to settle for a small lair in some out of the way location to avoid the incursions of the lesser races. Indeed, the lesser races didn’t yet exist. But enough nostalgia for times never experienced. That is not the point of this telling.

In this early time, the Inner Planes still battled for dominance. For the right to control and subjugate the others. Not like today, where the balance has been achieved, and stability established, but I get ahead of myself again. Just as the planes battled for dominance, so too did our ancestors, and not in the alliances commonly seen today. With the contest of the Inner Planes dominating the structure of the world, the likes of you and I would have be allies, fighting for the cause of fire over the other elements. Such was the Age of Dragons. At least until Io made his presence known.

As with all deities, Io had never involved himself in the world. He was worshiped or not, like Tiamat, or Chronepsis, or any of the others as it suited the goals we held dear. Indeed, were it not for the power of their clerics, it would be easy to doubt that the gods even exist. But the time came when Io felt it necessary to intervene in the world.

According to the histories, the Age of Dragons was essentially a long, protracted conflict. If there was no fighting in a given location on a given gün on Dünya, it was because yesterday’s combatants were either dead or dying. Battles raged, fought with claw, tooth, tail, wing and spell. Mountains were pummeled into dust under the feet of battling dragons and dust was packed into mountains. Such wars and battles were only interrupted by the hoarding of treasure, for as we are today, we dragons were always a greedy race. So fierce were the battles, that they eventually threatened the very existence of Dünya itself. It was then that Io stepped in.

Not willing to see the world destroyed, Io ended the conflicts between dragons. He bound us to the Wheel, and fixed our life spans. He limited our number, and obligated us to keep hidden. No longer could we rule the skies, the land, and sea as we once had. Fights continued, but never again on the scale that would threaten the planet. He made it so that even if we could engineer a victory for ourselves, we would never get to enjoy its spoils. Thus he turned our greed against us, and we became what we are today. A powerful race, relegated to bondage and servitude. Why did Io do this? Some claim he created the world, and wished not for it to be destroyed. Other claim that he feared one of the dragons of Dünya would amass enough power to challenge him and the other gods. Still others claim that the Ninefold Dragon wanted to give the lesser races a chance to develop. Whatever his reason, Io’s work was sure and swift. Within a küçüksene, the dragon battles ceased, and Io had placed his eye, Chronepsis in the sky to ensure the rules were kept. Free of his obligation to illuminate the whole world, Pelor changed his path to shine only on his favored children, while Chronepsis watched over the whole world.”

Sighing, the Gold Dragon lowers its head.

“Such is the tale?” the Red Dragon asks. “Nothing more is known?”

“Not of the Age of Dragons,” the Gold Dragon replies. “You may find some other tidbit to add to the tale for your successor, just as I discovered that it is not Io but Chronepsis who watches over the pact, but the search for such knowledge is not an obligation of the Custos. Only the memory of what I have said.”

“Then take your place at wheel old lizard. Let my tenure begin if it must.”

“Not yet. There are still a couple more gün before I must take my place, any you must still hear the story of what came after the Age of Dragons. For as we are obligated to remember why we are bound, so we must remember what came after, and why we are the lucky ones to be bound.

Go, find food and eat. Return on the marrow and I will continue the tale.”

Turning slowly, the Gold Dragon enters the cave behind him, heading down into the depths to tend to the duties that it would pass on in just two gün’s time.

[Black Plauge]

“Grandfather, tell us the story again. Tell us about the fathers of your father’s fathers.”

“But it is such an old story,” the elderly man replies to the cadre of children around him, “and you’ve heard it so many times. Are you sure you want to hear it again?”

“Yes!” a chorus of voices resounds.

“Okay, okay,” replies the man known as grandfather, “Let me find my chair...”

Immediately three different sets of hands grab his and practically drag him over to a large chair in the corner near the fire.

“Ah yes, here it is,” grandfather says as his hand falls on the furs that drape over the back. Sitting himself down, the man begins to pat the pockets on his vest, “Now my pipe. You can’t tell a story properly without a pipe...”

The sound of running feet fills the cozy cabin as the children scatter to search for the pipe.

“Found it!” one of the children exclaims, rushing back to grandfather to hand over the pipe.

“Thank you, Mädchenklein,” grandfather replies as practiced hands bang the old ashes out and refill the bowl with fresh tobacco.

“Light,” the old man orders as he places the stem of the pipe in his mouth. A young boy grabs a brand from the fire and places it over the pipe bowl, “Light, grandfather.”

Quickly, smoke begins to stream from grandfather’s mouth and nose as he puffs hard on the pipe.

“Thank you, Loben,” grandfather says as he pulls the now lit pipe from his mouth.

Setting the brand back in the fire, Loben resumes his seat amongst the other children as they wait expectantly for the story to start.

“Now, where do I start... Ah yes, it was the time of the fathers of my father’s fathers, and the land was still dominated by the elements. The dragons that the fathers of their father’s fathers had lived in fear of, were gone. Vanished into the fabric of Dünya like smoke into the air.”

Puffing on his pipe, grandfather blows a ring of smoke into the air to emphasize his point, waiting for it to dissipate before continuing.

“With out the dragons to keep them from their proper place, the fathers of my father’s fathers were the rulers of the land, and not just the Vasteland, as we are today, but the whole planet. The fathers of my father’s fathers were twice as tall as we are today and could walk across the big waters like we walk across the Vasteland. There was not a part of Dünya that was prohibited them and none would stand in their way.

Now, this was also the time of the elements. While the demise of the dragons had seen Io rising in the sky for the first time and a shift in Pelor’s favor to only one side of the planet, it had not changed the elemental nature of the land. Fire, Earth, Water, and Air still did battle with each other, seeking to dominate the others, and we, the giants, were their generals. The elements flowed through our blood, inflamed our passion, hardened our fists, and lifted our spirits.

In those days, Annam and Hiatea, the father and mother of us all, lived among us, and ruled us as a parent rules their family: sometimes stern, sometimes generous, always loving. Dünya is a big place, however, even for men and women of the stature that ancestors had. Even though they traveled often and seldom stayed in one place for longer than they were absolutely needed, Annam and Hiatea could not be everywhere at once when conflict would arise, so their children were put in charge of certain areas where they might serve as Annam and Hiatea’s representatives in more petty disputes when their parents were not available.

It is said that it was this sedentary nature of the children that ultimately led to the end of the Age of Elements. Others claim that enthralled by the taste of power they had and resentful of their parent’s authority, the children of Annam and Hiatea did what any child would do in that situation and sought their own path to power. Whatever the reason, six of the children made alliances with the elements. Alliances that brought out their elemental affinities and took them to new heights. Memnor, Skoraeus, Stronmaus, and Surtr each became closely tied to one element, while Thrym and Iallanis tried to combine the power of two elements. Only the youngest, Grolantor, remained untied to the elements like his parents.”

“Grolantor was a sissy,” a voice that has just begun to crack exclaims from the back of the room.

“Ah, Jugend. Come join the other children and listen. You might learn something about the sissy if you do,” the old man replies, empty eyes turning to stare through the sullen youth who leans against the wall near the door.

“I am no longer a child to be held captive by one of your stories, old man,” the youth replies. “I will be a man in two ay and take my seat within the circle of men. You, on the other hand, can’t even find the council fire when it is lit any more.”

Spitting on the floor in contempt, Jugend stalks out of the room, leaving a chilly silence behind him.

“Grandfather,” a timid little voice finally ventures, “Grolantor wasn’t really a sissy, was he?”

“No, Grolan. He wasn’t. Indeed, your namevater was the wisest of all Annam and Hiatea’s children. He had learned his parents’ lessons well and knew that it was the balance of the elements that allowed our world to exist in the first place. In forging their alliances, his siblings had forgotten that and thus threatened to undo the dynamic balance of Dünya.”

“So what did Grolantor do, grandfather?”

“Like many children, he at first sought to hide the actions of his siblings from his parents. He figured that if he could convince his siblings to undo what they had wrought then his parents would never know the truth and life could go on as it had before the elemental alliances. But how could he hide what was happening from his parents when his siblings elemental nature was becoming so much more pronounced? It was only a matter of time before they could hide it no longer and Annam and Hiatea would find out, and when they did, surely the consequences would be terrible.

Grolantor was a crafty one, though, and knew his parents well. When they next came to visit him he convinced them to go with him on a spiritual pilgrimage to the Great Wheel. Once there, he used magic to compel some of Annam and Hiatea’s servants to kill two of the dragons that were awaiting their turn at the wheel. Of course, dragon’s are formidable foes, and the servants were all killed in the process, but Grolantor was relying on this. With the killers themselves all dead, it fell to Annam and Hiatea to take responsibility for the actions of their servants, and dragon justice is not anything if it isn’t swift. Annam and Hiatea were forced to take the places in the Great Wheel that were left by the death of the two dragons and serve their turn for them.”

“No!” a chorus of voices gasps.

“Yes,” grandfather replies, “See, the turning of the great wheel is dependant on those that fill its places to continue and the death of two of its number meant that there were two empty spaces. So it was that Annam and Hiatea went into the wheel, and Grolantor had the time he needed to dissuade his siblings. For you see, the turning of the Great Wheel takes 10 küçüksene and in that time, Annam and Hiatea would be unable to see what their children had wrought.

Grolantor’s siblings would not be dissuaded, however. Each had learned of Grolantor’s intentions and used their new powers to keep him, and his followers away. Memnor buffeted Grolantor and his followers with strong winds, blowing them away, Skoraeus Stonebones built impenetrable walls sealing his brother out, Stronmaus took refuge under the waves where Grolantor could not follow, and Surtr set fire to land around Grolantor, burning his brother severely. Even Iallanis and Thrym, the more reasonable of the siblings, rebuffed Grolantor’s approaches, blinding him with storms of sand and water. In the end, Grolantor could not dissuade his siblings and had but one choice.”

“Tell his parents!” chime the voices of the children, clearly waiting for the right moment.

“That’s right, my little ones. Head bowed low, Grolantor returned to the Great Wheel and told his parents what had happened when the came out. The damage, however, was largely done. Annam and Hiatea could not separate their children from the elemental powers they had taken possession of. Instead, they had to seal away those element, forever separating their children from the land of Dünya so as to protect us.”

“But what about Grolantor?” a bold voice asks from one corner, “He was not tainted by the elements, why could he not stay with us?”

“Ah, indeed Grolantor was not tainted by the elements, but he had also plotted to kill dragons and forced his parents into service in the Great Wheel. Annam and Hiatea could not let this go unpunished. Grolantor too was sealed away from Dünya.”

“Then Annam and Hiatea stayed?” a very young voice asked, belonging to a child hearing the story for the first time.

“No, little one, no,” grandfather replies, shaking his head sadly. “Annam and Hiatea themselves could not bear to be separated from their children and sealed themselves into the elemental planes too.”

“But enough of the story now. Off with you all. It is nearly dinner time and your mothers will be calling soon.”

At the mention of dinner, the children are set to scrambling, heading for the exit as grandfather carefully taps out his pipe with practiced hands, catching the ash in a dish. Standing up, he goes over to the window, opens it up, and leans out.

“Jugend, take these ashes to the chandler. He says tobacco ash makes the best soap.”

“And next time, sit quietly and listen to the story with the others.”

Chastised, the youth slinks out of his hiding place under the window, takes the dish and heads quickly towards the village chandler.