Appearance

Were there to be an archetype from which the dragons took their forms, it would undoubtedly be from Doranth. Neither the largest specimen, nor the smallest, he exhibits large corded muscles across the body, but not to the point of being a juggernaut of war, or having atrophied from disuse. From the tip of his smoothed nose, to the end of his serpentine tail, Doranth measures a full 25 meters. Vast, three fingered wings extend from his back, stretching a full 30 metres from tip to tip, and when seen from a distance, they seem to shimmer. When the Blue Dragon strides across the ground, taller than many trees at 15 metres in height, witnesses have said he seems to slip in and out of reality itself, before disappearing entirely.

His scales are, in a word, astonishing. Seeking to forever secure the knowledge he has gained, Doranth has engraved the magical wisdom he has gathered onto his protective scales with his own curved talons. Across the tens of thousands of gleaming azure scales is neatly etched writing and symbols. With every movement he makes, small arcs of magical energy jump from one scale to another, crackling with power, like a lightning storm in the vast plains. Each scale is perfectly overlapped and bristling with barely contained power, but it has come with a cost – every new mark from his claw causes the scales to weaken, and has slowly make him more physically vulnerable. Doranth embraces this decay of his physical form with cold acceptance, due to the necessity of his task. The sheer power of a single Axiom cannot be fully comprehended by a mortal mind, and by no mortal contrivance could an Axiom be held, or used. Doranth realized quickly that only the flesh of the First Dragon can bear the strain of such potent energies, and even then with a cost. So it is that on his own body the Blue Dragon holds his collected and future wisdom, and the hope to restore what was lost.

But for all that, Doranth could be said to have the ideal form of a dragon. His stature is undeniably simple, even appearing docile, if such a word could be used to describe a Firstborn. The tail is un-barbed, and no spikes or protrusions mar his ancient face. His eyes are orbs of blue, the same colour as his scales, without pupil or iris, which blend into the face so seamlessly that it would almost seem that he lacks eyes altogether.

Many have speculated as to the teeth and jaws of Doranth. A peculiar curiosity, true, but based on universal observation – Doranth has never physically spoken. To hear the voice of Doranth is to hear it in your very mind.

When Doranth chooses to take a mortal form, it mirrors his unending search for knowledge. He manifests quickly and inconspicuously, taking a most mundane form – a dark leather diary. Not much larger than the palm of one’s hand, bearing and oxidized copper metal clasp, Doranth travels by bending and working the incorporeal aether of creation, intersecting one point with another. The result is being able to vanish and reappear where he pleases. More often than not, it simply appears on a bookshelf, or on a table likewise covered in assorted learnings. Without fail, when it appears, it will be in the presence of one capable of casting magic, regardless of experience or strength. Aside from its sudden appearance, the diary is unassuming in every way. It is never locked, and every page is blank. Initially deemed as coincidental, strange things may occur nearby, such as a quill simply appearing atop the cover, or unfelt wind casting it open; all working towards tempting the recipient closer to something that defies comprehension and rouses an almost primal curiosity to understand what they see.

The arrival of the book serves two functions – it may be in anticipation of an occurrence to which Doranth wishes to bear witness, or lost knowledge that he wishes to acquire. At such times the words of the Blue Dragon will appear on the pages, laying out specific instructions, issuing commands, or just to ensure that his “voice” is heard. As the words are read, they fade as quickly as they appeared, followed shortly by the tome itself.

The book may also, though rarely, serve as a test. There are tales amongst his followers of the book appearing in the home of librarian, or even in the private study of a mages guild. Those of whom Doranth approves will then find a single page falling out of the book. On the old paper will be the directions to the nearest Temple of the Blue Dragon. Then, just as quickly as it was found, the book vanishes.

It is known that the Diary will not abide the presence of those who follow the Gods, and it is invisible and utterly undetectable to those who are favoured by the Divine.

Passion

Somewhere within his lands, deep underground and encased in shifting shields of reality itself, is the lair of Doranth – the Lexicon of Knowledge. To the Blue Dragon, it is a maelstrom of magical energies, coalescing and collapsing simultaneously, as he studies the truest essence of magic and the Axioms. Should Doranth deign to let a mere mortal enter his realm, the storm calms around the guest and astounding visions appear before them. What each mortal views is different; The Dragon shifts creation itself to show the visitor a version best suited to their own intellectual concept of knowledge – some see a library, shelves reaching past the horizon; some see rooms of stone reaching to the limits of the sky, strange writing carving into the weathered surface.

The hoard of Doranth is not some paltry showroom of baubles or treasures, but a very culmination of magic and the Axioms made manifest. Yet the Lexicon of knowledge remains unfinished, and the Dragon, above all else, wishes to see his great work completed.

To seek the favour of the Blue Dragon is to give offerings of knowledge and magic, freely, in all the myriad forms it may come in. A common practice amongst those new to the ways of the Azure may think the gifting of a potent battle magic scroll from their own spellbook may be well received. Often this item is rebuked, for it assumes that Doranth has no knowledge of the common spheres of magic, and could potentially risk his ire.

The wiser of his aspirants know to bring truly unique things, that challenge the concept of how magic works. Items imbued with the powers of both sickness and health, plague and restoration, life and death. Ritually created items, forged at nearly impossible odds by the most meager of formal magic casters. Even living specimens from the distant realms may rouse his curiosity and gratitude. Doranth believes that the more improbable the magic, the greater its value in knowledge.

Temperament

As the greatest historian the world has ever known, Doranth knows the slow gait of mortal time, and true learning in this new age is a ponderous thing. He would stride through his lands, ever seeking the remnants of the lost Axioms or clues to how they may be rebuilt. In times past, stories are told of mortals of wisdom engaging in great discussions and debates with Doranth, which could last for whole months, or even years. But somehow his guests find themselves free of the need for food, drink, or even sleep.

Despite his great drive, Doranth has become increasingly reclusive, and far more dependent on his mortal followers. If there is a thought equal to his work in the restoration of the old world, it is his failure at defending it. To the Blue Dragon, there is no quest equal to repairing the damage done to the magic he was tasked to protect, and he sends his followers on increasingly difficult and unusual tasks to discover lost wisdom. At the same time, he has grown less trusting of mortals and far more selective in whom he would induct into the Azure Monks. Where once a driving desire to learn and share with Doranth was sufficient, there has been an influx of those whose following borders on obsessive. The Dragon is quick to reward those who bring him remarkable gifts of magic, but grows increasingly intolerant of failures or delay. Such must be the same of those who would seek to emulate the Blue Dragon. Your work, your research, your studies – they are the foundation of your life. Doranth’s obsession to restore the Axioms must be your obsession. There is no detail too small, no experiment without merit. His followers work for a higher calling, and are prepared to abandon everything in their quest.

Since the sundering of the Dreamleaf, Doranth has grown increasing vengeful against Salam, the God of Magic. As the world continues to decay, his desire for retribution on the God increases. He believes that he, and all who would follow him, owe a terrible reckoning to Salam and all of his favoured. The presence of his divine favoured is never to be tolerated within the lands of the Blue Dragon, and all that would follow Doranth are expected to ensure adherence to this mandate. Should a mortal seek to gain the favour of the so called “God of Magic”, then they must be reeducated and shown the error of their ways. The greed of Salam forever cracked the world, and there is no forgiveness within the Blue Dragon for this atrocity.

Affinities

Doranth is a creature of pure magic, and as such, is unparalleled in its usage. There is no sphere of magic he cannot use at will, or even far more ancient magics that would defy the most potent of wizards’ comprehension. So vast is this power that Doranth can even rewrite parts of reality itself to change the surroundings to his design. The Blue Dragon can never be caught unaware, as the world itself whispers its own ebbs and flows to him.

The limit, and some might say bane, of this power is Divine Magic, of which the Blue Dragon is loath to speak, and has very little influence over whatsoever. Beneath his calm and sage-like demeanor, Doranth holds a great fury against the God Salam and all his followers. Furthermore, given that Doranth has weakened physically from the constant addition of magical knowledge etched onto his body, should his own magic be somehow negated, he would be at his most vulnerable. Fortunately, such a thing has never happened.

With the constant growth of the mortal races, Doranth, still greatly weakened from the conflict long ago, accepted that he alone is insufficient to gather the the wisdom he seeks. Still hounded by the guilt of the Sundering, he seeks to reclaim and rediscover the Axioms of old, and repair this shattered world. To this end, he gathered forth an assembly of like minded mortals – those who sought knowledge for the sake of knowledge, but also to keep it safeguarded. This organization became known as the Azure Monks. While never seeing mortals as anything close to equals, to be a member of the Azure Monks is the closest any being can get to receiving the respect of this Firstborn. In this age, they have become the living extensions of his will to regain the knowledge of All.

Breath Weapon

Once a great secret, stories of the nature of the Breath of Doranth have started to be spoken by his followers. These mortals tell of the attack bearing a terrible power – the utter destruction of all magic. With a single exhalation, Doranth is able to unmake magic of all types – perhaps, save the most powerful Divine magic. So thorough is this power that it is speculated that Doranth could utterly annihilate an actual entire Sphere of Magic from the world, should he wish it.

The Breath of Doranth begins with the dragon pausing, remaining completely still. His jaw slowly opens and begins taking in so much air that any mortal nearby could suffocate from its absence. As the air rushes into the dragon, a small mote of gleaming white light appears, positioned just past the tip of his face. As the fanged mouth continues to open, the mote begins to grow rapidly while thin white tendrils break from the surface of the light, briefly spiraling in the air, and sink back in, growing faster and faster. His mouth widens a full 90 degrees and the light grows into a 10 foot sphere, shaking the air with contained energy, gleaming brighter than the sun itself.

All is silent as the sphere explodes into an impossibly bright and instantaneous cone of pure anti-magic energy. When sound returns, it comes with the deafening boom and the roar of a thousand hurricanes. Whorls and swirling eddies of white light race across the surface of the beam creating intricate shining helices, following the flawless geometry of the growing cone. The furthest extent of the breath reaches a full 150 feet in length, and at the far end the blast covers a circular area of 50 feet across, before the energy begins to dissipate inwards and fade. The duration of the attack can last upwards of 10 seconds, able to wash over all in the dragon’s path.

Anything that is even grazed by the Breath of Doranth is instantly and irresistibly stripped of magic. Should a mortal be caught in the attack, the effects would be devastating. Anything from the most meager of battle magics to the most powerful arcane defenses are sundered and destroyed, memorized spells are torn from memory, and even the most potent of relics is rendered completely mundane. And this is but the weakest form of the breath. Should Doranth will it, anything with the capacity to perform magical acts, or is in itself inherently magical, would cease to be. A powerful Mage would find themselves utterly unable to utilize their magical abilities ever again, as though they never existed. Creatures of pure magic simply disappear from reality itself.

Such is the intensity of power and consequence that his breath brings forth that Doranth is loathe to use it save for the most dire of circumstances. Only three times has it ever been used, most famously in the heart of Dreamleaf against the God Salam, in a time before mortals walked the land. That attack resulted in the destruction of countless Axioms, and the breaking of the unified world of magic.

Style of Governance

The Blue Dragon has virtually no interest in the world of mortals, beyond what they can bring to him. He holds no sway or control of conventional governance. Throughout the history of the lands closest to his lair, all envoys have been turned away. The Kingdoms of Antioch, Mizrah Atara, and Mjoll, whose borders fall within the realm of Doranth, all seek a way to gain from the Blue’s hoarded wisdom, but have never once gained anything save a polite refusal. If ever he chooses to interact with the mortal world, it is done exclusively through his Azure Monks.

These devoted servants travel within and without Doranths realm, finding new like-minded folk willing to dedicate themselves to the Blue, seeking lost magical knowledge, or ensuring such knowledge is kept safe and away from those that would use it to their own ends. The Monks are not known for ingratiating themselves in the courts of local rulers; however, it is not unknown for the Monks to be briefly “contracted” to serve as uniquely enlightened Advisers, though their fee can be both unusual and extreme. The monks have asked, and successfully received, anything from a few hours in a private library, to the complete acquisition of the same library. But on the whole, the Azure Monks far prefer to be left to their own devices, wandering through the lands, seeking to discover secrets lost from the First Days. This is generally tolerated by ruling authorities, so long as this research does not rouse something best left sleeping. In the past, many times has a delegation of Azure Monks arrived at gates of some random nobility, seeking access to their libraries. Though initially hesitant, the Monks are more than happy to provide coin for the privilege, which has the habit of opening doors quickly. The rulers fearing, perhaps quite rightly, that the Monks seek some private and well hidden secret often find themselves surprised to find the Azure Monks thumbing through books of botany, anatomy, or some other mundane school of knowledge, and then depart as quickly as they arrived.

But this is not always the case, of course. Every wealthy estate with a mysterious heirloom or trove of books knows the legends of Doranth, and of those few fools who chose not to cooperate with his devoted following of Monks will witness consequences. Deliveries of due taxes may suddenly disappear, month after month, until a recalcitrant Noble-Born is hanged as a thief by the law of the land, only to have the coin be mysteriously found with the dull clang of the shovel digging out the expired noble’s own grave.

Temple Structure

Unlike many Firstborn, Doranth has no need for overt secrecy regarding his temples. It is well known they exist, scattered throughout his realms, and serve as gathering points for his Azure Monks. Always located a fair distance from any major city or settlement, the Temples of the Blue Dragon serve both as vast libraries, and havens for the magically inclined. On the exterior, they are things of beauty. The temples are build from hewn granite, and immaculately assembled, though many are almost entirely obscured with ivy left to grow for hundreds of years. Temples will always incorporate a large garden or two, bearing both sustaining vegetables, and well trimmed flora. The Azure monks are also keen into the art of sculpting, as one can usually find no less than eight oddly shaped statues nearby.

This being said, these serene temples are not without protection, often seeming as an easy prize to plunder, as the Temple rarely incorporates physical guards. Magic is infused in every rock and beam, every inch of mortar, and pane of glass. To assail a Temple of the Blue Dragon is to assault a fortress built on the foundations of untold thousands of years of magic. Many a failed thief would say that the very building is alive, and can read the intentions of those who would enter its halls. More canny groups, perhaps leading a fully armoured and prepared raiding party, are rendered speechless as the very temple they seek to sack all but springs to life. The statues in the gardens are quickly revealed as monstrous golems: not the typical lumbering constructs, but entities with terrible strength and grace, sprinting towards foes and crashing upon them with powerful magic and brute force. Should the golems be bypassed, inside the looters will be endlessly vexed by corridors leading to nowhere, walls that reorient themselves when passed, and large traps waiting to be tripped. Stories even tell that on the eve of a siege, the attackers find that the temple is no longer there: walls, gardens, statuary, all vanished.

The Temples of the Blue Dragon also serve as a proving ground for those that would gain the favour of Doranth himself.

The Structure of a Temple of Doranth is simple by design, but in which it is arduous to advance. The term Azure Monk itself is somewhat misleading – to be a member of the Temple does not mean you have joined the ranks of the Azure Monks, you are simply an adherent to the works of Doranth. There are three ranks within the Temples that must be reached well before the title of Azure Monk is given. Whether this is deliberate is unknown. All members of the Temple are called Monks, but only a very select few will ever become an Azure Monk.

The monks also operate under very strict, though occasionally vague, edicts. All are expected to reflexively obey, lest they find themselves thrown from the temple. These rules are said to have been passed down from Doranth and remain unchanged since the formation of the Temples.

1. Above all else, study magic in all its forms.
2. Seek out knowledge, wherever it may be.
3. Commit no violence, so we may travel freely, save only to defend yourself.
4. Return all you have learned to the Temples of Doranth.
5. Do not permit the presence of Salam.
6. Do not tolerate the influence of the Gods.
7. Never give away what you have learned, save when what you receive is of greater value.

Another oddity is Temple leadership. Marked by a thick vertical stripe of woad across the face and given the title of The Keeper, this position isn’t so much a rank, as an unwanted duty. Though they are initiated in every mystery of Doranth’s temples, they are essentially caretakers. They tend to both magical and mundane maintenance, ensure the larders are stocked, and provisions for writing and research are on hand. They also stay in relatively constant communication with the Heads of other Temples, passing news and discoveries. More often than not, this role is taken by one of the younger lived races, who have not had enough time to truly contribute to the wisdom of Doranth, and age and failing health limits them. For all their simple duties, however, the head of the temple is invariably one of the most educated Monks. They know and enact all the interior ceremonies, and provide a single skill of the utmost importance – tending to the dead.

The first rank within the Temple is that of Novice, and the requirements are very simple: dedicate yourself to aiding the passions of Doranth, and seek to emulate him; be a practitioner of magic, and study it in all its forms. Surprisingly little is expected of the Novices. It is not uncommon for a fledgling to the temple to be just as magically wise – at least in the eyes of the Blue – as someone who has been a Novice for a decade. Not all are suited for discovering the higher mysteries of magic, and some are completely incapable of it. Duties usually include cleaning, fetching books, and other menial tasks. This tends to weed out those who do not have the patience to endure the studies required of the Blue Dragon.

What tends to surprise both new and old Novices alike, is that they aren’t given tasks of any significance whatsoever. They are never encouraged to seek out wisdom, or educate themselves in the deeper mysteries of the arcane. The fact of the matter is that this is already expected of them. Should a Novice spend their entire life content to wash cookware and fetch tomes, then they are viewed as a useful, if not simple, asset to Doranth. As such, most would argue that the rank of Novice is the easiest to achieve, and the hardest to surpass. Until one elevates themselves to a higher level of learning, either by experimentation, discovery, or even revelation, the scullery will be their home.

The second rank within the Blue Temples is split into three parts, and the given title is based on the task assigned. As a whole, this rank is referred to as the Path to Wisdom.

First amongst these is the Seeker. The aspirant is given access to the lesser libraries, and is instructed to choose a tome from which to study. Once they have familiarized themselves with the writings, they are tasked to go out into the world and enhance their knowledge of their chosen subject so that the original book may be improved. A common practice is for the Seeker to choose to study a sphere of magic with which they are already familiar and experiment on how it may be used in new and undiscovered ways. The logical trap that many fall into is that they assume that their discovery must be truly groundbreaking, and revolutionize the way a sphere of magic is used. What is, in fact, far more useful, is knowing how a sphere cannot be used. The worthiness of this discovery is ultimately judged by the head of the Temple.

Once achieved, the Seeker is given the new title of Scribe. Their discovery must now be documented, and entered into the libraries of the Temple. The scribe is expected to personally write a new book for the Temple. This is often far harder than it seems, for the writing is giving a far heavier critique than the discovery itself. Some Scribes have spent decades trying to perfect their work, while others easily finish in a day. The secret to a successful entry is writing absolute fact, without hyperbole. One is not expected to unravel the secrets of magic in their discovery, but to understand the How and Why. It is expected that a completed work will fully educate any that would read it, leaving nothing to interpretation or guess work. Azure monks watching over this project tend to not offer much assistance beyond the occasional mysterious comment, such as “You have discovered how the apple is eaten. Now you must seek why it is eaten”.

Once the addition to the library has been completed and approved by the Head of the Temple, the Scribe becomes the Petitioner. This often takes the aspirant well out of their comfort zone. The Petitioner must make contact with another Temple leader, and request their work be reviewed. The purpose of this is two-fold – the Petitioner expands their contact with other followers of the Doranth, thus creating a stronger bond based on shared knowledge and ideals, and determines whether or not their studies have been unique. Should the book be deemed a new and valuable additions to Temples of the Blue Dragon, then the Petitioner will be sent home with a letter of recommendation they they be promoted to the third rank. Should the work be found redundant, or even worse, wrong, the Petitioner will be sent home to begin the Road to Wisdom again.

But should the aspirant succeed, they will be promoted to the third rank – Sage. A Sage no longer has a “home” temple. They are welcomed at all, and their rank recognized at whatever temple they visit. The role of a Sage in the Temples is far more loosely defined than the previous ranks. Above all else, they must experiment and discover the fundamental truths of magic – lingering threads of the lost Axioms, which one day may be rebuilt by once protected by Doranth himself. Many Sages choose to wander Arthos, seeking forgotten ruins or magical artifacts, lost to time. Others travel from Temple to Temple, immersing themselves in the libraries and hidden holds of knowledge, hoping to piece together some fragment of truth. So long as they are continuing the work of Doranth and adhering to the guiding rules of the Temple, there is no wrong way to be a Sage. The only thing that matters are results. It is expected of Sages to know what amounts to genuine magical discovery, and not be bogged down by trivial matters. Should the Sage make a discovery that they deeply believe is rooted to unknown magic, or the Axioms themselves, they return to the nearest Temple of Doranth, and potentially receive a Mark of Truth.
The Mark is a result of the Sage communing with Doranth and sharing this knowledge. This is performed in the deepest levels of the temple, and is an intensely personal and private affair; an entire temple will stop what they are doing, eagerly awaiting the result. Should Doranth have no use for the knowledge, the Sage simply departs and begins their search anew. But should the Blue Dragon find it worthy, the Mark will appear on the Sage’s body. Ranging from a series of indecipherable scribbles to crudely shaped symbols, the mark is a physical representation of what has been added by the Sage to Doranth’s Lexicon of Knowledge. The entire population of the Temple will assemble within one of the many chambers, elation in their voices. Raised onto a dais, the Sage shows the Mark to the crowd, and using a rune-covered blade capable of piercing even the most ancient of draconian hides, carves an exact replica into their living flesh. Their ceremony celebrates both coming closer to the discovery of the Axioms, and the elevation of a Sage into an Azure Monk.

Those who would aspire to become a Dragon Knight of Doranth often use this elevation as their Passage of Embodiment. They also realize this is not the first time they will take the runed blade to their skin. Every great discovery that the Azure Monk makes from this point forward is ceremonially added to their flesh. The maiming quickly heals, leaving a livid scar, or something that more resembles a tattoo. These marks are embedded not into just the flesh of the Monk, but also their very spirit.

While many Monks wear the Mark of Truth with pride, others acknowledge that there are those in Arthos who are envious of Doranth’s hoarded magical knowledge, and a marked Azure Monk can be a tempting target for those that would wish harm to the Temple of the Blue. To ensure the safety of the embodied knowledge, a ceremony can be held at a Temple to gift the mark to Doranth directly. An assembly of monks will meditate for no less than four full days, and attempt to commune with the Blue Dragon. If successful, the Dragon’s mortal form of a book will appear in the inner sanctum of the Temple. The marked Azure Monk has to but stand before it, bearing the Mark of Truth to the ancient diary, and the mark will flow from their flesh like a heavy mist and be written across the blank page. The act done, the book will simply vanish from sight, and the monk’s skin will be as it was before.

Though few in numbers, the Azure Monks are undeniably the face of the Temples of Doranth. They are the most seen, as they serve as the voice of both the local Temple, and journey across the world, bearing the will of Doranth. But despite being the dragon’s “public” face, the Azure monks are a quiet lot, having spent most of their lives in quiet research or deep within ancient libraries. It is only when they begin to speak of their devotion to Doranth that they could be seen as passionate. The rest of the time, they are, at best, socially awkward. When traveling, outward behaviour has led to many a highwayman making a crucial error – confusing a quiet and subdued demeanor for weakness. It is rare for an Azure Monk to not wield powerful magic, and they are more than capable of defending themselves.
When not distracted by the comings and goings of the mundane world, the Azure Monks spend their time much as they did previously: in search of lost knowledge and magic. Another task they perform is seeking out those individuals who may best serve Doranth. To be paid a personal visit by an Azure Monk is believed to be a great honour, for that means either you, or something you know, has intrigued the Blue Dragon himself. It is in this way that the Azure Monks spend most of their lives.

Though Monks of the Blue Temple are well known for their fervor and dedication to seeking out knowledge, this is nothing compared to dedication and lengths they will go to in order to retrieve the body of a fallen Azure Monk. The eldest of these Monks have bodies that looks more like a chaotic patchworked puzzle than skin, likely having received numerous Marks of Truth over their lifetime, and the value of these to Doranth almost beyond measure.

Much like when a Sage ascends, the death of an Azure Monk is a moment of celebration, but also solemnity. The body is taken by an honour guard of other Azure Monks once again into the depths of the Temple, into a secret chamber unseen by anyone save the Leader of the Temple, and those that accompany the body.

Therein hangs row upon row of humanoid skins, all former followers of Doranth. There, before this group of ascended Monks, the corpse is tended to by the Head of the Temple. Body hair is delicately shaved off, and the skin massaged with preserving oils and tinctures. The skin is then painstakingly flayed from the body, not a single inch of flesh left behind. The blood is collected and mixed with more ingredients, and then brushed over the skin as a lacquer. The body is then hung from silken cords with the utmost reverence, and left to cure. The remains are then unceremoniously burned to ash, eventually to be mixed into ink as a pigment. In life and death, all is given to Doranth.

Historical Highlights

Historical Entry 1 – Date: The Beginning – The First Dragon and the God of Magic

“I have a story to tell you, so pay attention. It’s long, and I’m only saying it once.”

In the age before time itself came into existence, there was single tree. Taller than the mountains yet to rise, with roots deeper than the seas yet to fill, the tree was the heart of the world. Its canopy spanned the horizons – in the day its leaves would sway to fill the world with wind and let the hot light cool into a soft green hue, at night its leaves would curl to show the moon in the sky and the let the gems of the dark sparkle.

Beneath this tree, in a cavern so vast that no walls could be seen from the center, did lay the first dragon, Doranth. He willed his essence into the roots above, filling the tree with pure magic. Along with the Axioms, to whom he was both Keeper and Guardian, he bore witness to a world of pure magical perfection. On the surface, his fellow Firstborn co-existed with the first people – the Grey Elves, and they existed in harmonious peace and enlightenment.

Then came the God of Magic, Salam. Dwelling at the furthest reaches of existence, Salam hid and fed on the magic that coursed through the ground, the wind, the water, and gained consciousness and awareness of some things. But it galled Salam that he was not aware and conscious of All Things. He felt a terrible hunger for magic, and become the first to feel Envy. So cloaked in the magic of divinity, which the magic of the world could not see, he followed the lines of magic in the land to their source.

Arriving at the great tree, he looked upon the First People with jealousy, for perhaps even they were wiser in knowledge than he, and would never trust him with that they clearly hoarded for themselves. Filled with terrible anger, he tore at his skin and hair, spreading the corruption of divinity with every footstep. Feeling a change in the wind and the whispered song of magic, the First People did see Salam, and barred his way forward.

Not to be denied, Salam cast out his own, new magic, and directed its power into the ground. Searing beams of light and darkness burned into the earth, seeking the true magic that lived below, and he began to dig his way to the Heart of the Tree.

As the divine magic tore away at the earth and disrupted the lines of power and true magic, Doranth woke from his slumber. Knowing not what was coming, Doranth summoned forth the very Axioms, and awaited the arrival of something new.

Salam burst into the Chambers of Doranth, robed in swirling eddies of shining light and impenetrable darkness. All the powers of the Divine circled him, crackling with barely contained potency. But even as he approached the Blue Dragon, he was stunned by the sheer radiating magic that came from the dragon, and blinded. So weakened, he collapsed to the chamber floor, writhing in pain.

Cautious, but ever curious, the vast form of Doranth rose, likely circled by the powers of the Axioms, and approached the fallen form of Salam.

“Creature, not of my making. From whence do you come? My eyes cannot see you as the world sees you, and I cannot feel you as the world feels you.”

“I come from where there is Not, and wish to know that which Is.”

This made Doranth even more curious, for there was naught in this world that he did not know. He stared at the prostrate form of Salam, and using the force of his Axioms, looked into the creature’s mind. Yet how well shielded it was, in armour unknown. The divine magic covered Salam’s mind and soul like a glimmering curtain that could not be parted.

“Open your mind to me, creature. I shall share of my knowledge if you should share of yours.”

The recumbent form of Salam stared without eyes towards the sound of Doranth, and smiled softly. He opened his mind to the dragon before him. A spear of entwined Light and Darkness stabbed into the mind of the dragon, now recoiling in horrid agony, and broke the connection between himself and the eyeless creature.

“I see what you are, wretch! I see from whence you came, and where thou shalt travel. I name thee thief and liar, corruptor of that which is Good.”

But as he spoke, Salam rose from the ground, his eyes re-knitting themselves into glowing orbs, and his stature grew to match that of the Dragon. From his mind shot out tendrils which touched and wrapped about the Axioms. Power began to fill Salam, his own magic magnified a thousand fold. Though equal in size, he glared at the Blue Dragon with pure contempt,

“I see as you see, Dragon! And, too, I call you liar. In you is more Greed than ever drove me, and I shall take from you your Heart.”

Salam raised his hands, alight with magic energies, and began to channel such destruction as had never been seen. Yet as this mighty blast grew, Doranth opened his mouth and roared, releasing his breath into the world for the first time. It was slow, but impossibly fast. Reality seemed to curve around its ethereal substance, burning with intense and pure light. The breath struck Salam with the force unknowable, for no words had been crafted for the true devastation it wrought. The magic Salam channeled was torn apart and spread to the etheric winds like dandelion seeds. His very body began to deteriorate and shrink and the magic sustaining it was blown apart into quickly fading fragments.

Cast to the ground, Salam endured. Seeing that the Creature had survived his attack, Doranth exhaled once again and sent the rending breath to the weakened body on the ground. Yet before it could strike, Salam had summoned forth a magic that Doranth could not forge or expect – Divine magic.

The breath of the blue dragon smashed against the hastily summoned circle. Though Doranth could not forge this new Divine magic, he could destroy it. The breath slashed at the Divine magic like a thousand swords, each chipping away a small piece of the circle. This gave Salam the few precious moments he needed to survive, but unknowingly set in place a chain reaction of fate and action that would ripple forever more.

Counting on the distraction of Doranth and the destruction of his Divine shielding, Salam conjured forth long tendrils of divine magic, which shot out of the ward and stabbed into the floating Axioms in the chamber, entwining their essence with his own. In that instant, reality itself trembled, and Doranth snapped his jaws shut. Salam grew once again, impossibly massive. As he moved his hands, reality flexed in their passing. As he moved his feet, the ground shattered and reformed ten thousand times, taking new shape with every vibration. Salam roared with triumph, for he now saw All Things, controlled All Things. Reality was his entirely, and all would bow before his Will. Even as he continued filling with the magic of creation, cracks began to form on the nascent God’s skin, for not even the Blue Firstborn could contain all things.

Doranth looked across creation, where a moment lasts for eternity, and saw all he had wrought. Salam had brought its unmaking. But even still, there was a choice that could be made.

“Thou hast brought the end of thyself, and all I have wrought, Creature. Yet still I might use thy corpse to feed the wheat. Third time pays for all.”

Hearing those words, the ever expanding and shattering form of Salam conjured into being a field of Divine magic so large that it burst the walls of the Lair of Doranth and uprooted the Great Tree, shaking the canopy that covered all of creation. In his own mind, Salam was without fear, for he was now Creation itself.

Doranth opened his jaws once again, and his breath burst forth with a devastating intensity, and all it touched was Sundered.
Where before reality curved around the brilliant beam of light, now it tore and shredded. The breath hit Salam’s Divine magic and ripped a tear through it as one might tear a piece of wet parchment, and then slammed into the God himself.

There was no time to react, no moment to cry out. For just as the Breath of Doranth could destroy magic, it also could annihilate it. The very Axioms absorbed by Salam were eradicated so completely that all built from them faded from existence. All of his wards and defenses failed to Be, or have ever Been, and the God of Magic was annihilated. And there was quiet.

All around the cavern, Doranth could feel his creation cracking. Pieces of his forged reality were breaking apart, and becoming their own planes of existence. Magic, essential to holding this world together, were fading. The Axioms of power which hovered in his chamber begin to fade into nothingness.

But not all was lost. Some magic remained. Some Axioms endured. Doranth strode from his lair, and began his new work.

“This story I swear to be true. I heard it from me Uncle, who heard it from one o’ them blue dragony folk, who were told it from a Grey Elf, so it has to be true. Eh? What’s that? What about Salam? Valdr’s balls, I don’t know. Go ask a Wizard.”

During the Winter of 2260, due North of Antioch, Tobin the Frail, a somewhat infamous devotee of Ryiak, accepts a grand Glory-Bind. He is tasked with stealing a single book from the deepest cellar of a nearby Temple of Doranth. This book is said to contain numerous magical cures for a plague taking root in a number of human settlements.

After weeks of careful observation, the noble thief has tracked the movements of every Azure Monk; routes are committed to memory, weak links in security broken into, and secret passages discovered. With the stealth and grace of the Cat-Lord himself, Tobin slips through the circuitous passages, and finds himself in a chiseled cavern well beneath the Temple.

What lays before him changes his views of the “peaceful” monks forever. Before him lay not stacks of books or assembled scrolls, but row after row of hanging leather and skin – some still dripping blood and viscera.

Staying at the edge of the candlelight, the divine thief sidles inch by inch along the damp walls to gain a better view, and gasps at the magnitude of the discovery. Every hanging leather, every bright fleshed skin, is from a person. Rows of perfectly flayed Humans, Elves, Fae, Einher; almost every race imaginable hangs from rope and chain by the ceiling. Stranger still, the bodies are one and all covered in words, dug into flesh and left to scar over.

Some 20 minutes later, Tobin abandons his nickname and is running from the Temple, with naught but an engraved filleting blade, and the story of what he has seen.