Territory

Ilyxtriak’s territory begins within the heart of the Lowgaryn Island, southwest of Salem Ruin. It extends nearly thirty leagues out into the ocean on its seaward sides. It then runs far to the south for many hundreds of kilometers, pressed up against the shores of Styphon’s border, and past the Tiefanue capital of Lightguard.

Appearance

Before Their imprisonment, every inch of Ilyxtriak’s body was covered with skeins of copper, running like fine fissures across the surface of Their scales. This was most evident when the Dragon opened Their mouth to roar, exposing hundreds of massive, metallic teeth.

After Their imprisonment and torture, Their physical appearance changed significantly.

Once smooth and silvery grey scales were burnt away by torrents of lava, which cooled into a dense and pitted grey stone. The scales were never able to properly heal, and instead fused with the volcanic rock that encased Their body, leaving an exterior that less resembles a dragonhide and more a vast field of jagged granite slabs, each perpetually grinding against one another like the sound of distant thunder. There are numerous places on Their back that have yet to fully heal, and these appear as dry patches of metal-infused bone.

The most glaring change, however, is found on Their face. They only have a single eye – amber and clouded with clusters of metal veins. Where Their left eye should be is an empty socket, and most of the skin and scale on that side of the face has been torn away, exposing a cratered skull, deeply pitted and fractured.

The only thing to remain entirely unchanged was the sheer scale of The Grey. From the flares of Their nose to the tip of Their copper-barbed tail, Ilyxtriak stretches one thousand meters long, with an incredible wingspan of nearly three thousand meters. They have two sets of legs, hind and fore, with each foot bearing five metallic claws. Their wings are set near the end of Their long curving neck and stretch far above, with phalanges that extend nearly Their entire body length. But they are not held together by webbing; instead when the wings are extended, a mesh of elemental lightning fills the void and catches the air beneath. Running from the peak of Their brow to the end of Their tail are three separate ridges – similar to the dorsal fin of a sailfish – composed of tens of thousands of copper radial spines, stretching upwards of fifty meters in height. They are connected by a remarkably thin grey webbing, filled with millions of fine copper veins. These three ridges constantly arc with thin, bright bolts of lightning.

When Ilyxtriak walks their fractured domain in a mortal form, They radiate a near palpable aura of energy. It is akin to being in the presence of a primeval force of nature, barely contained within Their form. They appear as a middle aged Am’Rath, portraying neither overly masculine nor feminine features. Their skin is pale, almost to the point of seeming sickly, with barely perceptible hues of blueish greys and greens, akin to those of a great stormcloud. Tattoos can be found across Their body, though they are never the same twice. Sometimes these appear in wild colours and strange patterns and sometimes in the simplest of black linework. The colour of Their hair is indeterminate, looking like a wild mottle that has been roughly combed through with mud and clay and affixed with numerous bones and beads.

Ilyxtriak wears no distinctive clothing, and cares nothing for the “civilized” concept of modesty. They dress for the weather, and never for ceremony – to keep warm, to stay cool, to keep the rain off. The only consistency in Their garb is that it will always consist of furs, leathers, or rough home-spun weave, more draped and wrapped around the body than actually fitted.

A single unique feature makes Ilyxtriak instantly recognizable, however. Just as in Their draconic form, They are missing Their left eye. Absent too is a swath of skin that roughly covers part of the nose, up to the forehead, and halfway down the cheek. In the place of flesh is exposed bone, white as lofty clouds and run through with skeins of thin copper.

Their personality seems to differ from their outwardly intimidating appearance. Ilyxtriak very rarely speaks and, when They do, it is without guile or subterfuge. They speak plainly, directly, and with as few words as possible. Their voice is neither aggressive nor compassionate, but They do tend towards being soft spoken and quiet. If angered, though, that changes entirely. They seem to speak only in bellows and roars, eschewing the spoken word entirely and taking to the task of laying waste to the surrounding area and killing those that offered offense.

Temperament

Ilyxtriak is a being of black and white extremes. One moment They are calm and completely at peace with Themselves, and the next They are a maelstrom of rage, violence, and death. One must understand that the mind of the Grey Dragon is forever locked in the past, and completely incapable of accepting anything resembling “progress”. The imprisonment by the Celestials, and subsequent torture by the Dwarves, solidified Their belief that mortal life should be lived in a way that is barely above base animals. Indeed Dwarves are held in a contempt so potent that borders on abject hatred, as they tear into Arthos with wild abandon, just as they once rent Their body for riches. No luxury is permitted – take only what you need to survive on a subsistence level. To Ilyxtriak there is no middle ground – you either exist in a harmonious way with your surroundings, or you die. Such was the fate of those who lived within Their territory in the western sea – ignorance of the Grey Dragons’ ways offered no reprieve from Their wrath, and untold thousands were sent to their deaths. But it should be remembered that Ilyxtriak never kills for pleasure or wanton indulgence – They kill because it must be done, all to ensure that the growth of civilization comes to a grinding halt.

Paradoxically, in light of Their often destructive acts and demands, Ilyxtriak is a tireless enforcer of freedom. But to those locked away in stone cities, this is a freedom that isn’t easily understood. It is the freedom to live within the primal essence of nature; to run wild through the lands of Arthos, unbeholden to any Lord or Monarch, be they bringers of peace and plenty, or tyrannical warlords. To be free is to sleep when you need to sleep, to hunt when you need to hunt. To be free also means you know to be respectful of the giving lands around you, and never impose your strength or will on those who also wish to be free to live a life unencumbered by the falsehoods and illusions of progress. Ilyxtriak believes that the most terrible creation of society and civilization is the cage, and refers to them as the Cages Seen and the Cages Unseen.

The Cage Seen is the most obvious – physical imprisonment. The very sight of prisons or gibbets is enough to send the Firstborn into a blind rage. No living creature, regardless of action, be they animal or mortal, should ever be confined under any circumstance. Not even criminals should be caged. Instead it is far more fitting for the free folk to gather and permit the offender a few moments head start before returning their bones to the soil.

The Cage Unseen is far more devious, for it represents the growth of civilization as a whole. It is invisible, comforting, and even seductive, all up until the moment you realize you have been trapped. The Grey Dragon rages at the sight of those who wall themselves away from the natural world, and become entirely dependent on contrived structure and false gentility. Ilyxtriak sees civilization as nothing more than the process of stealing freedom to make someone else more comfortable. A farmer is not free when they must feed the mouths of those they will never see. A citizen is not free when they are taxed to be protected, but must obey the laws of someone they will never see. A person is not free when they must kneel and scrape before the uncaring Celestials, and appease the deluded mortals that speak for them.

For the sake of freedom and maintaining the natural order, Ilyxtriak and all Their followers will stop at nothing to tear it all down.

Passions

The hoard of the Grey Dragon is said to be the graveyard of mortal endeavour. It is a vast pile of ash, broken masonry, and the still burning timbers of great halls. Bodies of magistrates, barons, and other willing slaves to society lay strewn about, their shining regalia glinting like faint stars amidst the thin smoke of smouldering ruins. 

To indulge in the Passions of Ilyxtriak, one must be as the storm itself – merciless and indiscriminate. A tornado devastates all that dares to come before it, and cares not for what it has killed or destroyed. The Grey Dragon holds the same philosophy for the ruin of civilization as a whole. They care little for how one manages to fracture and destroy the bondage of progress, only that it is done, and as thoroughly and brutally as possible. There are numerous ways this may be achieved, but it is absolutely key to remember that the change must be lasting – nothing less will suffice.

No Dragon Knight has ever achieved their rank with paltry gestures. Some have tried to appease Ilyxtriak by stealing the tools and badges of office from a town’s minor functionaries. This is nothing but a petty annoyance, not a genuine strike against civilization, and such trinkets are easily replaced. But targeted slaughter can be quite effective. The abduction and ritual killing of a beloved Magistrate on a shrine to Ilyxtriak would be smiled upon, though sending said person to their Final Death in the process is far preferable. The more control the person has, the higher in society they rank, the better. Other, less lethal, options can serve as favourable tribute. Stealing the coffers of an entire town, and offering them to the Grey Dragon can be a powerful gesture, as coin is amongst the strongest of the Cages Unseen. The remains of churches and offices of government an aspirant has put to the torch are always welcomed by Ilyxtriak, and when they are rebuilt, tear them down again. Gifts of the broken manacles and chains of the imprisoned set free have a place in the hoard as well, though preference is always given to quantity. Little regard is given to whom has been released, as freedom is owed to all. Even a gifted wordsmith can contribute to the hoard. There is little that delights this Firstborn more than when one of their aspirants is able to convert a powerful member of society to Their view of a subsistence level life. The converted need only to pay homage at a shrine dedicated to the Grey Dragon , willingly giving up their symbols of station and vowing to retake their place in the natural order. 

Affinities

Ilyxtriak is a creature of raw, untempered power, prone to wild and violent mood swings. They also believe that there is no price too high to achieve Their goals. They favour direct action over any variety of subtlety or obfuscation. Boasting incomparable physical size and strength and a mastery of elemental lightning so potent that it is capable of killing the Celestials, They have absolute dominance within their territory.

Due to the immense size of the Dragon, They are able to beat Their wings with such intensity that They can create hurricanes and tornadoes on a whim. When combined with Their breath weapon, They are able to create stormfronts hundreds of miles long and send them crashing into the Western shores of Arthos, where they wreak havoc as they cross the continent before dying out in the eastern seas.

Breath Weapon

Though Their innate mastery over elemental lightning rivals even the greatest of ritualists, the breath of Ilyxtriak surpasses anything so mundane as magic. It is the purest expression of elemental lightning – force and power. The Celestials themselves tremble before this, as even a single bolt brought forth from this attack can utterly annihilate them.

Beneath scales both immaculate and mutilated, the thin copper veins that fill Their body begin to radiate heat and light, growing in intensity with each passing second until the entire body of Ilyxtriak becomes blinding.

They slowly open Their mouth and breathe in, the light suddenly erupting into wild and thrashing tendrils of energy that wrap the Dragon in a webbed and sinuous skin of lightning. The interior veins become visible once again, now glowing with a harsh, blue luminescence, that surge in time with Their heartbeat. Massive bolts of power crack through the air, leaping from Their barbed tail, travelling the full thousand meters of Ilyxtriak’s body; weaving in and around the massive radial spines on Their back, then dancing off the thick ridges on Their head. When the vast maw of the Firstborn has fully opened, the lightning strikes into Their body, and begins to focus in the center of Their mouth. Energy pours out from hundreds of monolithic metal teeth and begins to focus on a central point, forming a massive sphere that burns with the ferocity of ten thousand storms.

Ilyxtriak exhales with the force of a hurricane, sending the orb hurtling far above. As it reaches a height that seems to all but touch the stars, it explodes with a detonation of thunder that shatters stone and fells trees. As the sound fades, clouds begin to fill the sky; dark, heavy and grey. A fierce gale tears at the land. Sheet lightning stretches across the sky as far as the eye can see, flying through darkening clouds at tremendous speeds, weaving webs and lattices of terrible destructive power. A dread silence fills the air, and with the most subtle of gestures, Ilyxtriak lets Their fury loose.

Were the long dead Estlemerians able to speak of the horror they saw when their land was obliterated, they would not speak of a mere storm. No. Instead, they would speak of a living, intelligent tempest hunting down mortal life, filled with all the animosity and hatred held within the heart of the great Firstborn.

Untold thousands of lightning bolts begin to strike from the firmament, setting all they touch ablaze. A mere mortal is instantly immolated if struck, and the concussive force of these impacts is enough to liquify the organs and pulp the brains of any too nearby. Indeed, these blasts seem to follow those running for cover, as if being herded. Small villages are left as little more than scattered ash and rock, as not even hewn stone is able to resist the force of the Grey Dragon’s power. Streaks of lightning will even combine as they arc across the sky, growing larger and larger until they are potent enough to smash through the skin of even the most fortified castle or keep, erupting from the inside and blowing the stronghold apart.

The canny may think to seek shelter deep within the heart of a mountain, reasoning that no lightning, Dragon empowered or otherwise, could possibly reach them. Such is not the case. Seeking quarry that has gone deep into rock and ground, Ilyxtriak can will Their storm to focus, and gather all force into a single, terrifying blast. When the lightning begins to strike next, it appears not as an arced and angular bolt, but instead a great column of paralyzing radiance and strength.

It flashes for but an instant.

The world is blinded as the blast touches the surface of the mountain; the lightning strikes against the surface, throwing outwards swathes of smoldering rock that size of hillocks, and leaving behind a crater filled with rivulets of molten stone. A peal of thunder bursts from above, strong enough to render flesh and bone into a dripping red emulsion, and then the lightning strikes again, and again, and again, digging into the heart of the mountain with impossible force. Those fleeing the Grey Dragons wrath are so completely destroyed that not even settling ash remains to mark their passing.

As Ilyxtriak cools and Their choler diminishes, so too does the great tempest. Clouds give way to an unblemished sky, letting the sun and moon stare down at the incomparable devastation that has marred the world.

Style of Governance

Ilyxtriak has no form of governance as They have no one in Their lands They actually care to rule. After the devastation of Estlemere there remained only a few habitable land masses. One these jagged and sundered shores, only forty people remained,  all of whom were Am’Rath. The Am’Rath are a primitive and hardy humanoid race whose incredible resilience and adaptability had permitted them to mostly survive the ruin of the once thriving Estlemere. These few people are left to live their life in freedom and peace, as their own day to day lives are so harsh that they already live in perfect harmony with Ilyxtriak’s temperament.

Temple Structure

There is no Temple of Ilyxtriak. While other Firstborn might say the same, for the sake of secrecy or pompous notoriety, the Grey Dragon literally has no Temple or structure. This is often attributed to the Grey only having recently been released from imprisonment, but in actuality it is because the concept of such organization smacks of the corrupting influence of civilization and of forced slavery to an ideal.

All this isn’t to say the Dragon doesn’t have incredible expectations of those seeking their attention. Generally speaking, They place these people in one of three categories – an aspirant for seeking favour, a Dragon Knight, or a Stormcaller.

Aspirants

First and foremost, Ilyxtriak expects Their aspirants to be fiercely self reliant. The Dragon understands that you may need to join a small number of people for such things as companionship, breeding, or hunting – these are often necessary tasks to ensure your survival. However, you are expected to be able to weather the trials of life and to exist on your own, taking from nature only what is absolutely required, in order to remain truly free. Anything else guides you towards enslavement. Followers are expected to understand that comfort and excess are twin poisons that foul the body, leading you towards laziness, dependency, and blind obedience. You do not require sprawling mansions or gated communities to survive. Instead, seek the shelter provided by the world around you and craft it to your needs in accordance to the whims of the weather. Hot and dry climates may require only a simple woven shade and a nook to catch the breeze, where other lands may necessitate actual structures made from gathered stone and fallen wood. Should you be unable to defend yourself from the oppression of those who would claim mastery over you, unite with those who share in your beliefs of freedom and natural existence, and then part ways when your foe lays dead at your feet.

Aspirants are also expected to be ambitious, ever seeking out the trappings of society, and then crushing them without mercy. At the same time, they must be constantly shattering the Cages Seen and Cages Unseen. There is no time to rest and be idle when a creature is bound in chains or held down by the illusion of “mortal law”. An aspirant must remember, though, that the goal of these actions is not to sow chaos and fear – such are the actions of the infantile. The goal of one who seeks favour is to aggressively push the world back into a natural state. You should feel pride for showing people true freedom, not an arbitrary body count or people cowering at your feet.

Of equal importance is the devotional Pillar – a totemic monument created when one first entreats Ilyxtriak and swears their commitment to Them. It should be monolithic and intimidating in form, built only from what the natural world has freely given, or from the ruins of the Cages Seen and Cages Unseen, forcefully taken. Furthermore, no effort to conceal the Pillar will be tolerated. An aspirant and their pillar should embody ideals of a primal, free, and balanced existence. You should never be confused for being anything but a force for change.

Dragon Knights

The only way for an aspirant to become a Dragon Knight is to have dealt a truly crippling blow to their local society and governance, or to the civilization closest to where they call home. Either by might or wit, the devotee has destroyed or collapsed an important part of the “modern” way of life that cannot be recovered. Perhaps an entire merchant house has been put to the blade, or a full dungeon of prisoners have been let loose and have sacked a local house of governance and killed the cruel slave master inside.

To be a Dragon Knight of Ilxytriak means you put a deep and irreparable crack in the foundation that supports modern culture. But the work of the Knight is far from over, and the Grey Dragon’s expectations have only grown. Again and again you must strike at the world and continue to free people from the Cages Seen and Unseen. You must educate, even at the point of the sword, that the growth of society is the death of true freedom. Help construct the Pillar of every aspirant you meet, even if their methods differ from yours, and offer greater and greater tributes to the hoard of Ilyxtriak. Your work may only cease when the world is restored to its natural state, or when your spirit has finally left your body.

The Stormcallers

When Ilyxtriak broke free of Their prison and destroyed the island kingdom of Estlemere, a unique problem arose. Their territory being so far out to sea meant they would have a great deal of trouble expanding Their teachings and influence. To rectify this, Ilyxtriak called for Their first Dragon Knights – the original ten Am’Rath that had awoken Them – and asked them to become Their Voice and Wrath. Agreeing, the Dragon Knights were further empowered and their minds were joined with the Grey Dragon’s. They exist now as Ilyxtriak’s Stormcallers, both walking Arthos as cult leaders, teachers, and immortal warriors; and taking ethereal forms to live amongst the storm clouds, directing the fury of the Grey Dragon. Though they have lost their mortal identities and names, their devotion to freedom and the eradication of civilization has grown to the level of zealotry. The Stormcallers are in a constant state of telepathic communication with each other and with Ilyxtriak, and instinctively know where one another can be found anywhere on Arthos. Most of the time, they exist in an ethereal state, living amongst the storms that cross the land.

The greatest strength, and subsequent weakness, of the Stormcallers is that they are bound to the presence of storm clouds. They may only manifest within the sight of heavy grey clouds, and vanish like fog when the clouds have passed. A single Stormcaller may summon their brethren from across the world with the sounding of thunder. Regardless of where they go, their arrival is always presaged by Am’Rathi tribal chanting emanating from the dark clouds, which only grows louder as they approach. When the chant ends, they appear.

The disposition of a Stormcaller varies wildly. If they appear in a rural area, with very little signs of industry or civilization, they will be amiable, to the point of being friendly. But this shouldn’t be taken as a sign of impotence. If they are met with aggression, it will be returned in kind, and a Stormcaller has absolutely no qualms about killing if threatened. They are all tremendously strong and skilled warriors, and their power only increases if a storm grows violent. Combining the gifts of a Dragon Knight with a power over elemental lightning only matched by grand ritualists, a single Stormcaller is more than a match for a small town. Should all ten be tasked by Ilyxtriak to destroy, then they crash into the land like a hurricane and lay waste to all that stands before them.

To date, not a single Stormcaller has fallen in battle. However, should the day come that one is bested and meets their final death, it is certain that the Grey Dragon would only replace Their defeated herald with the very best amongst Their Dragon Knights.

Historical Highlights

The Chronicle of Ilyxtriak

In the The Age of Lucidity

The story of the Grey Dragon begins with Their fall. In the fabled Age of Lucidity, when Arthos was still new, verdant, and pure, Ilyxtriak was doing battle above the raging sea against the Gods. The immense Dragon flew on copper-gilded wings, trailing chains of brilliant lightning wherever They went. All around Them thunder echoed from the beating of Their heart, and raw elemental lightning danced across the three metallic ridges that rode along Their back from the crown of Their head, and ending a thousand meters away at Their tail. Lightning sang from Their granite body, crackling forth, chaining from Celestial to Celestial, utterly destroying their bodies.The Firstborn had only recently been banished to Arthos with the sundering of the Dreamleaf, tethered to the territories that would become their home, and Ilyxtriak fought alone. Their dexterity was like that of the lightning itself, and They possessed strength great enough to throw mountains as mortals would throw pebbles. Yet it was not enough, for even the Firstborn tire, and Their battle had been raging since the Dreamleaf had shattered. For every Celestial turned to ash, another would join from places unknown. Lash after lash of Divine magic raked across Their pristine grey body, leaving hideous, sprawling burns. Gathering in great numbers, the Gods would combine their strength and hurl apocalyptic blasts of divine magic at the whirling form of the Grey Dragon, tearing massive rents of scale and flesh from Their body. Yet, despite inflicting such grievous injuries to the Firstborn, their numbers were finally dwindling, and they knew that soon Ilyxtriak would have them all dead. Trusting a desperate plan, the Divine gathered once more for a final assault. A few of the more agile Celestials served to distract the Dragon, while the others rose high above the sea and began to fashion a singular weapon for the killing stroke. They spread across the sky in a great curve, hands tethered through the air by luminous beams of power. A glimmering outline of a vast bow hung in the sky, taking aim at the Grey Dragon, and notched in the center a great silver arrow began to form. Into this arrow the Gods poured their divine essence, until it became radiant and bright as the sun. With a silence that belied its potency, it loosed from the ethereal bow and plunged at speed towards the Dragon.The sudden light immediately gained the attention of Ilyxtriak. Ignoring the divine pests flitting around Them, They turned and stared with a deep malice at distant the Celestials and their imbued weapon. Looking to destroy them with a single stroke, They summoned forth Their breath and let fly Their own power into the sky above. An immense ball of coruscating lightning shot towards the sky and exploded into untold thousands of crackling bolts that crashed towards the Gods. The Divine were not prepared for this retaliation – the sheer potency of the Firstborn’s breath was beyond anything they had expected.The lightning blasted through the sky faster than thought. Dozens of Celestials were immolated before Ilyxtriak closed Their mouth. As the ashes of the undone Gods fell, the Dragon could feel the presence of the Divine fade. But They were unprepared for what was to come next.The silver quarrel had lost much of it’s radiance, but still it shone faintly, partially empowered by the few remaining Gods. Despite its size, amidst the calamitous storm of lightning, it was rendered all but invisible. Thus, like a needle through wool, the imbued bolt cut through the scales of Ilyxtriak, lodging itself in Their heart, and exploded.The Grey Dragon convulsed like a snake impaled by a knife, writhing in tortured agony. Lightning lashed about Their body, uncontrollably striking the waters below in explosions of steam. Their wings spasmed, cracking into bent and twisted shapes, and Ilyxtriak began to fall from the sky. Energy no longer sparked across Their frame, the thunder of Their heart ceased, and the Dragon struck the water with catastrophic force. As though wounded by the impact, Arthos seemed to respond in kind. Devastating quakes surrounded the fallen creature. Enormous slabs of rock exploded from the seabed, and new fissures burst forth with lava. Underwater mountains battled with newborn volcanoes in an arena that filled the horizon.After the remaining Celestials departed, believing themselves victorious, three different Gods appeared in the air, looking down on the chaos below. From a great distance away they had been watching the battle, curious as to how it might resolve. Despite the fall of Ilyxtriak, they saw the results as more of a stalemate.They knew Ilyxtriak had been defeated, but they couldn’t be sure if the Dragon had been destroyed. To leave a Firstborn’s corpse to the elements would normally be of no concern, but to leave a potentially living Firstborn, especially one as mighty as Ilyxtriak, was to court ruin. The three debated over the best solution to their problem, and eventually decided that should They not be dead then eternal imprisonment within the body of Arthos would suffice. The Divine creatures gathered forth their remaining strength and cast it into the ground below. Even as the Grey Dragon was being heaved about by the cataclysm, the seabed erupted once again, releasing enormous barbed chains that glowed with Celestial power. They curved and wound their way over the body of the Dragon, the hooks peeling flesh as they moved and spilling blood into the waters. The links snapped tight and pulled Ilyxtriak downwards, and soon the great creature disappeared entirely, consumed by rock, fire, and sea. The three Gods examined their work and were content. With a mere thought, they vanished.

Thousands of Years Later

Ilyxtriak awoke to utter darkness and pain. Just as the Celestials had feared, the divine bolt had failed to slay Them. But enough damage was done, and They were forced into a deep regenerative slumber. Eventually, as the last taint of the divine faded from the arrow, They fully awakened, but were in terrible pain, neither able to move nor see.  All across Their body sharp hooks dug deeply into flesh, and the imbued chains that bound Them burned like a hot iron on skin. Not a single spot was free from the crushing weight of the world above, or the bindings the Gods had left Them in. So entombed were They that the Grey Dragon could not even bring forth Their lightning – centuries immersed in volcanic flues had burned every scale from Their body and filled Their mouth with stone and sharp obsidian. Their body slowly tried to mend itself and chose the surrounding stone as its poultice. But every time They tried to move, Their charred hide would crack, the chains would tighten, and the healing scab of stone would splinter and dig viciously into Their flesh. There the Dragon would remain, fully conscious from the pain, unable to return to sleep, waiting for a reprieve from the absolute darkness and complete silence.And wait They did. The mind of a Firstborn is a great and mighty thing but given enough time even it will begin to lose itself. Millenia passed for Ilyxtriak, with nothing but Their own thoughts and the unimaginable pain to accompany Them. In Their mind’s eye They watched the great battle countless times. They ruminated on the loss of the Dreamleaf. They wondered if the world above was still beautiful, and if the endless horizon of the sea was still majestic. Eventually these wonderings became painful remembrances that haunted Their mind. They lived through thousands of years of unending claustrophobia, desperately trying to twist or move Their body, but the unimaginable pressure of the world and the cruel Celestial chains kept Them motionless. Then there came a noise. Though not convinced They weren’t imagining the sound, Ilyxtriak still clung onto the possibility of an outside world, like one drowning would cling to floating wood. It was almost like the sound of a claw scratching against stone, though impossibly far away. It was drawing closer, but at a speed that would make tree growth seem rapid by comparison. But still it came, and though Their heart did not beat, encased in volcanic stone, They felt hope. Within a hundred years, the scratching sound resolved into the dull crack of metal hitting stone, and it seemed to be coming from every direction. Subtle and faint vibrations soon followed with every metallic impact. The desire for freedom filled the Grey Dragon’s every moment, and They knew that any day now They would once again bask in the warm sun and feel the air rushing beneath Their wings.As fate would have it, the first sensation Ilyxtriak felt was pain. Quick and sharp at first, then slow and tearing. It felt as if They were being stabbed by a thousand unseen needles, and Their skin was being slashed with dull blades and pried apart. They could now feel the movement of countless creatures running across Their neck and up towards the head, bringing with them the endless stings of their steel and the terrible ripping sensations. Somehow the pain had even made its way inside of Their body, hacking and gnawing, sending bursts of screaming anguish through Them.

They were, of course, being mined. Unbeknownst to the Dragon, parts of the shattered quarrel had worked a foul poison into Them, causing the silver from the arrow to drain into Their blood. It had coursed through Their body, filling every vein and artery with the precious metal, and seeped far into the ground around Them. This had inadvertently formed the greatest “natural” vein of silver ever found. Whoever first found this lode is unknown, but it’s discovery deep underground triggered a great migration for many Mountain Dwarf families from the eastern Maud’Madir, all eager to carve their fortune from the Dragon’s body. Above and all about Them was a large, mountainous Island, formed during the upheaval of the elements when They crashed into the sea so long ago. Underground cities were built on the literal back of the Dragon, and the hundred forges of the great Dwarven smiths sang with the roar of fire and the ring of steel. Unbeknownst to the Firstborn, Their body had calcified, becoming almost indistinguishable from the surrounding rock. With mighty swings, pickaxes forged of legendary steel bore down and cracked through the hard stone, unknowingly carving away pieces of the imprisoned Firstborn. The “flesh” that tore away was filled with countless threads of copper, almost like veins under the skin, which was tossed aside as being aside as a lesser metal, best left to the apprentices to smelt. The silver veins continued, far deeper than the Dwarves could have hoped. Cavernous quarries, hundreds of feet wide were dug from inside the Dragon. Exploratory parties continued to mine out tunnels in every direction. After prying away massive slabs of the strange coppery granite, a team of workers found a smooth and glassy surface. To them it appeared a great ovoid of amber, run through with the same copper veins as the stone. It shone brilliantly in the torchlight as the pickaxes bit into it, chiseling away pieces the size of wagons. Within a month, the Firstborn’s entire left eye had been carved from its skull.  

After a hundred years of ceaseless profit, the silver finally began to thin, and though it still ran, it was nearly exhausted. Only the tiniest shards remained in the stone, not even worth enough to buy a warm meal, compared to the millions of coins that had already been minted from the run. The forges had all gone cold and the deep city of miners’ dwellings abandoned. The great quarries could no longer maintain themselves, and the trundling of pulleys and buckets ground to a halt. Only the desperate remained at the bottom of the mine, furiously hacking away at the remaining silver, praying that another, greater run might be found. But such was not to be. In the mid of 2150’s, the last thin filament of silver was ripped from the living stone, and the mines were abandoned. Once again the Grey Dragon, still bound in the chains of the divine, was alone.

Anguish consumed Ilyxtriak. For over one hundred years They had been torn apart by the avaricious creatures from the surface, and the sensation from every strike of the pickaxe and the gluttonous harvesting of Their body ceaselessly haunted Them. Soon They became lost in Their own mind – unable to bear the endless pain, unable to seek the peace of a Firstborn’s slumber, and unable to escape Their bindings. From somewhere in Their mind, They called out to any that would hear Them.The Current EraThe original inhabitants of the Island, far above the trapped Dragon, were the Am’rath. A single tribe had long lived above Ilyxtriak, eking out the thinnest of hand-to-mouth lives. When the silver-hungry Dwarves had arrived, the Am’rath had been hunted for sport and driven off. Now that the invaders had departed, however, the remnants of the nameless tribe returned to the land they once called home. Their lives were hard and cruel – where once the tribe hosted over a hundred strong Am’Rath, they had been reduced to a meager ten. When winter came to the island, they took what provisions could be harvested and retreated into the abandoned caves. Though safe from the elements, every night they suffered terrible nightmares of pain and darkness, and a distant summons that came from deep within the mines. Though superstitious and fearful, they preferred to obey the wordless command that clawed at their nightly dreams than face the certainty of death that awaited outside in the harsh winter. With nothing to lose but their lives, the family of Am’Rath descended into the depths.In their voyage to the bottom of the mines, the tribe was overcome by the wondrous things they saw. They held no interest in the constructs of the Dwarves; they saw them as crude and false things, having no real words to express their contempt. Instead they marveled that they were entering the actual body of an unimaginably vast creature. Where others had seen caverns of silver, copper, and iron, the Am’Rath saw massive bones laced with shimmering, beautiful metal. They travelled past a huge skull, and wondered at the size of the eye that had once lain within it. Whatever this entity once was, it was a creature of great strength, and worthy of their respect. Upon reaching the bottom of the mine, unknowingly beside the remnants of the Grey Dragon’s heart, they used what could be scavenged from the abandoned Dwarven city, and began to build a humble shrine in reverence of the great beast that gave them shelter.For the first time in thousands of years, Ilyxtriak felt a strength course through Their body. Though the God-forged chains still held tight, wounds began to heal and shattered bones reknit themselves. They could feel the spirits of the Am’Rath within; those small, fragile creatures that had somehow quickened Them from a living nightmare. So invigorated, the Firstborn sent Their mind out to the ten huddled creatures.

The tribe was starving, and near death with thirst. They had long since eaten all of their food, and the water within the caves was fouled by the industry of the Dwarves. Yet the Am’Rath had stayed with Ilyxtriak, fully knowing they would soon die. Using what small supplies remained, they finished the construction of the shrine, knowing their deaths were a fair price for the majesty they had seen. The Dragon knew that such dedication could not go unrewarded. Focusing Their renewed strength, They willed lightning to course within Themself once again, and sent it crashing like a blade into Their own renewed hide, carving out sheets of Their own flesh for them to eat, and dripped blood to the ground for them to drink. The Am’Rath, knowing an auspicious sign when they saw one, sated themselves on the gifts provided by Ilyxtriak. They extended but a fraction of Their might into the bodies of ragged people, granting them long life and strength. In doing so, They had created Their first Dragon Knights.

The Early 2250’s

For decades, and well beyond the normal lifespan of an Am’Rath, the Grey Dragon was both home and host to the tribe. Communicating through dreams, They told the Am’Rath of Their life and how They came to be imprisoned. The tribe was often sent out onto the island to fend for themselves, lest they grow weak from Ilyxtriak’s generosity, and would often conjure what storms They could to test their mettle. Eventually, They tasked Their Knights to leave, and return with news of the world around them and what had passed since Their defeat so long ago. What They were told did not please Them.Over the years They learned of the rampant spread of the mortal races across Arthos, and this filled Them with a great anger. Although They did not begrudge the mortals their lives, They were deeply enraged by how they chose to live them. Entire swathes of the continent had been destroyed to satisfy their need for growth and expansion. Mortal “civilizations” had become unforgivable abominations, set on a course to destroy Arthos just as surely as the Celestials. Whole forests were consumed to fuel industry; wildlife was wiped out to feed glutinous bellies that lived in excess and hunted only to leave the slain to rot; the noble mountains were covered in “cities and settlements”, and being harvested just as They had been. Their pain was the agonizing reflection of the pain Arthos felt as it was being torn asunder; no entity had the right to so torture and brutalize another, let alone the world around them. There would be no forgiveness or compassion. Once again, Ilyxtriak called upon Their Knights. So imprisoned, there was little the Firstborn could do to stop the wanton destruction and spurning of the natural order. And though the Am’Rath were mighty, They worried that the tribe would not be strong enough to face the ever growing multitudes above and turn them from their destructive ways. Ilyxtriak asked the tribe for their service, and they were given even greater powers, being permitted to act in Their stead. So it came to pass that the Stormcallers were born, and they set out into the world above, with Ilyxtriak ever listening with their ears, and seeing with their eyes.For ten long years, the Stormcallers toiled on the island. Even though recently “colonized”, the populace had become stagnant in their complacency. The wilderness continued to erode unabated, and it seemed that every day land was cleared to raise some new, unnatural construct. Fortresses and castles were built, reaching upwards and all but challenging Ilyxtriak and Their claim to the sky. The very name of the Firstborn was unknown until the Stormcallers themselves spoke it. The citizens cared not for the costs of progress, or for the Firstborn they had built cities upon. The painful truth was that many had actually known of the Dragon beneath them, but could find no way to harness its power, or force it to fight their battles. It soon became apparent that many of the cities and towns had assisted the Church of Light to further strengthen the chains that bound Ilyxtriak, lest They break free. Even knowing that the Firstborn was alive, that They were conscious, that They could feel pain and wish for freedom, the population at large chose to keep Them imprisoned. Anger was growing within the Grey Dragon – Their hatred for the world above, and for those that chose to keep Them trapped had reached unimaginable proportions.  With a thought, Ilyxtriak sent out Their Dragon Knights once again, but now charged them with a brutal and murderous task. They scattered across the Grey Dragon’s island, attacking every slave camp, every jail, every place that trapped a spirit within the Cages Seen. The Stormcallers were the Firstborn’s wrath made manifest; lightning crackled from their hands, and flesh melted from gaolers like a tallow candle tossed into a bonfire. Manacles and chains were torn apart with their bare hands, cages ripped apart like wet paper, and to every freed person the Stormcallers said a single phrase – “Leave these lands”.   After a long month of ceaseless raiding, the Dragon Knights returned to their Dragon bringing with them wagons laden with their spoils. They brought shattered steel and iron, broken locks and manacles, barely recognizable bodies of jailors, and took it all down into the depths and piled it high within the shrine they had built so long ago. This new hoard of the Grey Dragon bristled with tremendous power, and deep underground, Ilyxtriak stirred for the first time in millenia. Incredible energy filled Their body, bringing life back to atrophied muscle and shattered bone. Lightning awoke and rippled around Their body, blasting the encasing granite into a fine powder. The cruel chains reacted quickly, glowing brightly with divine magic, its barbs tearing at Their flesh like a cat o’nine. The pain was unimaginable, but now only suited to fuel the Grey Dragon’s rage. Drawing more and more from Their hoard, slowly, inch by torturous inch, They began to flex their stone-hardened limbs, and the grinding links shrieked as Ilyxtriak continued to extend Their form. Despite the pain, despite the skin being flayed from Their body, despite everything, They pushed against the restraints forged by the Gods themselves.

Spring, 2260

It was a Friday morning in May on the Isles of Estlemere, no more auspicious than any other day. The cities bustled with activity. Merchants peddled their wares, farmers tilled the lands, and adventurers adventured, ever seeking glory and fortune. In the town of New Lynnford, the idle rich sat and drank tea, comparing the value of silver and gems, and so consumed by their own greed and selfishness, barely noticed the mountains to the west explode.

The maimed and disfigured form of Ilyxtriak rose slowly into a rapidly darkening sky on tattered pinions of lightning. They spread Their limbs for the first time since time on this plane began; granite and volcanic rock, the size of sprawling estate homes, broke free from Their body and crashed to the ground below. Blood freely wept from Their untold wounds and fell to Arthos like leaden rain. Immense chains hung freely from the Firstborn, snapped clean and crumbling to rust as they slipped free from their once prisoner.Ilyxtriak, the Colossus, stretched out the full length of Their body in the morning sun, casting a shadow into the east that nearly touched the sea. Incredible thunderheads formed around Them, spreading outwards in every direction.The world below was shrouded in suffocating darkness, lit only by feeble torch light and innumerable flashes of lightning that filled the black clouds overhead. The Grey Dragon rose further into the sky, far above the battlefield of raging storm clouds. They bathed in the warm spring sunlight, feeling Their first measure of peace in an Age. And then, as in the beginning, Ilyxtriak fell – but this time it was not to Their doom.

Ilyxtriak fell, carrying within Them the death of all things, and like the impact of a cataclysmic meteor, the Isle of Estlemere was no more.