The Knights of Vraedrym

The Great Vraedrym

"Careful now, Sir Kassemar," warned Orthal, "we are nearly to the dragon's lair. This is no time to be admiring the scenery."

"Yes, yes, Orthal" Sir Kassemar responded, waving a gauntleted hand dismissively. Then, in a dreamy voice, she continued. "But when will we get another chance to see the Firedome's inner sanctum? Only a handful of people have ever set foot in this place."

"And of that handful, none have done so and lived to tell the tale. Only their falcons return with singed feathers and hastily written notes fastened to their legs."

Sir Orthal Lingeback peered through his visor at Sir Kassemar. She was currently down on one knee, peering through a crack in the floor that ended in a magma-filled ravine hundreds of feet below. He never understood how she could be so calm while leaving herself exposed to danger, especially in a place like the Firedome. By the Gods, the caverns here were said to be the most dangerous place in all of Istaria.

There had been no shortage of danger on their path toward the caverns' burning heart: they had fought fire-breathing salamanders, giant lava worms that could burrow through solid stone, and even the living beings of flame called Eldina. None of their victories had come easily, and the protective spells woven into their armor were beginning to weaken. Too much longer in the heat of this place would mean their demise.

"Please, Igrid, for my sanity, shall we press forward?"

With a grunt and the clinking of armor, Igrid stood.

"Aye, Orthal, my apologies. It would be rude of us to keep Vraedrym waiting, after all."

Though he could not see it beneath her helmet, Orthal knew her expression was grim. Neither of them had been especially pleased to receive this mission. They had traveled far and wide and had seen enough to know declaring war against the dragons would lead only to despair. Alas, the King's only son had been slain in a dragon attack on the Frozen Sea, and he was desperate for revenge. The downside of being the best-known knights in the kingdom was that they had been assigned to slay Vraedrym, the Great Dragon of fire and chaos and possibly the most fearsome creature to call Istaria its home.

Orthal and Igrid were, however, not afraid. They were confident in one another and themselves; they had not earned their fame through chivalry alone. No, fear was not what gave them pause. The Great Dragons had inhabited Istaria since before the founding days of the Empire, and to slay them felt wrong. They were not savage beasts; the Great Dragons are said to have communed with the first peoples through their dreams. Hence why the old language calls dragons Dryma, or the Dreamers.

Despite all this, sadly, the King's word was law, and it was that word to which they had pledged themselves. And so, they trekked onward. Up ahead, the ever-present dull red glow of the cavern began to brighten, which confused the knights. Had they gone all the way through the Firedome already? Had they passed the inner sanctum? They hurried forward.

As they rounded a corner, they were blinded by an onslaught of unfiltered sunlight. As their vision slowly returned, they gasped. The cavern had opened into a great valley ringed by smoldering mountains and carpeted by long, brown grass. In the center of this valley stood a massive spiraling tower of black stone, like the twisted talon of some long-buried leviathan meant to pierce the sky. There was no doubt in their minds that this was the inner sanctum – though the tales they had heard had described different landscapes, all had mentioned this tower. In old stories, it was referred to as Dragonfire Tower, due to its charred appearance.

"There it is, Orthal," whispered Igrid with reverence. "You've always wanted to see the tower for yourself."

"Aye, Sir Kassemar," he responded, "that I have." Tears brimmed in his eyes beneath the visor.