Of Dragon Riders and Shadows

Prologue

Legends are important, as every child in the realm knows.

Stories of incredible people, incredible deeds – ones that inspire hope, kindness, understanding, determination and perseverance – are the lifeblood of a culture, and have much to teach.

Words have power, after all. And the most powerful ritual one can perform in Thallium is that of invoking the legends – both the stories, and the personages in the stories.

In the Gray Palace, at the centre of the great kingdom of Thallium, lies ever-expanding rooms dedicated to such stories. There are the bound tales of the dragons and their riders, passed down from generation to generation until it was decided to write them down. One can find the folk tales of neighbouring realms, full of magyked metals and immortal rulers.

Scattered throughout are bed-time tales told to children to explain the world – words telling of the gods and their adventures. Translated volumes abound, placed next to their original counterparts; where those in search uncover the tales of the Shadows and their ruthless, mysterious enforcer, for instance. In some corners are more local folk tales, of elite leagues, like that of the Swordsmen and that of the Rogues with their feared patron.

Finally, on a pedestal in a room with light that never dims, never dies, lies the first volume of the Archives. The story, the legend, of Tristan the Red Ice Rider.

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It is said the Riders of Thallium have existed in the realm since its inception, and theirs is a sad story indeed. Riders are those born with a special magyk, making them adepts until they bond with a dragon and complete their souls. This bond, every citizen knows, has been the unifying factor in a vast, often harsh land.

From their foundation, the Riders of Thallium were vital; they were the peacekeepers, the spies, the front-line soldiers. They rescued those in need, led relief efforts, honed their skills as sorcerers. They were the ambassadors, the diplomats, the personal guard of the King and his family.

Proud, talented, compassionate and determined, the Riders were the best that Thallium could offer. Those born with the special magyk would pay the one-copper-coin fee, find their dragon, and enter life-long service to the realm.

Thallium was known for its poisons, its flocks of untamed dragons, and its Riders – and that was that.

Yet even the Riders of Thallium were not immune to corruption, that insidious force overriding ideals and duty. Once the protectors of the realm, the Riders became greedy, arrogant, and began taking advantage of those they had sworn to protect. The highest nobility encouraged such behaviour, until the realm was in chaos, with those in power abusing their station and courting ruin.

The people became oppressed, trade between kingdoms broke down, treasuries were depleted, and the very workings of Thallium became undone. Every league of the kingdom became cloistered, and furthered their own needs above all. Skirmishes broke out, each almost leading to civil war. It was the end times, and Thallium – a great, thriving kingdom filled with fierce, proud people – was broken and disgraced.

'Twas the first Regency king, along with his contemporaries in the four lines, who grit his teeth and resolved to do something. The Riders were disbanded. The dragons, having already rebelled against those they had peacefully coexisted with for age upon age, were to be left alone in the abandoned sanctuaries. The Swordsmen and the Rogues were bribed to serve the interests of the kingdom as long as it did not interfere with theirs, and blood oaths sealed that bargain.

Organizations had to be created, had to be trained from the ground up. The University expanded to mold upstanding lower nobles, those who had not turned traitor to Thallium, into ambassadors and overseers and generals. The King turned to the army to keep the peace. Divisions were created for each town, to replace the once great peacekeepers. In order to fill the coffers, feed the starving citizens, and keep his throne, the Crown turned to waging war.

It worked, for a given meaning of the word.

Soon, Thallium rose from the ashes, though it would never be the same again. Generations of people grew and lived in a grim kingdom that was always at war, exported its poisons and mercenaries, and lived under the mercy of overlords who were never kept in check. History had to be erased, overwritten, and new statues had to be commissioned to balance out those that told a story that had ended horribly.

Any mention of the Riders of Thallium was taboo, and centuries later there are still those who spit at the mention of red cloaks and helpful dragons. The realm is no longer thriving, progressive, shining. The denizens are no longer in favour with most of the gods, and genuine diplomacy is something left to the past. Yet there is one thing that has not changed, if not deepened. The people of Thallium are stubborn, and they thrive in hard times out of spite. And most importantly, stories are still the lifeblood of the realm, even though most of the ancient tales are censored. All of this to say – in the year 579 of the tenth age, it was the perfect time for a legend to begin. That of Tristan the Red Ice Rider.

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Cover is created by AFleetingDream_91