The First Dragon

Part One

There are many legends as to how Taran created dragons. Some say he created them from a mixture of fire, earth, and air, crafted in secret as his sibling-gods managed their own realms. Some say they are created from the clouds and the sun. Others still say their creation was fundamentally unknowable, a secret well-guarded by the deity to protect his favored children.

There is one legend that is dismissed by Taran's followers as a mere morality tale, a fable that takes the creation of the dragons and uses it as a framework for a valuable lesson. There are some who believe it, and others who don't know for sure if it's true, but could see Taran working in such ways. The dragons themselves won't say for sure if they know it is true, though the few that know of the dragon life and culture will say that it is a story they tell to their children. They seem to treat it as a valuable lesson—not merely a vague moral, but a serious matter.

Perhaps this lends some credence to the story's truth. Perhaps not. But even if t is not true, they have every right to treat it as a serious matter. It is, in fact, one of the most serious matters one can teach their children.

It starts in the ancient days of the Wildermen, the original inhabitants of the land we live now, during the time of warring tribes and weak alliances. Kings, as we know them now, were rare; they were known not as kings, but the Great Lords. One such Great Lord ruled over a large portion of the northern mountains, protecting his people and his riches with equal zeal. It was this protective zeal that lead to his death, as he was defeated by his enemies while driving back a band of marauders.

His son, Anwar, became ruler after his father's death. That was where the trouble began.

Anwar had his father's intelligence, but none of his selflessness. He would protect his kingdom, but because he viewed them as an extension of his riches, not a collection of individuals to whom he had some responsibilities. He began to systematically distance himself from his father's former allies, viewing them as potential interlopers to his own wealth and autonomy. It wasn't long before the young king had turned a once flourishing collection of tribes into a closed-off prison. The lords beneath him rankled under his unthinking selfishness. Some even considered attempting to overthrow him. But before their plans could come to any fruition, the winter solstice festival occurred.

The one good thing that could be said in Anwar's reign: he certainly knew how to hold a solstice festival. He saw it as a chance to flaunt the wealth and power he held. Even For him, even the act of sharing was self-serving. It was a conditional generosity, and not true generosity at all.

The king's lords were there, and some members of his military. Among the crowds was a figure that no one recognized. He was an old man in a worn cloak, thin from hunger and shivering from the cold. He approached the throne of the king, head bowed in respect and tone quiet and meek: Please, your majesty, is there any space in your home tonight for a weary traveler?

One must understand: the castles of old were nothing like the stone fortresses of today. They were much more akin to the dining halls seen in some of the eastern kingdoms; still grand, to be sure, but with less space for visitors. Many kings and warlords of that time would allow a bit of overcrowding to assist the poor and downtrodden of their kingdoms, or to harbor visitors with nowhere else to go. King Anwar, however, was more concerned with safeguarding his treasures and home than with hospitality. He even forbade his warriors from sleeping in his halls, lest they make away with any of the treasures contained there. When the supposed beggar made his plea, the king laughed. Who are you, that I should allow you to stay? What is it that you can do for me?

While the beggar's name remained meek, those who were listening could hear the slightest hint of mischief in his voice—the satisfaction of a cat that knows he has backed the mouse into a corner. If it's not too bold of me to ask, my grace, what does it matter if I can or cannot do anything for you? Is it not enough to do a good turn for your fellow man, to bring yourself some honor?