Hidden amongst the fallen, safely in the wolven ossuary, the eggs sat undisturbed.
Whispers became murmurs, and hope turned into fear as the origin of the eggs spread rumours like wildfire through the ranks.
Five of twelve, in the darkness where it did dwell
Obsidian armor tesselated from the pits of hell
Truth lies in plain sight, a sacrifice in the night
Chaos shall return, Primordia must needs fight
The die have been cast, the future cannot be changed
Romanced in latin, the runes have been rearranged
A legend thought lost shall be reborn once more
Only those loyal can possibly know what's in store
The grand hall packed beyond belief, eagerly awaited for the Speaker commence the long-awaited meeting. Now that all the tribes were present, a final snapshot could be taken for the treasury to begin dealing out the loot.
The Speaker implored the wolves to hold onto their reward with pride, as they believed it would be indispensable in what was to come. To ensure fairness, they agreed that the spoils of war would be distributed in a randomized fashion amongst the pack.
It was decided that the wolven families that suffered the loss of their kin in the great war would receive a rare salvaged item for their service in battle.
For the first time in its history the ossuary held more living than dead. The wolves packed the dank chamber to witness for themselves if the eggs had indeed grown in size. A consensus was soon reached, and it held grave portents for their future.
Conern quickly spread throughout the tribes and the distant reaches of Primordia. The eggs were truly growing and what lay inside was anybody's guess.
The Moonspeakers were called in to deliberate on their origin...
Using arcane scrolls, runes, and shared oral history of each Tribe, the Moonspeakers slowly began to piece together the clues.
Eyes widened in terror when they realized the truth of what lay before them.
𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕘𝕘𝕤?
ℙ𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕩 𝔼𝕘𝕘𝕤: 17.3%
𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟 𝔼𝕘𝕘𝕤: 59.4%
ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝔼𝕘𝕘𝕤: 10.6%
ℍ𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕡: 12.8%
Carouza was an enigma to the wolves. Shrouded in mystery, few knew its potential until the syzygy. Lycans however, weren’t the only consequence of the alignment. A fact the wolves would soon be faced with.
Primordia is home to many astounding creatures, and many that could only be described as hellspawn. Above ground wolves reigned supreme, but below, terrors lurked in the darkness.
Knowledge of the effects of the alignment were lost to time. But those that studied the stars understood the rarity of what was to come. The stars in the case of Nogard were used for nefarious purposes. An end for a new beginning.
Stars and planets aligned, dawning an age, weak and strong
A cult formed in the depths of hell, where they belong
Wolven blood was spilled in turn, an irreversible wrong
A purple sunset on the horizon, the signs were there all along
The battle drums rattle once more, can you hear the song?
After the human loss in the great war, technologies previously unknown to the wolves made their way into Tribal arsenals. Despite wolves relying on their physical prowess to overwhelm their enemies, many have begun to adopt modern weaponry to get an edge in battle.
Wolves, historically, have scorned human weaponry, preferring to fight in the heat of the melee. Elders had lauded the ability to outmaneuver and overwhelm the enemy and watch the life drain from their body as the highest form of combat.
After the substantial loss of life in the great war to human weaponry and technology, many wolves became frustrated with the old ways and beseeched their elders to change their traditions to embrace a new age.
The elders, realizing their mistake, began to work with the Moonspeakers to incorporate new weapons into war training.
Roaming Tribe, spread across Primordia, was tasked with distributing the spoils of war across all the tribal lands. The Wolves awoke to their treasure chests filled, and glowing resplendently.
Among the items left behind at the site of Nogard’s murder was a strange parchment filled with symbols and numbers. After its scent led the wolves nowhere, they passed it onto the Moonspeakers who took it upon themselves to decipher it.
The Moonspeakers studied the parchment for hours to no avail. It was unlike anything they had ever seen in human culture. They decided to share the code amongst the tribes to see if anyone was able to solve it. Some were skeptical, believing it to be a ruse by the humans.
Something strange took hold of Primordia, the clear blue sky morphed into a purple hue. Ancient lore had described such an event, sending further ripples of fear throughout Moonspeakers and the wolves.
The Moonspeakers gathered all the great tribal families together to share their findings. The wolves slowly edged forward as if in search for answers, while the Speaker fumbled his parchment with tremorous hands.
He uttered a single word - Dragon.
Howls filled the valley as news spread about the danger that lay ahead. Arguments erupted between wolves that sought to destroy the eggs and those that wished to keep them safe. The Moonspeakers, the wolves knew, would have the final say.
The endless howls roused the Dragon from its long slumber deep in the mountain cave. Suddenly, a deafeningly shrill noise was heard across Primordia, sending boulders tumbling down the mountain. The Dragon saw its nest, empty and cold.
The Brave Tribe, emboldened by their victory in the great war however, did not shy away from the battle that was to come, and began preparing training exercises. Unsure of how to fight a Dragon they turned to the Moonspeakers for guidance.
Defenses and fortifications were prepared across every Tribal land at a frantic pace. Bunkers were built into the ground to protect the wolves, who were helpless from aerial attacks. Wolves worked throughout the night knowing that everything they had fought and died for was at risk.
𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕕𝕠? 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟
1,002 votes·Final results
High above the clouds the wolves watched, helpless, as a purple Dragon capable of blotting out the sun flew overhead in menacing circles. The wolves stared in awe, watching in horror, waiting to see what the Dragon would do.
Suddenly, the Dragon, spotting signs of life below, began plummeting to the ground in what looked like a death spiral. Its bellow sent shockwaves throughout Primordia. Without flinching wolves began scattering to safety.
The Dragon’s scales glinted in the sunlight as its maw stretched open and a purple orb blazed within. It opened its enormous wings and began gliding just above the treetops, scorching everything in sight.
Through the ashen sky, the dying light of the full moon began to fade into oblivion. All that remained in the dark night was chaos. The fire spread through the forests like an avalanche, obliterating everything in sight.
Many of the slower, older wolves had their backs scorched as they sprinted to escape the path of annihilation ripping through the forest. Smaller animals were incinerated immediately, leaving charred corpses over the once verdant landscape.
A cacophonous symphony of wolves baying into the night marked the beginning of Kalanant’s wrath across Primordia. Darkness blanketed the planet as the smoke from wildfires spread across the planet. The purple sky disintegrated into black.
Wolves cowering in the bunker struggled to breathe as smoke seeped into every vent and crevice. The nightmare seemed eternal as the ground rumbled every time Kalanant unleashed her wrath in search of her eggs.
Knowing her eggs were immune to fire, Kalanant spread her destruction across the entire planet, hoping to extinguish all other life, especially any that could threaten her offspring. The eggs sat guarded, peacefully, and undisturbed, deep within the ossuary.
Days had passed and it finally seemed the end was near. Primordia ceased trembling and the smoke began to dissipate, revealing the beautiful purple sky. A thick layer of ash had blanketed Primordia in an apocalyptic pall.
Kalanant, exhausted from searching for her eggs, retreated to her cave atop the mountain to recuperate. The first wolves to leave the bunkers witnessed her distant flight back to safety and spread word that the deathly scourge was finally over.
The landscape before them was unrecognizable. Lush tribal lands had become wastelands devoid of life. The wolves stared numbly at the destruction that lay before them. Howls of pain reverberated across Primordia.
Wolves all across Primordia slowly began to leave their bunkers. Forests still burned and valleys smoldered, leaving an acrid smell in the air. The residual heat made it unsafe to travel without burning their paws, so the wolves waited, envisioning their revenge.
As the days passed the fires began to subside, helped by some chance rain. The wolves began to venture out and make contact with other tribes. It seemed their defensive preparations had worked, as no casualties were reported.
A council was convened to decide the best course of action to protect the Tribes from future attacks from the Dragon. Some argued for better defenses and others for an immediate counterattack.
It was decided that living in constant fear of a Dragon was unsustainable and that all fighting wolves should be assembled and go in search of Kalanant’s lair. Weapons were gathered and plans of attack were drafted with the help of Moonspeakers.
Wolves piled into the armory and took everything in sight. Combat Claws, spine-mounted AR-15s, Eldritch Scrolls, and Arcane Ray Guns. Having never fought a Dragon before, many wolves were unsure of the best course of action.
Some argued for trebuchets, others for poison arrows, but a resounding consensus was reached that the best time to attack was while the dragon slept. Relying on their ghostlike hunting skills, Stealth Tribe offered to lead the journey into the heart of the mountain.
All the tribes gathered in Predator Tribe lands, at the foot of the mountains, in an open valley that had only just begun to show signs of life again. The wolves searched tirelessly for the scent of the Dragon but were unsuccessful.
A Moonspeaker from Stealth Tribe pointed out that they would only find the scent deep within the cave itself since the Dragon flew in. Lacking a scent filled the wolves with unease, fearing a potential ambush.
All was quiet in the brisk morning air as the wolves, armed once again for war, mustered into an unbroken chain at the path leading up the mountain. Standing amidst the destruction all around them many wolves shivered nervously in the cold, fearing for their life.
Slowly the march began, up the mountain path, skirting crags in search of Kalanant’s lair. Wolves began to notice faded runes lining the path. The Moonspeakers etched the runes into their notebook and began deciphering them as they made their way up the mountain.
The journey up the ancient mountain was precarious, with many wolves turning back in exhaustion, and some out of fear. Some wolves, unburdened by the weight of their weapons, scouted ahead in search of safer paths.
Almost a full day into the march a soft howl was heard - the entrance had finally been found. The Stealth Tribe scout stared into the dark abyss, too terrified to venture inside. The vantage point atop the mountain allowed the wolves to see the true extent of destruction caused by Kalanant.
Word had quickly spread that the mouth of the cave was found, filling the hearts of some wolves with anxiety and others with anger. Those at the vanguard waited patiently as the laggards began to file in.
Eventually, all tribes had been accounted for. Sun bleached bones littered the entrance to the cave, bones larger than any animal the wolves had ever seen. The Moonspeakers confirmed they were the bones of dead Dragons from eons ago.
The wolves lowered their voices and began to check their weapons hadn’t been compromised on the treacherous journey. Those eager for battle shuffled to the front, and those fearing for their life, awkwardly slipped to the rear.
A tight circle formed around the Moonspeakers as the wolves sought guidance for the battle to come. In hushed tones, and restrained passion they managed to rouse the spirits of all before them. Slowly, one by one, they turned to face the void.
A putrid smell drifted from deep within, forcing all those who entered to shudder in disgust. The first Stealth Tribe wolves to enter were immediately enveloped by the darkness within, as if disappearing into the pits of hell.
Flambeaux were lit and carefully placed along the ground to mark a safe path. Skeletons of creatures and demons from a long-forgotten age lined the perilous descent. Ever curious, they were meticulously sketched and detailed by the Moonspeakers.
Older, arcane runes began to appear, faded but legible, alongside cave paintings of ancient battles. Stealth Tribe moved soundlessly ahead, noses to the ground trying to locate the scent of a quarry they had never encountered.
Time seemed to dilate in Kalanant’s lair as the vermiculate path stretched ever onward. It was a cold and dank labyrinth unlike anything they had ever encountered. Suddenly, the march halted, sending a ripple, through the unbroken chain of wolves.
An intricately carved stone door had been reached, far too small for a Dragon, but perfectly sized for a human. Dripping in fresh blood from the lintel were three confusing words. The Moonspeakers immediately started deciphering its meaning.
The door itself was solid stone, seemingly immovable, and with the lunar cycle etched into a beautiful pattern. Some Brave Tribe wolves attempted to move the door and failed. Right after, the entire cave shuddered sending rocks and dust falling from above.
Unable to run to safety the wolves stood stunned until the rumbling stopped. Stealth Tribe hesitantly continued the march deeper into the cave. As they marched onward, dragon helms began littering the floor.
The stench became almost unbearable as it wafted through the tunnels. Shifted dirt from the passage of the enormous Dragon told the wolves that they were close. Despite the bloody omen they continued their march.
Kalanant’s ancestry was older than time itself. She had been born in the midst of chaos on Primordia, as the Dragon Wars entered their third century. Her family line had been systematically hunted down and massacred, until only her and her father remained.
The genocide had begun after a royal decree stated that any Dragons of Purple and Yellow origins were to be exterminated on sight. The decree had ended over six thousand years of peace amongst Dragons on Primordia.
What followed was three centuries of pure devastation, as Dragons of all ages were hunted down and killed on sight. The Dragon Wars had led to planet-wide food shortages, which in turn led to mass starvation.
From the chaos the royalty had collapsed, and a fight for survival for all dragons had begun, forcing Kalanant and her father Kandrogel into hiding. They escaped the fall of the great Dragon cities, and sought refuge in the mountains.
In the darkness Kalanant was raised. Her father struggled to contain her curiosity to see the outside world. But as he would tell her stories of the war and famine, Kalanant always retreated back to her cavern.
Hundreds of years had passed since the final Dragon battle. So much time had already passed since another Dragon was seen that Kandrogel believed they had all finally succeeded in killing each other.
One day Kandrogel went off in search of food for Kalanant and never returned, leaving the young Kalanant fatherless and helpless. Shortly after his disappearance, small creatures began living in the mountain.
Kalanant saw their tunnels being dug and their balconies made in her cavern, but was too young and scared to defend her territory. As more centuries passed she began to tolerate their presence.
Kalanant had always believed the cult had sought to worship and protect her. However, after the mysterious disappearance of her eggs she became suspicious of their intentions, and whether it was her they sought to protect or something else.
The walls around them were caked in soot from the Dragon’s flames. Bones began piling higher and higher around them,
suggesting they were finally close to Kalanant’s den. They reached an enormous open cavern with three paths.
The first path led directly ahead and seemed to be the dirtiest of them all, with bones littered everywhere.
The second path, furthest left, seemed pristine and untouched with only a few sandaled footprints.
The third and final path was the most confusing to the wolves, narrowing rapidly, and filled with wolf prints, impossibly small for a dragon.
They couldn’t comprehend what such a path might be doing here already.
The wolves deliberated amongst themselves while the Moonspeakers inspected each option. One poorly considered decision and the wolves could be incinerated before they even reached the lair.
𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖?
It was decided by the council to take all three paths at once as it meant the best chance of success in an ambush.
Battle supplies from the rear were brought to the front lines while the wolves exchanged furtive glances. The danger of their situation seemed all too real, as they obsessively checked their weapons.
The Moonspeakers shuffled through the ranks offering words of wisdom to the wolves that were clearly scared. Little was known about how to properly fight a dragon but as they remembered the devastation wrought on their world, they would fight to save everything that remained.
Since the code was broken, the wolves knew to put those with the dragon helm at the front as they could best repel Kalanant’s flames. Other than their muffled breathing, not a sound was heard as they began to move through the passage into the lair.
The wolves crept through the corridor in complete darkness, in the fear that their light would expose their presence. They felt a gust of wind wash over them as they entered the enormous cavern.
The wolves came upon Kalanant, atop her hoard of bones staring directly at them, as if humored by their intrusion. There was a moment, frozen in time, where neither the wolves, nor the dragon reacted to each other’s presence.
Kalanant arched her spiked back, lifted her tail high in the air, and released a terrifying screech that reverberated through the cavern. Stalactites fell from the ceiling shattering on impact, injuring some unlucky wolves.
Yet, the wolves didn’t falter. They charged straight at her, leaping over each other like a tidal wave. The dragon helmed wolves, knowing their edge, led the attack and dipped their heads towards the flames torrenting from her maw.
The flames spread beyond the vanguard, singing the wolves that had just begun to flank Kalanant in her enormous cavern. Some wolves were blown into the wall from the sheer force of Kalanant’s fire.
Kalanant, noticing the swarm spreading into the cavern began to swing her tail in deathly circles breaking the legs of some, and sending others flying through the air. Pack wolves were brought from the rear to take the wounded wolves back to safety.
Kalanant was still tired from her reign of terror, but knowing her life was at risk, showed no mercy to the wolves. The wolves in turn fought to save their planet from eternal hellfire and their own extinction.
The battle raged on, seemingly endlessly for the wolves. Fire spread in waves across the cavern as wolves limped to safety. Kalanant too let out shrill cries of pain as the Moonrunner weapons began to inflict grievous wounds.
More and more wolves were forced to flee due to the sheer intensity of the heat, suffering terrible burns to their bodies. The Moonspeakers were horrified to see the number of injured wolves continue to grow.
However, knowing the power of the dragon they faced, the Moonspeakers were not surprised. The number of fighting wolves began to dwindle, so did the hope of victory.
Predator Tribe fought relentlessly, showcasing their chaotic berserker style, and enraging Kalanant. Holes were made in her membranous wings with the wolven AR-15s and Ray Guns as she tried to escape through the roof of the cavern.
With so many holes she was unable to take flight and plummeted back to earth, snapping her tail under the weight of her enormous body. With her failed escape the wolves slowly began to take charge of the situation.
Outside the cave, down the mountain, and gathered in the valley below, were the wolven families. Huddled together, spreading words of encouragement as the first wolves began to filter down from the battle above.
The injuries they saw were gruesome; broken bones, burnt fur caked into skin, and wolves blinded by the flames. Pack Tribe had begun setting up first aid tents in the forest lining the valley, to save wolves on the brink of death.
Some families, seeing the extent of the injuries, decided to move into the bunkers in case the dragon was able to escape the surprise attack. The Moonspeakers that remained below insisted upon calm and faith in the training the fighters received.
Despite the words of encouragement, the Moonspeakers below were in fact concerned that the wolves were simply not equipped to handle such an ancient menacing power as Kalanant. They stood silently, like sentries, staring at the mountaintop amid the burnt valley below in hopeful desperation.
Kalanant, rapidly losing her strength and copious amounts of blood began to flail around, hoping to crush the ants swarming her. The wolves, battle hardened, and agile, dodged her feeble attempts and took up positions all around her.
Slowly Kalanant began to realize that her death was inevitable. Being thousands of years old the concept didn’t frighten her. The only thought that crossed her mind in her final moments was what happened to her eggs.
The wolves stopped attacking and stared at the giant creature and the pained look on its face. Purple tears began to stream down her scaly cheeks, like acid they corroded the ground as they pooled below her.
One by one, balconies carved high into the cavern walls began to be filled with red cloaked figures. They stood, watching the scene below with what seemed like complete indifference. The wolves noticed their presence but focused on Kalanant.
Kalanant coughed bloody foam from her mouth as she uttered her final words. “Why did you take my eggs?”. The Moonspeakers, aware of their misdeeds retorted, “why did you murder Nogard?”
Kalanant stared bemusedly at the wolves, not knowing what they were talking about. The wolves noticed her confusion and began to arch their necks upwards to the red-robed figures staring down at them, grimacing in the darkness of their hoods.
The Dragon Cult, in unison, began to raise their hands to the sky and mumbling in an unknown tongue. Kalanant, too weak to pay attention to the hooded figures that had tormented her for centuries, looked to the wolves for sympathy.
The wolves, realizing they had been tricked into fighting the dragon, looked towards Kalanant with eyes filled with guilt and pity. Kalanant had accepted her fate and mustered the energy to utter her final words.
As Kalanant uttered her final words, waves of magical energy rippled through the cavern. Sounds of excitement spread amongst the cultists as a dark rift began to appear within the chamber.
“You must protect my eggs, Primordia cannot survive without Dragons. If you promise to do this I shall make peace and return what was wrongly taken from you.” The wolves looked towards the Moonspeakers who nodded in agreement.
The Dragon Cult ceased murmuring and began watching the events unfold below them. Kalanant began to writhe as the life slowly seeped from her purple eyes. A wave of magic exploded through the cavern the moment Kalanant died.
Mere seconds later, she began to slowly disintegrate, her ashes flowing through the cavern in glittering wisps. In a few minutes only her beautiful white bones were left - that, and a single egg sitting peacefully at the base of her ribs.
The wolves stared in amazement as the egg began to wriggle. Cracks began to form as the shell broke away. The wolves let out a deafening howl that echoed through the caves and down into the valley. Nogard had returned.