Drgons of Galatora

The evening sun was setting, casting light red as fresh blood on the land of Caire Fal'roc. King Ganneth the Skull Lord watched the sun as it sank lower behind the southern mountains. He was an impressive man, even in the daylight. Tall, slim, and broad shouldered, the King wore his tawny hair long and loose. He was garbed in a tunic of the best quality, a gift from the elves. His long, swirling cape was fastened about his neck with a skull brooch. His pale, angular face reflected the light, and gave him an oddly empowered look. Standing on the balcony of his castle, the Skull Lord remembered.

          Ganneth snorted lightly, a hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. King Ganneth indeed. To be King of Caire Fal'Roc was a joke, and a cruel one at that. The land was nothing but bare rock, volcanic pools, and dead trees. Its cities were mere mudholes, and the roads had crumbled away. Even its name, Caire Fal
roc, or Land of the Dead, seemed to mock him. It had not always been this way though. Ganneth recalled the day he had taken over from his father as king. Caire Fal'roc had then been known simply as Westland. It was the greatest of all the four Kingdoms of Galatora, famous far and wide. Set on the warm western sea, Westland was a main hub for traders and merchants. Festivals were held often, the city was rich and could afford them. Westland's gleaming cities were the wonder of the continent. Then they came. Black Riders from the North.
          No one knew who they were, no one knew where precisely they came from, but they destroyed everything in their path. Cities burned, people were killed, the army was crushed. Ganneth's father, King Gordred, was killed when the Black Riders sieged the capital. Though, they were driven back, nothing could be done to save Gordred.
          A lump formed in Ganneth's throat as he remembered his father's death. Gordred had touched his son's cheek, and looked lovingly into his eyes. "Ganneth my son, my time has come. I go to the sunlit glades, and mighty halls of my ancestors. The throne must now fall to you. Lead these people in love, and honor the way I have done."
          "Of course I will father," Ganneth had said, tears brimming in his eyes. Gordred had smiled, and in his son's arms, died. Now a king at only sixteen, Ganneth was forced to face a terrible war. Desperately wanting it to end, Ganneth did the unthinkable; he called on the dragons.
          The dragons had been known to assist humans at times before, but it was rare. The race preferred to spend time in their caves, hording their massive treasures. They agreed to Ganneth's plea on one condition; that they be allowed to dwell in Westland, or Caire Fal'roc as it had newly been christened, permanently. Ganneth agreed, and the dragons drove out the Riders.
          Unfortunately, the people of Caire Fal'roc did not care for the dragons. They were brutal, loud, and loved to loot the citizen's homes for treasure. Eventually, nearly three-fourths of the population left, leaving Caire Fal'roc a barren wasteland. Sighing, Ganneth decided he didn't really mind. He had become friends with the dragons over time, tenuous though the relationship might be. His closest companion, the dragon Gorn, had accompanied him to the balcony this evening. The muscles under the beast's skin rippled as he shifted his weight.
          <your heart is troubled my friend. What is the matter?> the dragon was extremely perceptive.
          "I'm fine Gorn. I'm just remembering the past."
          <regrets?>
          "Not really. I just wish my father was here sometimes. I wish that Caire Fal'roc could return to what it once was."
          Gorn regarded him with a huge, golden eye for a handful of heartbeats. He snorted, and a tongue of flame licked out from his nostrils. <The past is a shadow my friend. You cannot revisit it, nor change it. You can only look ahead to the future. That you can change.>
          Ganneth placed a hand on the dragon's shoulder and smiled. "Thank you for your wisdom friend. I sometimes forget how much I need it."
          Gorn shrugged his hand off, but seemed pleased just the same. Just then, an armored soldier appeared on the balcony. "Your majesty! We have a patrol captain here who has just returned, alone, from duty!" Two more soldiers entered, supporting a wounded man. Ganneth rushed to his side. "What happened! Who attacked you?"
          The captain looked back at Ganneth, blood trickling down his forehead. He struggled to form the words. "M-my Liege! It was the Black Riders! They're back!"