Prologue

 Exactly 247 years ago, something fell from the sky above, unleashing a deadly virus mutation on my kind and kinds of all mammals alike. Gods wanted to punish us, for raging wars from Nation to Nation, spilling blood in wakes of conquering the High Castle.

  The lands perished while the plague ate at all living things, causing abnormalities within the biology of all. Felines and canines alike, had longer fangs, sharper claws and grew double in size. Fowls lost most of their feathers but had wider wings to cultivate the skies. Scarcity became the domesticated animals while wild life grew higher in population size. Humans adapted abnormalities within their features, some had deformed hands while others had their facial structure changed completely - they were called the ruined. Those who stayed 'normal' would come to descriminate and malnourish the ruined, making them their own personal army, while they bathed in milk and profited off of common folk within the walls of High Castle. 

All nations had their own Castle, a structure where their royalties resided. However, High Castle had a history of centuries-old pillars of stone, embodying thousands of achers of land, withstanding as the largest foundation ever built by man, placed within the medium of all maps drawn up by carthographers. Many believed High Castle's throne could unite the world, but no Crown has ever even attempted in doing so.

The myth of the united Throne has told a story, as old as time itself, thousands of years ago, lived creatures, as big as villages and as frightening as death. The creatures had eyes either as blue as the ice glades or as red as the burning flames. Wings, adorned with scales, matching the creature's body, accompanied with sword sharp edges. Claws, larger than adult human bodies and a breath of either an ice storm or pure fire. The tale tells a story of dragons and their dragon riders. The homelands of creatures was rumoured to be Dragonspire itself, the land of which you had to pass in order to reach the High Castle where the 'united' Throne stood. 

Dragon-riders were a highly respected and valued House of people recognised by black braided hair and blue eyes, distinct sharp features and tall graceful bodies. A House that disappeared when the Serpent tyrant decided to massacre the Dragon riders, as well as their newborns and wives. For half a millennium, the dragon riders perished, nowhere to be seen and the House seemed to be forgotten to the world, to history, but not to Dragonspire. 
The grand seer has for-told almost two hundred of years ago, the blood that was spilled will once again rise from ash and the world shall again know the dance of Dragons and their riders. A prophecy of vengeance or peace, by someone either mad or sane. 

Every nation tells its own story. 

  Dragonspire, a massive mountain that rises high above the surrounding lands. Home of the mythical dragon-riders, an ancient and enigmatic order said to control the uncontrollable beasts. The people of Dragonspire are a fierce and proud Nation. They guard Drakah steel, a forge said to craft weapons of immense power, including the legendary Dragonblades, weapons forged from dragonfire and steel-metal. Their proudest foundation, High Castle, incases the history of powerful rulers, mythical history of nature's divine and prophesy of unity. However, after the Plague hit all lands, the people  divided: some believe the plague was a divine punishment for their arrogance, while others are determined to uncover its source and find a way to conquer it. 

  Greydome, the second largest land on all maps, also one of the most dangerous ones. A land where time seems to have stood still, encased in ice and eternal winter. Its inhabitants, known as Frostskins, live in a perpetual state of isolation, both geographically and emotionally in a nation where sun doesn't heat and the land is forever covered in Ice. It is said that an Vhaldrax, an ice dragon - in their ancient tongue, came and frosted all that was living, all but a single family a cursed bloodline, survived—protected by the dragon’s magic, but doomed to a life of madness and inbreeding. Over the centuries, the family’s line has become more twisted, both physically and mentally, and their once-proud dynasty has degenerated into a frightening, fractured kingdom, known for brutality and darkness, all that would step, would inevitable meet their end. The Mad Dome, a massive, glacier-encased citadel, is the heart of their frozen empire.

  Redvalley, the ashen remenant. After the plague hit, Redvalley became just a mere pathway to Dragonspire. What once was a beautiful landscape of mixed greens, now lays as a saddened valley, full of ash and sand with only beauty being the warm water within the ocean kissing Redvalley's borders. Once a paradise of blooming flowers and fertile fields, Redvalley becomes a barren shadow of its former self. The plague carried by eastern winds, swept across the land, killing most of its inhabitants and leaving the rest twisted and corrupted. Merchants from all around the world used to gather by the sea shore to offer their finest goods, ranging from polished jewels, armor and weaponry, the sweetest of wines, up to fresh produce and dairy. The once-thriving markets and grand coastal cities are now ghost towns, their architecture slowly crumbling to ash, their treasures buried under layers of soot. The ocean still laps gently at the shore, its warm waters a stark contrast to the desolation around it, but even the seas are no longer safe. Strange creatures, born of both the virus and the toxic remnants of the land, now haunt the water’s edge.

  Valdoria, a land where the ruined now resided , few families that managed to escape the claws of tyrant leaders of the Serpent House. The ruined became scattered, broken people. Small, self-sustaining families now inhabit makeshift villages among the ruins of the once-grand city. The landscape is dotted with crumbling monuments and half-buried temples, remnants of an age of prosperity that seem more like ghost stories than reality. Rumors of the Golden Temple of Valdoria swirl to be burried beneath the sand, saying it houses a rellic of immense power, capable of restoring former glory or bring upon it's final ruin. The people of Valdoria are resilient, hardened by their long history of suffering, and they have developed an untrusting relationship with outsiders. Only a few remnants of ruined, now fractured and hunted, remain in the shadows, hiding from the world and from theimselves.

  Theldrakh, In the far north next to Greydome, where the sun barely rises above the horizon for half the year, lies Theldrakh, a kingdom shrouded in fierce rainstorms and brutal floods. Its people, known as Theldrakhi, are hard and proud, shaped by the harsh conditions of their homeland. Theldraki’s vast tundra is punctuated by towering, sharp mountains, home to ancient praying grounds and myths of giants wondering the wet meadows. The Thaldraki hold the belief that they are the last descendants of these giants, and they honor their ancestors through the creation of massive stone monuments and the practice of brutal rites of passage for their young warriors. While their culture is one of strength and survival, there are whispers that an ancient curse lingers over the land, as the storms grow fiercer with each passing year. 

  Lhyria is possibly the only kingdom known to man, still sunkissed and graced by Gods, fulfilled with colour of spring blossoms. Lhyrians are proud, fair people known for their skilled healers and mastery of both trade and tracking all that is lost . Lyria's waters flow with life, from the colorful coral reefs to the mythical sea creatures that dwell in the deepest trenches. The people of Lyria worship Ashera, the goddess of water,who is said to rule the ocean's depths and grant power to those who prove worthy. However, beneath the surface of this idyllic paradise lies a growing tension. A faction known as the deserters , composed of those who seek to control the sorcery derived from the ocean and monopolize its resources, has begun to challenge the traditional leadership of the Council of Lhyrian Tide, who value balance and harmony with nature. The deserters' rise to power threatens to plunge Lyria into loss of what's most sacret, as it is believed that Ashera's Trident lies beneath the flooded city in the ocean of Lhyria. Whoever holds the trident, may part the seas and rebirth the drowned into their own army. 

  ....

  Then, without warning, the plague arrived—an affliction that struck without mercy. The plague spread swiftly, killing humans and creatures alike. The land, once rich with vitality, grew silent and cold. Where dragons had once breathed their fire, there was only ash. The sacred temples, once filled with incense and prayer, became ruins—forgotten by all but the deepest scholars.

The dragons disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. Their riders, then left without their companions, for centuries were hunted by the Serpents into obscurity.  Some say the dragons fled to distant, hidden caves, retreating into the mountains or the depths of the seas, choosing to live out their existence in isolation. Others believe that they simply perished, their Sacred Flames extinguished by the plague.

As the years passed, memories of the dragons became legends. Stories of their incredible power, their gentle wisdom, and their unbreakable bond with humanity turned to myths—tales told by the fireside but never seen. The people began to forget their once-great protectors, and the world grew colder, both in temperature and in spirit. The warmth of dragonfire were now a forgotten myth, and the bond between dragon and rider—a bond that once transcended death itself—was relegated to nothing more than a children's tale.

The hope of ridding world of plague and evil within, grew nonexistent to the past-believers. Adults lived day to day, powerful Houses waged wars for territory and gold and children grew without belief. 

Gods punished them, 

  Until a blekblood was born.