© 2017 by D. M Almond's Gnome Brigade. (because they have nothing better to do than cater to our readers)

World Dragon

The

~  Translated records excavated from the ruins of Jakith, attributed to Cornelius Elbaum, Low Moop of the Archeological Historical Sciences Guild, circa 1162; Year of the Spiral.    

 

 

Jonath 3rd, 1234

I have finally done it. After sixty-seven years of ridicule at the hands of those pious Archeological Society scholars, I have uncovered definitive proof of the world dragon's existence. To think something good may have finally come out of Xatalon's legacy... The idea is equally exciting as it is disturbing. Just when I may have given up all hope, my sources turned out to be correct. Three centuries previous, in the time of Xatalon's rise, the last god harbored many hidden troves of artifacts collected by his minions, the visek. Well, I Cornelius Elbaum have discovered one such trove in the heart of the Jakith Mountains. Many treasures rest inside these catacombs, enough to make a man's family rich for generations to come. However, I find gold coins and jeweled necklaces do not excite me nearly as much as the three great blocks of andesite at the heart of the catacomb. I cannot wrap my head around how the visek were able to move them here, up eighteen-thousand feet of deadly cliffs.

Each block must weigh several tons, yet they swivel seamlessly on a hidden hinge at the base and crown. Words have been chiseled across all sides of their surface with such precision that, to behold them in their swiftly curving lines and abstract shapes, fills one with a profound sense of awe. The language is vastly unknown to me, unlike any I have ever learned, though one symbol stands out above them all, repeated throughout the text. It is the very same symbol found all over the world on ancient sites of the first builders, a spiraled tail with sharp angles intersecting its mid-section surrounded by a halo. This is undoubtedly the symbol of the World Dragon and it is on tablets that have not been seen by mortal eyes in at least three hundred years. Though, something tells me these tablets may be far older than even Xatalon's time.

Augustal 42nd, 1234

My earlier hypothesis appears to bear truth. The stone records I have uncovered were here long before Xatalon came to our world. My good friend Nikolas Stroup has done extensive alchemical testing on them and determined the tablets to be the same age as the catacombs themselves. That would put their creation some two-thousand years ago, ages before the oldest civilization of man that scholars know of. I can only surmise that Xatalon discovered these ruins and used them to stash his stolen relics. It is staggering to think that a civilization existed on Pog so long ago. What have I stumbled upon? This could be the greatest archeological find since the first bones of the gorgons! Now that I know the era, I have a hunch on how to decipher the strange language they hold.

Julin 12th, 1236

We are one step closer to uncovering the truth. It has taken close to two years to track down the tomes I believed would hold our answers. A wizard of the Silver Spire, Artemis Asakov, had them in his possession. In the end it was he who found me, catching wind that I sought the ancient tomes. Asakov has unraveled the language of the ancients and it is as I guessed. They were written by the draconians themselves! I now record the translated tablets.

In the beginning, we were as nothing, motes on the skin of the immortal Lord, the celezstial dragon Pograthasius Moz`athishxchtl [for the rest of the translation I shall refer to the world dragon as Pog, as I cannot abide authors who find it necessary to litter volumes of work with unpronounceable names and places] His celesztial majesty, Pog, wandered the cosmos for a thousand lifetimes. What he did in that time is unknown to these ones. What is known is that the great Celesztial Dragon grew weary of his travels. Henceforth, Pog found the perfect star to warm him and sank down into his deep slumber, curling his body tightly and falling into the star's orbit.

 

Thus the first of us were born, crawling from the shed skin of the World Dragon. There were seven Ans Ones in the beginning, each with a different appointed task. These were the first draconians who worked diligently to keep Pog safe as he slumbered. As the chrysalis was born they were there to give it shape, coaxing the secretion out of the World Dragon's raw skin until it covered all of his being in a shell of impervious cerithyl. Neither meteors nor comets would harm Pog with the cerithyl in place, allowing him to sleep safely as he drifts around the sun.

True to the world dragon's precautions, comets did hit. Meteors too. Each carried with them life from other worlds. Pog had no atmosphere to burn up these objects and given the nature of the cerithyl, their heavenly bodies shattered and clung to his shell, as it was designed. The moon of Aros was pulled out of orbit by Pog's new appearance, a disruption in this planet system. Wobbling toward the sun it cascaded into Pog's path, the two bodies trapped in orbit together, colliding over and over for two hundred years, until finally the moon was a fraction of its former size, trapped in orbit around Pog, and its former mass a molten part of the World Dragon. Of the First Seven only three arose from those ashes. Their children were the first race on Pog, the first builders, keepers of the World Dragon. These were our ancestors, those who would guide us in the creation of forests, valleys and oceans. With them-

 

I must cut my translations short and abandon this place. I fear this may be my last journal entry. The men claim there is a curse on these lands. A great storm unlike any I have ever witnessed is moving in from the south. The villagers at the base of the mountain have abandoned their homes. Their chieftain warns that we have angered the gods. This, of course, must be nothing more than silly superstition. However, my rigid belief in the practical have done little to alleviate my concern over what I witnessed this afternoon, for there in the sky at the head of the storm, flew two dark riders. I fear that I may have unraveled my own doom.

Catch up on Trollin'