Long ago, beyond the memories of men, dwarves or even the centuries old elves, this world was lush and green. Mortals did not exist and the Gods lived on the very ground which we now reside. They played with the mountains, sang with the wind, and bathed in the light of the True Sun which no longer graces our skies. But the land was not enough for them; it was only a matter of time before boredom drove them to create lesser beings to amuse them. It was in the Age of Light that the first men walked the earth. They spread like vermin over the land, consuming everything they came into contact with, from the forests, to the mountains to the land itself. They amused the Gods for a short time, but in the end they were found wanting. Dwarves came next, a vast improvement over the crudity and greed of humans. The Gods bestowed upon the sturdy race great endurance, determination and an innate love for minerals and gems. For the next few centuries the gods looked down upon the dwarves with amusement. They were impressed by the quality of the crafts created by the dwarves and the dedication to their work and each other that they possessed. But the first of the dwarves was dying of age, growing weaker year by year. This simply would not do. In a final attempt to create a mortal race worthy of the attention of the Gods, they created a race that would stand the test of time, the elves.

Centuries passed and the elves showed no sign of age. They took to the woodlands and carved great cities from the tree tops. Some followed the path of the dwarves to the world below and became great and ruthless hunters. In their lifetimes they were able to create wondrous things and weave magic with a skill surpassed only by the Gods themselves. They were a fickle race however. Very few elves could focus their energies on a single task or line of learning for more than a few decades. Thus even with their great power as a race, they could not begin to approach their true potential.

In their frustration all but two of the ancient gods gave up on their attempts at creation and satisfied themselves with the worship and adoration of those already in existence. A pair of the most powerful deities ever to reside in the heavens was not satisfied. Tilantus the god of darkness and metals and Beralyn the goddess of color and light combined their great powers in one final attempt to create a race of beings in their own image, that mirrored their own perfection. They molded the elements themselves into great forms given life by their divine spark. They had finally succeeded in their quest. They had created the beings that would rule the world for centuries to come. They had created the dragons.

These beings took on a variety of different forms and colors, each a blend of their makers. The chromatic dragons were blessed with the bright colors of the rainbow, but took on their father’s dark temperament. The metallic dragons shone of the purest veins of gold, silver, and copper but were endowed with the relatively positive philosophies of their mother.

It didn’t take long for the dragons, in their magnificent power, to conquer and rule every pocket of civilization across Relistan. Some conquered by force, others ruled from behind the scenes as the advisors to great kings. The dragons fought each other along the way, in their quest for power and glory; battling over ethics and beliefs or even simple greed. The mortals began to worship these great beings in place of the True Gods; waging war for them, killing in their name, and offering sacrifices to the great beasts. The Gods grew jealous, but Tilantus and Beralyn still watched over and guarded their creations as parents would protect a child.

It was at this time that the oldest of the wyrms, both metallic and chromatic, were given a glimpse of the future. They foresaw their own doom. The details of the vision were vague but the end was clear. The entirety of the great and powerful race would be wiped from the earth. It would all begin when the True Sun faded from the sky forever.

Dragons are powerful, intelligent creatures, but vanity and pride drove them to ignore the warning. Over the passing decades, a blink of an eye in the life of an almost immortal dragon, the fear faded and they grew complacent. Few noticed when a threat began to grow across the land. The Sai-Heth, a race of fey creatures, could no longer stand the concept of sharing their world. They performed a great ritual which blocked out the sun for all eternity, leaving only darkness and the light of the three moons behind.

The mortal priests foretold of a great doom, but only the ancient dragons knew the truth. They thought they could survive this as they had survived so many natural disasters over the centuries. But there was nothing natural about this; the Gods would have their vengeance.

As the dark orb slowly eclipsed the sun the powers of Beralyn waned and the protective aura she granted to the greatest of her creations faded. It was then that the jealous Gods struck. A great plague ravaged the draconic race and anyone who shared blood with their kind.

It is said that Wyrmrot, as the divine plague came to be called, first stole the strength of those it infected, rendering them incapable of all but the smallest tasks. The power of flight was stolen from the dragons as their muscles and scales slowly and painfully decayed away, leaving only infected flesh and bone behind. Next it attacked their keen senses, preventing them from seeing their great hordes of treasure or hearing the approach of a thief or enemy. Lastly it corrupted the very elemental forces from which the dragons were created. Reds and golds burst into flaming magma, blues were consumed by magnificent bursts of electrical energy; whites and silvers froze to death from the inside out. Hundreds of dragons and their kin around the world were utterly destroyed by Wyrmrot. Only the oldest and the strongest survived the great plague, but they knew that the gods would not suffer their existence for much longer.

The chromatics and metallics joined forces for the first time in their races ancient memory in an attempt to ensure their own survival. They pooled all of their vast knowledge, wisdom and experience and placed it within a single, flawless onyx the size of a large man’s head. Slowly the gods came for them. One by one they fell. When each dragon died, their very essence and power was absorbed by the gem, now known as the Dragon’s Eye.

When only three remained they came together one final time. Red, black and gold were all that had survived. They knew the Gods’ forces were coming for them, but they were unwilling to let their kind and their dynasty vanish into the sands of time. As the power of the Gods pounded on their door they chose one to become the eternal guardian of the Dragon’s Eye so that their kind may one day return to these lands. The last three dragons sacrificed their lives to their father Tilantus, god of darkness, and in return the greatest of the three, a gold dragon by the name of Zelinasharinias was born again, empowered by the spirits of the other dragons, in the form of a mighty dracolich.

The jealous gods were satisfied, having taken the life of every dragon and dragon-spawn in the world, so their forces returned from whence they came. The dracolich would remain in hiding, protecting the Dragon’s Eye for thousands of years.

But time has a way of causing complacency in even the most stalwart guardians. On a day like any other a lone figure, masked by a power previously unknown in all of the combined lifetimes of the dragons entered the home of the Guardian and stole the Dragon’s Eye. The great dracolich was furious at the intrusion. The mountains of the Demon’s Spine erupted with the fire of his rage. Instantly he turned his great will and magic to the task of determining its whereabouts. It wasn’t long before he discovered the thief fleeing back to the south, but he also saw something more, a glimpse of the future. He chose to let the mortal keep the Eye. Zelinash stood to gain much more by what lay in store.

The thief, Kelish by name, was a resident of the ancient city that is now the capital of the Illurian Empire. The home of the Mystacan race. There he took the stone with all of its power and wisdom. He gave it as a gift to the Keepers of the Light, a sacred order charged with maintaining the mystical sun that rose and fell around the city. They placed it at the core of their temple, where it became an integral part of every sacred ceremony the Mystacan clergy would perform for the next few centuries. It began to absorb their faith, their knowledge, their wisdom, and its power grew.

About three hundred years after the Eye was stolen the magical energies of the world began to become unstable. Mages lost control of their powers and the fabric of reality was torn asunder, spawning unstable gateways to hundreds of different worlds. Forces beyond those of the mortal world came through those gates and began to battle for control of the portals, for their own use.

Demons, angels and mortals clashed across the world in fierce battles over land and sea. Thousands died every day, but there always seemed to be more to replenish the ranks. Blood fell like rain over dying fields as winged monsters battled across the skies.

Through all of this the Mystaca were left alone. There were no portals on their lands, and thus no reason for the other-planar forces to disturb them. Many believe it was the Dragon’s Eye that kept them safe. As the wars raged outside their doors their curiosity drove them to create a controllable portal. Their first attempt was through the use of intricately carved stones which opened a temporary path to a single defined location via a travel realm. Initially this design was flawless, so they moved on to more complex devices. As the years passed and mortals slowly began to fade from this world, being slaughtered for protecting the only homes they had ever known, the stones began to fail. The path became longer and the power that warded against the creatures that resided within the travel realm faded. Eventually the wards failed altogether, and a flood of undead shadows poured through the gateway into the city. They sucked the life from anything they touched. One, the strongest of them all, was drawn to the mystacan temple. He followed the powerful call of the Eye to its source, and absorbed the stone into his incorporeal form. Instantly the power and wisdom of the ancient dragons filled his mind and granted him sentience. Carius was born.

He used his newfound powers to organize the shadows and systematically slaughter every living thing in the city. When only a few remained they desperately attempted a ritual that would shatter the Eye and destroy Carius forever, along with the thousands of shadows that the mystaca believed were linked to the Eye somehow. They pulled upon the very life of the land beyond their city, draining it of all of its natural power. Flowers wilted, trees died and decayed in an instant, and the small ponds that the surrounding villages depended upon for their source of water dried up. But even with the tremendous power that they channeled in the ritual, their plan met with catastrophic failure. The Eye was shattered as they had planned, but its shards found new hosts, embedding themselves in hundreds of nearby shadows and thus spawning the Umbral race. The slaughter of the few remaining mystaca followed shortly thereafter, leaving the city empty.

The umbrals were not the only thing spawned by the destruction of the Dragon’s Eye. The enormous amount of draconic energy released by the gem spread throughout the world, recreating the race that the Gods themselves had fought to destroy. The vast majority of that energy traveled to the one remaining source of draconic power on the planet, Zelinash. His power grew to titanic proportions. He became a deity in and of himself. Even the ancient Gods, who had condemned his race to death, would no longer challenge him.

With all of his power and wisdom he looked out upon the world to see the mortals that had faithfully served and worshipped his kind being destroyed on all corners of the planet. In one burst of omnipotent rage and deific power he forced the demons and the angels back to their home worlds, banishing them back to whence they came. He used his power to stabilize the magical energies of the world and close the portals that had brought only catastrophe.

The use of his newfound powers was too much. His mind was not yet prepared for the great stresses of such titanic energies. His mind split and he was driven into insanity. The destruction he caused in those few hours after the doorways were sealed was greater than the combined years of the Gate Wars. Cities were demolished, mountains tumbled to dust, the seas boiled with his unending rage. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the being now known as the Twilight Dragon was gone, leaving behind scarred lands, and tens of thousands dead. The world was silent as if afraid to breathe for fear of invoking his rage again.

Days passed, then weeks with no sign of his return, or that of the demons. The mortal races of the world, though only a fraction of them remained, slowly began to rebuild. The dragons grew as the years passed, though even now they are hesitant to play too great a part in the world. The Gods have long memories, and no one is sure if they still carry their old grudge, or even if the old Gods still exist here. And so time went on much as it does now, with people trying to scratch out a living in the savage world that remains. Centuries have passed, now, and civilization is only now beginning to find its place in our world once again.