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By the time the sun began to set, Drakel and his kin had led Alaron’s group very far, very fast to the outskirts of what they called their ‘main home’. Clearly Draconic was not the common language spoken by these creatures, but someone had taught it to them, which meant their group was not the first to come this far south. Alaron wondered if his father knew something about this, and decided to ask him about it at a later date. All of a sudden, Drakel began to descend. The rest of their flying convoy followed him down through the cloud cover to reveal a sight Alaron couldn’t believe he had missed seeing before. These creature’s main city was a single mountain that jutted up out of the ground abruptly, as if it had been forced, not naturally made. All around this mountain, small hills dotted the landscape. The further they descended, the more Alaron realized that these hills were in fact holes in the ground that presumably went deeper underground and connected back to the mountain. The mountain itself swarmed with creatures just like Drakel, who had leveled out now, and was heading towards a large cave opening near the top of the mountain. Instead of a cave though, the opening led to an enormous hole that went down for hundreds of miles, and had many smaller side caves within it. It was down this that Drakel led the convoy, the thunderous booming of their flapping wings caused heads to poke out of caves as they passed. Some joined the convoy, curious as to what the big creatures in the middle of it were. Eventually, the enormous hole curved and leveled out, leading into an enormous chamber that had a stone circle in the middle of it, and a throne at the farthest end of the circle. Perched upon this throne, was an ancient looking brown scaled creature like Drakel, clearly a leader of some kind, whose head shot up at the arrival of so many of its’ subjects. Drakel and his kin scurried along the walls and the floor behind the creature that could only have been their king, leaving the dragons to stand shoulder to shoulder near the entrance. In a creaking voice, the brown scaled elder crowed, “Come in northerners! Come, yes, come in. We welcome you to Dranotopia, crown jewel of the Wyvern Kingdom.”

Alaron approached the stone circle, and the other dragons stayed behind him. “I thank you for your welcome, elder. We have traveled far, and you are a welcome sight to our weary eyes. Our mission is fulfilled now that we have found you and your kin.” The brown scaled wyvern crawled down from its’ throne perch, and sat at the stone circle opposite the prince saying, “What mission is that Son of Tyran? Why have you chosen to visit my fair kingdom?” The other dragons gaped at the ancient creature, but Alaron continued unfazed. He had expected such a retort. “I have come to ask your kin to aid us in battle. You see, the northern kingdoms are threatened by a force the size of which has never been seen. It is comprised of creatures we call orcs and trolls. More recently however, we have discovered that they have enslaved black skinned creatures that look much like you. They fly as fast as the wind blows, and they are losing the fight against the orcs and the trolls. Once our enemies have conquered this race of black-skinned creatures, they will turn their focus on the northern kingdoms of Drak’ir, Misa’thral, and Anastheim. To counter this threat, which we originally thought was just the trolls, the northern kingdoms have united under one banner, but even together we cannot prevail, the hordes of our enemies are too numerous. That is why we are here. Our original mission was to scout our enemy’s stronghold, but when I laid eyes upon the orc’s city, I knew we needed allies. There is a great city being built in the north, a city that will be open to all races who wish for peace in this land. It is a position of power in this city that I offer to you and your kin if you will join us.” Alaron finished, bowing to the brown scaled elder. The old wyvern eyed the prince with a critical yellow-black eye, and responded, “You speak from your heart young prince, and the safety of your kin is your foremost concern. This is what will make you a great leader someday far in the future. We will aid your cause, and take you up on your offer of that city you mentioned. Our armies shall mobilize, the prophecy is nigh. The time to decide whether or not our race lives or dies has come. Drakel, take the prince’s group to the largest caves we have. The prince and I must speak in private.” The red wyvern squawked, and flapped down from where he had perched, then led the other dragons out of the chamber while the rest of his kin murmured excitedly in their odd language.

The rest of the wyverns followed Drakel and the dragons, but the wyvern king motioned for Alaron to follow him into a side cave, which was surprisingly large. “These are my private quarters,” the old brown scaled wyvern began, “The size surprises you does it not? It was not made for wyverns; it was carved by one of your kin, over five hundred years ago.” “I figured as much,” Alaron responded, “It all makes sense now that I think about it. But I have one question…” “Why did your father not send for us instead of allying with younger races? I assume he thinks my kin and I are weak, not fit for battle. At least not with the enemies he faces now. He did not know that they had enslaved the Naz’gern, the black skinned creatures you saw. You were wise to seek out allies young prince.” The wyvern king answered. “I want to thank you again for agreeing to side with us, elder.” Alaron began, but he was interrupted by the king, “Call me Vyron young prince, and thanks are not necessary. This battle was foretold of long ago, before our languages existed as different branches with the same roots, by a dragon mage of immense power and great wisdom. And before you ask, yes I do mean Garlokrond young Alaron. I was not alive to hear his prophecy, but his words were well recorded. I am sad that I will not see them come to pass.” “What do you mean?” the prince asked. “I am old young prince, too old for war. Wyverns do not live as long as your kind does. I am the same age as your father, and I imagine he is still in the prime of life yes?” “Indeed,” Alaron answered, “He plans to be on the battlefield to meet the enemy head on, as a king should.” “The great Draco’s blessings are stronger within your kind’s blood than they are in ours. We can still breathe his cleansing flames, but our minds have grown hazy of late. I suspect we will be no better than lizards in a few centuries.” The wyvern king said sadly. “Nonsense.” Alaron growled, “Draco’s spirit lives within all his children, no matter where they live. I will not allow your kind to become mindless beasts. You have my word Vyron.” The elder king smiled, and sincerely thanked the prince, then dismissed him. A blue scaled wyvern led him to his group, where he answered all their questions with short sentences. Once their curiosity was sated, they fell asleep and slept the sleep of the dead. A whole day would pass before they would awaken.

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