Mygar and the Dragon warred for days. Each time the Warrior God cornered the Dragon, she would slither free and thus her serpentine grace saved Queen Turmoil again and again. The battle waged across continents. Mygar’s sandalled feet kicked up sandstorms in Yesbet. In Qer, he was forced to lay down in a crevasse to sleep to avoid the ice-blighted winds.
In Eldreth, near the coast, he broke off the top of a mountain and sent it crashing into the sea, in order to bury the Dragon; but still, Turmoil escaped. Not even when he pinned her beneath the trunks of two uprooted Darnath Trees could he find a way to reign supreme.
But, as a God, each defeat made Mygar grow more Mighty. And so too did the Dragon Queen Turmoil grow ever more monstrous. Until, at last, on a day prescribed by the prophets, the two met on the white sands of Yslin for one, final confrontation.
The White Desert was decimated. Great holes were torn in the earth and spewed forth lava. Tears in the very fabric of space-time birthed all manner of abhorrence. The dead walked and hungered for flesh. Great armoured centipedes crept out of the cracks and besieged human villages. Heroes rose, blessed with great powers, but too often unable to control them and therefore, doomed to failure.
And then a mighty roar sounded out across the skies, a rumble that everyone heard—if not with their ears, then with their hearts, or deep within their bones.
The war was over, but which of the Gods had prevailed? Plague and famine spread across the land. People hoarded mouldy bread and built stone walls to protect walls of brick. And, eventually, there was a new sort of peace—for no longer did living Gods ravage the countryside.
With each generation that passed, people spoke less about the gods. The stories of Maygar the Mighty and the Dragon Queen Turmoil fell out of favour and were forgotten. In small temples across the land a few small statues persisted, the lighting of a small candle and the whisper of a small prayer.
But you, brave reader, have found a place where the truth awaits you: tales of the old-times, of nameless kings and desert tombs and magic. Long-forgotten secrets and stories of adventure await.
But first, I shall tell you of a time, as yet far removed from the present day, when a figure with skin like bronze, woke up—face down, deep within the forest near Eldreth…
Michael Scott Hand 