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The land of Gallia had fallen into a joyous time of peace and prosperity, one that could only be the doings of the ancestors up above. Some would argue that it had been the reason the great dragons, the ancestors and deities of all living creatures, didn’t feel the storm brewing below them. For you see, yes the kingdoms were happy, but the only peace in effect was the peace between man. For the “high king”, ruler of Fayre (the central kingdom) began to grow dark with greed and power.

He may have ruled the surface, but in the skies, it was the dragons, the scaled ones, that ruled, and quite literally held a position over him. They lived ontop a floating isle, one adorned with lucious grass and forests, vast caves, and sparkling seas. It was a place no man had (or could ever) venture. The isle was located high above the central kingdom, on clear days you could look up and see it, and hear the faint cries and growls of the fabled dragon beasts of legend.

So, he deivised his master plan. He gathered the coucil, (the Kings and their advisors of all six kingdoms) and officially declared war on the skies, asking for the help of his allies. Conquering the skies would grant them access to natural resources, including the powerful dragons, which could be beneficial to their ever growing militia. With everyone in agreeance, they began preparing. In the dead of night under thick smog and clouds (as to not lead the watchful eyes of the dragons onto their plans) they started weekly visits to the ironsmiths, blacksmiths, the lumber mills, and even going so far as to venture out into the deep woods in search of aid and weaponary from masters of powerful magic. Everyone was promised great fortune for helping, which made them all the more motivated and productive, able and willing to craft only the finest armor and weapons for the siege. Finally, with the growing masses of weapons and armor being supplied, the high king called a halt on production. They had enough to attack. The next few days troops filled of strong knights, mages, and skilled archers began the trek (by water and land) to Fayre, setting up outposts and towers along the way. 

On the last day the before the battle, the people celebrated, telling stories and singing songs of the foes that slept above, there was drinking and dancing, food and entertainment, everything to boost morale and keep the troops ready and prepped for the long fight that would surely ensue. They all slept early that night, under the clear skies and stars, careful not to disturb the peace, if only for one more night. 

Everyone was up by before the crack of dawn, villages full of women and children aswell as the fathers were locked up or evacuated, carted away from their homes into the bordering kingdoms and forests. Catapults were loaded, every able bodied warrior was armored with iron and chain mail, shields, swords, and spears. Archers with their bows took to the towers, armored in sleek defenses with quivers full of the sharpest arrows, courtesy of the king. Mages and healers stuck to the outposts, a few of them going out onto the field with the troops.

They all waited in silence, twiddling their fingers and shifting in place, feeling the wind and tension breeze through the battlefield. And finally, a loud bellowing horn rang out, blown through by the high king himself, otop his black steed and armored in the finest gold. The first shot was fired shortly after, a catapult propelling a large boulder at the island. The shot connected with a loud splitting sound, debris from the isle falling to the ground. A loud echoey screech was heard, soon after. They had awoken the great beasts. Creatures big and small began flying down from the isle, the awaiting archers shooting them full of arrows to the best of their ability, piercing their skin and wings and causing blood to “rain down from the heavens”. 

The winged creatures began spitting fire, causing blazes to swallow the forest and fields which only fed the flames more. Troops ran from the flames as best they could, forced to abandon their posts and some going so far as to take off their armor as to not be cooked from inside the hot iron. Catapults continued to fling boulders at the island relentlessly, some missing the isle completely or a few strays hitting and effectively pinning any/all dragons in their path. Dragons that flew too close to the ground or were shot down were chained and stabbed through with spears and swords, their jagged claws and teeth filed down and mouths tied shut with chains. Men were burned or singed to death, some being bitten or swallowed whole. Many were maimed or lost limbs, having to be amputated due to burns or bites/scratches. The more strategical and hostile dragons would dive down, flying into and effectively knocking into/over towers, the more bolder grabbing men with their large claws and carrying them into the air like hawks, dropping them into the forests or oceans. Some uprooted trees or boulders, throwing them and dropping them at and onto the troops. 

The dragons proved to be fearsome and skilled foes, but the united front of the kingdoms, and the greed and hate and fear of man eventually began to turn the tides. Men were quickly rushing in to replace the ones that were lost, hostile dragons being lured away from the king and captured like prey. Warriors on both sides were slain, their bodies littering the field or being swallowed by blazes. The boulders that hit the island caused more and more of the island to fall, until eventually there was no floating isle at all, the remains of it falling down to the surface, into the vast forests and oceans, and even striking and raining down onto the the castles and village. The dragons had either been slain or captured, their divine blood staining the ground. One of the dragons managed to break the chains that held it, flying meekly into the air, and with its last swift movement, shot a fireball at the kings horse, burning him and his steed severely, before being carved down the middle by his men’s swords. 

And with that, the battle was over. It had been long and bloody, but eventually the great dragons were defeated, any surviving ones being carted off by large wagons to the castle dungeons and clearings. A great storm began to form, pouring rain down on the surviving men, who quickly made their ways into town or castles, wherever they could. The king was badly injured, but wasn’t in any pain, knowing that he had won. And they had, but not a single person was celebrating that night, for the cost in this war was a big one. The rain water and mudslides carried away the bodies and blood, and all the carnage and debris and destruction into the river, and eventually into the ocean, their final resting place. 

It’s foretold that the storm was the cries of the ancestors, washing away the pain with their otherworldly tears. The high king, following the fireblast was promptly whisked away, put into a wagon filled with mages and healers and ridden to his castle, where he spent the days following bedridden, and eventually took his last breath. 

The news of his death was carried out throughout the kingdoms and the people, who adorned him as a hero of legend, who had laid down his life for the better of Gallia and it’s people. The high king was survived by his son, the heir to the throne, and the new high king. 

Those who didn’t agree with the war were the witches and sorcerors of the deep woods, who some would say were the ones closest to the ancestors. They began to curse the people and royalty, turning them outwardly as ugly and hateful as they were inside. They shifted into terrible beasts, four legged creatures with jagged claws and teeth, like the dragons they had slain. These were the earliest shifters, and throughout time they have evolved into the civilized canine/human shifters you see today. 

And as for the dragons? They were treated like war prisoners, sentenced for each and every live lost, most direly the high king, who had led the charge against them so bravely. They were put into enslavement, any mages or sorcerers on their side giving them seditives and mind alterations to make them more docile. Some were saddled and used for transportation, some were given as gifts to other kingdoms and their militaries, some were forced to breed to create more. They all had a purpose and labor to partake, no longer respected or feared as they had been before. Extra bad or disobedient ones were to be used like bucks, hung up over fire places and pelts and scales being worn as clothes. 

As time went on, the people rebuilt the castles and villages, adjusting to their new lives with dragons as laborers and not deities. However, the events of the war never left them, mutters and whispers and stories and songs being shared between the people, all sharing the same theme of the great high king and the fearsome destructive dragons and their beastly curse and plagues, that are now forced bow down to man. The fear and hate for dragons still lingers today, causing people to hate and outlaw them and their offsprings,, not to mention halfbreds.