The Butcher of Gadobhra

Baron Orlo Fallowstone, High Mage of the College of Arcane Runecasters, could only cringe in horror as the disaster unfurled. It began with the roar of a dragon so powerful that every mage in the Collegium quaked in fear and hid. The High Mage and other high-level professors fought through the fear and staggered to windows, needing to know what was happening. The storm was worse now, obscuring the tower itself except during the brief second when mana from the rift pulsed to the top and back down. No one had any idea what would happen if an Ancient Dragon flew too close to the tower. Such a thing should never happen. Most dragons were spell casters, and even those few who weren't could sense the flow of magic. The Sanitarium and rift would be visible to them. Dragons were intelligent and vain creatures who wouldn't risk their lives to experiment and 'see what happens' the way a human might.

The roaring continued for long minutes, and the High Mage sent for a half-elven journeyman who was known to decipher texts written in draconic. Phileas ran into the room, followed more slowly by two older mages.

"What is the beast saying? Can you decipher his roars?"

Quaking in front of the High Mage, whom he was meeting for the first time, Philleas gathered what little courage was left in him. Reading dusty texts had not prepared him for dealing with the real thing.

"It's difficult, but I have been taking notes. The creature is an Ice Drake from the far north. It boasts about its power and mentions conquering the 'soft, warm' lands. There's a lot of bragging about how powerful it is in battle, how long it can fight, and the surrender of anyone entering combat with it. It repeats that a lot. Then some talk about its hoard, its lineage, and then back to bragging about how long it can fight and how happy its opponent will be to surrender."

"But who is it going to attack?! Certainly not the collegium?" Just the thought chilled Orlo. He turned to the older mages. "Sound the alarm for general quarters. I want everyone from apprentices to retired professors to man the walls and start reinforcing the shields. We've been fools, thinking that this Winter would be a minor event for children. This may be the first attack of a long war."

The preparations had only been completed when the situation changed. With a deafening roar, the Ice Drake descended and landed atop the Sanitarium. The storm seemed to subside for a moment, and across the distance could be seen another dragon glowing brightly. The two almost collided as the Ice Drake landed on the tower. The second dragon, a younger red one, lifted its tail and, with a saucy flip of its head, flew away. The sight was amazing, and Orlo would remember it forever.

And then all hell broke loose. The rift pulsed, sending mana spiraling up the tower and into the Ancient Drake, who roared his displeasure. A second later, the tower exploded as the dragon tore apart the top floors. The uncontrolled pulse of mana raced back to the rift, breaking apart the careful work of decades. The rift that had been contained for generations with hundreds of delicate runic formations broke free and spewed all the pent-up energies upward like a spear thrown by a god. Dragon and tower disappeared in an explosion of epic proportions, and the mages braced for the impact. The High Mage put up the most powerful Mage Shield he could cast to reinforce the protections on his Collegium. Other mages who had manned the walls did the same. The apprentices and journeymen simply dove for cover, if they could move at all. Every piece of glass or crystal in the collegium shattered. Every protection was stripped away, and it was only with luck and the High Mage's order to reinforce the shields that the building stayed standing. Casualties were amazingly light for being so close to such an explosion. There was no doubt that everyone in the Sanitarium was dead, and there wasn't even a pile of stones to dig through for the bodies.

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Of the Ancient Ice Drake, nothing was found. That the beast could survive such a blast was incredible, but there was evidence that it had been wounded. Icy pools of blood were found in two places, and a piece of wing membrane was found by a farmer who made a small fortune selling pieces of it to apothecary shops and arcane crafters. Whether and where the beast would attack again brought great worry to everyone in the north.

The debate over what had occurred would go on for years, and fully half the faculty would publish best-selling accounts of the event. The exciting details of not one but two dragons choosing the tower as a trysting location were almost entirely made up but still made for good sales. Sage Falange's thesis on the disastrous effects of Hot and Cold creatures mating became generally accepted by academics and casual readers everywhere. He had concluded that opposites attract, but not without consequences. His book, A Tryst of Fire and Ice, went through six printings.

What wasn't in debate was the magnitude of what had been lost. In the aftermath of the disaster, it was concluded that the Ice Wizards had found an unguarded weak point and pounced on the opportunity to cripple the Empire's teleportation system. The mana rift was larger and more uncontrollable than ever, spewing out wild mana and icy blasts of cold air, making it impossible to get close enough to begin the arduous task of getting the rift under control. Recreating the magitech that regulated the rift and provided mana for the teleportation system would be impossible to rebuild without years of study, research, and experimentation. The only person with the knowledge of how to reconstruct the siphon, Vladimir, had died in the tower. (Seeking out Damien Franklin was brought up repeatedly but countered by the fact hundreds of bounty hunters and paladins were already looking for him for decades with no success.)

The shockwave of mana that was forced into the teleport system resulted in outages across most of the system and even the destruction of some teleport stones. It took four days to bring the system back up, and mana was so scarce that the Emperor declared that teleportation could only be used for emergencies, the movement of troops and their supplies. No one in the Mage's Guild looked forward to going to sleep each night with mana sickness and no money to show for it.

While a disaster, the event did make some people happy. The teamsters and wagon makers' guilds looked forward to merchants needing wagons to transport goods and the fees that would line their pockets.

And the Ice Wizards, who were slowly mobilizing their troops, were thankful for the opportunity it gave them. They raised glasses of chilled wine and sang the name of Arthamax, King of the Frozen Wyrms, who had the wit and courage to take the battle to the warm lands. The rumors of a female dragon at the tower brought winks and nudges. Arthamax was known for his lust for life and the many descendants he had sired. They wished him a happy honeymoon and a quick return.

The orcs of the southern forests saw the weakness of the Empire as a sign from their gods that it was time to march to war under the banner of their new leader. Orc and Goblin tribes from all over the world traveled the hidden pathways that would take them to join with their cousins for the battles to come.

The lizardmen creating a War Road north to the Empire would find out the news of the disaster soon and would exclaim in wonder at the wisdom of Unca-Varn. Surely, their gods had sent him a vision of what was to come.

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