The skies were dark over the great mountain, but that was to be always the case. The mountain known to the local humans as Arcadia was the largest known to them and the most deadly. It had little to do with mountain itself, though the magma that constantly bubbled at its rim, occasionally creating streams down the mountain helped. These active lava flows accounted for most of the soot black sky, but there was magic helping it along. This place was made to look and feel like the worst place for anyone to come and that was before you got within the mountain.
Hundreds of slaves and minions worked the mountain, turning it into both a mine and a fortress. Very few had ever penetrated its defences, nor the loyal kobold guard and slave legion. But they were not the ultimate threat of this mountain, not the reason the civilised world both tried to stay away, and yet sent out teams to invade.
At the heart of it all was a dragon, an red dragon that made this mountain home. Varla was her name and she had spent her whole life making this mountain hers. It wasn't always hers, but no living human still lived to remember that. Varla, Mistress of Arcadia and bane to all the region, sat upon her chamber of gold, slaves serving her every whim.
But this was not the story of Varla, but instead the dragons youngest child Naloth. The dragon, seeing him as able to stand and fight, threw out her child like the rest of her spawn. Without any assistance she insisted her children sought out their own fortune. Many would die, some would succeed, a few might even try and challenge her. She did not care, if a dragon could not find the strength to carve their name upon the world they were no true dragon in her eyes.
Hundreds of slaves and minions worked the mountain, turning it into both a mine and a fortress. Very few had ever penetrated its defences, nor the loyal kobold guard and slave legion. But they were not the ultimate threat of this mountain, not the reason the civilised world both tried to stay away, and yet sent out teams to invade.
At the heart of it all was a dragon, an red dragon that made this mountain home. Varla was her name and she had spent her whole life making this mountain hers. It wasn't always hers, but no living human still lived to remember that. Varla, Mistress of Arcadia and bane to all the region, sat upon her chamber of gold, slaves serving her every whim.
But this was not the story of Varla, but instead the dragons youngest child Naloth. The dragon, seeing him as able to stand and fight, threw out her child like the rest of her spawn. Without any assistance she insisted her children sought out their own fortune. Many would die, some would succeed, a few might even try and challenge her. She did not care, if a dragon could not find the strength to carve their name upon the world they were no true dragon in her eyes.