A dragon is a mighty bygone creature with many different species that are all classified as dragons.
Overview[]
- O to be a dragon
- a symbol of the power of Heaven.
- — Marianne Moore, “O to be a Dragon”
Legendary[]
In the time before time, long before the light of civilization fell across the land, most of the world was wild and formless. At that time, a now-forgotten power held sway — a potent force of chaos whose very passing scattered the golden fruits of knowledge and power that nurtured our kind through its infancy. This power was called “Modus” and he reigned for ages in his Courts of Silence before ever a creature walked the face of the Earth. And his children attended him, and were to him a great comfort.
Certainly no one could have foreseen the tragic consequences when Ellisere, the daughter of Modus, Goddess of Inspiration and Invention, brought her latest plaything into the Courts of Silence. She called this strange device “the Necronome.” Its eternal ticking seemed to echo the beat of her heart. In it she found the subtle hints of a pattern that opened up great vistas of inspiration. Unfortunately, the infernal ticking drove everyone else to distraction and the Courts of Silence were no longer a place of refuge.
Something had to be done. After much deliberation, Modus banished the object from the courts. After that, Ellisere was seen less and less. She sequestered herself on a remote mountain in the midst of swirling creation to pursue her vision and the new art — music — that was taking shape with the aid of her Necronome.
The strange and wondrous sounds of her emerging art called forth many and varied creatures from the crucible of creation. They came to her and loved her, and she taught them her way.
The Firstborn were the great wyrms, masters of air and flame. The raw, primitive tones of the newly discovered art formed their magic and might. In time, all creatures who now know music, and many different races — including those who are now known only through ancient songs — came to sit at Ellisere’s feet and receive her gift. At last, man overcame his fear of the wild things that haunted the world’s end and came to Ellisere to learn from her.
By this time, the Art had changed. Music was no longer a simple means of expressing Ellisere’s vision of harmony. In each successive teaching, it swelled to encompass new emotions. The great wyrms, for instance, eagerly gathered shining notes of power and crafted them into scales — of hoarding, of greed, of snares for those who would steal their treasures. The arrival of men also wove many complex emotions into the score, not the least of which was jealousy.
It is doubtful that even Ellisere herself knew who it was that stole into her chambers one day. Some gossips speculate that the trespasser’s motive may have been jealousy for the single-minded devotion a lover paid to the goddess. Others suggest that the intruder acted out of fear — that some other race might learn a more complete form of the Art than man himself had. All that is known for certain is that on that day, someone reached up to the Necronome and stopped its swinging arm midcourse.
The silence that followed was complete. No scream sounded the moment the Necronome and the goddess’ heart ceased to beat. In their sorrow, the great wyrms gathered their treasures, music and precious scales, wrapped them in grand and leathery wings and took flight. They passed over the Earth on mournful winds, landing when fatigue claimed them, and dug titanic burrows into the mountainsides.
There, it is said, they listen for the echoes of Ellisere’s art in never-ending caves. In the heart of the Earth, the dragons claim, you can still hear refrains of the first songs in mournful rhythm with the final ticking of the goddess’ Necronome.
Description[]
Here be dragons. The inscription inevitably marks the farthest, most inaccessible, least hospitable corner of the map. The wise navigator never reads the phrase aloud, although he might tap ominously at it with the tip of his spy glass. A certain power clings to the very syllables — not only fuel for mutiny, but something more grand — words to conjure with. Their very whispering evokes nightmare images of primal fury, avarice, cunning, chaos and destruction.
The Illuminated, however, must learn to see beyond the nightmare. The first step in penetrating the veil of secrecy surrounding the great wyrms is to realize that a dragon is a paradoxical creature. The arcana handed down across the generations reveals a very different side to these complex beings. The mystic writings return constantly to the dragon’s unrivaled majesty, wisdom, sophistication and artistry. The great wyrms embody all the terrible beauty that nature has to offer. In the dragon, we find reflected all that is darkest within the breast of man. The dragon is pure desire run amok. Our lusts, our greed, our ravenous hungers find their ultimate expression in these grand beasts.
There are probably as many stories about the creation of dragonkind as there are dragons themselves. Each of the great wyrms is a veritable force of nature with a life span stretching back into the dim reaches of time. Only the very foolish or presumptuous would even think to question a dragon’s account of its own origins. The fact of the matter is that each of these legendary beings has the longevity, power and conviction to craft history in his own image. Most of the great wyrms, should they feel moved to give any account of themselves whatsoever, would recount tales of how their race arose directly from the Primal Chaos. This assertion may not fall far from the truth.
Even the legends of mankind’s own devising tend to recognize dragons as the Firstborn. Some scholars suggest that dragons are not, in fact, mortal creatures at all, but incarnations of Creation’s own passion, harnessed by intellect and glowing with the power of the elements unbound. It’s possible that the great wyrms are creatures of pure Quintessence, loose threads of the Tellurian’s Tapestry crackling with raw, undifferentiated power. One myth goes so far as to claim that dragons are not of the Tapestry at all, but rather arise directly from the dark spaces between the weft and warp, where the hidden chaos of the universe is exposed.
The very existence of a dragon is an accusation hurled in the face of mankind. Meeting one of the great wyrms is like facing our own reflection in a dark mirror. At the same time, the dragon embodies all the unchecked power of Nature. Throughout the world, dragons are credited with creating storms and lightning, fire and flood, famine and blight, typhoons and hurricanes, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, maelstroms and tidal waves.
The dragon is the unreasoning enforcer of the natural order. It is quite literally the scourge of the Earth — the lash of Her displeasure with presumptuous humanity. A great wyrm embodies man’s relation with nature. Within its glistening coils, we do not find a natural order to be conquered, catalogued and cultivated, but rather the wild fury of nature that must be appeased to ensure survival.
Dragon Lore[]
As one of the most promising scholars of his age, it is certain that Ynnis Wythren had more than a passing familiarity with dragon lore before he ever set foot on the Isle of Lamentations. What he found there, however, led him to cast aside the mantle of learning for the sackcloth of mysticism.
Regrettably, no hand has ever recorded Wythren’s story in its entirety. Only vague and unsettling hints may be found amongst the mystic’s cryptic verse, which is praised mainly for its complex, labyrinthine structure. A volume of his work is often the prized possession in the private library of a well-to-do cryptophile. In his pivotal Librium Draconis, Wythren opens with this startling revelation:
- “The Dragon accomplishes the ends of the Earth.”
With this simple assertion, Wythren throws down the gauntlet to challenge centuries of established dragon lore. He reveals that the dragon is not merely the hooded executioner of Nature’s will, but rather the Earth’s champion — the knight who defends Her, the hero who redeems Her, the magus who awakens Her. The dragon is not some generic monster, a potential notch in the belt of the treasure hunter. Rather, each of these magnificent creatures is a fully realized character, a unique being, a force of nature animated by a powerful individual will.
Dragons are fiercely protective of their individuality. Solitary and aloof, they place great value on their independence and privacy. It is said that they cannot long abide even the presence of their own kind — it’s a rare occasion when two or more of the beasts deign to share a hunting ground or lair. Ancient sagas, however, do allude to a time when the great wyrms were more populous and were occasionally seen hunting or warring together. Just as we might speak of a pride of lions or a murder of crows, the magi of old tell of a desolation of dragons. Anyone who has witnessed the insatiable appetites of these magnificent terrors can understand why.
Wythren’s cryptic assertion, however, establishes much more than the individuality of each dragon. It presents the foundation of what has become known as the “Doctrine of Circumference and Center.” According to this theory, the dragon “accomplishes” the ends of the Earth in the sense that it “encompasses” them. The dragon’s coils encircle the entire world. It is the horizon, the border of the unknown, the Circumference of Creation.
The Vikings understood this mystery perfectly. In Norse mythology, the great wyrm Jormungandr encompasses the entire world (Midgard). This Midgard Orm lies in the frozen depths of the ocean, its own tail clasped firmly in its mouth. The elaborate figureheads on Viking dragon ships pay homage to this terror of the deep.
The serpent swallowing its own tail is one of the mage’s most potent symbols — the alchemical sign of infinity. The Midgard Orm is infinite, not only in that it encompasses all of space, but all of time. It was imprisoned in the icy depths at the dawn of time, and prophecy maintains that the Orm cannot be slain until time itself is unmade.
Thor, god of thunder, once sought to slay the Orm. He accomplished the Herculean task of fishing it from the ocean using a great chain baited with an ox’s head. His efforts, however, proved to be in vain as even he, the very incarnation of battle, could not best his rival. It is told that in the final battle, Ragnarok, Jormungandr will rise up and slay his ancient enemy. The great Orm will itself be slain and its death-throes will crack open the world like an egg, destroying all of Creation and closing the circle, once and for all.
The serpent devouring its own tail is a potent symbol of the Great Cycle of life, death and rebirth. Nowhere is this image more apparent than in the steaming jungles of the New World. Here, no life is wasted — the jungle floor is a broiling crucible of creation. From every plant or creature that dies in that crucible there erupts a teeming multitude of new life. This fecund cycle is observed and governed by the plumed serpent of the Aztecs and Toltecs, Quetzalcoatl.
Like the serpent, the dragon sheds its skin, casting off the detritus of its old life and being born anew. While the serpent is “reborn” each year, the dragon’s life rhythm encompasses the Great Cycle of 360 years. Each great wyrm, it is written, lives 10 such lifetimes (or 3600 years), unless some disaster or murder cuts that life short. At the end of this perfectly contained cycle, the dragon’s soul enters the Great Wheel of Creation to be remade again in fresh, elemental clay as new souls or primal forces.
In Egyptian mythology, the dragon Apep is the Lord of the Underworld, who holds the reigns of life, death and rebirth. His consuming passion is his enmity with the sun god Ra. Each day, Apep does battle with Ra, trying to prevent the sun-boat from rising to its zenith. Each evening, Apep devours the sun, dragging his ancient enemy into his domain, the world of the dead. The battle continues there as the solar disc navigates its way along the Celestial Nile — the very bowels of Apep. Thus, for the Egyptians, each day is a mythic struggle in which the rebirth of the sun and the gods themselves depends on the dragon’s gift of life, death and resurrection.
Egyptian dragon lore reinforces and expands on some important points raised in Norse legends. Apep is also a dragon of the Circumference. While Jormungandr coils about the Earth beneath Her mantle of oceans, Apep encompasses the world in two great arcs — one above (the Celestial Nile) and one below (the Underworld). When the Egyptians speak of the Celestial Nile, they refer to the starry swath of the Milky Way that dominates the night sky.
Apep’s domain over the night sky is strengthened by its close association with the moon. This link between the dragon and the moon is implicit in Egyptian legend. Just as Apep opposes Ra, the moon opposes the sun — rising when it sets, setting when it rises. Like the dragon, the moon also sheds its skin every 28 nights. It is the dragon’s kinship with the moon, as much as the creature’s own prowess, that makes it the uncontested lord of the night sky.
In general, dragon-as-moon holds dominion over all that transpires beneath the cover of darkness. Tales of great wyrms return constantly to the exploits of thieves and lovers. In this role, the dragon is not only a hoarder of fabulous treasures and of virgins, but is also the guardian of spiritual treasures — of secrets, mystery and initiation.
Habitat[]
Uncontested masters of land, sea and air, dragons inhabit the four corners of the Earth and have made their presence felt in the heart of the Old World and on the shores of the New. Explorers carry back tales and sightings of the dragon from such far-flung locales as Cathay, the Americas, India, Ethiopia and Arabia. Truly is it said that the dragon encompasses the ends of the Earth.
A dragon’s Beysta, or lair, can be found atop (or within) some ancient place of power. These dragonsites are Crays of the greatest kind, focal points of earthmight, the raw unchecked power of Nature — that which mortals call Quintessence. A great wyrm draws on this vast energy reserve to feed his ravening hungers, to fuel the raging furnace within.
In most cases, a Beysta is some remote and forbidding cavern. Such isolated subterranean surroundings appeal to the great wyrms’ serpentine nature. These “dragonholes” are private, roomy and easily guarded — important considerations for anyone with the dragon’s reputation for vast wealth and equally boundless suspicions. For similar reasons, many dragons, such as the legendary Lambdon Worm, make their lairs in abandoned wells or cisterns. If the Beysta is convenient to a nearby town — and thus, a steady source of human prey — so much the better.
Other dragons make their lairs in high mountain eyries. These fierce predators rely on their keen eyesight to pick out prey far below and swoop down for the swift kill. The Tatzlwurm of the Swiss Alps is one such mountain-dweller who considers human children a great delicacy.
Still others prefer aquatic lairs. Seas, lakes and rivers provide a steady diet of fish, while boat traffic serves as an important supplementary food source. Water also provides the ultimate camouflage for the fantastic Bygones, allowing aquatic dragons to take boats or even entire ports unawares. The Gargouille is one such sea dragon who belches forth torrents of water. A titanic creature who preys on medieval mariners, this creature is the inspiration for the waterspout gargoyles that adorn French cathedrals.
Swamps tend to combine the advantages of both the watery and the subterranean lair. Swamp dragons, or knuckers, dwell in reportedly bottomless pits in the heart of great marshes. The presence of such a knuckerhole is often revealed by eerie vapors, incessant bubbling or icy cold waters.
Regardless of their location, all dragonsites are interconnected, linked by a vast network of energy lines. Some of these dragonlines run beneath the Earth’s surface like magma. Others surge along the course of the ocean currents. Still others follow the paths of the winds. The great wyrms refer to these ever-flowing conduits of power as the dragonsblood — streams of mystickal energy that come to be called “ley lines” in latter days.
Tending the dragonsblood is an almost religious devotion for the great wyrms, and a dragon often sits for days on end doing nothing but communing with the call of the blood. In its song, they can pick out the soft strains of news from distant lands. They whisper to each other across the miles. They read omens. They often relive memories or share devotions from halfway across the world.
The dragonsblood is also the raw material from which dragons construct their Proteria — their inner sanctums. Just as the Beysta is the dragon’s physical home, the Proterus is his spiritual dwelling.
Both Beysta and Proterus share the same spatial location. One can be thought of as overlaying the other — separated only by the most tenuous layer of perception. The great wyrms call this invisible membrane the Veil, but magi know it better as the Gauntlet. The master of the lair can part the Veil at will and step directly from the physical into the spiritual realm, passing from Beysta to Proterus. This power, which makes dragons nigh invulnerable on their home ground, is considered one of the greatest gifts the Lady bestowed on dragonkind.
Dragon lore presents some ambiguity about the Veil. On one hand, stepping through it represents the passage between the physical and the spiritual, between life and death. The Lady passed beyond the Veil by dying. In so doing, she made the way clear for her faithful to travel back and forth between the two realms. The great wyrms, however, do not experience the area beyond the Veil as a land of the dead — there are no thronging shades of the deceased awaiting them on the far side. Instead, the dragon’s Proterus resembles an exact duplicate of his lair — with one significant difference. In the Proterus, there are no physical objects, only the shadows of objects — symbols, meanings, relations, implications. Where a dragon’s lair might be filled with physical treasures — fine carpets from the Orient, a mask collection from darkest Africa, brightly colored tapestries, a peerless wine collection, ivory tusks, ancient tomes, delicate scientific apparatus, magnificent bronzes, rare coins, artful clockwork automatons, a chess set fit for an emperor, crates of coffee, sacks of poppy and many other such things — the dragon’s Proterus is a spiritual landscape.
A dragon never allows visitors, even favored ones, to enter his Proterus. However, magi and fae who have battled wyrms and won have ventured into these holy sanctums and recorded what they found. In the material world, a dragon’s lair resembles a gigantic burrow, often wound with elaborate tunnels, trickling with fresh water and seeded with fabulous treasures and gleaming bones. In the Penumbra of the place, the Proterus spins out like a gargantuan web, a luminous weave of interlocking strands. Each line is a link of distance or proximity anchored to the objects on the physical side of the Realm. The more cluttered the cave, the more elaborate the web in the spirit world.
If an intruder were to look closely at the strands, she might notice tiny arcane runes in no known language. Wythren attests that dragons capture their histories, genealogies and poetry in these intricate scribings. According to his chronicles, the runes seem to sing in a tune that transcends human scales — a tune that may well be the echo of the songs composed by the elder wyrms, who first melded the elements together.
Noted Dragonsites[]
- Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
- Shall here inhabit, and this land be call’d
- The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls.
- — William Shakespeare, Richard II
The Boneyard[]
Even among dragonsites, some locales have grown so famous (or infamous) that they stand out clearly above the rest. These are the mystic places of dragonkind — the pilgrimage sites and realms of nightmare that occasionally wind their way into human folklore.
Perhaps no dragonsite has fired the imagination of mystics and treasure-hunters alike as greatly as the Isle of Lamentations. Kingdoms and fortunes have been squandered in the quest for the legendary isle. In the cryptic verse of Ynnis Wythren, the desolate place is called “The Boneyard.” Simply put, it is the dragons’ graveyard — the place where the most ancient and world-weary of the great wyrms come to die.
No map has ever fixed its location, yet old tales place the isle somewhere in the midst of the Sea of Dust, a vast ocean of rolling breakers that crackle like old parchment as they wash to and fro. Stately funeral barges ply these waters in lieu of fishing boats. The seas are also rife with treasure seekers and ghoulish bloodthirsty pirates, men who have lost their minds and souls trying to find the elusive island.
A traveler who manages to win past the many hazards of the Sea of Dust might beach himself on the Sighing Stones, jagged granite teeth that jut from the waves like a titan’s maw. The island rises beyond this reef on gleaming white sea cliffs that are circled by wailing black gulls. The Isle of Lamentations offers neither shore nor harbor. Those who would ascend its cliffs must either fly or climb the dizzying heights.
The bowl of the island is a blinding, bleached, white landscape. Everywhere a visitor turns, she is confronted by the remains of the dead — the entire surface of the isle is a shifting jumble of bones. Jagged spars thrust skyward like obelisks. Vaulted ribs arc overhead like the roof of a cathedral. Wind whistles through the remains with the sound of some vast untuned pipe organ. Otherwise, the isle is grim and silent.
Despite the barren visage it presents to intruders, the island actually teems with life. Millions of unseen scurrying insects — rumored to range in size from that of an ant to that of a wild boar — pick clean the undersides of shifting bones. A trespasser must wind her way across the remains. The slightest misstep is certain to plunge her into the subterranean realm of the insect-creatures.
If a great wyrm is actually present on the isle, it is certain be found at the very center, coiled around the cairn at the land’s heart. This cairn is constructed not of piled stones, but of ancient weathered eggs — all the stillborn children of dragonkind, brought here by bereaved parents throughout the ages. It should be noted that even a dying dragon can be terrible in his rage, and no member of wyrm-kind would suffer the footfalls of another beast — least of all man — on this most sacred island.
The City of Brass and Flame[]
The dragon is without a doubt the mightiest of all enchanted creatures. Not all of the great wyrms, however, are allied with the forces of magick in the Great Conflict. Dragons champion each of the three sides in the unceasing battles between faith, science and magick. However, although the Daedaleans openly forswear affiliation with such beasts, desperate men must find allies where they can....
Perhaps the most notorious example of a dragon opposed to magick is a being of legendary power called Caduceus. A titanic spirit of logic and complexity, this dragon sends inspiration-dreams to his chosen: the High Artisans of the Order of Reason.
Where other dragons embody the wild, unappeased forces of Nature, Caduceus is an avatar of civilization. A pervasive worldview radiates outward from him in concentric circles. Just as the very presence of other dragons brings blight, pestilence and devastation to the surrounding countryside, Caduceus is the harbinger of order and logic. Like a gargantuan spider-wyrm, he spins a complex, circular web in his Realm of sublime technology. Unlike the men he favors, this dragon makes no distinction between the works of rational creatures and the works of Nature. To him, a cathedral and a beaver dam are of a single substance — each a perfectly natural construct, envisioned and created by perfectly natural creatures.
There is no conflict between man and Nature in Caduceus’ Realm. Anything man might accomplish, he does on the behalf/behest of the Earth that bore him. The epicenter of Caduceus’ influence is the City of Brass and Flame — a testament to Nature’s ability to feed on itself. Suspended in the center of the dragon’s cyclopean web, the city is a pre-industrial nightmare Realm of steam, gears, oil and levers.
This city, like all dragon works, lies within the spirit worlds, separated from mortal lands by the narrow ribbon of belief between this world and the next. The dragon’s city is populated with a stunning variety of elaborate clockwork automatons. These subjects can sometimes be found in the cities of men, carrying out the inscrutable ends of Caduceus’ far-reaching agenda. Unknown to most mortals, these beings even serve occasionally in Daedalean ranks as Brethren, Sisters or mechanical creations.
The shrill metallic wailing of the City of Brass and Flame is a siren’s song to those mortals unfortunate enough to stand within earshot. Visitors who do not fall under the spell of technology are invariably driven deaf or mad. Those who manage to survive this peril and actually come within sight of the City of the Great Work can be undone, captured or rooted to the spot by a nightmare vision of science gone utterly insane.
The city scrambles heavenward on its own shoulders. New domes, towers, cupolas and minarets, rising from the womb of the city, claw their way into existence before the spectator’s very eyes. The cityscape also seems to rush toward the onlooker as it expands concentrically and continually. The towering walls are carried forward in a flurry of levers and scaffolding, all waving madly and independently like dancing spiders’ legs. The inhabitants scurry like mites on a dog’s ear, rushing in an endless attempt to build things faster, better and bigger than before.
It is said that the heart of the city, Caduceus’ palace/factory, is buried beneath the ascending metallic jumble. Supposedly Caduceus himself can be found in the deepest sub-basement, wrapped about the monstrous boiler that drives the ever-expanding city, spinning his endless web of machines and reason.
Future Fate[]
Oh, dragons are real, even now. The elemental dreams that wove the first wyrms together still flow in the veins of these near-immortal beasts. Dragons are very much alive, as both archetypes and beings of flesh and bone.
Ironically, the “ends of the Earth” gradually leave that Earth for the more accommodating Realms. By the technological age, the material world has become too harsh for their kind. Among the literal dragon-slayers of the Dark Ages and Renaissance, great clashes such as the Battle of Flames and the Concordia War, the darkening of polluted skies and the dimming of the heart of wonder, the mighty wyrms of the First Days have been whittled down. As the Great Wheel spins faster and faster, the souls of dragons have been sucked into the slipstream and transformed into other, lesser things (like people).
Most surviving dragons have settled into Umbral Realms by the Industrial Age. Although some few of them escape to the newer worlds of Africa and the Americas, the unrest that soon tears through those lands feeds the pain spreading across the world. Dragons, like many other magical beasts, feel the burn of Unbelief as the world becomes a colder, less magical place. By the end of the 19th century, the mortal world is literally painful to visit. Although many wyrms learn to shapeshift themselves into human forms and walk unnoticed through the crowds, the air soon becomes too heavy and stale for any dragon’s liking.
In their rage and despair, some dragons bind themselves to the great Celestine Wyrm, the force of destruction intent on devouring Creation. In the Umbral Hellholes and the plains of Malfeas, in the hidden depths of earthly seas or the burning heart of the world, angry dragons coil, their souls dripping venom and their jaws glowing with righteous fire. For now, they glut themselves on the spiritual misery passed down from the Wyrm itself, and on sacrifices gathered by a handful of dragon-cults in the human lands. Some ally themselves with Mad Ones and Fallen wizards, answering their summons’ for short periods of time and spreading havoc when they appear. Meanwhile, the fascination with the dragon as an archetype, the popularity of dinosaurs and giant monsters, and prevailing Millennial tidings have strengthened these monsters. Soon, very soon, they will rise to the mortal world, reveal their power to a skeptical humanity and rain their fire on the cities of man.
Types of Dragons[]
Dragons come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes. The smallest are said to be no larger than a house cat, while the largest have been known to coil themselves around mountains. Despite several overall similarities, however, each dragon is an individual. Mated pairs produce children who resemble neither partner, and “litter-mates” born of the same hatch-brood can differ in profound ways. Some are witty and urbane, collecting works of art and crafting grand lairs with fire and claw. Others are simple brutes, as smart as the average human and far less cultured. A handful are little better than animals, living for centuries on nothing more than instinct, and dwelling in filthy, fouled caves.
Innately magical, all dragons possess elemental gifts. Their ties to the spirits of Creation, the powers of the mind and the arts of humanity breed dizzying talents. Some dragons can transform themselves into unassuming guises. Others hypnotize their prey, fly, command the weather or live beneath the sea. Nearly every great wyrm possesses some form of vile breath. It is said that the elements themselves boil up from within a dragon’s heart. When he rages, the elements spill out in devastating form, manifestations of the universe’s anger. The “traditional” dragon trades in fire, but others exhale storms, poisons, water, even rains of hot mud or sand. When the Industrial Age turns skies to ash, some young dragons are born breathing clouds of smog or toxic waste. As the elements rage, the dragons breathe them into form.
In general, dragons can be divided into three main types: celestial dragons, which embody the elements in epic form, grow to amazing size and command vast powers; greater wyrms, the “Classical” dragons, which walk and fly across the land, occasionally brushing their wings against the worlds of man; and lesser dragons, which attain modest size and moderate power, but live for centuries regardless. According to dragon-lore scholars, the dreams of gods, men and the elementals shaped the differences between these creatures and bound them to the lands that they inhabit.
Celestial dragons are best known in the remote corners of the Far East, although titanic creatures such as Jormungandr appear in the tales of other lands. European and African legends resound with the clamor of the greater wyrms, whose taste for cattle, virgins and piles of gold epitomize the word “dragon.” Lesser dragons are known worldwide: Fu guardians watch over Buddhist and Taoist shrines, amphipteres coil in African and Mediterranean trees, and sphinxes ambush travelers from the woods of England to the deserts of Arabia. Certain dragons seem to “favor” certain lands, but on the whole, these magnificent beasts are universal.
Dragons typically prefer solitude. Nevertheless, scholars maintain that a “dragon court” exists somewhere in the spirit world. While it is true that, every millennium, all living dragons gather in an Otherworld called Midrealm, the mortal “dragon courts” are largely fantasy. The exceptions — the mighty councils of great celestial dragons and the more humble meetings of ambitious drakes — occur sporadically, when some issue demands the wyrms’ attention. Most times, these elemental creatures prefer isolation or the company of lesser beings. Even mating dragons rarely stay together for long. The fractious natures of wyrmkind are simply too diverse for near-immortals to bear.
Elements Incarnate: Great Celestial Dragons[]
More spirit than matter, great celestial dragons typically grow hundreds of feet in length, and rarely appear before man. The young dragon spends a full 1000 years in its egg before emerging as a small snake. Over the next 2000 years, the dragon wins, in turn, its carplike head, its claws, its horns and finally its wings. As it grows, the dragon attains mastery over shapechanging and the elements. When it reaches adulthood, the creature is assigned certain duties by the celestial powers — some benevolent, others dire. To fulfill its purpose, the dragon ascends to the Otherworlds and functions as an emissary between Heaven and Earth.
- Celestial (fire) dragons are majestic creatures with five-taloned legs and scales wrought of purest gold. Vast enough to carry the palaces of the gods on their backs, these dragons are unbearably fierce of countenance and severe of temper. Only meat and coal can feed these beasts, and they are terrible when hungry.
Like the grim sages of Legalistic traditions, these mighty demigods council rigid honor, right action and personal perfection. Patrons of the Akashic Arts, these creatures occasionally manifest in huge storms. During the Dragon River War, three fire dragons reduced an army of minor demons to ash — and boiled the Qui River into steam. A celestial dragon speaks in thunderclaps and displays little patience with humanity. Unless summoned for some great need, he resides in the Heavens or crafts great palaces in the hearts of volcanoes. - Weather (air) dragons shimmer in tones of everchanging blue and dance across the sky on six pairs of slender legs. The realms of cloud and open sea are playgrounds for these spirit-beasts, who bring both life-giving rain and deadly storms. These dragons fly effortlessly without benefit of wings. Their coming is as swift as the wind and their assault is just as piercing. In contrast to their flaming cousins, these sedate creatures respect harmony and balance over raw force.
When provoked, an air dragon can devastate an entire valley, as happened in Kin Li in the days of the Five Ghost Wizards. More often, however, the divine beast prefers to teach friends humility, song and patience. In her palace of winds, a weather dragon coils about her fountain, listening to the droplets of water falling into the basin, lifting upward and falling again. To her, the endless cycle of water and air epitomize the rains that are her stewardship. If asked, she might reply that no other study is essential to one who understands that flow. - Terrestrial (earth) dragons govern the inland waterways. Their dominion over the earth stems from the gift of fertility they bring to the fields and from their authority to divide the land into separate provinces. Each river has its own dragon-king who rules the waters from his submerged palace. These rulers are terrifying and irresistible in their wrath. Sinuous and muscular, an earth dragon sheds four sets of scales — earth red, mud brown, dull green and bright emerald — as he grows to maturity. He picks his way across the land on six massive legs, feasting on forests and trees.
In his youth, a terrestrial dragon is sturdy, steadfast and conservative. Although not harsh as his fiery cousin, this patron of Taoist mystics is a taskmaster. In human guise, he often wanders the countryside dressed as a monk and offers enigmatic platitudes. For sustenance, this exclusive vegetarian consumes huge amounts of foliage, then raises the plants again with the power of his magic. - Subterranean (metal) dragons are great hoarders, dwelling in the hidden places of the Earth. These entities are guardians of spiritual as well as physical treasures, and are jealous of their Heaven-ordained duty. Poised at the gates of the Elemental Courts of Earth and Metal, these grand beasts can see the greed or generosity in human hearts. A metal dragon glitters like diamonds and walks with a shambling gait on four leonine paws.
Wise in the ways of science and mysticism, metal dragons are nonetheless creatures of caprice and ambition. Once, according to Akashic doctrine, they sought to overthrow the gods themselves. Five rebels were rounded up, branded with the seal of the Celestial Emperor and cast into cells beneath Mount Meru. Every so often, they stir and shake the foundations of the lost mountain, rippling the great Pool in the center of Akashic society. Two metal dragons refused to rebel. These entities, Wan Ko and Han Qwa Shen, now guard the Elemental Courts. Both are personable enough, but often forsake their posts to travel the Earth in humble forms. Wan Ko favors birds, in which form he snatches up fascinating trinkets and carries them back to his post. Han Qwa Shen takes the form of a woman with golden hair. Seducing mortals and spirits alike, she gathers the gifts they give her, puts them in a basket of reeds and carries them back to the Court of Earth. - Great sea dragons are mottled green and deep blue in color, and they often reach three to four miles in length. Wingless and legless, these enormous serpents travel exclusively by swimming. These are the beasts called Leviathan, Jormungandr, Lung Yu and other, hidden names. In the sunless depths, they hold courts that would drive a mortal man mad. No force on Earth can resist such a beast, for, angered, it raises typhoons, earthquakes and tidal waves. Krakens and whales provide food for these dragons, and huge sea-Realms bleed into their domains.
Every so often, a sea dragon takes a lesser form, swimming among the fish or hauling itself onto dry land to walk among men. If you pass a woman with dripping hair and eyes like a stormy sea, some folk say, you have seen a great sea dragon in the flesh. In later days, when the seas have been sullied and its great beasts slaughtered, sea dragons occasionally come to land to reason with the annoying creatures who dwell there. It is not the will of Heaven that humanity should be expunged, so the dragons forbear their wrath. Still, that woman with tossed-ocean eyes has a hard edge to her smile, and her hands twitch nervously, as if she were poised to strike.
Classic Dragons: The Greater Wyrms[]
Greater wyrms, while quite powerful in their own right, are far smaller than their celestial cousins (they’re typically several dozen feet long by maturity). Carnivorous and hungry, they embody the wrath of Hell or Heaven, and occasionally appear as agents of a huge Scourge backlash. While intelligent in the human sense, these dragons perceive the world through powerful senses and centuries of experience. Even the young ones are hundreds of years old and can remember when things were quite different — and far simpler. These “Classical” dragons include:
- The drake has a heavily armored, serpentine body that is all but impervious to the efforts of bow and sword. A ridge of sharp spines runs along his back, and his four legs boast wicked claws. The drake has membranous, batlike wings and his tail terminates in a venomous barb. A forked tongue darts in and out of his horrible maw — a mouth equally capable of swallowing prey whole or belching forth fiery death. This dragon’s eyes are luminous and hypnotic, able to mesmerize or cut through deception at will.
A mountain-dweller of temperate lands, the drake embodies all the raw, unchecked fury of nature. Neither especially wise nor reflective, he’s direct, aggressive and often cunning. Humans fascinate him as a rule; in his youth, the drake goes out of his way to examine them. Perhaps he’s a fire-drake, devourer of virgins and slayer of knights. Maybe he is a brave wizard-ally, bridled for riding and devoted to his friends. He could take the role of the treasure-hoarder, secluded and grouchy in his trove of artifacts. Most likely, he’s all and more. Drakes play all of these roles in a single lifetime, then join the pile of bones on the Isle of Lamentations and return to the Great Wheel again. - The wyrm (alternately orm) lairs in cold climes and closely resembles a giant serpent or eel. This beast is wingless and legless — only her draconian head, bearded and horned, gives outward sign of her true nature. Wyrms are equally at home in the secret places of the earth and in the depths of the sea. Aggressive and spiteful, a wyrm can strike with her deadly fangs or constrict with her coils. The blood of a wyrm is a virulent acid and toxin, capable of eating through the strongest mail and slaying with a touch. Of all dragons, wyrms are by far the least mannered and most malicious. They want nothing to do with humans or their ilk, except perhaps to savor a choice few as meals.
- The wyvern is a coiling, winged serpent whose hunting grounds extend from the very northern reaches of Europe all the way to Greece and Ethiopia. Although he’s a huge beast — often 50 feet or more from tip to tail — the wyvern’s features are birdlike, right down to a single pair of legs that boast eagle talons. Among dragonkind, these beasts are regarded as the least intelligent (a favorite wyvern tactic involves laying along a riverbank with his mouth open in order to ambush unwary prey). Although a wyvern does not hesitate to eat humans, his favorite dish is elephant flesh. Tales speak of ferocious battles between bull elephants, but it’s a rare one that can best a dragon.
Small Cousins: The Lesser Dragons[]
Creatures of a small world, lesser dragons are rarely considered dragons at all. Hardly larger than a horse or lion, they nevertheless share the magical characteristics of their relatives. Hatched from small, plain eggs, the lesser breed grows to maturity in 100 years or so, and then they remain more or less the same for human ages. As young beasts, many lesser dragons aspire to become greater ones. However, when the ages pass and no change occurs, the poor things slide into disappointment, unless some other dragon takes them in as his charges. Of all wyrmkind, the lesser dragons are the most sociable and most likely to walk beside a human for any length of time. These beasts include:
- The elusive lindworm, which stalks the barren wastes. Although native to the cold mountains of northern and eastern Europe, these wingless dragons have been seen as far away as the steppes of Central Asia. Incapable of flight, a lindworm achieves incredible speed by running upright, propelled by its two powerful saurian legs. The creature’s head, counterbalanced by a thick, lashing tail, snaps forward to breathe a cloud of poison or to gnash its prey between thick, sharp teeth. In later days, it could be said he is a dinosaur. Were it not for his intellect, flaming breath and occasional magic powers, that would be exactly what he is.
- The amphiptere is a winged, but legless, serpent that travels exclusively by flying. A greedy, selfish creature, she enjoys spending time in the upper reaches of the frankincense-bearing trees of her homeland, and jealously guards the precious resin from all who would harvest it. The amphiptere has a fierce disposition; her cry alone has been known to fell great warriors. In the Apocrypha, these dragons are depicted skimming across the plain, leading the chariots of Arabia into battle.
The amphiptere is clever and insightful in temperament. Her words, while spiteful, often ring true. A prophet of sorts, she adores magi and puts on her best manners to impress them. Although most of her kind are strictly reptilian, several tales speak of amphipteres in human form, striding alongside magi like the proud, sensual creatures they are. Angered, these pretenders explode into dragon form, often laying waste to everyone around them before regaining their shallow tempers. - A sphinx or dragon-cat resembles nothing so much as a tiger or panther with membranous wings, huge fangs, serpent’s eyes and smoky breath. Some tales place a human head on the sphinx’s shoulders, but such beasts are freaks at best. Native to India, the Americas and certain parts of Africa, this small but agile dragon shares the ferocity of its feline cousins and the mystic imagination of the celestial servants. Restless and solitary, she roams the forests, jungles and cliffs. The settled nests of greater beasts are mysteries to her. Why would a dragon wish to settle down?
What she lacks in power, the sphinx makes up for in intellect. Perceptive and curious, she peers into pools of water and silvered glass to see places no mortal cat could. Like a kitten, she plays on the ground — or in the air! — with a predatory gleam in her eye. She occasionally makes friends with shamans or priests who can feed her deep hunger for riddles and lore. If motivated sufficiently, a skillful sphinx might take human form — such secrets are easy to learn if you’ve mastered the arts she has! - The fu guardian waits at the entrance of Asian temples and Hermetic libraries. A watchdog of order and civility, this minor dragon resembles a cross between a lion, a dragon and a dog. Stocky and thick-maned, he glares at all comers with baleful eyes and solid teeth. His four muscular legs end in massive paws that hide two-inch claws capable of swiping holes in stone walls. Yet despite his fierce mien, this beast is the friendliest of his kind. Charged by the Heavens to safeguard virtuous folk and holy places, he upholds his duty with vigor and good nature.
As bestial as he appears, the fu is quite smart. He lacks the wiles of the dragon-cat or the vision of the celestials, but he learns human languages with little effort. Like any good temple-goer, he’s polite and reserved, quiet unless spoken to. When he replies, the fu’s voice thunders deep and resonant, like a drum with a rattle inside. It is said that no fu can break a promise. Such may be folklore, but most mystics consider it fact.
Dark Ages: Mage[]
From time immemorial hushed stories told over the evening fires speak of great ponderous lizards of immense size, strength and cruelty. Their descriptions vary almost as often as the tales: talons, horns, wings, spikes and all manner of wicked fangs and claws adorn these terrible beasts. A dragon in your path is cause for mortal terror.
Fewer and fewer of these great beasts have been seen in recent years. Their number wane as the years pass, and no one theory as to their demise long holds true in wizardly debates. Whether they die out due to valiant knights slaying them to protect villages or a simple lack of virgin females to devour, none can say with surety.
One thing wizards do know: dragons come in many different types and degrees of power. A Lesser Drake is dangerous, but not undefeatable by an experienced mage. A Greater Drake, however, is beyond the powers of many Masters, and woe be the mage who dares contend with one of these primordial beings. Their wisdom is uncanny and far beyond mortal ken, and their mastery of magic is nigh instinctual. Nonetheless, mages often seek out even the scantest rumors of such beasts, in the hopes of tracking them down and wresting from them some secret of the elder universe or even a mere scale from their awesome hides, for it is invested with potent Tass.
Great Drake[]
There are many tales concerning the origins of these awesome beings. One such, known to the Messianic Voices, tells of how, when Creation spilled forth from the Garden of Eden, man was not the only wicked beast expelled. The Deceiver's silvered tongue whispered temptation into the hearts and minds of many of God's creatures. Poisoned thoughts caught the beasts of Eden as well, turning them from the path of God to ways of evil. The foul ideas planted included notions of violence, theft, murder and unnatural selection. But man was not alone in his theft from the Tree of Knowledge.
The gliding lizards were not the most intelligent of God's creations. Tempted by sweet fruits and far insects, Lucifer seized their attention with ease. "You could be as wise as man. Wiser still!" He spoke. It was true. The forbidden fruit did have that power. "We are too small!" protested the lizards, unsure they could even sink their teeth into the apple's flesh. Lucifer produced a small basket of berries in response. "Eat these and you will grow large enough. In time you will continue to grow in proportion to your wisdom." Happy with this proposition, the basket was quickly emptied by the dull-witted beasts. In moments they had grown: from butterflies to rats, from rats to dogs. And they were pleased.
En masse they swarmed the Tree, dining on the fruits' forbidden flesh, staining their maws with the sweet juice of wisdom and swallowing the seeds of wisdom. In that moment, they knew what they had done: They had been fooled and had lost paradise. Rage overtook them. They took flight, fleeing God's paradise in shame.
Why it was not simply enough to cast them from Eden in uncertain even to them. Like all his gifts, Lucifer's had its price: a hidden cost and unmentioned effect. In time, the beasts would learn of it. They were the first and would be the last of their kind. They would grow with age, unable to die of causes natural. Violent death resulted in rebirth in their original form. This was not initially seen as negative. The toll of violent deaths, however, addled many of the great beasts' minds. Some retreated to sleep, hoping to awake to God's forgiveness and find their place in Heaven. Others rage against creation, punishing sinners and pious alike for perceived slights. Madness took its toll.
Other legends concerning the drakes, ones told by pagans, proclaim the creatures the oldest living beings, leftovers from some previous age of the world, or perhaps the rulers of the now-long gone Golden Age, when men and beasts walked as one and spoke the same tongue. Those deposed kings now slink off to live in the abandoned or hidden places of the world, waiting to finally die when the Winter Without End descends once more, as it did in the past.
Dragons are not just magical creatures: they are mages in their own right. Their magic comes through an ancient affinity with the world (similar to the Old Faith's magical practices), one which slowly fades as the Mythic Age dies, making way for reason, which has no room for dragons. As a Greater Drake progresses through its life, its affinity with seasonal magic comes of age: When young, it is strong in Spring magic, but as time passes, its Spring affinity fades, giving way to greater Summer, then Autumn, then Winter. There are no longer any Great Drakes in the world who are not now in their Winter phase. Soon, there will be no dragons left in the world at all.
Lesser Drake[]
When the youngest of the Greater Drakes grew lonely in the early years of his first life, he found no comfort among his own kind. Desperate for companionship, he turned to his lore of creation. Taking clay of the earth, breath from the sky, and a scale from his hide he combined these with the lightning and fire of creation. In that moment, the first pair of lesser dragons was born. So pleased was he with his creation that he did not see the hunger in their eyes. Within moments of their birth, they fell upon him, devouring him and all his knowledge. The pair took to the air and soon found a new lair. They produced a treacherous brood of their own. The wisdom gathered from the Greater Drake was passed on to the hatchlings, though not completely. With each successive generation, these dragons have grown less intelligent until those found today, ones barely brighter than the village idiot.
These dragons of knightly lore can be found in a handful of remote lairs in several parts of the civilized world. With rare exceptions, they are the color of spilt blood, sporting wings attached firmly to their forelimbs. They stretch the length of several horses and measure untold stones in weight. Most are quiet, save during mating season and the occasional feeding frenzy. Do not take this to mean they aren't vicious beasts - they will gladly swallow a man whole while he is still ahorse. A few of them take to a form of banditry, stealing from travelers, occasionally eating them and their horses as well. The legends of their love of gold are true, but misunderstood. Anything shiny grabs their attention.
Sin Dragons[]
See Sin Dragons here.
Character Sheets[]
Note: Attribute Traits and Armor Ratings cover hatchlings, young, mature adult and elder dragons, respectively. The listings for Abilities, Willpower, Health Levels, and Attacks/Powers (which covers Merits, Flaws, Backgrounds and Special Advantages) represent a mature adult dragon.
Great Celestial Dragons[]
The majesty of great celestial dragons goes far beyond the limitations of Storyteller Traits. Should such a creature appear, assume that he can do more or less whatever he wants, bending the elements to his will like an archmagus. Hundreds of feet (or even several miles!) long, this spirit-titan manifests as a great storm, dragon-shaped clouds or as a humble traveler (sometimes human, sometimes not) with the talents of a god — and the wisdom not to use them.
Great Drake (DAM)[]
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 10, Stamina 10, Charisma 7, Manipulation 9, Appearance 0, Perception 5, Intelligence 12, Wits 10
Abilities: Alertness 3, Animal Ken 4, Athletics 4, Awareness 5, Brawl 5, Cosmology 7, Enigmas 5, Intimidation 9, Occult 7, Subterfuge 5
Foundation: Spontaneity 5
Pillars: Autumn 4, Spring 2, Summer 3, Winter 5
Willpower: 10
Quintessence: 20
Health Levels: OK x 8, -1 x 8, -3 x 6, -5 x 4, Incapacitated
Armor: +6B/+6L/+4A
Attacks: Bite or claw (Str +4L), tail-lash (Str +5B), fire-breath (8A)
Powers: Fearless, Immortal
Weaknesses: Unknown
Tass: When ground into a fine powder, a single Great Drake scale may be ingested for up to 10 points of Quintessence. The powder may be divided into tenths and mixed with food. It will retain its power for any length of time so long as it is not cooked. This Quintessence is especially sympathetic with the working of any primal magic, such as the Old Faith's Seasons or the Spirit-Talker's Totems, or in the making of longevity elixirs.
What's more, the fires from a Great Drake's belly can be used to forge items of incredible power. This requires the cooperation of a living Great Drake, however - magically compelling these beings is a nigh impossible task. Items forged with such fire - swords, wands, rings, etc. - become sources of Tass, that can naturally regenerate any Quintessence drawn from them.
Lesser Drake (DAM)[]
Attributes: Strength 10, Dexterity 8, Stamina 8, Charisma 3, Manipulation 4, Appearance 0, Perception 5, Intelligence 2, Wits 4
Abilities: Alertness 3, Animal Ken 4, Athletics 4, Awareness 3, Brawl 5, Intimidation 6, Occult 2
Foundation: Spontaneity 2
Pillars: Summer 3
Willpower: 6
Quintessence: 10
Health Levels: OK x 6, -1 x 5, -3 x 4, -5 x 2, Incapacitated
Armor: +4B/+4L/+2A
Attacks: Bite or claw (Str +4L), tail-lash (Str +4B), fire-breath (5A)
Powers: Fearless, Immortal
Weaknesses: With each death it suffers, a reborn Lesser Drake loses one die in an Attribute and one on an Ability. The traits above represent a strong Lesser Drake. Once all Attributes reach 3, only skills are lost until none remain.
Tass: Like their elder brethren, the scales of a Lesser Drake may be ground for a Quintessence-yielding powder. The difference in size and magical potency between the two beasts reduces the effectiveness, giving only three points of Quintessence per scale. The yes of a Lesser Drake, when pickled like an egg, provide five Quintessence points apiece.
Gallery[]
Trivia[]
- Dragons usually have good relationships with the Mokolé, who revere Dragon as a Totem.
- Dragons have the most in-depth section found in The Bygone Bestiary.
- Bygone dragons share the same name as the Animate Chimera from Changeling: The Dreaming, even with their Western and Eastern counterparts.
- Ik-Thazai is a lesser dragon and the first dragon bygone to be given an antagonist profile in the Mage: The Ascension Rulebook (1993) as a "Beast of the Mythic Age". She reappeared again in the Mage: The Ascension Second Edition Rulebook (1995).
- The Fu Guardian is related to the T'ien Kou in Book of Crafts (1996), Fu Lions in Dragons of the East (2000), the Shisa in Gods & Monsters (2019) and Changeling's Fu Dogs from Land of Eight Million Dreams (1998).
- The Sphinx/Dragon-cat is related to the Sphinx from The Book of Madness (1994).
- Ars Magica's Medieval Bestiary (1991) has a whole chapter dedicated to various dragons and serpents. At one point in time, Ars Magica was linked to the World of Darkness during the game's Third Edition.
- Werewolf also has the infamous Zmei, who are Russian dragons.
References[]
- WOD: The Bygone Bestiary, p. 20-30
- DAM: Dark Ages: Mage Rulebook, p. 187-189
- MTAs: Ascension, p. 116 ("Reptilian Anomaly")
