A crystal satalite streaked across the cosmological weave. The flash of a brilliant red thread snaked across the surface of the velvet blue that is the void. The weave of space soon subsumed it. Many a god blinked in surprise, a startling anomoly. Whence did that come from and hence did it go? Many a god pondered, most only slightly curious.
What was fleetingly witnessed was actaully a desperate escape of a heretical heir to a thone not wanted. Encased in a giant interspatial crystaline arrrow, the offspring a draconic god was cradled in stasis. A child cast adrift by resigned parents. Better the child fair in the uncharted cosmos, than entrap them to a certain doom.
That arrow did hence go somewhere and that somewhere is here, Aynhar. But is wasn’t Aynhar then.
Plunged into an ocean did the crystal arrow, or did the ethereal substance of space weave an ocean upon the crystal, thus to stop it? We do not know which. But like the alignment of shore and land, the arrow became the island of Druba’Har, a place of law and hard surfaces in amongst the swelling chaos of vast waters. One did infect the other and the island fragmented in part into the sky. From a floating fragment did the everspring spring and from whence the Lyndworm did emerged into this world.
The Lyndworm had no name but their children are the Kobolds. They were not alone in the world for where ever creation emerged so do the creatures of Fae, and their children are the Azrielle.
Thus is was that war came first to Aynhar. Kobolds bred Wyrm and Drake and the Azrielle scuplted Oluwa and Giant. Lands were raised from the sea floor and a moon of two was shattered.
In the depths of Druba’Har the Kobolds found otherworldly secrets. The phonetics and codings of magic, enabling the means to ignite power from their lips and fingertips. Deciphering runes and cutting diamonds, the Kobolds created the first dragon egg. An immensse crystaline sphere that birthed the first dragon, the obsidian creature called Mavnayth.
Mavnayth wrecked destruction upon the Azrielle, there only place of refuge becoming the last moon still intact. So proud of their creation did the Kobolds become, creating many more of the gigantic beasts. But dominance breeds malcontent. The Kobolds splintered into factions and all sought out the favour of the Lyndworm, for whom they bred ever more fearsome beasts.
What occurred next in the history of Kobolds is somewhat obscure, for each Kobold faction argue various reasonings. One faction claims that the Lyndworm attained a terrible vision. One in which the future held endless terror and strife as dragon was beset against dragon in a pointless and endless war, fueled by vanity and self pride. Yet another faction claim that the Lyndworm was visited by a Fae Lord who corrupted the Lyndworm against their own children with lies and false phrophecies. And then again, another faction tell the story that the Lyndworm ‘awakened’; that they recalled their origins in the cosmos and forsook the Kobolds for a greater purpose.
Perhaps it is that all of these ruminations are true; or then again, maybe nought. But let us settle upon the finale, which is the same in all versions of the tale.
Outstretched scaled wings glided in a sun filled sky above Druba’Har. Blistering sunbeams basked upon the gilded tops of temples and a million flags of the Kobold factions fluttered in a strong breeze. Gathered upon the precipice of each of the five floating islands, the Kobold factions displayed their splendour with golden breastplates and hieratic attire. The draconic beasts they had made or bred stood or flew idly, sensing anticipation.
All eyes looked inwards to the floating island of the everspring, its cascading waters never ceaasing to crash upon the rocks below. A reckoning between the factions had been decided upon and it would be their creator god; the Lyndworm, that would decide. Judgement they called upon the Lyndworm for, for whom would it be amongst them all that would receive favour and inherit the power to rule?
Mavnayth the first opened the call with a roar, and hence did all the Kobolds and their draconic beasts call too with breath of fire, ice, gas, sulfur and lightning. Vast clouds of pure elements sprung into the air, infused with magic that crackled with power.
But for all the roaring, the vast display of splendour and might, the beckoning it appeared fell upon deaf ears and blind eyes. Exasperated and out of breadth, the Kobolds pondered, why did not the Lyndworm respond to their call? In the silence of their bewilderment a cry of shock rang out, for slowly they saw that the spring was ceasing to flow. The waterfalls trickled to nothing and a glassy stillness settled upon the surface of the water. And still the Lyndworm did not emerge.
Fury erupted across the floating isles. Who amongst us has offended our holiest God! Each faction seeing the other as abomination, a voilence like no other ensued. A thousand bronze spears were hurled, island against island. Drakes plunged upon dragons and wyrms wrestled with wyverns. Fang and horn, claw and talon, all fought for a honour they each believed they alone deserved.
None saw the ripple that quivered upon the still waters of the once everspring. Not until all could hear it. A cry? A roar? A howl? The sound of a god that had no words to speak. Was it anger? Pehaps sadness or remorse? A sonic assault that penetrated bone and stone alike. Inesacpable and utterly shattering.
Whence those five floating islands are now we do not know, or even if they still exist. Shattered some say at the bottom of the oceans. Others postulate that they were flung to the very corners of Aynhar itself. All that is sure is that they are no more. Kobolds and their draconic beasts persist to this day. Scattered in their factional tribes they are beleaguered with the abandonment of their god. A curse of the tongue has fallen upon them all, twisting their speech that the eloquence of magical casting is beyond them. Not least as well as robbing them of the command they once held over the draconic beasts they once created and bred.
Druba’Har is sometimes witnessed at a distance by sailors in the South Truroic Ocean. A now solitary floating island surrounded by an unearthy quietness. The sea below it always still. The sky above it always clear whatever the weather. No wind towards it to fill any sails. The last site of a lost god. No one ever has dared to visit it.