Wryn

The Grand Elder of the Draconic Council was once a powerful, even feared leader of dragons. His flames scorched his enemies to dust and his scales could deflect any blade. Yet, in his pride, attempting to wrest control of the world below, he was lost to time and memory after a catastrophic magical failure. With his absence, the dragons he lead lost their desire to fight a war that had no clear end, letting the beings below claim the power they sought. After some time, the dragons faded away, one by one into the bloodlines of the creatures inhabiting the grand floating island they called home. Yet, as time passed on, the dragons eventually succumbed to their mortal forms, and, with the blood of dragons scattered in the generations to come, the dragons became as myth, fading into memory as generations passed.



When he awoke, he did so on the terraces of an old, ruined castle, torn down by angered hands and left to rot, and without a single memory of who he was and how he came to be. With no memories and nowhere to call home, he left the ruined castle behind, and traveled until he stumbled into a town, hidden away in the mountains, which greeted him with open arms and a hot, soothing drink. Without a name for his own, the man who found him gave him one, something to at least be called until his memories returned; Wryn. For a while, he simply wandered through the town, trying to look for any information or clues to his vanished past, yet even with the knowledge the dragons left behind, his search was, ultimately, in vain. After a while, he gave up the search for his past, moving ahead with his life and taking the name once used as a placeholder completely as his own, content to live with the people who showed him such hospitality. With his heart and mind at peace, he turned his focus to the town that housed him, learning whatever he could, and after discovering a knack for smithing, finally found a way to repay the town that did so much for him, using his talents to help build and make whatever was needed, from tools and materials to armor and weapons. Content though he was, his eyes continued to be drawn to the flame of his forge, the pulsing, sweltering heat igniting a spark in him, a spark that refused to go out. With that spark, he saw flashes of another life, of someone else, and of a great, devastating flash of light, yet the visions would always end there, the same words echoing as the visions go white.

"The Elder yet lives."

As the years passed, the visions would become no clearer. His sleep was tormented, and that spark grew hotter and hotter. Eventually, the spark couldn't be contained, and his forge met its wrath; fire pouring from his mouth and burning his forge and his home. Yet, as the fire raged around him, he felt no pain, even as the heat rose around him and he watched the fire lick at his scales in amazement. He only came out of his shock when one of the other townsfolk doused him with water, and saw that his home, though scorched, was intact. Now, he could deny the spark no longer, that flame blooming in his chest one part of a greater whole. The townsfolk understood, however, that however he created that flame was certainly tied to his lost memories. After saying his goodbyes, he'd made his way back down the mountain, returning to the castle where he first woke. There, he rekindled his search for his past, looking through old tomes and dusty notes, yet came no closer, no matter how much he read about the dragons of old, nor the powers they bestowed to the other races. In his frustration, he could do nothing but curse, and yet as he tried to vent his anger, a language alien to him sprung forth from his mouth. Once his surprise subsided, he heard a rumble, deep in the depths of the castle. Where was once a simple dungeon cell was a door, cast open by ancient magics, leading to a part of the castle he hadn't yet seen. As he stepped through the threshold and entered the hidden room, the door swung closed behind him, and the torches flickered to life, illuminating the statue of a long dead dragon. Yet, as he went and touched the statue, his body and mind were met with searing pain, and he collapsed, fading into unconsciousness.

The Elder survived his dive into the Source. Shielded by his extensive magical knowledge, and a fair share of luck, the elder dragon tumbled through the world's magic, but not without leaving him with his own scars. While he was able to unlock certain secrets from his fall, his body was changed, stripped of his wings and his imposing size. His magic became dampened from overuse, and eventually, he faded into unconsciousness as the shield failed.

When Wryn woke again, he did so much differently than he did before, his body suspended in a dark, endless expanse. Held there, he beheld a great and powerful dragon rise out of the dark, and look at him with piercing, empty eyes. The words rumbled low through his body, something stirring inside him as the great dragon spoke words he couldn't understand. His body burned, and his head felt like it was going to split open as vision after vision rushed passed him, as if he was being carried through the entirety of someone's life just slow enough to notice details, yet fast enough to be unable to process it. Yet, as the visions neared the end, the dragon spoke one last time, and the words became clear in his mind again.

"The Elder Wakes."

When the elder woke up, he found himself in a new, unfamiliar body. His scales were thin, his claws were short, and his body responded all-too-easily. He stumbled out of his safe-haven, questions swimming in his mind of how he got there, and tried to find a mirror, something, anything to see what happened to him. When he stumbled upon a cracked, broken mirror, the face looking back at him wasn't his own, but yet... in a way, entirely his. It didn't take long for Wryn to realize what had happened, his memories having returned to him all at once, through some magical contingency he left behind. But there was no mistaking it; he was the Elder Dragon, no longer lost to time.

However, while Wryn did find peace, he realized that the world he was in was no longer his own. Too much had changed, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't remain. The world had moved on without him, and so would he. Before he left, he closed his safe-haven, and carved one last message into the stone; "Time is an impossible body to grasp..."