Prologue
King Ramos was one of the few graced with the power of the Dragons. One of the few who they allowed to ride them. When Ramos took the throne, he did so by force. The king of old, Theodosius VII of Saviril had waged war on the Dragon riders, for he feared the power of those who ruled the sky. But his fear was his downfall. The regent had hatchlings killed, and the riders fated to ride them executed. Mad with grief at the death of his friends, Ramos flew on the capital with nine other riders. Ramos and his men razed the city to the ground. None were left alive. No men, women, or children were spared. He killed Theodosius personally. He and his followers, swords raised, moved at a crawl through the King's hall. It took him five minutes to reach the throne. Theodosius, still young at only twenty-nine years, drew his sword and charged. Ramos raised his hand, and said a single word: "STAPLA!" Theodosius froze in place with a sudden jerk. His sword clattered on the marble floor, and he sank to his knees. Ramos strode to the man, who was apparently stuck in place, and grabbed him by the neck. He raised him with a single hand, drew back his white-bladed sword, and ran him through the heart. The last thing Theodosius heard was "I like the way you die." With withdrew his blade, wiping it clean of blood on the now dead King's robes, and threw his corpse to the ground. With the words: "Pu’o na’e se facki," he set the body alight. He took up the crown, placed it on his head at a cocked angle, ascended the steps to the throne, and sat. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. And with one phrase, he let the kingdom know he had won. "I think this will suit me well." Nearly three hundred and fifty years have passed since then, Ramos and his Followers' lives extended by the natural magic of the dragons. It is here that our tale begins.
