Kor'ra Chronicles: Dragonage

by Kifo Entiegon

Steile Drakkan is the prince of a dying race of shapeshifters who will do anything to prevent his people from falling forever into the clutches of the great unknown. When news reaches his ears of a land known as Wyvern's Court, his hopes may have just come true. His only problem, will his dragon subjects follow him or will he need to 'convince' his blind brother? T - safety. hiatus

1. Prologue

I've mainly been working on Percy Jackson fan-fics up until I picked up the shapeshifters omnibus of the Kiesha'ra series. From there, this formed. Hopefully you guys like it.

And just so everyone's clear with this, I do not own anything to do with the Kiesha'ra series (only a copy of the books that I got for either christmas or my birthday, but I don't think that counts).

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Prologue

They say there is a land to the north wherein lies a clan so ancient they outrank even the most ancient of the known clans; even the Falcons. They say this clan holds magic more powerful that the Falcon Empress Cjarsa's magic. They say that each member of this ancient clan has a second form which shines with every colour of the rainbow; some even say that they create rainbows. They also say that this ancient clan is what survives of 'mongrel' breeding. Personally, I'd like to say that 'this clan' is on the verge of extinction.

Civil war has threatened my people. Plague has left us for dead. In an attempt to bring back our glory, one of my remaining brothers has drained himself of magic and left himself blind. Now there are only two hundred of us. And even now, as I sit beside my plague-ridden brother, I know that we have lost another ten families. The civil war and plague combined would have claimed them all by the end of the night. And my brother, despite what his blood claims him as, will be one of those who will most likely not wake come the morrow rising.

My brother rambles as he awaits his call in the circle of life. He speaks of a people before Ancient Egypt and claims that we are the last descendants of a god by the name of Maktaghaan. That I wish I could believe. Sadly it is not so. My brother says that we must be forgiven by the ancient god Maktaghaan if our people are to survive once more. He tells me all of this knowing that I will not believe.

Come the rise of the cold sun, I will be the people's guide. By rights, that should belong to my blind brother. My people will follow him. Not me.

But if I am to save my people, I must leave this war-torn and plague-ridden land.

They say there is a land to the south where two enemies have set aside their differences and accepted the other for what they are. Perhaps it is there that I will find the means of preserving the memories of my people.

Perhaps it is time for two legends to meet.

Steile Drakkan

Visi of the Arkonas