Prologue: Assurance
Memory is a bizarre thing-- and seldom is it accurate. One chooses to remember things in a certain way based on emotion and circumstance, and as time goes by, the memory looses truth and gains bias. So it is that when a grudge exists for a time, there comes a point when neither side even remembers why it exists, only that it does.
This was the case with the Dragons and the apes-- for nearly one thousand years, the apes and the dragons had skirmished and, on no less than six occasions, openly declared war, until both were crippled beyond belief- dragon populations plummeted- The ape's life expectancy dropped from 58 to 25. Ape women cried, Dragons roared and shook the earth, young creatures swore vengeance, and ancient grudge broke into war, and whenever negotiations occurred, they often turned to bloodshed- for neither side could reach an agreement of how the war started. Apes maintained that a reckless red drake had slaughtered an entire ape family, whose friends had logically slain the creature, and retaliation went forth. The dragons, enraged at a threat to their reputation, had proceeded to say that the apes had murdered a dragon hatchling, and that the dragons retaliated. An entire battle was fought over the question: Who started it? Now, even the dragon elders were too young to remember why the wars existed- all save one, possibly two. Neither were talking. One was named Demmia- an undersized earth dragon of incredible wisdom and power of 1015 years of age. And, while almost every dragon alive had pushed her for details, the stoic old earth guardian had told none, save perhaps Terrador- her recklessly brave, incredibly gung-ho grandson. This was pure speculation- It may have just been maturity on Terrador's part. For twenty three years, Terrador had hated the apes with a passion, and openly sought to slay them- all until a few years ago, when Terrador had been taken aside by the aging earth guardian, and come back subdued, never the same; now a stoic shield instead of a flaming blade.
The other dragon few were sure even existed- save again for one, Demmia- who had gone looking for the mysterious Chronicler one day, and come back four months later with an enormous scar and a terrible cold( Which, from a Dragon, means loss of breath control, which means utter devastation. An entire temple room had been demolished by the earth dragoness's "Coughing.")
Again, she was not talking. Demmia was the quiet, secretive type that hid many secrets and gave many. She also was the most curious, yet the most reserved. Seldom ever did she speak. It took much to open her mouth.
Gyicil, the Ice Guardian, and leader of the Dojo, the Duke of Warfang- (The Head Elder's brother) was not the quiet type- but was, in no uncertain terms, cruel and cold. And perhaps bitter- he resented the Head Elder, his younger brother, for stealing his presumed glory- and took out his bitterness on everyone else with snide, cruel comments. However, he was a walking wall, and Ancestors help anyone that got in his way. A giant of a dragon, and handsome, he sneered down at everyone else- save Terrador, who was as tall as him, and considerably stronger. Gyicil was, however, possibly the greatest master of Ice and Tactics on the face of the earth, and so he was allotted a slot. He could also be sweet and impressive, like poisoned honey, if he wanted to. Gyicil stood in front of the other Guardians in his accustomed place: Seven feet in front and in the center. Out in front of the rest of them. The first to speak. "Purple?" he said silkily, nudging the violet egg with his snout carefully, pupil less, gray eyes surveying its flawless surface., as though trying to diagnose a problem or defect. Seeming to find none, he turned his roughly triangular head towards the dragon's mother, a timid, thin-looking gray drake with a red underbelly and ram horns. "When did it turn this color?" The female kept her eyes low, upon her egg, fearing for it's fate. "It didn't... It was laid Purple." "Indeed?" Said Gyicil, cocking an eyebrow. "I would have thought this the result of a Fire Egg given improper heating, but....You are a wind dragon. The Father is a fire dragon, I take it?" The female shook her head. "No-- His father is an Ice Dragon--" Gyicil cleared his throat. "Ah. Say no more. Is his name, by chance, Cyrocil?" The female nodded. "Indeed? Thus we have our informant. Did I not say he told us true?" The other Guardians and Masters murmured general consent, as did Terrador, who accompanied the aged Demmia everywhere, doing work she was now too weak to do. Gyicil surveyed his "Colleagues", who sat in a half circle: Ingvar, the Lightning Wyrm, who was not only a teacher but a grand lover of mazes and mathematics, a precise and methodical master who improved techniques slowly and by the book. He was sinewy, and old, though nothing on Demmia. Ingvar had a long, bottlenose snout, with small teeth and a prognanthus jaw, with small paws and normal musculature, if a bit meek in places- he didn't get out much, and his wings were thin, accordingly, and in any case, they were small anyway. His eyes were not quite golden, but dull goldenrod, and his tail had a barb that looked like it could conduct electricity-- and it could-- provided Ingvar indulged in Lodestone and green gems. Lodestone was about as healthy as milk Chocolate smothered in butter and melted in olive oil to a dragon, but tasted better than any dessert item available, and so it was Ingvar's guilty pleasure- and often left him ecstatic and cheerful. Xelia, the wind dragon next to him, and Insane tinkerer who wrote the books instead of going by them, sporting her usual injuries and burns as a result of "experiments"-- Xelia was an avid trial-and-error scientist- and at the moment, swollen with eggs. Next to her stood Demmia and Terrador. Terrador in his prime was an enormous dragon, whose bright green scales shimmered like emeralds (as a matter of fact, one ape that had survived Terrador had sold one of his scales for a small fortune). Muscles, veined and corded, bulged, and looked too big for his coat, and wide, muscular wings suggested frequent flight. Rams horns curled down, and thorns sprouted wherever he walked- (Although, whenever long-tailed females were around, these became roses.), and the earth shook beneath his gigantic feet. Terrador had trouble entering dragon establishments, and, even inside a Warfang home, looked too big to be allowed.
In conversation with him was an average looking, ram-horned red dragon, who had no trace of orange whatsoever in him-- he was a rare mutant- a Fire dragon born to eight generations of Earth Dragons- and so he kept the ram horns. His amazed father had accidentally named him Red in astonishment. It stuck in Red's mind. "Red?!" He was conversing rapidly with Terrador, presumably on food- Red was an avid cook- and had a little more humor than the no nonsense, hard-bent Terrador. The Venomspitter stood a few feet away from them- a silent, serpentine, masked and deformed green, a medical genius- a Venom Mastered Dragon.
Gyicil noted each, and then beckoned Red Forward. Red walked on the balls of his feet, bouncing towards the scene.
Gyicil nodded. "Examine the egg, red. Does it not resemble a fire egg?" Red shifted his horned head, furrowing his brow ridge. He examined it, closing eyes alternatively, and touched it with his tongue, curiously. He tapped it with a claw, and breathed a fume of smoke on it. The egg's color remained iridescent. "It is not, though it does semble it. Fire eggs aren't this thick. It's too thick-- Fire dragons lack egg teeth." Red shifted his long neck, and tapped the egg, and then breathed a low, red flame on it. The Egg remained opaque. "This is not a fire egg....Nor is it, I believe, an Earth Egg...Too Dome Shaped." Red shifted his head. "I know little of Ice Eggs, but this is absolutely absurd." Gyicil nodded cruelly. "Ice is an ability too homogenous and recessive. It is only present in the line of Friocii, the Frost King, of which Cyrocil is shallow. Frost will not hold in the wake of Wind or Fire. Perhaps Electricity, or maybe a dragon of Frost Ancestry. The Female has not this blood. Therefore, the egg cannot be an Ice Dragon. So, by process of elimination, it is either a Wind Dragon or an Electric Dragon." Gyicil turned to Xelia. "Xelia, which of the two is it?" Xelia clambered on over, heavy with eggs. She looked at it for three minutes.
"Neither." she answered, nodding. "Wind Eggs are Patterned, and very thin, and not nearly as conical as this egg. Electricity eggs glow in the dark- yet--" She breathed a cloud of wind onto the egg( The mother nearly fainted). "No glow." Gyicil examined the egg thoughtfully. Terrador spoke up. "Perhaps," he rumbled. "It is another Venomspitter?" Everyone looked at the Sickly Lime, masked, ugly drake. "Perhaps." Said the Venomspitter. "I doubt it." he then did not speak-- His voice was alarming, a croak, as though he could hardly speak. Gyicil looked at the egg. "This egg holds elements of all castes," he said, curiously. Red spoke up. "It is interesting," he said. "A sort of phenomena-- eh? I do believe this is a unique dragon." Red looked at it, curiously. Xelia, the ever experimentalist, spoke up. " I do suggest that we let it hatch before making such conclusions!" she said. "After all, It could simply be a malformed egg! It's most likely that it will come out a shade of gray or blue, after all, a Wind Dragon of common power?" Several dragons murmured agreement, including Gyicil, relieved. Red seemed unconvinced. The Venomspitter was silent, as was Demmia, who eyed the egg with gray eyes nonstop. Terrador openly snorted disbelief.
It was a fateful day- one of the rare times Xelia was dead wrong.
It was also a fateful day on the other side of the world, in the mountains, when storms and rain clouded and cleared miraculously as one little Ape roared he wished he wasn't wet. Apes in the village dropped their jaws as the little Ape toddler stopped the storm: The third ape in history born with magic. His Name was "Gall" for his Gall to challenge the gods. He would later change its spelling.
And in deep, deep dark temples, word of the boy spread to the Ape King-- Zharg- by a tall, thin ape, covered in a dark, red cloak.
"Then get the crystals. The Night Approaches."
The Ape Sorcerer smiled wickedly. The Ape's victory was assured.