Prelude
The night was dark, moonless, carrying a faint tint of red. A tinge of smoke stung his nostrils as Tassadar ran toward the base of Mt. Altair as quickly as his legs allowed. On any normal occasion he wouldn't dare go near, for he knew the stories of what lie in the cave above. It was said to be the resting place of great evil, shrouded in legend and prophecy. This night was different.
Gazing out his window he had seen a tremendous flash of light, followed by the faint but shrill sound of an agonizing scream. As he strode nearer to the ominous entrance of the cave, the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he heard a faint but deep growl penetrate the eerie silence of the surrounding wood. In the dark he could make out the silhouettes of two figures lying motionless at the feet of this seemingly average being.
Remembering the stories and prophecies, piece by piece he grasped the concept that the world's last hope had died with these two people, and that he himself was in the presence of a most terrible evil. A Paladin and Healer Mage had sacrificed themselves in a last valiant effort to thwart the coming of the Age of Destruction. They must have calculated this moment and come to slay the evil when it would be most vulnerable, its birth. But one Paladin accompanied by a Healer Mage had proved futile against such a being. They had died at the awesome might of a dragon. Yet this was no ordinary dragon, for he was the son of Bahamut; the great dragon king.
Tassadar could feel the netherworld rejoice as he watched the being hunch over and stretch out, great wings sprouting from its back, its body contorting and changing into its true form. Tassadar shuddered as evil wafted from the beast, saturating him until he couldn't breath.
The beast shimmered and returned to a mostly human form. It had only been a short glimpse of its true nature. His breath returning, Tassadar could only watch as he saw the Prince of Death turn and head towards their small village, as if it were merely a man.