It was in the year 302
In great King Gale's reign
When a mighty dragon
Brought ruin to the Lonely Isles.
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So distressed where they
In their great misfortune;
That they called upon
King Gale of Narnia's aid.
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Heroic and bravely he came
With his banners of red and gold,
And in the Lion's name
He yielded his mighty sword.
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With shinning valor did he meet his foe
And by Aslan's power struck him bold;
Boldly did he win the Lone Island's favor
And quick were they to grace him their Emperor.
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But alas, the story was not yet over,
For in the dark of night the beast sought cover.
Away it flew from the Eastern Ocean
To seek asylum in a new haven.
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It flew North.
Past the dancing dryads of Narnia;
Further yet than the giants of Ettinsmoor,
Where they sat and dined on bones.
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North the beast flew
To the nameless lands;
Where magic was might
And where the faceless gods dwelled.
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There the dragon laid dying
Horrible and beautiful and terrifying.
The gods, a savage race of beings,
Took a moment's pity on such a travesty.
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They wielded their ancient magic
To allow the magnificent creature
A peaceful death void of pain.
And so there the beast breathed its last.
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And from the dragon's blood and tears
Was born a race of man;
Fiercer and harder than any Archenlander,
More savage than any Calormene,
And Deadlier than any Narnian.
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Children of dragons were they;
A people carved out of mountains
Sculpted in the hardness of stone;
Bred from blood to love the cry of battle.
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So grateful were they in their being
To their fire-breathing creator;
That they took her jagged teeth
And created a crown of pure ivory.
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They took her scathing scales
And fastened them meticulously
Into a cloak of ever-changing color
Which shone as brilliantly as the sun.
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And they bestowed these splendid gifts
Upon their highest Chieftain,
Making him their Dragon Lord;
The one who rules over them all.
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These men, born of dragon's blood,
The people of eternal fire,
The mountain dwellers,
Nomads in a forsaken world,
Lived without the Light
Of the great Lion, Aslan.
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For only one did they obey
In the light of the dragon's flame.
No room for Aslan's mighty love
In a race so savage and heathen.
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Their home is a harsh terrain
Beset by a thousand winters
And the sheets of unforgiving rain.
Encaged by towering mountains,
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Rushing black streams,
And bottomless lakes.
They live in haunted forests
Where the howls of ghouls
Echo on for eternity.
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They are the Dragon Heralds,
The Riders of the Sky,
The mountain tribes.
They are the People
Of the Forsaken Lands.
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~ Unknown Narnian Historian, Unknown Year.