New Dawns End
In an age of Iron-Plated Dragon Storms, before the Mad Moon shattered and when nature ravaged all races that walked upon two legs, there existed a race said to be the descendants of the Titans; The Giants. They inhabited a single city, so large it put entire kingdoms to shame, deep within the mountain range the Keenfolk now call home. Tall enough to blot out the sun, seemingly ageless, possessing an ethereal and eternal look in their weapons and construction, and with Strength enough to tear apart all but the mightiest of their own enchantments or the eldest dragon, these giants seemed as though their race, their people, would never end.
However great their might, however long-lasting their golden age, it would not sustain itself once the Eldwurm Slyrak turned his eyes to them. He had observed them tear his kin from scale to bone without breaking a sweat, and so set about puzzling out the solution to their defeat, for they were a threat to all dragon kind. He watched them for a year and a day, flying in great circles above their grandest city with a tower possessing a spire which touched the clouds, learning of their magicks and their weaknesses. Finally, he knew what must be done. Their great and might staffs and clubs, their great size and muscles, their nigh impenetrable skin … none of it would matter once these tanned goliaths lost their Black King, once their sun was blotted out. For in Slyraks time observing them, he had learned their two great truths; the Giants powers were always in decay, as was their size. Whenever they used or did anything straining or taxing, their size and might decreased a miniscule amount, as did any of their creations or relics. This amount would always increase as the day went on, and the more they exerted themselves. Each dawn, the Instant the sun's rays touched them, the Giants powers were reignited, adding to their strength and refreshing them to a certain state.
Yet this first great truth was nothing compared to their second great truth; without their Great Black King and his might staff, which never left the grand tower with a spire which reached towards the heavens, who was said to be the son of the might Elder Titan himself , their power would not be reset to the point of perfection, to a height which dwarfed dragons. Instead, it would be made to exist at a point which made them stronger than a human, yes, but nowhere near strong enough to effortlessly kill an entire nest of full-grown dragons; not naturally, of course. For naturally, the Suns Rays would simply grant them a limited amount of might should they not exists below this point, which would always be built up over time.
What they had done, Slyrak mused as he (barely) looked down upon them from his perch upon a mountain peak, to make Selemene.. .No, Konchu, that was their Moon Gods name… dislike them so much as to not do so much as even consider restoring their might, he knew not. All he knew, as the elder dragon whose might and size had not even yet reached their prime took flight, was that he must eliminate this threat to all draconians.
So riding upon the wind Slyrak let out a mighty roar, to all Dragons, Drakes, and Wyverns, to all Drakkens and winged scaly beasts, and in response the entire land knew fear for a single moment as his fellow Eldwurm and kin bellowed out their responses. Across every continent the roar was hear, and across every continent it was acknowledged- Ruby and Sea, Fire and Ice, Golden and Bronze- it mattered not, for they emerged from all across the world. From the void and through the ether, Both Nether drakes and Fairy Dragons alike found interests in this mighty call of their otherworldly kin, and responded with their help.
They all took to the air, and surrounded the might dragon; and thus they formed the first true Dragon Storm above the mighty city of the Giants. Shrieking and roaring as they let out their breaths, they circled around and around, creating a massive vortex as lightning crashed down upon the terrified giants. An actual storm raged on above and around the dragons, as for One Hundred Days they circled, blotting out the sun, and for those Hundred Days the Giants might diminished, as did their city. They fell to time and disease for the first time since their conception, and they could only watch in terror, as any who tried leaving were struck down by hundred of dragons at once, for they could not fight back – after all, could one fight back against that which they could not reach?
Finally, after nearly a year of death and disease and exoduses and horrors, Slyrak himself descended from the center of the First and Last true Storm of Dragons; and with a single bursts of flame, struck down the defiant and stoic King. With that, the dragons descended into a feeding frenzy, purging and eradicating the city, leaving only the tower that once stretched into the heavens, the one which stands even to this day.
Yet despite this, as the mighty swarm dispersed to never again be made, Eldwurm leaving one by one, Slyrak could not help but feel as if something were wrong; For the Crown of the Black King was missing, not even molten metal remaining. With but a confident equivalent of a shrug, Slyrak, the last dragon within what was once the City of the Giants, departed, knowing that the new dawn would start, and end, without a single giant to grow great upon its rays.
This is perhaps the one legend remaining of the once-mighty Giants, whose relics are unknown yet mighty, repelling damnable magics and bestowing additional might. Their culture lost, their art unknown, their knowledge forgotten to perhaps even the Invoker. Some say the Keen are descendants of these Giants, spread and scattered with their own origins lost to them; Others still speak of a Might Giant, still holding on to a fraction of his might, the Last of the City's Guard, Son of the Black King, who departed from the City the day before its destruction at his Father's behest, taking with him a Crown of Black and Yellow, worn around his shoulder, that which allowed him to hold on to his strength and youth through the ages.
Some tales speak of his might long staff, or of how he will often be seen deep in the mountainous valleys of Knollen where no warrior or keen is brave – or foolish – enough to venture, departing only to witness the rising sun. Other tales depict him as an herald to the keen, drawing from other rumors of keen being far-descended from the original Giant-Folk, waiting to allow them to reclaim their glory. Yet more recently, Myths have erupted, speaking of a Large, Copper-skinned man roaming the land, heading towards the Battle of the Ancients, called by something. People Insist on calling him the Giant of the New Dawn, for he has only ever been seen as the Sun Rises, walking into the distance, growing smaller and smaller as he traverses great distances…. Or perhaps as he simply grows smaller and smaller.
But all of these should not be trusted as truth, should not be heeded as more than stories for children; For a legend is just that… a legend. Right?
Created in relation to the Black King Bar item and the hero concept The Giant of the New Dawn, to be submitted to the Dota Concepts subreddit Tommorow (12/1/15)