According to the histories of our great nation, which derives all its sources from the empire of old, there were four ages preceding our own. Of course this is purely speculative, but this humble historian cannot help but be intrigued by this old mythos.

The first was the age of Darkness.

The second, the age of Beasts.

The third was the age of Giants.

The Giants were said to be monsters that could stride across countries and build mountains. They were the vicars of the world, and masters of all beasts.

The fourth, and final age, was the age of Dragons.

There were 12 Dragons in the beginning, each were avatars of the mortal realm. Some have come to the belief that they were children of heaven, or perhaps gods themselves that took on mortal form. Whatever the case, it cannot be argued that these twelve Dragons were of fundamental power, able to re-shape mountains to fit their own desire.

At one point these 12 Dragons waged war on the Giants. As to why, we can only guess for nothing remains to offer any answer. This war resulted in the decimation of the Giants. As the knew overlords of the world, the Dragons warmed the earth by breathing flames into the skies to melt the ice frozen tundras that were the homes of the Giants.

For untold millennia the twelve populated the world, until they reigned in their thousands.

Their age ended at the dawn of recorded time, with the coming of man and other Demi-humans. But this wouldn’t happen until the Dragons waged war amongst themselves. Their war was so devastating, it carved up the land and shaped the oceans themselves. As mankind rose to power, the Dragons found themselves on the verge of extinction.

Today the Dragons survive on their island of Soverland, and rarely venture out to the world.

As to whether there is any truth to these old legends remains to be seen, but one thing is for sure…the Dragons are without equal in this world.

- From the teachings of Syncerastus Aurelio of the great library of Rothetbia

Junipor coughed, she had been doing that a lot lately. It was starting to get on her nerves. Each breath strained her throat as she felt an itch in her windpipe. Sometimes there was an ache in her chest as she tried to inhale, which only added to the discomfort. She wasn’t the only one, every guest that had come to the shop exhibited similar symptoms. It must have been the air, there was a metallic odor simmering in the wind, and it didn’t come from the forge.

Junipor had been working feverishly at the armor on the workbench. She had cleaned the rust off the metal joints, and bolted new leather padding into the interior. Next to it, a sword sat freshly polished. That which was broken cannot be made stronger, but luckily the old sword wasn’t so far gone that it had to be re-forged. She went out of her way to put together a new scabbard for it, made of fresh leather. If there was one thing the town of Hitecross had plenty of, it was leather.

Sweat coated her body, and steam filled her lungs. The entire chamber of the forge was thick with fumes coming from the charcoal pit. Moisture dripped from her brow, and sizzled as it met the hard rock between her feet. Her cotton shirt clung tightly to her sticky skin, causing her nipples to press firmly against the fabric. Had Junipor been more shapely, her cleavage would’ve certainly appeared more sultry. Instead it was her broad shoulders and taut back muscles that stretched at her work gown.

Junipor worked tirelessly. With each bang of her hammer, sparks flew in spectacular fashion. There was no time for perfection, Aimar wanted his armor repaired as quickly as possible.

Had she had a few days, Junipor imagined all the ways she could’ve improved or stylized the armored components. The shoulder pauldrons were smooth and sparse of any decoration. They were begging for a touch up. If she had time, she would’ve enriched the smooth metal with a touch of copper edging, or perhaps a warrior emblem complete with a series of engravings. Leaving such beautiful metal plain seemed like a sin to her.

Aiverix warriors were known for stylizing their armor; the more battles they fought, the more elaborate their plate would became. Using the canvas of iron, it was the blacksmiths duty to perform this vital work. Junipor enjoyed this process very much.

She paused after fixing a dent in the chest piece. It had been forged to fit the dragon warrior’s unique physiology. It was broad and thick, and reflected the flame light vibrantly. Sparks danced like fireflies against the newly polished steel. The design was devoid of the typical furs or hallmarks typical of an Aiverix warrior’s armor, the blacksmiths of Soverland truly had a more archaic style for their battle plate.

The forward breastplate was thicker than the back plate, and the shoulder pads were sharp along the edges. The gauntlets of Aimar’s armor were also heavier than the leather padded variations of the Aiverix.

All these design choices intrigued Junipor, she wasn’t sure why the warrior would prefer more weight on their forearms. The center of gravity in full gear would make it difficult to dash back and forth, forcing the warrior to focus exclusively on pressing forward. Such a design flaw would make the wearer vulnerable to flanking enemies, and goddess help them if they were attacked from the rear.

Junipor smiled, pride warmed her cheeks as she looked down at her work. She withdrew her sweat filled gloves and threw them on the workbench. The steam of the room was beginning to die down, she hadn’t refilled the pit with fresh charcoal in a while. Her throughts drifted to what Aimar had confessed to her earlier, about bringing her to the Dragons homeland to be introduced to the Dragon Prince.

What would a Dragon Pharine baby look like? Junipor couldn’t help but wonder.

Junipor strolled to the opposite end of the forge, tools cluttered the walls and cabinets around her. Nails piled against a sack of iron ingots. New freshly minted tools hanged on the walls, while varying soot stained hammers filled multiple bins.

Placed awkwardly on the edge of an aged workbench, Junipor’s newest flintlock sat ready to be tested. She took apart her earlier model, and improved the overall design after hours of trial and error. The new handle was still blocky, if it worked she would carve it to fit the palm of her hand, and maybe add a pommel.

It was difficult come up with a holster for the flintlock, for now she installed a silver ring to the back handle that could easily clip onto her belt.

Finished with her work, Junipor stripped to her underwear and was relieved to find that the water kept in the back was still clean. She rubbed herself down, cleaning the sweat and grime from her skin, and plunged her head into the bin to wash her hair. Once refreshed, she took the time to groom her beautiful tail with a comb she kept stored with her things. Once finished, night had finally arrived.

Junipor didn’t feel nearly as refreshed as she would’ve if she spent time in the bathhouse, but it felt good enough to finally wipe the sweat off her brow. She yawned, and stretched her arms overhead, relieving the tension from hours of toil. Her bed chambers were calling for her, but first Junipor would have to deliver her work to the customers.

She was looking forward to seeing Aimar again.

Before walking outside, Junipor put on a wool tunic and a pair of trousers. She then ventured into the main hallway, welcoming the brisk cool wind against her skin. The air was stuffy and filled with dust. She much preferred the smell of burning charcoal and wood over the stale air of the shop.

Junipor was relieved to see Francesca waiting for her patiently at the doorway. Francesca hated spending time in the forge itself, the fennec found the stifling temperatures uncomfortable.

“Francesca! There you are. Where have you been?” Junipor bent down so that the fennec could quickly jump into her arms. The furry canine sprinted up to her shoulder so that she could rest her head long the nape of Junipor’s neck.

“Seriously, where have you been?” Francesca offered only a yawn to Junipor’s question.

Junipor felt a surge of relief, she was worried about where her companion could have gone after the toxic rains. Many of the fennec’s of the village seemed to have fled after the storm.

The creaking of footsteps made Junipor aware of a customer entering the forward shop. She approached quickly, eager to welcome them. She was ready for the Dragon to arrive for his armor, or Stefan to pick up his blade. What she wasn’t ready for, was seeing a dead warrior standing at the doorway, with an Aiverix blade in hand.