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Home » Encyclopedia » Born In Fire And Flame
Born In Fire And Flame
Banescale now rise!
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Born of Fire and Flame, Banescale must rise!
Flamecaller’s Children, take now to the skies!


Fall back! Fall back!” a gaoler cried, stumbling over his fallen comrades, his horns burning and his thick coat charred away. “Fall ba—“


When the Flame calls, we know what we must do:
Fly far and fly wide, we take and consume!


“Warden, what do we do?” The explosion rocked the battlefield, blue sky disappearing behind a rising plume of black clouds. The Sentry Warden watched in grim horror as a tidal wave of magma flowed over the gaoler front lines. “WARDEN!” his Second shrieked as fireballs and banescale burst forth from the black smoke, raining fiery death upon them.


Deep into the ice with magma we claimed,
To take from the Ice God in Her Great Name


The Warden and his Second waited anxiously as their strongest spellcasters moved into formation. Their sacrifice would be immense, but they had volunteered to save the realm.

“Even if they succeed, will it be enough?” the soot-covered Second coughed out, casting a terrified glance back at the approaching firestorm.

Her Warden nodded gravely. “It will end them.”

She shook her head in disbelief at the sight of the immense swarm in the sky. “All of them?”

The battle-hardened gaoler watched the flaming slaughter of his kind draw closer. “They won’t stop until they melt the Ice from Sornieth. We cannot hold back."


The Children of Ice, unworthy and frail,
In the face of our might surely would fail.


The spellcasters began their ritual chants, the chilly breeze swirling around their feet quickly growing into a deafening whirlwind of ice and snow. Just when the Second thought she’d be sucked into the frozen vortex, icy tendrils lashed out, pulling the gaoler casters into its center. There was a burst of shimmering ice magic as the casters’ life essence took on a new form, and the living icestorm shot off towards the attacking banescale. In its wake lay the gaolers who summoned it, their eyes vacant and void of life.

While others rushed to the deceased, she remained. Her eyes fixed on the storm, she bore silent witness to the consequence of their sacrifice—the end of the Banescale Scourge.


Our pride was our fall, our ego our shame,
As Ice overtook our Fire and Flame.


The raging icestorm did its deadly work with efficiency. One by one, the frozen banescale fell from the sky, their forms crashing to the basalt below. The living whirlwind of ice charged over the sea without pause, disappearing into the lands of Ashfall.


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We Banescale were one, our Flame shared one space;
Our future did lie within one embrace.


“Second! We found something!”

She stepped solemnly through the enemy’s lair, ensuring the threat to their own territory was gone. When the Sentries first arrived they had been greeted with deathly silence. Every remaining banescale was frozen solid. They had set about the grim task of shattering the frozen figures that remained. The living icestorm left no survivors.

Her team eventually discovered a massive chamber at the very center of the banescale domain. Across the floor lay chiseled pathways and depressions filled with spherical rocks. They were everywhere, lining the walls and filling spaces across various outcroppings within. The gaoler Second moved amongst the fallen banescale in the chamber. They were old dragons, the banescale elders. She paused near the center of the chamber, curious and concerned about the scene surrounding the Sentries. The elder banescale all had their wings extended, almost as if they were trying to shield...

Eggs!


Arrogant! Foolish! We prideful banescale!
Our future, our Flame, we grieve and we wail!


She knew they couldn’t take any chances, but she also couldn’t bring herself to give the order to shatter the banescale elders or the eggs they tried to protect. We saw them as monsters, but even they had the capacity to love their young, she thought, her heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. She saw her own pain reflected in her team’s expressions.

“Check for any vents above. Fill any you find, then every path leading here, and finally this chamber with ice. We will seal their entire lair with ice and magic barriers. The banescale are gone.”

They would have eradicated us and our lands. We did what we must. But there will be a price for our actions today.


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Our Flame’s lost to Ice and frozen in time.
We sing you this song now as we all die.


Centuries later, somewhere between the Great Forgeworks and Flintlock Fumaroles, far beneath the growing conflict between Forgemasters and rebels, a stream of magma that had fused with bountiful elemental magic continued to flow towards the sea. But a new vein soon split from the flow, inexorably drawn to the forgotten ruins of the ancient lair. The ice magic that the Second had used to close off the banescale hatchery gave way to the magma flow, fracturing and steaming as it approached. Blocked passageways became filled with bountiful molten magic. The last remaining seals held, but soon all movement and sound stopped as if Sornieth herself was holding her breath.

The entryway exploded inward, the force shaking open the other sealed passageways. The elemental magma rushed into the massive chamber, where the long dormant eggs within had begun to glow with a dim light. As more magma filled the chamber, the glow turned into a pulse, quickening with intensity as more waves of magic-fused lava bathed them.

And then the eggs cracked, the chamber filling with a searing light.


If you should fly free, remember our song:
Fly far and fly wide to see the next dawn!


Innumerable banescale hatchlings burst up from the roiling magma, their cries giving rise to a series of pops as the blocked off vents connecting the hatchery to the surface were open once more. Without a moment’s hesitation, this new generation of banescale flew through the volcanic vents and out to the skies of Sornieth.

The last wave of hatchlings to leave their eggs, however, paused to pay their respects to the remains of the banescale elders who had sacrificed their lives to protect their unborn progeny. The magic that released the hatchlings could not heal the frozen dead. They watched with sadness and gratitude as their elders’ forms were consumed by the rising lava. The young dragons lingered only a moment more before heeding their elders’ lesson:


Born in Fire and Flame, Banescale now rise!
Flamecaller’s Children must take to the skies!
If you should fly free, remember our song:
Fly far and fly wide to see the next dawn!
Learn from our failure and join with the world,
Our future, our Flame, flies with you unfurled!


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