When the hundred year war showed no signs of stopping, Fathkah decided to intervene. He did not wish for the gods’ creation to be constantly torn apart with war. To this end, he created the Five Great Dragons to end the war. Each dragon was designed to deal with a certain race, forcing them to surrender and agree to peace.
The first of the Dragons was Salazaad, whose job it was to bring the race of man to heel. A relatively thin and elegant dragon of light green, she matched humankind’s cunning and adaptability, fighting a series of battles against them with differing tactics each time, so that by the time they had figured out how to fight her, she had already planned out how to counter their response. In addition to this, she had the ability to breath gouts of scalding steam from her mouth, blinding and damaging people as well as providing cover for her. In the end, it took only a few months for her to break mankind’s will to fight, as they knew that no matter what they thought of, Salazaad would have already planned for.
The dwarves were a stubborn and sturdy race, with advanced knowledge in the art of smithing and machinery. Any foe to face them had to be just as sturdy, and so it was that Fathkah created Gronduath to subdue them. In contrast to Salazaads nimble form, he was large and bulky, with thick armour plates and scales covering every inch of his black hide. He faced the dwarves head on, pondering forwards through a storm of fire from all manner of artillery. Ballista bolts ricocheted off of his massive form, and even boulders simply bounced off in effectively. Gronduath simply kept advancing, never faltering his steady progress as he marched towards their fortress. The remaining dwarves retreated to the inside of their mountain, sealing the gates against this unstoppable force. When he reached the barred entrance, Gronduath reared back and let loose a torrent of acidic breath which reduced the gate and the surrounding area to formless slag within seconds. The dwarves, not wanting their entire fortress and treasure trove to face the same fate, hastily surrendered, and Gronduath left the same way he came: surely and without stopping for anything.
Ithranuin was the third of the Dragons, made to face off against the elves. These beings seemingly had a natural affinity for magic and the arcane, and so it was that Ithranuin was gifted in this way as well. His brilliant dark blue body was comparatively thin compared to the other Dragons, for while he was certainly a capable fighter, his true strength lay elsewhere. When they met on the battlefield, the elves launched barrages of spells at him, only to find their magic going astray. Spells would wither miss their target, fizzle into nothingness, or worst of all, be directed back against their casters. Ithranuin whirled though this maelstrom of magic, unleashing terrific blasts of lightning from his maw which decimated the elves. Calling upon magic of his own, he summoned a raging tempest to sweep through the elves forces, destroying entire regiments in instants. Cowed by this unimaginable display of power, The elves dropped their knee to Ithranuin, their pride and spirit shattered.
Beast-Born are beings of duality. They are sentient beings yes, but at their core lurks their beast self, fuelled by primal instinct. To face these creatures, the dragon Dahlokmiir was created. A deep red creature of fury and ferocity, she was to prove herself the apex predator. The beast-born attacked her with a furious drive, swarming forward in a wave of claws and teeth. Dahlokmiir swept them aside like dry leaves in autumn, her great strength sending them flying. Yet still more came, some even daring to climb onto her and search for a weak point. In his rage, Dahlokmiir flew upwards, surveying the field full of enemies, before letting loose a veritable inferno from her jaws. The lucky beast-born were killed instantly, while the others died slowly, screaming in pain and fear as the fire slowly ate away at them. At witnessing this devestation, the hearts of the beast-born sank into their chests. They solemnly swore their agreement to peace. To this day, the trees in that field grow black, and the smell of charcoal permeates the area.
To force an Orc to surrender is a dubious thing. They relish in war, with many members of their race being both brutishly strong and highly aggressive. Fathkah realised this, and so to confront the orcs he sent Cruxiel, a dragon of white who was as silent as the winter wind. He would prey on orcs that were separated from others, picking off stragglers and patrols. Orcs thrive on conflict, but the stories of orcs disappearing with no trace except for some frost left on the ground unsettled them. When the dragon appeared to them finally, it was to them not a creature of flesh and blood, but a spectre of cold, silent death. They threw down their weapons and promised that they would try their best to maintain peace. Cruxiel stared impassively, before slinking back off the way she had come, the only sign of her passing being the chill wind and fear left in her wake.
The Dragons gathered at the central point of El-Rah, forming a circle facing outwards, as Fathkah petrified them, letting them stay on El-Rah as a reminder to keep the peace, and what would follow if they didn’t.