my father, my people and your people,” he begged.
Alder would have little choice but to listen.
The world he spoke of was different. The lands of
Cammbour were shaped differently to the ones he
knew. The map of Cammbour was not as distant as
the map of Earth. The dragons were a frequent visitor
to the land of Cammbour. The gate could only be
opened by a dragon’s star. Their free movement
between worlds, however, was about to change.
The dragons of Cammbour were smaller than
those of myth and legend, standing around eight - ten
feet tall. The large sire dragons - the males - stood
around ten feet tall from foot to head, thirty feet long
from nose to tail tip, their wings reached up to seventy-
five feet from tip to tip, their wings were made of tiny
ringed scales. The female dam dragons were slightly
smaller, eight feet tall and twenty-five feet long, their
wings would reach seventy feet from tip to tip. The
colours of the dragons would light the skies over
Britannia, but it was their power and knowledge which
made them even more fascinating to the people there.
They would talk to the stars, passing on messages from
distant lands, and absorbing the ancient knowledge
that the stars passed on to them.
He had been there; he had seen the world of
Cammbour; the last refuge for the dragons and
mabeara. The bear-riders. The mabeara were the fey
already familiar to Cammbour, they glided through
their world undeterred, unharming. Mysterious in
their nature, they remained as the fey of the
mountains. Their duty on Cammbour was to shape
the land. Small stone houses scattered the lands of
Cammbour, they only built what they needed and
given their small numbers, they needed extraordinarily
little. The lands remained primitive, untouched, virgin
soil.
Cammbour played host to many different
creatures, the pooka, a tiny creature, a shapeshifter, a
wanderer, small, winged creatures no larger than ten
inches, in true form they were humanoid with grey,
green or brown skin. They often looked like they
belonged to the trees where they lived. Their small
wings could often be seen fluttering above the canopy.
Able to appear as any pure creature of the forest, the
pooka could be deceiving, however their mystique
served only one purpose. They had dedicated their
lives to nature, keeping everything in Cammbour crisp,
new and flowing.
Torbs were larger than a pooka but not as large as
man, dwarf-like in stature, but their eagle like wings
were often a vital part of their pride. Their chosen
homes would often be found in large gatherings, living
in carved caves and valleys. They enjoyed the
company of others, however, the torbs had dedicated
their lives to dark magic, drinking, eating and -
anything which could be generally classed as fun.
The merrow, a creature of both land and water.
The mysteries of the merrow was something they kept
closely guarded. They were another creature with the
ability to shape-shift. They looked like ordinary man,
but upon touching water their bodies would change,
their hands and feet developed webs, their ears
became their gills. The merrow were not always
peaceful. Their need to remain elusive had cost many
their lives. The merrow shared their waters with the
sea monsters, mighty shadows of all different sizes
would ride the waves, ready to pick off any
unsuspecting vessel.
A creature of peace, however, was the ggelf. Tiny
little secret folk, the ggelf were an underground
creature, they would rarely be graced by the eyes of
man, but they were the keepers of the secrets of
Cammbour. The tiny creatures were much like the
small imps you would often read of in fairy tales, but
their need to keep secrets would often be their
downfall, refusing to even tell when they needed help,
they were few in numbers, but large in knowledge.
The world of Cammbour, however, held another
abomination, the lowest form of intelligent life
Cammbour held. Their customs were strange, their
need for feasting on flesh seemed unquenchable.
They were few in numbers, they would stick to the
wildlands, feasting on the rotten flesh of dead animals.
Their caves were often noticeable by the amount of
bones which would line the paths towards them.
The flora and fauna of Cammbour differed greatly
to the world they knew. From the mighty Tharacka
tree, an ever-blossoming tree, to the four horned deer.
The customs were different, the mabeara were peace
loving creatures, war had never tainted their lands.
A last stand, the tribes of Britannia gathered below
the mountains of Mourne. The Roman army dwarfed
the gathered tribes, the battle would be quick, short,
and bloody. Artnou stood with his legion of one
thousand. Less than six hundred men faced them,
they were underequipped, untrained and hopeless. As
the battle call rang, Artnou thundered towards them
atop his white stallion. As Artnou reached the line,
Alder glared towards him, Artnou turned, he sliced
down the first few centurions who roared towards
them. Artnou was a traitor, a trickster, the legion was
in a raging fury as they fought their own leader, their
Legatus legiois.
Swords rang in the bitter cold air, attracting the
attention of the mighty white dragon. Amongst the fury
of battle, Narra returned. Swords chimed; the noise of
battle had brought the mighty beast to the skies above
Artnou. She saw her long-lost friend amid the raging
battle. Her heart fluttered as she flew above the
carnage. She knew he had not changed. Her heart
filled as she watched his sword slice the throats of the
Roman’s he was there to lead. Blood had already
begun to taint the grounds, the green grasses soon
turned red.
Joining the side of the fey, Artnou looked up to
see Narra flying in the skies above him. He took his
chance. Amidst the chaos, Artnou stepped further
towards the Roman legion, Narra watched in
trepidation as a centurion bolted towards Artnou,
driving his sword directly through his chest.
A mighty cry of pain rang out over the battle
grounds, Artnou fell to his knees, Alder cut the
centurion down. Blood began to pour from Artnou’s
chest and mouth. Falling awkwardly to the floor his
legs twisted behind him, a clatter of armour rang as he
fell.
Alder saw Narra erupting. “Fall back!” he called.
Narra gave a mighty burst of flames, trapping the
invading Romans they burnt where they stood, but
more would soon follow.
Narra’s unnatural obsession with Artnou was
reborn. Their ch
ildhood together was the only
moment in her life when she was genuinely happy.
Blinded by love, Narra fell to the ground and galloped
towards the calls of agony from Artnou. Alder and his
tribe stood by Artnou’s side, panicked, the cold of
winter gave a bitter stillness. They all knew he was
dying, congealed blood spat from his mouth, struggling
to breathe, Artnou looked to the thundering beast
before him.
Artnou struggled for breath as he cried, “Narra!”
He reached out his bloody hand for one last touch of
a scale. “Narra, please!” Still, he struggled as he lay in
the cold mud of the battlefield.
Alder shouted, “We must help him, Narra!” The
chaos of battle seemed to calm as the dragon stood,
confused. The next wave of Roman invaders began to
appear over a distant hill, they knew they had little
time before they would reach them. The remains of
the Roman legion smouldered on the ground around
them, it warmed the air, it was a disturbing thought for
some, that the bodies of men heated the bitter air.
Both Alder and Artnou knew what was about to
happen was an abomination, but it was the only way,
or at least that was what they told themselves.
Narra looked to her champion, the man she lost so
long ago was fading in front of her. She was panicked,
her breath was short as she mumbled, “I can’t –” she
struggled to find her words. “I need to think,” she
stumbled. Looking to Artnou, she could see the light
in his eyes was fading. Calm passed over the field.
Giving one final breath, Artnou, her friend, her love,
was gone, his eyes glared, empty, towards the skies.
Without a moment’s thought she lifted the scales on
her chest.
Alder stepped forward, a moment of maddened
remorse fell over him as he called to her, “Narra, no!”
Narra looked to the small Fey beside her, she
needed Artnou back, she sobbed, “I must do this.”
Narra took a claw and gouged it into her chest, a
mighty painfilled rumble shook the land as she did. As
she moved her front claws from her chest, it held a
white, glowing, blinding light.
The army of the fey turned their heads, blinded by
the light she held. They could see nothing until they
heard the mighty call of Artnou, screaming and
whaling in the muddy, blood-soaked field, he was
back. Artnou had a chance at life again, he sprang
from the ground like a phoenix reborn. He also now
possessed the star of the queen of the skies, he had
gained full control over the dragon’s gate.
Standing in the field, Artnou raised his arms.
Narra’s eyes widened towards him, her look of pain
would have broken Artnou, but he was already a
broken man. He whispered to her, “Apologies, Narra,
I will always be yours.” His arms raised further as he
called to the old gods, “Bavasis Mayher!” his voice was
loud as it echoed around the hilly field, “Destari
gambon prevoni!” He looked to Narra’s saddened
face; her spirit was crushed.
She had been tricked, the words he had spoken,
no one should know. She now knew of the depth of
his betrayal. The stars had spoken to her, many
moons ago, of a dragon, slain to reveal his secret
words. Nothing but the dragon’s star could open the
gate, Artnou had found a way. The queen of the skies
held power over all, it held the power over the gate.
Cheated by her love, Narra’s face changed, the soft
skin of her lizard face curled, crumbled and turned to
a look of animalistic rage.
“Deceive me!” she roared. Her powerful wings
pushed from the ground, taking her into the skies.
“You will never be mine!” she roared. She flew low
over the field, bowling them to the ground. She too
called to the old gods, but her language was ancient.
The echoing words of, “Thebelo, Kassor,” rang in the
air. The land stood silent. Narra flew over the
mountains, away from the impending doom.
Confused, the fey began to look to each other for
answers. Artnou stood terrified as he watched Narra
disappear. Alder had no idea what was happening as
he looked to the carnage surrounding them, it all
seemed to be for nothing. But then, as Artnou looked
to the treeline to the west, he could see a movement
through the distant lands. The land came to life as an
unseen force rumbled towards them, tearing trees
from the ground, it grew stronger. Cracking and
swaying trees began to fall in the old woods
surrounding them, the ground began to tremble. The
Earth was waking, Cammbour was coming for them.
Artnou spun in the field, he thought of Narra’s
words, he knew those words. Holding his hands to his
head he tried his best to think. All the knowledge of
Rome but still he could not find those words, insanity
fell on his face as he thought. The world began to turn
to chaos as they stood in the field. Unable to run - the
mountains of Mourne in the east began to crumble -
the disorder of the land began to consume them.
“Take them all,” Artnou said to himself in
trepidation. His eyes widened, he shouted to Alder,
“Take them all!”
The fear in Artnou’s eyes terrified Alder. Alder
panicked; he knew that Narra’s words spelt death for
them all. The rumbling world around them made it
difficult to stand. Oceans and seas became swirling
pools of rage and fury. Forests and woodlands began
to crumble and fall. Mountains came to life as their
rocks and mighty boulders plummeted to the ground
below. The earth began to open swallowing towns and
villages. The gate had never been opened to an entire
world, but as the two worlds collided it swept the fey to
Cammbour, peace loving man were taken with them,
but Narra’s words took them all, the Atlanti, the most
hateful and despicable of man, arrived in Cammbour.
As the earth calmed, the disarray around them was
gone. The dead were no longer there. The trees were
green and new, the grass was fresh, the scorches were
gone. The mountains stood strong. They had arrived
in Cammbour.
The Atlanti were greedy, their thirst for blood was
unquenchable. Their need for power, unstoppable.
Hate fuelled them, fear entertained them, and now the
world of man, and the world of the fey would forever
be bound, in a need to survive the hate and terror of
the Atlanti.
Narra was never seen again in Cammbour, her star
was lost to her, her soul was gone; it now belonged to
Artnou, he held the key, the power to divide. The
dragons were powerless to return to the world of
Earth. Queen of the skies, ruler of dragons, had been
deceived, she had given the power of the dragons to
man. Her words to the old gods, they were the words
that began the world of war. Crowned as their hero,
Artnou stood proud among his people. He had saved
them from the Roman fury, but he and Alder knew
that a new war was about to begin. They soon set
about organising their new world.
The customs of Cammbour were adopted well by
the new arrivals. The yearly chart differed greatly to
the one they were used to, but they soon began using
the new yearly chart of Cammbour. A month became
a turn, their chart was now based on the phases of the
new moons, Saed, Dieredh, Fruma, Duir, Onmidden,
Nean, Greendia, Aenlic, Wic, Ciele, Langan and
Seooer were the new moons and turns, but every so
often another moon would be added, they called her
Dara. Each new moon would be celebrated with a
feast, welcoming the new turn to Cammbour.
Peace was born in Cammbour. The peoples were
sure to work with their new arrivals. They had not
known such great organisation before, but they knew
they needed it. All the peoples of Cammbour worked
hard to get the world in order, before the Atlanti could
take hold. The mabeara enjoyed their new
companions. Men and fey worked well together,
however, settlements were needed, kingdoms soon
began to grow from the rocks of Cammbour. The
world they had left behind was soon forgotten.
The mabeara took the kingdom of Elmoor in the
North. A mighty stone city was dedicated to the might
of the mabeara. The stone workers, the changers of
the lands, they harnessed the mountains and shook
the world. Their might and power was felt and seen
across Cammbour, great stone towers were built from
the stones of Ashdel in Elmoor, the industry the
mabeara had created, with help of organisation, would
see the world grow, from simple farms, to towering
temples, palaces and mighty stone buildings of both
peace and power. Their art was harnessing the power
of stone.
The far western world was given to the ancient
tribes of Amerius, Sadaq and Qasar. The tribes of the
west were mostly peaceful, having only ever had small
tribal disputes, but their methods were brutal when
provoked. The western lands were well known for
their salt works, the lands had taken to a natural
industry, wood, wool and cotton were their main
trades.
The warm lands of Arktos over the ocean were