Interlude: A Shadow Rises

It has been more than a hundred years since a bronze dragon came from across the sea, settling amongst rolling golden hills and wide river-beds, declaring himself king of these wild lands. From his first hoard, his kingdom soon grew, for the people of these lands welcomed Venxaroncas' great wisdom and the protection he could offer. The few who resisted his reign, stuck in their archaic ways and unwilling to bend the knee to a more just and noble ruler than themselves, never stood in his path for long.   Since then, there has not only been such fast-paced change, but also the slow change that is most noticeable to elves, dwarves and scholars. (And gnomes, if they did not have their heads elsewhere.) The Draconic words and script have slowly poured into your language. Villages have sprung up around the dragon's hoards and grown into cities. Under Venxaroncas' protection, progress has flourished. It almost seems like you're on the precipice to a new age, an age of knowledge and prosperity, hailed by the dragon who came from across the sea. And the rising tide he brought has swept you with it, carried you up to unfathomable heights. Your minds and hands, your magic and warfare have had their part in shaping this kingdom, in expanding it outward to share your prosperity.   No enemy is a match for Venxaroncas. Or rather… no enemy was a match for Venxaroncas. Until a shadow rose from the west, plunging the lands into darkness. First came those yet unconquered by Venxaroncas. Their primitive magic and weapons untouched by draconic lightning were no match for the shapeless creature that took them in their sleep. Some would wake to find their neighbours gone, only a patch of nothing left behind. Others stepped outdoors to find the sun no longer rising over their farm. They moved east, then, but how could they flee an ever-expanding night? No one onew what brought the darkness. Were the gods angry at them? But no sacrifice slowed down the shadows, whether they were made to the old gods or the new. No cleric or diviner could read anything in their deity's signs that spoke of anger and punishment. At first, it could have been a powerful mage, spreading their spell across the land. But when eternal night stretched across half the continent, few still believed in a mage that powerful.   Your brave king himself set out into the darkness and returned with harrowing reports. A demon made of darkness, a shadow creature of pure evil was spreading its influence across the continent, leaving nothing but destruction behind. Venxaroncas had fought it and weakened it, but been unable to destroy it. And while no one would have dared to mention it, the shadow had left its traces on Venxaroncas as well: A trail of darkened scales went from his wing to his leg, no longer reflecting the light as they had before.       That was months ago. Now your dreams of a new age are shattered, the lands that were prospering reduced to ashes. And yet, isn't this the best outcome? The one were you had an ancient dragon on your side? You dare not fathom the destruction that could have been without Venxaroncas, your world overrun with darkness, the losses tenfold.