Zindeir Valley

There weren't always dragons in the valley. Known as Zindeir, they arrived from the North, dozens of flying beasts. The first contact with their retched kind was 3 years ago.

The Northeast Island of Taro is home to one of the most divine displays on all of Karos. "Valdar's Rise:" once a year the great sun aligns with true North and crests over the horizon, blooming its radiant orange glow across the sea and throughout the land. It bequeaths good fortune to any who may believe in its eloquence and ushers in the season of growth and prosperity across the Houses of Karos. Until they arrived.

The beams of light attract many from across District 5, but now for the last time. That morning, Valdar's ephemeral radiance was engulfed by a flame of darkness. Panic and screams arose from the sea of spectators, such an event had not ensued across all of time in which we have witnessed. It could only be the bringing of a vile force across the lands. That much it was. The shadows flew across the sky and above the clouds, still vivid in detail to those burdened with its likeness. From the dark arose a shining blaze, growing larger by the second. A ripple of warmth adorned the faces of the victims just before their final breath. 86 fellow Kei were reduced to ashes!

I was there that day, when the Zindeir claimed our land. Our home! I was just below the spire of the North Island, just out of reach of the claws of death that claimed my family, my friends. The monstrosities that materialized upon our plains had descended themselves within the Valley of Ospeir, or at least that's what it used to be named. Now, it is Zindeir Valley. Inhabited, nay! OWNED! Owned by those ungodly creatures who arose from the ashes of our brothers and sisters!

They've ruled the lands of Taro with their scaly grasp held tightly around our necks. 80 days heretofore, the House of Mollocki ordered a full military strike on the Valley, attempting to entrap the odious creatures within the crests of the land overhead. Naïve as they were, they fought for 9 days; well, you could hardly call it a fight. The vast body of 800 elite soldiers dwindled to a mere shell of under 60. The Zindeir had suffered the anguish of but two. TWO! Compared to hundreds!

Mollocki has since refused to take any subsequent action, the affrighted Elites cowering within their towering walls separated by the mercy of the sea. No action that is, besides offering a decently sizeable bounty to any daring vapid soul birthed of Crete, the House of Hunters. Those used to spending their toils slaying meager Dujons. A total of eight cretins have accepted the bounty across its lifespan, only six actually descended upon the Valley, and zero have claimed it. Any efforts we continue to put forth will be nothing but futile. We do not possess the strength, nor the knowledge to even undertake such a feat. We may never withhold a power over these lands like that which he held before that day.

That day, the final "Valdar's Rise," we weren't merely visited by the Zindeir, we became beholden to them. Each day, we heave two-dozen Lohbeds into the Valley beneath the grass so that we may be granted another moon shed. We are slaves to the beasts within our grounds, we are but servants from which they acquire their rotten spoils. The Kei of Taro have nay a choice, nor a mercy, to be released from their thralldom upon an open land.

For hundreds of years, this was our planet. The planet of Karos. The planet of the Kei. But we have beguiled our time, now... now it is the Age of the Zindeir. Now we have transpierced into the Age of the Dragons.