Prologue
Farthest, in the ends of terrain was the Land of Rengaulia, where the Earth was in the ascending and igneous construct of diabolic, wrathfully tempestuous, exotic and smouldering volcanoes that bled molten lava at periods of raving eruptions.
Across the plains, the mortals of those lost in the first War between Man and Dragon were littered, lifeless but with histories that were as alive as the vivid stars of nightly heavens, which burnt their bodies in death to bring forth supernovae or black portals.
Deep in the heart of the earthen and difficult, blazing fissures of mountain, there seemed to be coals and rivers of blistering fire, restlessly seething even at the hours of night when the terrible and cosmic Salamanders that resided there were sound in the enticing abyss of slumber.
Among the dark and scaly rocks that an unperceiving and sweeping gaze would count to be no more than cinders and brimstone, one of the blood shot and ruby eyes of the Dragon opened.
Queen of the bestial reptiles, Jezebel had been roused in those hours of darkness, for a searing pain that shot up the edge of her jaw. She appeared to be missing a canine wherefrom the excruciation had been born.
Flashes of the end of the first mutiny, where a few of the prophesied warriors of Man's race had appeared in the battle field of Wroshmania to strive against the Dragons, appeared in her mind: a human virago, named Jael that was a destined 'Rook', clung against her fang, drunk of the poison that Jezebel had intoxicated her with, yet struggling for grip to fight.
That was when her comrade, a melanin-clad man by name Ehud, bearing the poise of a chess war's Bishop had struck an eye of hers to blindness. When Dragon Jezebel had winced and turned her attack on the dark skinned warrior, releasing the lady that had claimed her tusk, the she-beast had managed to massacre his strengths and wage victory.
But as that final soldier of the First War had perished, his last words had never left its residence from the most eminent chambers of her mind:
"Mark these tidings as prophecy, roguish Jezebel: thine end shall be in the hands of a Bishop as me, a Jehu."
Although the first war had ended a decade of decades ago, even at present hour, these words managed to kindle the ire of her very blood. In her indignation from the nostalgic memories and the present pain of her jaw, the Queen of Dragons rose from the ashes and brimstone and roared, for her pride could not bear the warning of such terrible and coming demise.
The other Dragons that were beside her were aroused, scaly serpentine beasts slithering up and clawing their talons against the sharp stones of the volcanic body, where there was seething and bubbling lava boiling about them.
These basilisks rose to the sound of her aggravated cry and inclined heed to her summons. Growls and calls from Jezebel, in the language of the beasts, were her command to the fiery salamanders that two must fly west into the dwellings of the humans and forage till they could bring back a specific talisman in the shape of a sceptre that was in the possession of man's race.
It was a charge that she had behested of them each time the throbbing pain from the absence of fang began rising in her jaw, for the agony was spited by humans who had roused a call, challenging the dragons.
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