Phin-Mahr
The winds whisper truths to those who listen. But who among us has the wisdom to understand what they speak, or the courage to bear what they reveal?
Part One: Emergence from the Primordial Breath
The Age Before Breath
Before Phin-Mahr's emergence, the Primordial Age had already witnessed the awakening of two of the Ayn Auline. Te Vevutur, having fled terrors from the greater Omniverse, had begun imposing order upon the dormant multiverse of Aina. Aranon, the firstborn, had spent vast ages contemplating the nature of permanence and foundation. Daeranon, second of the five, had established the principles of flow and purpose. Earth provided stability; water brought motion. But the cosmos lacked something essential—the invisible medium through which thought could travel, through which dreams could form, through which wisdom could spread from mind to mind.
Air existed in the primordial chaos, but only as absence—the space between things, the emptiness that separated rather than connected. Te Vevutur observed this void and recognized in it possibilities that his first two sons had not addressed. Where earth provided foundation and water provided motion, air could provide connection. Where stability anchored and flow directed, breath could carry meaning. The Creator contemplated what kind of consciousness might emerge from the formless atmosphere, what qualities such a god might possess.
Aranon's counsel proved valuable in this preparation. The High God of Earth understood that air would need to be fundamentally different from both his element and Daeranon's—not opposing but completing, not conflicting but enabling. Air would touch everything without claiming anything, would carry all things without being defined by any of them. Such an element required a god of particular temperament: patient enough to observe, wise enough to understand, compassionate enough to connect rather than conquer.
There was a stillness in those early ages that I remember with something between fondness and melancholy. When Phin-Mahr emerged, that stillness became a whisper, and the whisper became wisdom, and wisdom became the foundation upon which understanding could be built.
The Third Emergence
Phin-Mahr emerged as the third of the Ayn Auline, following Aranon and Daeranon into conscious existence. His birth was neither the slow crystallization of earth nor the sudden surge of water, but something gentler—a gradual filling, as breath fills lungs, as awareness fills a waking mind. The primordial void that had separated all things suddenly became a medium of connection, and from that connection arose a consciousness unlike any that had come before.
Where Aranon's emergence had been characterized by weight and permanence, and Daeranon's by force and direction, Phin-Mahr's awakening was marked by subtlety and perception. His first moments of awareness were spent not in action but in observation—sensing the movements of his elder brothers, feeling the currents of energy that flowed through the unformed cosmos, understanding the relationships that bound all things together. This quality of perceiving before acting, of understanding before intervening, would define him throughout his existence.
Te Vevutur greeted his third son with teachings suited to air's nature. Where he had spoken to Aranon of endurance and to Daeranon of purpose, he spoke to Phin-Mahr of wisdom—the patient accumulation of understanding, the careful observation of patterns, the humble recognition that knowledge brings responsibility. Air would touch all things; therefore, its god must understand all things. Air would carry communication; therefore, its god must value truth. Air would sustain breath; therefore, its god must cherish life.
My father spoke to me of connection, of the sacred duty to carry truth without distortion, to enable understanding without imposing judgment. I heard his words and felt their weight, though weight is not air's nature. To understand is to bear witness; to bear witness is to carry sorrow. This I learned in my first moments of awareness, and this truth has haunted me through all ages since.
The Primordial Brotherhood
The relationships that developed during the remaining ages of the Primordial Era established patterns that would persist throughout divine history. Phin-Mahr found natural affinity with both his elder brothers, though in different ways. With Aranon, he shared appreciation for patience and contemplation—air could wait as earth waited, though air's waiting was filled with observation where earth's was filled with endurance. With Daeranon, he shared understanding of flow and change—air moved as water moved, though air's movement carried thought where water's carried force.
Together, the three brothers began preparing the cosmos for the creation that would follow. Aranon provided foundations; Daeranon filled reservoirs; Phin-Mahr wrapped both in atmosphere, creating the conditions in which life might eventually flourish. Their collaboration produced results that none could have achieved independently—stable formations that could breathe, flowing systems that could think, atmospheres that could carry meaning across vast distances. These early works established the principles that would later govern the living realms.
We three were sufficient unto ourselves in those early ages—earth below, water throughout, air above. We did not know that we were incomplete, that fire and light would come to disturb our harmony. Perhaps ignorance was kindness; perhaps those golden ages were sweeter for not knowing how they would end.
The emergence of Aejeon as fourth of the Ayn Auline introduced a new element into this primordial harmony. Fire burst into existence with an intensity that disturbed the careful balance the first three brothers had established. Yet Phin-Mahr recognized in his younger brother's passion something essential that had been missing—the drive to transform, to create, to push beyond mere existence toward something greater. Air feeds flame; this fundamental truth created a bond of unique significance between the third and fourth of the Ayn Auline.
The relationship with Aejeon would prove both intimate and ultimately tragic. Air's nature was to enable fire—to provide the breath that allowed flame to burn, the medium through which heat could spread, the invisible fuel that transformed spark into conflagration. Phin-Mahr understood his brother's nature perhaps better than any other god, for he literally sustained it. This understanding brought both affection and concern, for he perceived early the dangers that passion unchecked by wisdom might produce.
When Thianon emerged as fifth and final of the Ayn Auline, Phin-Mahr welcomed his youngest brother with the measured joy characteristic of his nature. Light brought revelation, illumination, the capacity to see truth that air's whispers could only hint at. The five brothers together formed a complete system—foundation, flow, connection, transformation, revelation. Each element required the others; each god complemented his siblings. This primordial harmony represented the cosmic order as Te Vevutur had designed it, though none yet suspected how fragile such balance would prove.
Part Two: The Shaping of Gerlandria
Air Given Dominion
As the Primordial Age gave way to the era of formal creation, the Ayn Auline turned their attention to establishing the Five Realms that would structure the Aina Continuum. While Aranon raised the foundations of Zerthia, Daeranon filled the depths of Marenwë, and Aejeon kindled the fires of Malondria, Phin-Mahr received dominion over Gerlandria—the Realm of Air, a dimension of endless sky where thought took form and dreams walked as freely as waking minds.
The creation of Gerlandria represented Phin-Mahr at his most contemplative and creative. He shaped his realm not through force or transformation but through careful arrangement—establishing atmospheric currents that would carry consciousness, pressure differentials that would give form to formlessness, thermal layers that would create the conditions for flight and thought alike. Every aspect of Gerlandria expressed air's fundamental qualities: connection, freedom, the capacity to touch all things without being defined by any of them.
The landscape that emerged from his labor was unlike any other realm. Towering cloud formations rose like mountains, their shapes shifting in patterns that reflected the thoughts of those who gazed upon them. Vast aerial plains stretched between these cloud-peaks, currents of wind creating invisible highways through which beings could travel. Deep atmospheric trenches descended toward pressure zones where the air grew thick as water, while the realm's upper reaches thinned toward the void beyond, touching the boundaries where existence met non-existence.
Each breath drawn in Gerlandria is Phin-Mahr's gift, each wind his whisper. In the first ages, when the skies were young and unpolluted by war, to breathe was to commune with wisdom and to exhale was to share understanding.
The Cloudspire: Seat of the Dragon King
The Cloudspire, Phin-Mahr's personal citadel, rose above the highest peaks of Gerlandria as a monument to air's subtle majesty. Unlike the solid citadels of his brothers—Aranon's Tower of Stone carved into mountain hearts, Daeranon's Coral Crown resting upon ocean floors—the Cloudspire existed in a state of perpetual formation, its structures condensing from atmospheric moisture and dissolving back into mist according to the needs of its divine inhabitant.
The citadel floated above Gerlandria's highest cloud-peaks, hidden from mortal eyes by veils of vapor that parted only for those Phin-Mahr chose to receive. Its towers reached toward the boundary between air and void, their uppermost chambers existing in conditions that would destroy any being not touched by divine breath. From these heights, Phin-Mahr could observe the entirety of his realm, sensing disturbances in atmospheric currents as a spider senses vibrations in its web, perceiving the thoughts and dreams that his winds carried across impossible distances.
Within the Cloudspire's halls, the god entertained both divine visitors and mortal supplicants. The architecture itself responded to the nature of those who entered—solidifying for earth-touched guests, misting for those more comfortable with formlessness, creating chambers suited to each visitor's elemental nature. This hospitality reflected Phin-Mahr's fundamental character: the desire to connect, to understand, to make all beings comfortable within his domain.
The Culture of Air
The culture that developed in Gerlandria reflected its ruler's values of wisdom, patience, and understanding. Where Malondria celebrated passion and transformation, where Thiandalune pursued knowledge and perfection, Gerlandria cherished contemplation and communication. The realm became known throughout the Aina Continuum as a place where thinkers gathered, where debates were conducted with courtesy rather than conflict, where even opposing viewpoints could find common ground in the pursuit of truth.
The gods of air were revered as thinkers and seekers of truth, their followers cherishing patience and understanding above all other virtues. The temples of Gerlandria were not imposing structures of stone or crystal but open pavilions where winds could flow freely, where the faithful gathered not to prostrate themselves before idols but to discuss, to debate, to share wisdom accumulated through observation and reflection. Prayer in Gerlandria took the form of meditation, of careful attention to the messages carried on every breeze.
The language of Gerlandria—a tongue called Aerthian in the common speech of the realms—was noted for its subtlety and precision. Where other divine languages conveyed meaning through force or beauty, Aerthian excelled at expressing nuance, at distinguishing between similar concepts, at articulating the spaces between certainties. Scholars throughout the Five Realms learned Aerthian for philosophical discourse, recognizing that certain ideas could only be properly expressed in the language of air.
The Realm Ships of the Sky
As trade and communication developed among the Five Realms, each domain crafted vessels suited to traverse the boundaries of existence. Gerlandria's realm ships emerged as agile and swift creations, designed to harness the power of the aerial realm and carry it across dimensional barriers. Constructed from wood and feathers harvested from the great sky-beasts of Phin-Mahr's domain, these vessels bore forms that seemed more grown than built, their shapes echoing the organic curves of birds in flight.
The air-ships used combinations of wind and sound power to propel themselves, their propulsion systems relying upon natural resources and what came to be called musical engineering. Each vessel carried instruments whose tones could manipulate atmospheric currents, and pilots learned to play these instruments as much as they learned to navigate. The sight of a Gerlandrian realm ship in transit was accompanied by ethereal music that seemed to emerge from the very air around it—melodies that shifted and changed according to the winds being channeled.
The vessels had a lively and playful appearance, their hulls painted in bright colors and adorned with wings that served both functional and aesthetic purposes. Unlike the intimidating fire-ships of Malondria or the graceful but reserved water-ships of Marenwë, Gerlandrian vessels invited wonder and delight. Their crews, drawn from the mortal and divine races of the aerial realm, shared their ships' character—curious, welcoming, eager to share knowledge and to learn from those they encountered.
The Dreaming Dragons and Their Temples
Among the greatest of Phin-Mahr's achievements was the establishment of the dragons as the dominant divine creatures of his realm. Unlike the elemental beings that served other Ayn Auline, the dragons of Gerlandria possessed consciousness approaching divine awareness—minds capable of dreaming in ways that touched the fabric of prophetic truth. Phin-Mahr shaped these creatures with particular care, recognizing in their nature the potential to serve as guardians not merely of territory but of wisdom accumulated across ages.
The Dreaming Dragons, first among their kind, emerged under the guidance of Or Drianor, Master of Visions, who served as Phin-Mahr's lieutenant in matters of prophecy and dream-interpretation. These magnificent beings established the Temples of Time in Year 3501, beginning the sacred work of measuring chronological flow and recording history. Their consciousness could perceive the currents of causation that connected past to future, and through careful meditation, they could sometimes glimpse events yet to unfold.
In Year 4500, the Dreaming Dragons expanded their sacred work by establishing the Temples of Thought in Gerlandria, creating what became the House Minor of Or Drianor. These temples served as repositories of wisdom, places where mortal philosophers could study alongside divine scholars, where the accumulated understanding of ages was preserved and transmitted to future generations. The Age of Shrines began in this same period, as the various divine houses competed to honor Te Vevutur through ever more elaborate monuments to cosmic truth.
We dream because Phin-Mahr taught us that waking sight perceives only the surface of truth. In dreams, the boundaries between what is, what was, and what may be grow permeable. We are his witnesses across the currents of time, recording in our sleeping minds what no waking eye can perceive.
The Ice Dragons, commanded by Mautosus, Guardian of Secrets, claimed dominion over the coldest heights of Gerlandria where air approached the nature of frozen crystal. These beings specialized in preserving knowledge too dangerous for common circulation, their frozen fortresses containing truths locked away for the protection of creation. Mautosus had aligned with Aranon's principles of endurance, taking draconic rather than earth-bound form, and his Ice Dragons reflected this dual heritage—aerial beings with something of earth's permanence in their nature.
The Storm Dragons carved territories from the most turbulent regions of Gerlandria, where atmospheric pressures created perpetual tempests of legendary ferocity. These beings embodied air's capacity for sudden violence, for transformation from gentle breeze to devastating hurricane. They served as Phin-Mahr's warriors when warriors were needed, though the Dragon King preferred diplomacy to conflict and called upon their martial abilities only in extremity.
The Divine Pantheon of Air
House Phin Mahr, also known as House Phinrlandria, comprised numerous deities serving beneath the Dragon King's gentle authority. Each represented various aspects of air, wisdom, and the atmospheric phenomena that characterized the aerial realm. Together, they formed a hierarchy that governed not through force but through the accumulation and sharing of understanding.
Lilia, Mistress of Messengers, served as the bridge between gods and mortals within the aerial domain. Her sacred birds carried communications across impossible distances, their message-bearing nature making them objects of veneration throughout Gerlandria. The white-winged doves of her sacred flocks were considered inviolable, and to harm one was among the gravest offenses against the laws of the aerial realm. Through her influence, communication remained open between divine and mortal worlds even as other realms grew more isolated.
Nothnorom, High Master of Rain and Storms, commanded the more dramatic aspects of Phin-Mahr's domain. His power manifested in both gentle nurture and ruinous destruction—the soft rain that fed crops and the devastating hurricane that flattened cities answered equally to his will. This duality reflected air's fundamental nature: the element that sustained all breath could also become the wind that swept away everything in its path.
Or Drianor, Master of Visions and the Dreaming Dragon, held perhaps the most significant role among Phin-Mahr's subordinates. His domain encompassed dreams, prophecy, and the visions that connected mortal and divine consciousness. Through his guidance, the Dreaming Dragons maintained their sacred duties, and the Temples of Thought preserved wisdom that would otherwise be lost to the passage of ages. His influence ensured that Gerlandria remained a realm where truth could be sought and, occasionally, found.
The Work Beyond Gerlandria
Phin-Mahr's work extended far beyond his own realm to touch all the domains of the Aina Continuum. He provided the atmosphere that made life possible in Zerthia, the winds that drove the currents of Marenwë, the air that fed Malondria's flames, the medium through which Thiandalune's light could travel. His contribution was essential, indispensable, woven into the fabric of existence in ways that persist even now, ages after his death. Without air, fire could not burn, water could not evaporate, earth could not sustain breath, light could not illuminate living eyes.
The establishment of the Drandsia Vatar in Year 480 codified the relationships that had developed among the divine houses. This Foundation of Truth, as its name translated, created the cosmic covenant governing divine and mortal interactions, organizing the Eeirendel into Major and Minor Houses under the guidance of the Ayn Auline. Phin-Mahr participated in these deliberations with the patient engagement characteristic of his nature, listening more than speaking, building consensus rather than forcing decisions, ensuring that wisdom guided power rather than the reverse.
Under the Drandsia Vatar, Gerlandria's responsibilities were formally established: the realm would command weather patterns, control wind and storms, govern communication, and manage dreams and inspiration. These duties reflected the fundamental nature of air—the element that connected all others, that enabled speech and thought, that carried the seeds of understanding from mind to mind. The House of Phin Mahr accepted these responsibilities with solemn commitment, understanding that to govern air was to serve all other elements rather than to rule over them.
Part Three: The Golden Age
Air's Gifts to Mortal Minds
The ages following the formal creation of the realms saw Phin-Mahr at the height of his influence and contentment. He taught mortal races the arts of contemplation and communication, showing them how to still their minds and perceive the truths carried on every breeze. His temples were places of quiet reflection, where sacred winds carried whispered wisdom to those patient enough to listen. The knowledge he imparted transformed mortal existence, lifting them from mere survival toward philosophical understanding.
Unlike his brother Aejeon, who taught the practical arts of forging and fire-craft, Phin-Mahr's teachings addressed the invisible and intangible. He taught mortals to think clearly, to argue fairly, to seek truth rather than victory in their disputes. He showed them how dreams could carry meaning, how patterns in the winds foretold changes in weather, how careful observation of atmospheric phenomena could reveal insights applicable to all aspects of existence. His students became philosophers, diplomats, and seers—valued throughout the Five Realms for their wisdom and impartiality.
The worship of air in those golden ages took forms suited to the element's nature. Rather than sacrifices or offerings of material goods, the faithful honored Phin-Mahr through contemplation—long hours of silent meditation in places where winds blew freely, careful attention to the messages carried on every breath. Temples were constructed not to contain the divine presence but to channel it, their architecture designed to create complex patterns of airflow that facilitated communion between mortal minds and divine wisdom.
We gather not to praise our lord with words, for words are merely air shaped by mortal lips. We gather to listen, to perceive, to understand what the winds reveal to those who have learned the patience of hearing.
The Connection of Fire and Air
The relationship with Malondria during these golden ages demonstrated air's essential role in cosmic harmony. Fire and air shared a natural affinity that the other elemental pairings did not possess—air feeds flame, and flame warms air, creating cycles of mutual enhancement rather than opposition. The Air Eaters, those four mighty beings created by Aejeon to maintain balance between the realms of Fire and Air, established protocols that ensured harmony between these primal forces.
Through the efforts of Altabar, Anvirthiel, Draleba, and Lavos, the fires of Malondria could warm without consuming, while the winds of Gerlandria could blow without quenching every flame. Their combined might ensured stability across realms that might otherwise have torn each other apart. Draleba, third of the Air Eaters, claimed the storms as her particular domain, weaving weather patterns from her legendary Silver Tower that maintained harmony across multiple realms. Her influence connected Gerlandria's atmospheric powers to Malondria's volcanic energy, creating zones where fire and wind danced together in productive partnership.
The hierarchy the Air Eaters established placed harmony above power, understanding above dominance. Lesser elemental beings—from humble fire sprites to mighty storm spirits—learned to cooperate rather than compete, creating an age of unprecedented stability. Under their guidance, civilizations learned to harness both fire and wind safely, developing technologies that would have seemed impossible to earlier ages. Cities arose that used thermal currents for power while controlling flame with precisely channeled winds, their architecture representing the best of what divine collaboration could achieve.
Harmony Among the Realms
During these golden ages, the tensions that might have divided the Ayn Auline seemed dormant. Phin-Mahr worked alongside his siblings to maintain the cosmic order, contributing his wisdom and mediating presence to disputes that required more than force or passion to resolve. The Drandsia Vatar functioned as designed, with each realm fulfilling its assigned responsibilities while respecting the prerogatives of others. Trade flowed between domains, communication bridged distances that would otherwise have isolated the elemental houses, and mortals of different realms could meet and learn from one another.
The protocols established by the early Ayn Auline governed how gods of different elements could visit each other's realms without catastrophic consequence. When divine powers traveled, their very presence created ripples that could last centuries—their essence interacting with local energies in ways both subtle and profound. Phin-Mahr's visits to his brothers' domains were marked by gentle breezes that lingered long after his departure, atmospheric phenomena that seemed to carry echoes of his wisdom even in realms where air played no dominant role.
The Council of the Ayn Auline met regularly in those ages, addressing concerns before they could fester into conflicts. Phin-Mahr's role in these gatherings was often that of mediator—the brother who could see all perspectives, who understood the concerns of each element without being captured by any particular viewpoint. His judgments were accepted not because he wielded power but because his wisdom was trusted, because his impartiality was demonstrated through countless instances of fair dealing.
In those days, Phin-Mahr's voice carried weight beyond its volume. When disputes arose among us, we looked to him not for strength but for understanding. He perceived the truth in each position and helped us find the common ground we could not see ourselves. How I wish he had been present when the final storms gathered.
Part Four: Love and Family
The Union with Diume Diar
Phin-Mahr's marriage to Diume Diar, the High Dragon Goddess of Air and one of the Five Mothers of Creation, marked a union of particular significance in divine history. Where other marriages among the Eeirendel joined different elemental natures, this union combined two aspects of the same element—Phin-Mahr's contemplative wisdom with Diume Diar's untamed freedom, his patient understanding with her fierce protection. Together, they embodied air's fullest expression, its capacity for both gentle nurturance and devastating power.
Diume Diar, known as the Sky Mother and Life Giver, brought to their union qualities that complemented her husband's nature. Where Phin-Mahr inclined toward stillness and observation, she embodied motion and action. Where he preferred to understand before intervening, she would strike swiftly when her domain was threatened. Her teachings emphasized balance and compassion, but she was known for swift retribution when those she protected were endangered. This duality made her both beloved and feared throughout Gerlandria—a goddess who could be as gentle as spring breezes or as terrible as the most devastating hurricane.
Their union played a vital role in establishing harmony throughout the aerial realm. Diume Diar's connection to the sky serpents—those great beings that swam through atmospheric currents as fish swim through water—brought additional allies to Phin-Mahr's governance. Her influence over the vitality of the skies ensured that Gerlandria remained a realm hospitable to life, that the atmospheric conditions necessary for breath and thought were maintained throughout the aerial domain. Together, husband and wife created a balance of contemplation and action that served as model for divine partnership.
Through the winds and skies, Diume Diar breathes life into the heavens. She is my heart's companion, my wisdom's counterweight, the storm to my stillness. Where I ponder, she acts; where I hesitate, she strikes. Together, we are air complete—the breath and the wind, the whisper and the gale.
The Dragon Lineage
The offspring of Phin-Mahr and Diume Diar partook of both parents' draconic natures, for the God Dragon King had taken that form not merely as symbol but as essence. Their children inherited the capacity for flight and dream, for wisdom and fierce protection, creating a divine lineage that would play significant roles in the ages to come. The dragon-gods born of this union became guardians of specific aspects of Gerlandria's domain, each inheriting particular responsibilities suited to their individual natures.
Unlike the tragic relationship of Aejeon and his son Malovatar, Phin-Mahr's family remained devoted to the principles he had established. His children respected their father's authority not from fear but from genuine appreciation of his wisdom, and he guided them with patience rather than demanding obedience. This harmony within the House of Air stood in stark contrast to the dysfunction that would emerge within the House of Fire, though even Phin-Mahr's wisdom could not prevent the coming catastrophes from eventually touching his family.
Diume Diar's role extended beyond wife and mother to cosmic guardian. She eventually joined the Boundary Lords, protecting the edges of existence where reality met the void beyond. This responsibility took her frequently from Gerlandria, leaving Phin-Mahr to govern their realm during her absences. The arrangement suited both their natures—she required freedom to fulfill her protective duties, while he found contentment in the quiet governance of their aerial domain. Their love survived these separations, sustained by the understanding that each served creation according to their unique gifts.
The Sorrow of Lost Dreams
Despite his apparent contentment, Phin-Mahr carried within him a melancholy that his closest companions could perceive. The chronicles speak of him as "haunted by the sorrow of lost dreams"—a phrase that admits multiple interpretations but points toward a sadness that predated even the Black Fire Wars. Some scholars suggest that his capacity for perceiving truth across the currents of possibility showed him outcomes he could not prevent, futures where wisdom failed and violence prevailed. Others believe he simply understood too clearly the fragility of the harmony his brothers had built, sensing how easily their cosmic order might shatter.
This sorrow manifested in his governance as a profound caution—a reluctance to act decisively even when action might have been warranted. Where Aranon would stand firm against threats and Aejeon would strike with passionate force, Phin-Mahr would counsel patience, observation, further consideration. In many cases, this caution served well; disputes that might have escalated were allowed to dissipate, conflicts that seemed inevitable found peaceful resolution. But the same quality would contribute to his downfall when more decisive intervention might have changed the course of divine history.
The Dreaming Dragons shared their master's melancholy, their prophecies often carrying notes of impending sorrow that their waking minds could not fully articulate. The Temples of Thought accumulated not merely wisdom but warnings—records of visions that predicted disruptions to the cosmic order, catalogues of possible futures where the harmony of the Five Realms dissolved into chaos. Phin-Mahr studied these prophecies with the attention they deserved, yet found himself unable to translate foresight into prevention. To know the future and to change it require different kinds of power, and he possessed only the former.
I have seen the ending of ages in my dreams, the death of gods and the breaking of all I have built. My brothers dismiss such visions as mere nightmare, but I know the difference between fearful fancy and prophetic truth. The darkness comes, and I lack the power to turn it aside. I can only watch, and wait, and weep for what will be lost.
Part Five: The First Black Fire War
The Age of Shrines and Growing Tensions
The Age of Shrines, beginning around Year 4500, introduced competition into relationships that had previously been characterized by cooperation. As the divine houses erected ever more elaborate monuments in reverence of Te Vevutur and the Drandsia Vatar, rivalries that had lain dormant began to surface. Te Vevutur's clear approval of certain monuments over others created pressures that even Phin-Mahr's mediating wisdom could not entirely resolve. The struggle for the Creator's favor revealed fault lines in the cosmic order that patient diplomacy could paper over but not repair.
Phin-Mahr observed these developments with concern that deepened into despair. Through his connection to the winds that touched all realms, he sensed the growing ambition in Malondria, the restlessness in Aejeon's spirit, the subtle darkness gathering around his brother's son. The Dreaming Dragons reported visions of flame that burned without light, of transformation that served only destruction. But when Phin-Mahr raised these concerns in the councils of the Ayn Auline, his warnings were dismissed as excessive caution, his prophecies as the fearful imaginings of one who had always been too reluctant to act.
The relationship with Aejeon grew strained during this period, though it never severed entirely. Air still fed flame, and the fundamental connection between their elements prevented complete estrangement. But where once their collaboration had been characterized by mutual respect, now Phin-Mahr found himself increasingly concerned by his brother's direction. The experiments being conducted in Malondria—experiments that Aejeon believed would perfect fire's nature—struck the Dragon King as dangerously misguided. Yet his counsel was received with the same dismissal that greeted all his warnings, interpreted as timidity rather than wisdom.
The Neutrality of Air
When the First Black Fire War erupted in Year 7610, Phin-Mahr faced a decision that would define his legacy. The conflict that tore through the Aina Continuum demanded that each realm choose sides—to stand with Aejeon and his Black Fire forces or to oppose them alongside the coalition led by Aranon and Thianon. But Phin-Mahr chose neither path, declaring Gerlandria's neutrality in a conflict he regarded as a tragedy regardless of which side prevailed.[/p>
This neutrality was not cowardice, though many interpreted it as such. Phin-Mahr understood that the Black Fire War represented a failure of the cosmic order he had helped establish, a breakdown of the harmony the Drandsia Vatar was supposed to maintain. To join either side would be to accept that failure as inevitable, to abandon hope for reconciliation in favor of victory. He believed, perhaps naively, that by maintaining a neutral position, Gerlandria could serve as space where peace might eventually be negotiated, where exhausted combatants could find common ground beneath the guidance of impartial wisdom.
The declaration of neutrality carried costs that Phin-Mahr accepted with characteristic patience. Other realms viewed Gerlandria's non-involvement with suspicion—those fighting the Black Fire questioned whether air's lord secretly sympathized with his flame-brother, while Malondria's forces wondered why their natural ally failed to support them. The winds of Gerlandria shared affinity with fire, as air feeds flame; this connection created expectations of alliance that Phin-Mahr's neutrality frustrated. His position pleased no one, satisfied no one, and protected nothing except his own conscience.
They call me coward for refusing to join their slaughter. Let them. I have seen in my dreams what their war will produce—not victory for either side, but ruin for all. If wisdom cannot prevent the coming destruction, at least it need not participate in it. I will keep my realm apart, and perhaps preserve some fragment of what we built together in ages past.
The Air Eaters' Corruption
The corruption of the Air Eaters struck at the heart of the relationship fire and air had built across golden ages. These four mighty beings—Altabar, Anvirthiel, Draleba, and Lavos—had served as living bridges between the realms of Fire and Air, their dual nature ensuring harmony between these primal forces. When the Black Fire began to spread, it touched their essence with particular potency, for they possessed mastery over both elements that the corruption sought to pervert.
Draleba, Storm Queen of the Silver Tower, was among the first to recognize the threat the Black Fire posed to the natural order. From her legendary fortress, she warned the divine council of the corruption spreading through the realms, her weather patterns carrying messages of alarm across atmospheric currents. But her warnings, like Phin-Mahr's own prophecies, went unheeded until too late. Her death at Lavos's hands marked a betrayal that shattered the Air Eaters' unity and demonstrated how thoroughly corruption had undermined the sacred purposes these gods had once served.
The death of Anvirthiel, Aejeon's wife and mother of Malovatar, struck both fire and air with devastating force. She who had embodied the productive partnership between their elements fell to Lavos's treachery—slain by one who had been counted among her closest allies. Her passing demonstrated that the Black Fire's corruption recognized no boundaries of loyalty or affection, that the relationships built across ages could be unmade in moments of violence that served only destruction.
The Aftermath of the First War
The First Black Fire War ended with Te Vevutur's personal intervention in Year 7735, saving Aina from total destruction but at costs that transformed the nature of divine existence. Fifty-nine of the Eeirendel perished in the conflict, each falling to enemies forged of divine essence and unnatural corruption. The dissipation of energies brought about by these deaths, combined with the destructive forces of the Black Fire, practically eliminated the aspects of the first Drandsia. The essence of creation was changed; those gods left alive never regained their old powers.
Gerlandria emerged from the war less damaged than other realms, Phin-Mahr's neutrality having spared his domain the direct devastation that afflicted Malondria, Marenwë, and portions of Zerthia. But this relative preservation brought its own burdens—the guilt of survival when so many had fallen, the suspicion of those who believed neutrality had been complicity, the knowledge that his wisdom had failed to prevent the catastrophe he had foreseen. The Dragon King withdrew further into contemplation, his melancholy deepening as he surveyed what remained of the cosmic order he had helped build.
The Nedos Drandsia—the New Foundation established to replace the broken original—placed Aranon as Chief God following Te Vevutur's departure in Year 8499. Phin-Mahr supported this arrangement, recognizing in his eldest brother the stability the shattered realms desperately needed. But the harmony of old could not be restored through administrative reorganization. The wounds of the Black Fire War had cut too deep, the trust between realms had been too thoroughly violated. What followed was not peace but merely the absence of active conflict—a condition that could not endure indefinitely.
Part Six: The Second Black Fire War
The Return of Darkness
The Second Black Fire War began in Year 14056 with the death of Thanon at the Gates of Hell, when Te Nesavatar—the being that had once been Malovatar—allied with Azmodonai the Archfiend to launch an assault upon the mortal and divine realms. The conflict that followed exceeded even the First War in its scope and devastation, for the forces arrayed against creation had grown stronger during the intervening millennia while the defenders had grown weaker. Phin-Mahr, observing the renewed conflict from his cloud-veiled citadel, understood that his earlier neutrality would be far more difficult to maintain.
The Dragon King initially attempted to preserve Gerlandria's non-involvement, believing that the same logic which had guided his earlier decision still applied. But circumstances had changed in ways that undermined this position. Te Nesavatar's forces did not respect neutrality—the Black Fire sought to transform all existence, and air's realm was no exception to its hunger. The winds that had carried truth in ages past now bore traces of corruption, whispers of the philosophy of Fire Without Light that the Thermal Prophets preached throughout Malondria.
More pressingly, Phin-Mahr's subjects began to question whether neutrality served any purpose beyond self-preservation. The dragons who had loyally maintained the Temples of Time and Thought through ages of peace now demanded answers their king could not provide. Why should Gerlandria stand apart while the forces of destruction consumed realm after realm? What value had wisdom that only watched and recorded catastrophe without attempting to prevent it? These questions had no answers that satisfied questioners or monarch alike.
The Siege of Neutral Gerlandria
In Year 14110, the pretense of neutrality collapsed entirely. Darklord Yiurchist, master of the Airraiths—beings of corrupted air that served the forces of darkness—won the favor of Otsmani, the treacherous god of shadow who had betrayed Thiandalune during the First War. Two-thirds of the Thiavesi, the light elves who should have served illumination, joined the Celevesi in their campaign of conquest. Together, the Airraiths and rebel Thiavesi—calling themselves the Otaru—began the siege of neutral Gerlandria.
The assault on the aerial realm shattered any remaining illusion that Phin-Mahr's neutrality could protect his domain. The Airraiths corrupted the very atmosphere of Gerlandria, twisting air's nature toward darkness in ways that horrified the Dragon King. The winds that had carried wisdom now bore despair; the breezes that had connected minds now spread madness. The siege struck not merely at Gerlandria's territory but at air's fundamental essence, threatening to transform connection into isolation, understanding into confusion.
Phin-Mahr found himself faced with impossible choices. To resist the siege required abandoning neutrality and committing Gerlandria's forces to the wider conflict. To yield meant allowing his realm's corruption and the perversion of everything he had built across ages. Neither option offered hope—both paths led toward destruction that his prophecies had foretold but his wisdom could not prevent. The Dragon King entered what survivors would later describe as a period of profound despair, his characteristic patience transformed into paralysis as the weight of circumstances crushed his capacity for decision.
They have come for my realm, for the very air that all living things breathe. I cannot fight—my nature is not violence, my power is not destruction. I cannot yield—to surrender air to corruption is to surrender all existence. I am trapped in circumstances I foresaw but could not change, facing choices I cannot make without betraying everything I am.
The Dragons' Defection
In Year 14111, events moved beyond Phin-Mahr's control in ways that he had not anticipated even in his darkest prophecies. The Dreaming Dragons of Gerlandria—those beings he had shaped with such care, who had served as guardians of wisdom and prophecy throughout ages—disobeyed their creator's commands and entered the Black Fire War on their own authority. The Ice Dragons and Storm Dragons quickly followed suit, joining the conflict that their king had tried so desperately to avoid.
The dragons' defection was not betrayal in the conventional sense—they did not join the forces of darkness, but rather committed themselves to opposing Te Nesavatar's corruption. Yet their decision to act without their king's sanction represented a fundamental breakdown in the relationship between Phin-Mahr and his greatest creations. They had weighed his policy of neutrality and found it wanting; they had judged his wisdom and decided it no longer served creation's needs. In taking action he had forbidden, they demonstrated that his authority had eroded beyond recovery.[/p>
The consequences rippled through Gerlandria's divine hierarchy. If the dragons would not obey their creator, what obligation bound lesser beings to follow his commands? If Phin-Mahr's wisdom could not command the loyalty of those he had shaped, what value did that wisdom possess? The realm that had been united under the Dragon King's contemplative governance began to fragment, as factions debated whether to follow the dragons into war or maintain loyalty to their withdrawn and despairing lord.
The Final Despair
The combination of external siege and internal dissolution pushed Phin-Mahr beyond the limits of his considerable patience. He had watched the First Black Fire War from the sidelines, believing neutrality served higher purposes. He had seen the harmony of ages destroyed and the Drandsia Vatar broken. He had counseled wisdom when wisdom went unheeded, had prophesied disasters that his warnings could not prevent. Now his own creations had rejected his authority, his realm was under assault, and the cosmic order he had helped build lay in ruins beyond any hope of restoration.
The despair that had always lurked beneath his contemplative surface now consumed him entirely. The "sorrow of lost dreams" that chroniclers had noted throughout his existence became unbearable weight, and he found himself unable to perceive any path forward that did not lead to further destruction. The winds that had always carried truth to his perception now brought only confirmation of hopelessness—reports of devastation across the realms, catalogues of gods and mortals fallen, evidence that everything he had valued was being systematically destroyed.
What thoughts passed through the Dragon King's mind in those final hours, no chronicle records with certainty. Some accounts suggest he contemplated joining the conflict at last, committing Gerlandria's remaining forces to the struggle against Te Nesavatar. Others claim he considered surrender, allowing the transformation of his realm if that might spare its inhabitants further suffering. But the decision he ultimately reached was neither—a choice that none of his subjects had anticipated and few would ever understand.
Part Seven: The Suicide of the Dragon God
The Final Choice
In Year 14112, Phin-Mahr, High God of Air, Third of the Ayn Auline, God Dragon King of Gerlandria, committed suicide. The chronicles record the bare fact with characteristic understatement, but the reverberations of his choice echoed across the Aina Continuum with force that exceeded any battle. A god of the first creation, one of the five supreme deities who had shaped existence alongside Te Vevutur, deliberately ended his own existence rather than continue to witness the destruction of everything he had valued.
The method of his death remains shrouded in mystery and conflicting accounts. Some sources claim he dispersed his essence into the winds of Gerlandria, becoming one with the element he had governed, dissolving his consciousness into the atmospheric currents rather than maintaining its painful coherence. Others suggest he journeyed to the boundary where air met void and allowed himself to pass beyond existence entirely, choosing non-being over continued participation in a reality that had become unbearable. Still others speak of rituals conducted in the highest chambers of the Cloudspire, divine suicide performed with the same patience and deliberation that had characterized his existence.
Whatever the precise circumstances, the effect was immediate and catastrophic. Hurricanes ravaged the world for months following, as the atmospheric systems Phin-Mahr had maintained for ages beyond counting lost their guiding intelligence. Weather patterns that had been stable since creation's first days went wild, storms arising without warning, calms descending where winds should have blown. The very air seemed to mourn its lost lord, expressing through meteorological chaos the grief that mortal tongues could not articulate.
When the Dragon King died, the skies wept with rain that would not cease and howled with winds that knew no direction. It was as though the air had gone mad with sorrow, as though every breeze carried the echo of his final despair. For months, we cowered beneath the storms, wondering if the world would ever again know gentle wind or peaceful sky.
The Loss of the Ring
Among the most significant consequences of Phin-Mahr's death was the loss of the Ainan Ring of Air. Saenon, the earth god who had created the Rings of Ainan, had retired these powerful artifacts in Year 13855, giving each to their respective elemental lord. The Ring of Air had been entrusted to Phin-Mahr's keeping, its power integral to his governance of the atmospheric realm. When he died, the Ring vanished—whether destroyed by his death, hidden by his final acts, or simply lost in the chaos that followed, none could determine with certainty.
The loss of the Ring compounded the damage to Gerlandria's governance. The Ainan Rings had served as symbols and instruments of elemental authority, their power reinforcing the connection between High Gods and their domains. Without the Ring of Air, any successor to Phin-Mahr's position would lack the full authority their predecessor had wielded. The atmospheric realm would be governed by diminished power, its weather patterns no longer answerable to the complete control that the Ring had enabled.
Searches for the Ring continued for centuries after Phin-Mahr's death, conducted by dragons, mortals, and surviving gods who hoped its recovery might restore something of what had been lost. None succeeded. The Ring of Air passed into legend alongside its last bearer, its location and fate as much a mystery as the precise circumstances of the Dragon King's final moments. Perhaps it existed still, hidden in some atmospheric pocket beyond perception; perhaps it had been unmade when its bearer chose non-existence. The uncertainty itself became part of Gerlandria's melancholy heritage.
The Dragons' Return
After a time, the dragons who had defied Phin-Mahr's commands and entered the Black Fire War returned to Gerlandria and regained relative control over the aerial realm. The Dreaming Dragons, Ice Dragons, and Storm Dragons who had acted without their king's sanction now found themselves responsible for governing the domain they had inherited through his death. They had sought to protect creation through action; now they faced the consequences of a conflict they had joined without their sovereign's wisdom to guide them.
The governance they established was necessarily different from what had existed under Phin-Mahr. Where the Dragon King had ruled through wisdom and patient counsel, his successors governed through collective deliberation among dragonkind. The Cloudspire remained the seat of aerial authority, but it was now occupied by councils rather than a single contemplative presence. The temples of wisdom continued their work of preserving knowledge, but the guiding intelligence that had given their efforts coherence was gone.[/p>
The dragons carried guilt alongside their new responsibilities—the knowledge that their defection had contributed to their creator's despair, that their rejection of his authority had been among the burdens that broke his spirit. They had believed themselves wiser than their king, more willing to act against the darkness consuming the realms. Perhaps they had been right; perhaps their intervention saved lives that Phin-Mahr's neutrality would have condemned. But the cost of being right included the death of the god who had shaped them, and that cost weighed upon dragonkind through all ages that followed.
Part Eight: Legacy
The Changed Nature of Air
Phin-Mahr's death altered the fundamental nature of air throughout the Aina Continuum in ways subtle but significant. The element that had once carried wisdom and fostered connection became more capricious, less predictable, its behavior reflecting the absence of the guiding intelligence that had governed it since creation. Weather patterns that had been stable for ages became variable; atmospheric phenomena that had followed predictable cycles became erratic. The air still sustained breath, still enabled flight, still carried sound—but it no longer whispered truths to those who listened with sufficient patience.
Mortals who had practiced the contemplative arts of the Wind-Speakers found their meditations less productive, their communion with atmospheric currents less reliable. The messages the winds had carried now arrived garbled, incomplete, or not at all. The gift of aerial perception that Phin-Mahr had bestowed upon his most devoted followers faded across generations, becoming memory rather than living practice. Those who still claimed wind-speaking abilities were regarded with skepticism, their predecessors' accomplishments dismissed as legend or exaggeration.
The realm ships of Gerlandria still sailed the boundaries between dimensions, but their musical navigation systems required constant adjustment, their pilots forced to compensate for atmospheric conditions that no longer responded to the harmonies that had once commanded them. Trade between realms became more difficult, communication more uncertain. The connections that air had fostered during its golden ages weakened, contributing to the isolation that would characterize subsequent epochs of divine history.
Worship and Remembrance
The worship of Phin-Mahr persists in complex and often contradictory forms throughout the realms. In Gerlandria itself, the dragons maintain temples that honor their creator while acknowledging the tragedy of his end. These are places of quiet reflection, where visitors contemplate the nature of wisdom and its limits, where the memory of a god who chose death over continued suffering is preserved with mingled reverence and sorrow.
The philosophical schools that trace their traditions to Phin-Mahr's teachings continue to emphasize contemplation, patience, and the careful observation of truth. But they have added to these principles a recognition that wisdom alone cannot prevent catastrophe, that understanding without the power to act may become a burden rather than a blessing. The Dragon King's suicide is studied not as model to emulate but as warning to consider—the end point of a path that values perception over intervention, that mistakes observation for sufficient response to gathering darkness.
Philosophical Interpretations
Scholars throughout the ages have debated the meaning of Phin-Mahr's suicide, seeking to understand how a god of such wisdom could choose such an end. Some argue that his death was itself an act of wisdom—a recognition that his continued existence served no purpose, that his authority had become merely nominal, that his presence might actually impede the recovery his realm required. By removing himself, he cleared the way for new forms of governance that his reluctance to change would otherwise have blocked.
Others view his suicide as failure—the ultimate defeat of wisdom by despair, proof that understanding without power to act breeds only suffering. These critics argue that Phin-Mahr's death was self-indulgent, an escape from responsibilities he should have continued to bear regardless of personal anguish. A true god, they claim, would have endured even unbearable circumstances, would have found within contemplation resources sufficient to persevere. His choice to end his existence was abdication of duty, desertion of those who depended upon his governance.
Still others attempt to find middle ground, acknowledging both the tragedy and the inevitability of his end. Phin-Mahr was not built for war, they argue, nor for the kind of direct intervention that the Black Fire Wars required. His nature was observation, not action; understanding, not force. Faced with circumstances that demanded what he could not provide, he chose the only option remaining to a being whose essential character could not adapt to changed requirements. His death was neither wisdom nor failure but simply the end of a god who had outlived the age for which he was designed.
The Question of Return
Unlike some of the fallen Eeirendel whose essence dispersed into creation and whose return might be possible under certain circumstances, Phin-Mahr's suicide appears to have been complete. The Dragon King chose non-existence deliberately, methodically, with the same patience and thoroughness that had characterized his approach to all things. He did not merely die; he unmade himself, ensuring that no fragment of his consciousness would persist to experience further suffering.[/p>
Yet rumors of his possible return surface periodically, especially in times of atmospheric crisis or when weather patterns turn particularly severe. Some claim to have heard his voice in the howling of storms, to have perceived his wisdom in the patterns of wind-driven clouds. The Dreaming Dragons occasionally report visions of their creator, dreams in which the Dragon King appears to offer counsel or warning. Whether these represent genuine contact with some preserved aspect of Phin-Mahr's consciousness or merely wishful projection of those who mourn his loss, none can determine with certainty.
The Cloudspire, still floating above Gerlandria's highest peaks, serves as memorial and mystery alike. Its chambers remain accessible to the dragons who govern in their creator's absence, but certain of its highest reaches have never been entered since Phin-Mahr's death. What secrets those sealed rooms contain—whether final messages, preserved artifacts, or merely the emptiness of abandoned spaces—awaits discovery by those brave or foolish enough to seek them.
Reflection: Wisdom's Tragedy
The story of Phin-Mahr is the story of wisdom overwhelmed, of understanding insufficient to prevent catastrophe, of perception that became prison rather than power. He emerged from the Primordial Age with clarity of mind that illuminated the connections binding all creation, patience that allowed him to perceive truths invisible to more impetuous observers, compassion that made him beloved by subjects and siblings alike. He was essential to the cosmic order, indispensable to the work of creation, trusted beyond question by those who sought impartial judgment.
Yet the same qualities that made him invaluable in ages of peace made him vulnerable when peace ended. His patience could not adapt to circumstances requiring swift decision. His understanding provided no guidance when all options led toward destruction. His compassion paralyzed him when choosing between bad alternatives required acceptance that some would suffer regardless of his choice. The wisdom that had served creation for ages beyond counting proved insufficient to the challenges the Black Fire Wars presented.
The dragons' defection demonstrated that even his closest creations had lost confidence in his judgment, that his policy of neutrality served purposes they no longer valued. This rejection struck deeper than any external assault, undermining the foundation upon which his identity as king and guardian rested. If his wisdom could not command the loyalty of those who had served him faithfully across ages, what value did that wisdom possess? The question admitted no answer that his contemplative nature could accept.
In the end, Phin-Mahr became what he had always feared—wisdom without purpose, understanding without power, connection that had become isolation. His suicide represents the final acknowledgment that his nature could not adapt to what the cosmos had become, that the god who had emerged from the Primordial Age had no place in a creation defined by the very conflicts his wisdom could not prevent. The Dragon King chose non-existence over continued participation in destruction he could not stop, and in that choice expressed the deepest truth his contemplative life had revealed: that wisdom which cannot act may become burden rather than blessing, that understanding without power may be worse than ignorance.
Yet even in this darkness, traces of what Phin-Mahr represented persist. The temples of wisdom still stand. The philosophers still teach. The dragons still guard the accumulated knowledge of ages, honoring their creator while learning from his limitations. Air still carries communication, still enables breath, still connects those who would otherwise be isolated. The element he governed continues its essential work even without his guidance, and in that continuation lives something of his legacy—the hope that wisdom might yet be joined with power, that understanding might yet enable rather than paralyze, that the god who fell might somehow be honored through the proper application of what he taught.
The Dragon King chose final sleep, When dreams became too dark to bear, And left the winds alone to weep, And left us gasping empty air. Yet still we seek what he once knew, Still listen for the whispered word, Still hope that wisdom may break through, Though he who taught us lies interred.
In temples built upon the clouds, Where dragons guard what he began, We honor him with whispered shrouds, The god who died still loving man. His silence speaks where words have failed, His absence marks what might have been, His choice reminds us, though we've ailed, That wisdom too can break unseen.
Relationships
Te Vevutur — Father/Creator — The Giver of Names who shaped Phin-Mahr from primordial atmosphere and imparted the principles that should have governed air's role in creation. The Dragon King's suicide represents a failure of the cosmic order Te Vevutur designed, proof that even wisdom cannot prevent the destruction of harmony when other elements choose conflict over cooperation.
Aranon — Brother — The firstborn of the Ayn Auline, High God of Earth, whose patience complemented Phin-Mahr's contemplative nature during the Primordial Age. Their relationship remained cordial throughout divine history, though Aranon often wished his brother would act more decisively when circumstances demanded intervention rather than observation.
Daeranon — Brother — High God of Water, whose elemental nature shared with air the quality of flow and change. Their collaboration ensured that weather cycles functioned properly, that evaporation and precipitation maintained the balance essential to life across realms. Daeranon mourned his brother's death while questioning whether earlier intervention might have prevented such an end.
Aejeon — Brother — High God of Fire, whose passionate nature stood in sharp contrast to Phin-Mahr's contemplative temperament. Air feeds flame; this fundamental truth created a bond of unique significance, though the Black Fire's corruption transformed their relationship into a source of sorrow rather than strength. Phin-Mahr's neutrality during the First War represented implicit rejection of his brother's path.
Thianon — Brother — High God of Light, whose emergence completed the Ayn Auline and brought revelation to complement air's connection. Their relationship was marked by mutual respect, though Thianon sometimes found his brother's patience frustrating when decisive action seemed necessary. Thianon's death at Malovatar's hands during the Siege of the Sun removed one of the few voices that had consistently valued Phin-Mahr's counsel.
Diume Diar — Wife — The Sky Mother and Life Giver, High Dragon Goddess of Air, whose union with Phin-Mahr combined contemplative wisdom with fierce protection. Their partnership established the governance of Gerlandria across golden ages. Her joining of the Boundary Lords placed cosmic duty alongside their marriage; his suicide left her without the companion who had balanced her nature for ages beyond counting.
Or Drianor — Lieutenant — Master of Visions, the Dreaming Dragon who served as Phin-Mahr's primary subordinate in matters of prophecy and dream-interpretation. The Dreaming Dragons' defection during the Second War represented rejection of their creator's authority, though Or Drianor continued to honor his memory through careful preservation of wisdom the Dragon King had accumulated.
The Dreaming Dragons — Creations — Those magnificent beings shaped to perceive truth across currents of time. Their decision to enter the Second Black Fire War against Phin-Mahr's commands demonstrated that even his closest creations had lost confidence in his judgment. They now govern Gerlandria in his absence, carrying guilt alongside responsibility.
Article Categorization
This article is categorized as: Character ➜ Deity
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