There was some confusion and much awe surrounding the existence and life of the lake-dragons of Rhesch. The Kharii and the humans had, at times, an extremely turbulent relationship; nonetheless, the two species remained bound to each other, owing their eventual felicity in no small part to the acts of a few brave souls who overcame the walls between them.
While the lives of the kharii held many mysteries, much was known about their physiology. The amphibious creatures were covered in tough, silver scales. They had very long ears , long tails with sharp, ivory spikes jutting out along their lengths, and wings made of strong bone, with curved ivory claws at the joints. The inside of said wings was a pure, almost translucent silvery-blue that seemed to flow and ripple like the water of the lakes they lived in.
There was one exception to this appearance: the king of the kharii, who resided in the Great Lake for thousands of years, had a bright cerulean stripe running from his snout all the way down his back to the tip of his tale. This stripe was not scaled, but rather made of a strong, flexible material that was smooth to the touch and offered him both extra protection and an unmatched air of importance.
The dragons also had another figure; after centuries spent in close contact with humans, they eventually developed the ability to take on a human form. However, even then they were still readily recognizable as lake-dragons, with dark blue hair, slightly elongated pupils, pointed ears, and incredibly pale skin.
But as interesting as the dragons’ physiology may have been, their psychology was infinitely more so.
At first, there were few problems. The dragons, naturally even more social than humans, were able to interact with each other, travelling between lakes using enchanted underground passages. All was well for thousands of years.
But one day, with no warning, the underground tunnels collapsed in an earthquake of such epic proportions that it could only be attributed to some ancient, extremely powerful magic. The dragons could still fly, but only short distances; something in the new enchantment kept them from subsisting on the thin air of the sky. Whatever spell it was, it clearly did not want the dragons seeing each other. So, they holed up in their lakes, trying to re-dig the tunnels, but to no avail. There was far too much dirt in the way, and the enchantment maintaining them seemed to have disappeared. Things looked bleak for the kharii.
Then the isolation sickness started.
It took a while for the humans to figure out what was going on. The dragons had always kept an amicable relationship with their smaller, less magically-inclined neighbors. In fact, they loved humans, offering protection, fish, water, and anything else they needed, even going so far as to fly off in search of building materials when none were to be found. In exchange, the humans took from the lakes only what was necessary and cared for them as their most precious treasures.
But after news of this new madness spread, the humans had to be constantly on their guard. Through much trial and error and much blood spilled, they discovered that human contact, before a luxury for the dragons, had become a necessity. Deprived of relationships with their own kind, the only thing the kharii had to stave off the sickness was interactions with people. Armed with this knowledge, people began to branch out, making pilgrimages from their home cities to find lakes with dragons to spare.
Unfortunately, the isolation sickness spread quickly, accosting almost all the dragons overnight. Very few were left untouched. People learned very quickly that there was no cure for isolation sickness; afflicted dragons went feral, attacking humans who approached their lakes, murdering anyone within the reach of their deadly tails. After the first few attacks, attempts to save the dragons all but ceased, and the men took up weaponry, exploiting the dragons’ few weak spots in order to protect their families. Every time a dragon was killed, they mourned. Not only had they lost another friend, but they knew that that dragon’s lake would never again teem with the same life it had before.
As generations passed, these villages become nomadic by tradition, roaming the Rheschan lands in search of a lake to call their own. Many of them gave up eventually and dissolved into the cities–cities that were fast reaching critical levels, taking more from their lakes than they could ever return. But others continued on, desperately searching for a lake whose dragon could provide a new hope for the nation. The times when dragons had all been friends faded into such a distant memory that some regarded it as legend. They began to wonder if they were searching for a dragon that didn’t exist. If the ancients had simply known a way to tame the dragons that had been lost to the ages. and the villages’ journey was doomed to be fruitless.
Then, one day, over six hundred years after the first case of isolation madness, one of the few remaining nomadic villages alighted on something incredible. It appeared to be a lake the size of the ocean, stretching on past the horizon, teeming with fish and waterfowl. Such an amazing boon was too wonderful to pass up; the village named it the Great Lake and sat beside it for an entire week, waiting for its khari to appear. It was sure to be a formidable one, they knew; only the strongest of dragons could fend off attacks over such a vast expanse. They prayed he had been strong enough to fend off the dragon sickness, too.
This is where the story of Rethan and Kariad t’ckar, commonly known under the title The King of the Kharii begins. It explains how one girl from this lucky village and one formerly-feral dragon managed to save both species from the horrible downward spiral of isolation sickness, managing to end it once and for all. They ushered in a second age of peace between dragons and humans, one that was all the stronger for having known the fractures of war.
World of Amral 