183 rooms · levels 45–52
You have been transported into Denethor's private study. On the west wall you see a large tapestry, outlining Denethor and Dusky on their wedding day. A fire place lines the southern wall, crackling warmth and light throughout the study. Turning cautiously to the eastern wing, a large bed stands here among mosquito netting. Finally on the northern end of the room, stands two thrones. The first, and largest resembles that of a black Dragon, this is the throne that Denethor resides in himself. Made of pewter and lined with gems, its beauty leaves you in awe. Next to it, with its own majesty and aura of light, a silver dragon rests here, which Dusky resides in when to relax and take council is all the Anterions wish. A large painting catches your eye, with Humphrey Bogart, James Dean, Elvis Presley and Norma Gene standing around, four cats and two dogs staring at you, cordially shooting pool.
Beneath the waterfall the river is dark and filthy. Reeds make it almost impossible to see, and its murky depths hold secrets unknown to anyone. A large root reaches down through the water, and pulling yourself along it you can make out a faint light, and the shape of a cobblestone path further down. The waterfall is above you.
The root ends here, its tree unknown, and all at once the water thins, then vanishes altogether. You can breathe again. The reeds and vines are gone, and you stand at the start of a rough cobblestone path leading south through dim, still air. The river is above you.
The cobblestones under your feet are rough and scattered, dull and ugly to look at, and nothing tells you where this place is or where the path will take you. To the east a murky cloud hangs over what looks like a great many trees. Blood and bones litter the way, and tufts of grass have been torn up and left half eaten. The path turns east here; to the north it leads back to the river.
The forest is plain to see now beneath its dark cloud, and nothing else can be seen for miles around; the emptiness chills you. Leaves lie scattered about and the grass barely grows, as if the sun has not shone here in many years. A sign stands beside the path, which continues east toward the trees and back west.
You stand at the edge of a very large forest. Turning back now would probably save your life; going on would put it in certain jeopardy. The trees grow extremely tall, and one of them stands across the way north into the forest. As you try to move past it, you hear it speak. The path leads back west.
Death and decay overrun the ground and the bases of the trees. Old weapons and armor lie strewn everywhere, with broken shrapnel and bodies among them, and shadows dart from tree to tree to stay hidden from your view. A track runs north, deeper into the forest, and the edge of the forest is back to the south.
Fresh blood drips from fallen branches. A lively tree stands tall before you, untouched by the War of the Seven Centuries; it seems to thrive on the death and decay all around, and it smiles a wry smile as you pass. The track continues north, and back south.
The cart ruts run on between the crowding trees, and here the forest falls utterly silent: not a bird, not an insect, not even your own footsteps make a sound. The track continues north and south.
A line of shadows walls the forest here; trees and leaves show only as outlines through the opaque dark. Small movements stir in the ground and in the air, and the air is so thick it grabs at your throat. The way leads east, toward a stench of blood, and back west.
Swirling mists gather around your feet and ankles. Small niches have been carved into the trees here, a tally of some kind: a body count. The darkness is deeper than any normal night, a magical darkness laid here for some reason, and the smell of blood grows stronger to the east, where the track turns. The track also leads back south.
Trees crowd what used to be a well-used track. Deep ruts in the ground show that carts once hauled some sort of cargo or treasure out of the forest. The track runs north and south, and the brush to the east grows unnaturally thick.
You have found a hidden hollow among the trees. Mist falls thinly from the treetops, blurring your vision and any view of a way out. A faint path leads west through the brush to the cart track, and another slips away south.
This path runs along the southern edge of the forest. The mist thickens around the walls of trees, and you find it hard to breathe. The path continues east, and a gap in the brush leads north.
Off to the south you can now clearly make out the shape of a large and distinguished castle. The bodies underfoot grow more numerous, men and the mutants called trollocs alike, lying with gaping wounds in pools of blood. Paths lead north into the forest, west along its edge, and south out of it.
The forest begins to thin to the south. Small gemstones lie at your feet, sparkling in a light that isn't there. Faint voices carry from the east, not laughing but cursing at someone, or something. Paths lead north, south and east.
The deeper you walk into this forest, the more it tells the story of a war that has raged for centuries. What it was about, or between whom, is not yet known, but things here suggest it was no ordinary human war. Grass grows only at the feet of the tall trees. Paths lead north, east and south.
All the dead bodies in the forest came from this one place: the lair to the north. The mutant creatures lying around you are called trollocs; they are obviously not human, and definitely not tidy. The path to their lair is filthy and soaked with blood, scraps of human flesh mixed into the grass and stones at its edges. Other paths lead east, south and west.
The forest bends around a small corner here. Pebbles, broken branches and dead, lifeless plants lie at your feet, and you wonder what could have turned a forest of such beauty into something that makes you sick to the stomach. A faint light glows to the east; the trees open to the north, and paths lead south and west.
This part of the forest is dark and damp, and none of the trees look anything but dead. Blood stains their bases, and the dirt is strewn with bones and skulls, though come to think of it, no animal has crossed your path in all your time here. A huge hollow tree stands to the east; paths lead north and west.
This is the dead center of the forest. Hmm, maybe a bad choice of words. There is more grass on the ground here than anywhere else, yet no more light. A path leads north toward the edge of the forest, and back south.
A strange aura shines to the east. The darkness breaks up into tiny rays of light that fall on your feet and waist, and wherever they touch, the grass and plants are alive: plush strands of long grass and rows of tiny daffodils. The light grows brighter to the east, and the corner is back to the west.
You climb into a small hole high in the trunk, dug out a long time ago. Grass lines its inside, and flowers have sprouted shoots, but they look very ill. To the east, out on the branches, a green forest dragon can be seen guarding something of great value. The way down leads back into the hollow tree.
This part of the forest canopy belongs to the keeper of the greens. Balesteron walks his forest and makes sure everything is in the order he commands; ever since his defeat at the hands of Ceriton, it is all he has left to keep him busy. A dark gap in the branches drops away below. The hole in the trunk is back to the west.
You walk into a large elk tree, hollowed out by death and age. Soot lines the inner bark, and the floor is covered in scraps of meat and iron. An ornamental sword hangs on the wall, glittering as it turns. Handholds climb the inside of the trunk toward a hole far above. The way out is west.
The trees give out here at the northern edge of the forest. Beyond them there is nothing at all: no trees, no desert, no land, only a blank and endless dark that no path crosses. You can only turn back south into the forest, or not!
Water gushes in from the east, almost knocking you over.
Following the trail north, you walk around the humongous icicle only meters away from the spire. The snow now belts down on your clothes and head with great force, soaking you to the bone. Small indentations have been made in an upward direction, making it a little easier to climb higher. Your exits are south or up towards the spire.
Leaning your head back until your neck hurts, you look up at this great spire of whiteness. You can't reach the spire unless you follow the trail around to the west. The majestic looking brickwork on this spire lead you to think a person or thing with great magical skills built it a long time ago.
A large mound of coins sits here, guarded by a mysterious and ugly creature, much like a shadow that isn't there. The aura comes from its pride and joy, the treasure, and you will not get the treasure unless the creature is killed first. A large tree stands to the north, its branches woven across the way like a gate. The way back is west.
Fleeing from the wrath of Balesteron, you have made a wrong turn. You land in a small hollow tree where hundreds and thousands of little trollocs and other animals attack you on sight. You look desperately around, but to no avail: there are no exits. You are trapped, and DEAD!
A colossal oak stands here, living healthily amid all the decay. Its leaves rustle in the wind as if it is trying to say something to you, and its roots, grown above the ground, help other plants to live. The only way out is back west.
The trees here are taller than any you have passed, reaching up for miles and leaving no light for shrubs or grass. Below is nothing but dirt and mess, and the roots have risen through the ground, a fine trap for anyone not watching their feet. The way winds east toward a great oak, or back west.
The foul beasts of the forest all live here: trollocs and myrdraal, creatures Belmaan the red dragon made to help him take the throne from Ceriton. The lair is filthy with droppings and refuse gathered from all over the forest; human heads, skulls and other trophies are all they have lived for since the banishment. The only way out is back south.
Out of the forest of Ceriton you feel a little more relaxed, and thank the gods you survived such an ordeal. Further south and east a large castle stands in all its majesty, though no one can be seen anywhere near it. The path continues south, and the forest is back to the north.
The path turns east here, toward the castle. It is easy walking, with tufts of grass along its edges and the field beyond, and the stones are gentle on well-worn boots. The forest lies back to the north.
This well-trodden path was busy in the days before the War of the Seven Centuries, when people came to admire the hall of tributes Denethor built in honor of the family and friends he fought beside. Behind you the forest sits under a gloomy cloud that threatens rain. Ahead two guards keep watch over a drawbridge; the path leads east toward it, and back west.
You stand on an old rickety bridge over a dirty, deep moat. Dragonflies hover over the reeds, hunting their dinner. The drawbridge is immediately east, and the path is back to the west.
This large oaken drawbridge hangs from huge chains of a hundred and twenty links, ready to be raised against an attack. Its underside is carved with dragons, and beneath them is a title that chills you: DRAGON-LOFT. The castle gate is to the east, and the bridge to the west.
You step into a well-lit castle. Large five-pronged candleholders light the hallway, giving you a good look at the whole room. To the east is a main intersection, and the drawbridge is back to the west.
Light shines brightly to the north and south of this intersection. An antique chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its hundreds of crystals throwing the light about, and underfoot is a white carpet showing a bright red dragon, which gives you an idea of what is in store. A small fireplace crackles in the eastern wall, giving warmth as well as light. Halls lead north and south, and the gate is back to the west.
Heading south through the castle, the carpet changes dramatically: the white and red mix into a shade of yellow. A tapestry on the western wall draws your eye from the carpet, a beautiful woman seated on the throne of a silver dragon. The hall continues south, an audience chamber opens to the east, and the intersection is back to the north.
At this bend in the castle a wind from the east chills you to the bone. Another tapestry hangs on the southern wall: a huge, muscular man standing rigidly next to a black dragon, with writing below describing the picture. The hall turns east, and leads back north.
A door blocks the way north, with an inscription on it. The carpet loses its redness here and turns completely white, and candles rest on shelves on both sides of the room. The intersection is back to the south.
You step into the most beautiful room you have ever seen. The walls on both sides are hung with regal carpet and luscious flowers, and against the west and east walls stand bronze artifacts in immaculate condition, radiating an aura of sanctuary, with writing on the base of each. The hall of tributes continues through a door to the north; the way out is the door to the south.
More regal carpet and luscious flowers line this part of the hall of tributes, and two more large bronze artifacts stand against the west and east walls, sparkling brightly, with writing beneath them. Doors lead north and south.
The last of the hall of tributes is as beautiful as the rest: regal carpet, luscious flowers, and again two bronze artifacts against the east and west walls, the last of the tributes. No violence has ever been done in this room, and none ever will be. The hall goes back south through a door.
Out of the hall, a small wooden desk stands against the wall. You feel at peace, and wonder whether you will ever be part of something so incredible as to have your name remembered like that. The walls here are a little dirty and uncared for. The way leads west back to the hall, or east into the castle.
A small stained glass window gives a fine view back over the forest of Ceriton. A gust of wind blows through it, and a closer look shows a tiny hole in the red pane. A single candle lights the room, enough to see your way. The grand hall stretches east.
SQUISH! Looking down, you see you have stepped on the corpse of a tiny golden dragon, beautiful and majestic. Around you little monsters scurry about; they might hold the KEY to a secret in the castle. The grand hall runs east and west.
Three flaming torches on the eastern wall throw your shadow across the hall. Strangely, the shadows fade as the light grows brighter, and to the east you see an uninviting sight. The grand hall runs back west.
You step into a superbly bright and extremely hot room. The walls, ceiling and floor are covered in flames. Closing in around you, the tongues of flame whisper 'Nothing burns as good as YOUR SKIN!' Realizing your mistake too late, you are trapped in a circle of flames, and eventually you DIE!
Climbing under the floorboards, you are beneath the grand hall. A scurry of rats and insects startles you as they rush back to the cracks and niches in the walls. The walls are dirty and scratched, and larger holes give homes to the larger rodents. The way leads further down, or back up into the hall.
Deeper under the castle, water trickles from breaches in the walls and runs over the stone underfoot, deep enough to cover the soles of your shoes; by the smell it is the runoff of a sewer. A single small torch gives the only light. The stone walkway leads east, and the way back is up.
The stone walkway turns here. A bright light shines to the south, and empty candlestick holders line the walls. To the east a faint white light flickers softly, luring you in. The walkway leads back west.
The flickering white light strains your eyes, and the stone underfoot grows rough. A wind swirls here in a circle, though there is no sign of where it comes from. The walkway leads back west.
Slowly the torches around you flicker, then go out. In the deafening silence you feel for the way and find a step leading further down, into a tunnel. The way back is up.
Taking a wrong turn, you find yourself in the dungeon, among the remains of travelers who came looking for the exalted talisman of Denethor and his treasure. Steel bars cover what used to be a window, and the gate hangs off its hinges. The stench is too strong to bear. The only way out is back north.
Totally disoriented, you step down into a white tunnel. A slight gust comes through an incredibly small crack in a window, and the room around you is green, a topaz green. In the corner, shining brightly, rests a dragon that almost blends in with the walls. The only way out is back up.
This very large room has curtains framing a stage at its eastern end. Plays and great dramatic reconstructions were once performed here, but the stage is old and wrecked, unused for many years. The hall is back to the west.
The walls here are made of precious gems and jewels: crystals, emeralds, sapphires and many more, set in patterns both beautiful and strange. The hall of gems continues east, and the bend is back to the west.
You stand before a large stage, built many years ago but left to ruin during the great battle. The way leads up onto the stage, west into the audience chamber, or south.
Gemstones lie at your feet, within easy reach. When you try to take them you get a slight zzaap!, and decide it is better not to disturb the balance. The ways lead down, west and north.
Stepping onto the stage, an overwhelming urge comes over you to act, to play the part of an ancient warrior or the heroine of a medieval script. The stage is broken, with a small box sitting on its eastern part. Ropes for props hang from the ceiling and old clothes lie scattered about. The way off the stage is down.
Stepping down under the hall of gems, you find yourself in a tiny room with space for no more than three people. A single unlit torch hangs on the wall, and the carpet on the floor is a transparent, crystalline color without a speck of dirt. A small door opens to the east, and the way back is up.
With a small push you find your way into a shelter made entirely of sapphires. No monster and no death has ever seen this room. An inscription on the wall says it was a safe haven for the dragons on Belmaan's side, plotting to overthrow Ceriton and take his throne. A magical shield lies on the room so that no fighting can or ever will take place here. A way leads down, and back west.
A sapphire dragon lives in this room. Old and still beautiful, he has been here for quite some time. He does not look mean, nor is he distracted by your presence; he lets out a large sigh, repeating the words 'We shouldn't have tried to take the throne.' The only way out is back up.
Along the southern edge of the desert the sun beats down more intently than ever. To the east something flickers in the sand, while to the west the dunes stretch for miles. The desert also runs north.
You are completely lost in this vast, arid land. A small rock offers a place to rest, and the sand around it glows a bright yellow. An oasis shimmers far off to the north-east; the desert runs north and east.
The desert has a strange presence here, both good and evil, so it is hard to tell whether you will be attacked on sight or greeted as a friend. The sands stretch north, east and south.
The water here is knee deep. Reeds and vines tangle your feet with every step, and tiny bubbles rise from beneath, running up your ankles and giving off a foul stench as they burst. Where the bubbles come thickest, the swamp bottom seems to drop away below you.
Below the bubbles the water is deeper. Mangrove trees line the bank, and crickets and frogs sing a deafening chorus. Ripples spread across the water as the reeds sway in a slight breeze. A great mangrove root rises out of the water to the east, and the shallows are above you.
The mangroves have taken root on this bank for hundreds of years, and one large root rises above the water; you are standing on it now. The bubbles here are bigger, and the stench stiffens the hairs in your nose. A large open pool lies below the root, and the deep water is back to the west.
Swimming down, you reach rocks and growing reeds. Small clamshells on the edges of the rocks snap shut as your ripples scare them. A large hole below grabs your attention. The water continues east along the bottom, and north back to the pool.
The bottom of the swamp is soft, sucking mud. Tiny air bubbles pop around you from beneath, and you can see almost nothing for the dirtiness of the water. There is no way on from here, only back up toward the rocks.
Diving into the large open pool, you move under the swamp. The murky water makes it hard to see and harder still to move. The water clears a little toward the mangrove roots to the east, and grows murkier to the south. The root is above you.
Looking up you can see little, except the mangrove root you stood on. Tiny insects swim past your eyes and dart off into the depths. Sapphire-tinted water swirls to the north; the roots run on to the east, the bottom slopes away to the south, and the pool is back to the west.
Making your way along the bottom of the swamp, the reeds thicken beneath you, making it hard to swim. To the east a small pocket of air glistens above the water. The mangrove roots are to the north, and the hole is back to the west.
Finally, a place to breathe! Looking down, the water is a little clearer and easier to see through. A small bullfrog croaks loudly in this pocket of air. The only way out is back down.
The only remarkable thing here is a large mangrove tree, its roots plunging into water that is suddenly crystal clear, which makes the ways out easy to see: east, west and south.
To the east a large figure swims leisurely among its insect companions; not noticing you, it glides back into the darkness, leaving you bewildered and thankful. Above you is a pocket of air. The water leads north, east and west.
Swimming into a small space, you feel yourself drawn upward toward the surface by a strange pull. The ways out are west and south.
In this very deep water the sun, or what sun there is, shines off the surface and casts a surreal silver tint. Sandy the silver dragon smiles at you as you disturb her plotting. A chair sits at the eastern edge of some rocks, an old tattered desk before it with papers strewn everywhere. The water leads north and west.
Taking on a sapphire tint, the water swirls more torridly here. Masses of bubbles suddenly swish before your face; they came from an extremely large tail belonging to some unknown creature, and you think it better to leave. The way back is south.
You find a secret passage out of Dragon-Loft. A strange wind blows across your face as you are pushed from wall to wall, and the passage carries you on east, back into a whirling vortex.
Just west of the falls the ground turns grim. This path has gone unused for what seems thousands of years, and the air itself feels evil; whoever lives along it, by the sound of the wind, wishes to be left alone. A shattered path runs south, and the waterfall is back to the east.
Remnants of a great war still smolder in the air along this shattered path. Tall trees line the way, their beauty twisted by the long ages of fighting. The path continues south, and back north toward the waterfall.
The trees beside the path stand dead and withering, and no living thing can be seen or heard; only the wind whistles through the bare branches. The path seems to end here, though a gap in the brush to the south looks as if it was hidden on purpose. The path leads back north.
Curiosity has paid off: beyond the hidden gap lies a path of long-forgotten times. The trees further on are growing again, giving shelter to small animals, and a rough lean-to of branches beside the way makes a hidden shelter for travelers. Faint roars carry from somewhere to the south. The path runs south, and back north through the brush.
The forgotten path turns east here. The ground is well worn, marked with the prints of hooves, or rather of claws, and big ones; whatever made them is surely what was roaring earlier. To the east the path climbs a small hill, and the trees sway in a westerly breeze that seems to urge you on. The path also runs back north.
The oasis seems a little closer, yet still far out of reach, and looking around you feel faint and disoriented. To the east the sand rises into large dunes; the desert stretches south and back west.
A hot blast of air hits your face as you step out onto burning sand. The heat sears through your shoes like water through paper, and the sun beats sweat out of you in beads. Far off to the east you think you see an oasis. The sands stretch east and south.
Heading east toward the oasis, the dunes grow larger, and little nests sit on their crests: homes for dragon hatchlings, you would guess. A large stone structure rises just to the east. The sands also run south and west.
You have stumbled on the lair of Belmaan, a stone-walled room half buried in sand. He is the dragon you have been reading about all through your adventure, the one who wanted the throne all for himself. A large ornate chest stands in the western corner, and on the eastern wall a painting of a red dragon hangs in honor beside an archway where a large portal swirls. The oasis lies to the south, and the dunes to the west.
The sand is piping hot all around. To the east a large stone structure, half covered in sand, stands tall over the dunes, and small desert animals scurry in out of the blazing sun. The desert stretches north, south, east and west.
A faint voice can be heard from the oasis, but it soon fades with the wind. The stone structure is clear to the north-east, and the oasis lies directly east. The sands also run north, south and west.
At last, what you hoped was true: a watery oasis of crystal-clear water. The desert animals drink here after a hard day of coping with Belmaan and his unending scheme to take Ceriton's throne. The sandy stone structure lies immediately north, and the desert spreads east, south and west.
A glittering tablet lies half buried in the sand here, another piece of a whole you may have come across before. Something is written on it, but it cannot be made out. The dunes form a strange triangle around it, open to the north, east and west, and it would be better to get out of this sun as soon as possible.
East of the oasis the desert comes to its edge, and nothing lies beyond but shimmering haze. The oasis is back to the west, and something shining glints in the sand to the south.
You step in to a swirling portal, transporting you to another dimension, YOU HOPE!
You swim out of the vortex to find yourself completely under water again, but this water is crystal clear and very calm after the rush into the vortex. The water deepens below you.
Tiny turtles swim around you, frolicking in the lukewarm water as you pass. A dark, gloomy mound lies deeper down, and little fish dart in and out of crevices looking for food. You can swim on down into deeper water, or back up.
At last you can stand on solid ground, though still under water. A small cliff gives you a moment to gather your thoughts. There is little growing here, only loose rocks and pebbles. A ledge of loose stones runs east, and the open water is above you.
Following the loose-stoned cliff east, you come to an underground cave. The water reaches only to your waist here, and a small pocket of air is the only way to breathe. Deeper water lies to the south, and the cliff is back to the west.
You have entered the home of the dragon-turtle, one of the most fearsome and respected dragons in all the land. His fearsome bite and aggression stir you, and as you come closer his eyes light up like fire: you have intruded on his privacy. The only way out is back east.
Swimming down further into the water, a dark large, crevice branches off to the west. Taking a closer look something moves torridly in the water. To the east the water starts to swirl a little more frightfully and your only other exit is to the north.
Still under water, you come to the home of the bronze dragon, a large yet peaceful dragon who obeys his master's every command and whim at the nod of a head. He looks at you indecisively; he may let you pass without attacking. A tunnel rises above, and the water is back to the west.
Heading upward, a tunnel takes you out of the underwater world, leaving behind some really bad memories. Little flies nest on the surface above, laying their eggs and flying off just as quickly, and reeds tangle at your feet. The tunnel climbs up, or back down.
To the east lies the home of a mercury dragon. Not known for its aggressiveness, but once attacked, its force is more powerful than any that has been noted before. The reeds thicken here, making it more difficult to move easily.
Here the mercury dragon sleeps, silently. His master has set him a task that has drained all his strength, and you would do better to leave him alone and walk away, except that this is a very small room, and the only way to fit through the passage above is to kill the dragon. The way back is west.
Stepping into a room that is completely pitch black dark, you leave little strands of water running down your leg. brushing your hair back off your face, you notice you are moving...slowly, yet surely. The end of your path is not clear.
You have stepped out of the vortex to be in the alcoves of Ceriton. To the north, a large altar stands shining brightly. The only exit here is toward the altar.
Stepping northward into the altar, a large shrine dedicated to Denethor, towers above your head. A lesser altar lies at his feet, glowing softly. The shrine is covered in flowers and memorabilia to give Denethor the power to stand tall in the mortal realms. All who had seen this shrine had never seen it again.
Over seventeen thousand years ago, there was a land that once lived in complete harmony. all animals, trees and other fauna, lived in peace, different races, different animals. They all lived under the reign of the One Lord. Ceriton Lord of All Dragons.
The land flourished and things grew, until the Day of Storms. Belmaan the red dragon decided to try to rally the ice dragon and others that he did at times get along with, and overthrow the Lord of the land, and claim the throne for himself. Sliding his way onto the good side of the one high power, he was named as Ceriton's Baron prince.
After years of loyal service, Belmaan activated his plan of total and utter destruction. With dragons reared from hatchlings to hate and despise the Dark Lord, it was time to mass the attack.
His army was superbly strong. His castles and surrounding an impenetrable stronghold. On the fourth day in the month of cold, Belmaan ordered the attack. The rallied dragons storm the dark alcove, with no immediate avail.
The battle of seven centuries started off fearsome and savagely. Ceriton's followers fought with true valor and fell with even more honor. Belmaan quickly grew tired, more so frustrated at the strength of his foe, and the might of the One True Lord.
The battle continued on for centuries, where armies of both sides diminished and fell. Upon seeing death in the face of defeat, Ceriton gathered his armor, his elite blade and fled to the front line to assist his allies. In a last ditch effort, Ceriton called on the power of the souls of a lost battle.
To stop the war, the killing and all who betrayed him, The Lord of Dragons and all things in Dragon-Loft, called down a raging storm. The Lightning cracked...the Thunder roared, earth and water were stirred into an uncontrollable frenzy, with a roar that tore at your heart, the sky ripped open. A hand of seismic proportions reached down, tearing at the land, and separated a land which was once so peaceful. Adjoining an impenetrable vortex, swirling through space and time, the Dragon Lord removed all races and sections of earth so that nothing like this could ever be encountered again. His stronghold withheld the battle of the land, but with great loss. No other dragons can go near Ceriton and his world, except for the ones he has shared his abode with. The vortex holds each land into its own stronghold, never to be walked into through worlds time to come.
Finally knowing the truth behind the destruction and torment that the dragon lord faced, you feel a little at peace. There are no torches nor candles to light your way. The ground underfoot is ridden with death and decay. Bones scattered everywhere with shrapnel from blades once wielded lay strewn across the floor.
Continuing deeper into the alcove, you sense a great evil presence here, stronger than you have ever felt in your life. There are still no light sources here to guide your way. Every step sounds hollow, and as you look down, you notice that you are walking on fresh blood. Dragon scales and headless bodies still lie strewn across the floor.
You take a wrong turn, and find yourself behind steel bars. This is the dungeon and torture chamber that Ceriton kept his captives, and from the look of the amount of bodies on the ground, there were plenty. A small hole back to the west is your only way out.
Discovering a secret passage to the east, you step into a brightly lit room that has the stench of death. The walls and ceiling here are all brown. except for the many stains of blood, smeared over them. To the east a small room presents a large obstacle.
You stumble on the audience chamber of the brown dragon, who is not impressed by your intrusion. Three small torches give just enough light to see him on his throne, pondering defenses in case anything like the war happens again. The only way out is back west.
You have finally found what you have been seeking: the throne room of Ceriton, Lord of the Dragons. He grimaces at you, surprised that you have made it this far. There is no light, and you are sure to face certain death. The only way back is north.
You find the first of many dungeons in the land of Dragon-Loft. Steel bars rise ten feet high, and the cell is occupied by a steel dragon, who peers at you suspiciously, under the impression that Ceriton has sent you here for his interrogation, OR SUPPER! The hallway is back to the north, and a narrow gap leads east.
Squeezing between a rock and a hard place, you come out in a large, well-lit room where no fighting or death has ever spoiled its beauty. Statues and tapestries of legends gone by adorn all four walls, and three large burning torches let you imagine the beauty this alcove once had, before the war stripped it away. The way back is west.
You have stumbled upon the armory of the Great Lord. All of his and his armies weapons are kept in this and adjoining rooms. Gleaming pieces of plate-mail hang solitary in glass cabinets, waiting to be called upon again for the duty of protection and war. There is a large hole in the floor, big enough for 2 men to fit abreast.
Walking down through the hole, this well lit room holds little armor, but one thing that does stand out, is the armor, which happens to be a dragon of the yellow abode. A glowing light shines off his body onto the armor, giving everything a little more beauty. A single torch lights the room, held by the dragon.
In this mediumly lit room, weapons surround the walls, hanging on hooks and lying in glass cabinets. Weapons made from emeralds, and other precious stones that are more valuable to the dragons than to any human in the realm. To the east the emerald armory continues.
Here stands the emerald weaponsmith, an emerald dragon that has been badly wounded in battle. Tending her wounds, she notices you enter, and scrambles madly to her feet to protect the Lord's weapons. There are five glowing torches, suspended on each wall and one from the ceiling, giving of an enormous amount of light. Your only exit is to the west.
You step on a ledge east of the spire, nothing here tells you if there has been any life, or vegetation for a long time. Feeling a falling sensation, you are caught unawares, and start falling very rapidly. Down, Down, Down you fall, until BANG! you hit the bottom.
You walk onto the spire with a feeling of triumph. From here you can see all of Dragon-Loft, and the strange thing is that none of its lands are joined to one another in any way. The tablets you have been collecting along the way surely mean something. Coming back to your senses, you realize a white dragon has been hiding here, watching every move. A ledge lies east of the spire, and the way back is down.
Stepping on thin air, you realize that this was a section of the mountain that was purposely corroded for the coming of Ceriton. To finish him once and for all in the war. Now it seems that you are the fool, and now you are dead!
You feel a blast of hot air rushing through your hair.
From the top of this small hill you overlook a wide field. In the distance to the east there is movement, a lot of movement: the shapes of dragons playing in the cool breeze. The path goes down the hill to the east, or back west.
At the foot of the hill the movement becomes clear: dragons, a number of them, calling to one another as they play. They are the ones who wore this track into the ground. The track goes east toward them, or back west up the hill.
Four young dragons play and tumble in a ring here. Turning back now would be madness, and yet also the safest thing to do. These are only young ones, and no older dragons are watching over them, which can only mean that more are coming. The only way out is back west.
A magnificent waterfall pours down from the cliffs above into a clear pool. Tiny lizards bask on the rocks around it, and schools of silvery minnows dart in and out of each other. The setting seems perfectly natural, except for a strange indentation on the underside of the falls, where the water seems to vanish downward instead of into the pool. The road lies to the east, and a broken path leads west, away from the falls.
As you step out into the freezing cold, ice and icicles surround you. This is a strange place. It was once a part of dragon-loft in the age of dragons, but since the war of the Seven Centuries, it has been re-located to an isolated section of time. Your exits continue east.
A towering glacier rises before you, and the spire at its top shines an immaculate white. Cold winds from the south chill you to the bone. Snow covers the ground, and climbing would be slow and hard. The base of the glacier runs south, and the ice block is back to the west.
Heading south, you find yourself at the very base of this huge glacier. The only track leads upwards and back to the north. Not a track exactly, more like steps made worn in from excessive use.
The snow starts to fall a little here, and the wind picks up. The path up the spire is not yet high enough off the ground, that a fall would leave someone unharmed. The trail continues to the east.
The trail ends here at a great cliff on the glacier's eastern face; the vortex that brought you here let you out high on the mountain. A rope ladder hangs down the cliff, the only way further up. The trail leads back west.
Climbing carefully onto the rope ladder, you feel it sway violently in the wind. Holding on for grim death, you glance around: the forest of Ceriton is close by, yet there is no walking to it. A ledge lies to the east, and the ladder leads back down.
This small, crumbling ledge is where many have fallen to their deaths, walking too far or too close to the edge. To the east the ledge drops away into a fall no one would survive. A trail leads north around the glacier, and the rope ladder is to the west. The air is thin and brisk up here, and the snow comes down ever more furiously.
As you leave the forest of Ceriton behind, you feel a little more at peace. The path you are on seems to lead nowhere: behind you are the trees of the forest, ahead nothing at all, no light and no blackness, just an empty path running north. The branches of the great tree close off the forest to the south.
The stones of this lonely path shift and move underfoot, and a slight breeze blows from the north. Ahead a strange black hole hums and jumps about. The path continues north, or back south.
The black hole draws nearer, pulling everything along the path toward it like a magnet. It has no definite shape, and nothing lives in it. The path goes north to the black hole, or back south.
You stand at the edge of the vortex, whose destinations are unknown. Suddenly a small voice speaks to you from the wind. It whispers 'To defeat the dragon lord, collect the tablets along the way.' You have no idea what this means, and want to get far away from this place. The only way out is back south.
Dark and gloomy sites blur your vision.
A sudden chill flows through your blood.
A faint light can be seen to the east.
A fishy smell arouses your hunger.
An unknown destination awaits to the east.
Regaining your senses, you look around intently. Ahead of you lies a cold, dark place that makes you want to go home.
Shadows of spooky, eerie shapes surround everything here, closing in slowly and hiding any way out. Leaning gravestones show among them to the east and south.
Stumbling on through this place, you come upon a small corpse on the ground. Propped beside it is a stone tomb, its writing smeared with dirt and blood and impossible to read. The yard runs north and east, and the shadows are thickest to the south.
Though there are walls here, their opaqueness suggests that the walls are the shadows of lost souls. The floor is scattered with priceless gems and gemstones.
Slowly the shadows thicken, yet they keep their distance, for a reason you cannot tell. Maybe they do not know how much of a threat you are, or maybe they are planning a mass AMBUSH! The yard runs south and west.
A cloud creeps across the yard, smothering you so that it is hard to breathe. A small creature motions you to come closer and says 'beware the shadow'. The wet ground soaks through your shoes. The yard spreads in every direction from here.
Small patches of grass line the dirty, well-trodden earth. The leaves scattered in the dirt are very old and crackly; it seems nothing has grown here for years. The yard runs north and east, and to the west stand the walls of shadow.
You have fallen into a secret ambush, laid by the shadows to trap the dragon lord, after he disconnected the graveyard from the land of dragons, in the war of the Seven Centuries.
Hovering five feet off the ground, the stars in the sky glimmer. Looking at your watch, it is deemed strange that there are stars out at this time of day. The cloud precariously looms closer. Upon it, a dragon type shape can be made out.
Here lie thirteen graves, and what is striking about them is how tiny they are, like children's. Like every grave in this yard, their markings are illegible, in a tongue unknown. Paths lead north, east and west.
The shadows fall back, although it is still dark. The ground underfoot is quite soft, and upon inspection is noticed to be also quite plush. No blood or bones lay here, which is odd since everywhere else is ridden with decay.
A small rut has been carved in the dirt here, leading east. A large cloud hovers high above the ground to the west, while the path ahead holds secrets unknown.
The rut to the north thins here, leaving with it a trail of blood, stale and smelling. Small valuables lay here, half buried, glistening in the soft moonlight.
Standing on a small rise in the grassy patch, you can see the mist falling over the graveyard. The yard runs east, south and west.
Following the rut, you walk into a small grave that has specific markings. What language they are cannot be known. Wiping dirt off some of the writing you see the words 'Dragon Tongue'. The west wall supports a small tomb with brass hinges. Dead flowers lie atop the grave.
The gravestones here grow in size, number and grandeur, and three of them are outlined with elegant carvings. A tuft of grass and some leaves lie scattered with a few broken bones. The way leads north, east and west.
A large cloud of mist slowly creeps in here. Walking is a struggle as a strange figure makes a small but noticeable movement. The only exit is to the west.
You have stepped onto a large mound of ground, supported by absolutely nothing. A messy piece of land, with grass, bones, torn out roots and trees lining your path. With no exits a small tablet lays at your feet.
Recalling an earlier feeling, the shadows close in tightly. The darkness is stifling. Edging towards a small tomb on the southern side, the mist creeps in slowly. The only exit is to the west.
To the north-west something shaped like a fountain shimmers, though what a fountain would be doing in a desert you cannot decide. This is the farthest outskirt of the desert; nothing has lived here in many years, and the sand is so hot it burns through your shoes. The desert runs north and west.
You stand above a great pit. Dead bodies lie strewn on its edges: some fell to their deaths and, after being eaten, were thrown back up. The Pit of Despair lies directly below. The oasis is to the north, and the desert runs east and west.
You did not look closely enough at this pit, and now it is almost too late to turn back. The pit opens its great jaws and begins to suck you in; soon you will be just like the bodies on its edge, unless you claw your way back up the loose sand while you still can.
The only thing between you and the spire, and your destiny, is an extremely large amethyst stone. Suddenly the stone moves! A swift sidestep keeps it in sight, and with a look of discontent the dragon lunges to attack. Above, the way climbs to the spire; the trail runs back east.
You step back into the whirling vortex, hoping that for once you end up in the right place. This place has taunted you, and will taunt you for the rest of your life, what life there is left to live.
The vortex spins uncontrollably out into the wilderness. Off to one side you glimpse the forest of Ceriton, but there is no way to reach it. Blinding lights flash before your eyes, and you lose your sight. You are doomed.
Crashing to a sudden halt, the vortex stops spinning. As you regain consciousness it swirls on past the Ishtar River, and a strange voice booms through the air:
'Do not try to come here again. Your ordeal has been well overcome. To try this again is utter madness, and you will not be so lucky. BE WARNED!'
A room not seen by mortal men. Body parts lie strewn across the floor from wall to wall, arms, legs and heads, and strange equipment lies on three benches, used to put the parts together into the army of distasteful warriors that Denethor builds to kill his mortal enemies. A secret door leads back west into the study.