A frigid blast of cold air blew through loose robes and beat against rigid scales, leaving the young draconian man shivering in the icy crags that surrounded the mountains in the north. Iorkax glared at the peaks of the mountains and huffed quietly to himself as he gripped a long wooden staff with a dark sapphire crystal embedded in the head of the staff. His blue and white robes pressed to his body, which was thin for a dragonborn but still more sturdy than most men. Steely grey eyes became cloudy as tears formed from the wind rushing against his face. 

[color=1AC2DB][b]“It’s up there, I can feel it’s call… I can feel the voice of the shard calling for me… Like a faint whisper in my head telling me to get it. But I can feel it’s ferocity, the rage that it contains and the power it controls. Like a stormcloud beckoning forth a mighty bolt and a thunderous roar… I can feel it, I am getting close.”[/b][/color]

Iorkax Thunderscale spoke to himself as he shielded his face from ice whipping through the crags, as if it were a giant frozen windtunnel. He marched through the storm before him for some time before reaching a point of exit to clamor up onto a footing enough that he could set up camp to rest without the winds beating off the walls and off of him. Finally, a shelter for him to recover from his long journey. Having left his home weeks ago after being sent out to hone his magic and to learn from the wizards in Dragonspire, a great university of magic and home for the greatest Dragonborn wizards ever to grace the land. Iorkax wanted to be there, he longed for the teachings, but a dream took him off of his intended path and onto a much greater destiny.

[hr]

[b][i]”Iorkax, you must hear me! Hear us! Please!”[/i][/b]

A voice, faint in nature, whispered in his ear as he slept one night many weeks ago before he set out on his journey to the North East. He did not recognize the voice and only rolled in his sleep, swatting at his ear to try and flick away whatever bug or whatever it was bothering his sleep.

Only this voice was not outside of himself, but rather in his dreams, the voice of a thousand pixies and other fae creatures called to him, now shouting at him.

[b][i]“IORKAX! YOU MUST LISTEN TO US!”[/i][/b]

[color=1AC2DB][b][i]“Garruf! Who are you to disturb a mighty dragonborn and wake him from his slumber!”[/i][/b][/color]

When he sat up, it appeared as though Iorkax’s spirit was disconnected from his body, clearly the work of powerful magic… was it? Or was a it a dream? Nevertheless, he quickly rose and took in a great breath, his chest filling up with not only air, but intense magical energy. Within a moment he let out a deafening roar and expelled the breath and a crackling cone of lightning from his mouth, trying to scare whatever was trying to wrest him from his slumber, but nothing was there, and the ground around his feet faded into darkness. A massive gust of wind and a cacophonous boom of thunder rang out as bolts of lightning shot out from a tiny structure at the peak of the Erlgonian mountain range, the peak of The Maw of Thunder. This was the tallest mountain of the massive range and was known by the dragonborn as the origin of the bluescale dragons, the Thunder Dragons, who were mighty ancestors of the Bluescale Dragonborn.

Iorkax watched as the lightning pealed out of the clouds around the top of the mountain and a mighty gust of wind carried him into the air and zoomed him towards the mountain. This was when the dream called to him, whispered that he must find the Shard of Wind, a piece of the crystal that once kept the magic of the world in balance and once meant great peace amongst the nations of Peliron, but now the crystal only served to tell a story of anger and greed. The Tale of the monster Dark Bring and the legendary Hero, Altir, a story well known by any dragonborn scholar, a story that was more of a fairytale now more than anything. Nonetheless, this ancient shard called for Iorkax of all of the men and women of the world, to a young Dragonborn Wizard who was still learning his place and gaining more power. 

[hr]

 The world was falling apart ,yes, but Iorkax did not care much for that. He craved the knowledge in the world around him, to learn of the mysteries and great ancient relics that lay buried for centuries in earth and for decades in tomes and stories in great libraries, songs and ballads sung by bards and tall tales told of heroes told to children by their mothers before bed. Iorkax was a collector of these things and a man who craved the knowledge locked away in these mystical relics of time passed. 

Night came soon after he had set his camp and lit a fire, his stomach growling in hunger and his fingers still cold from his trek through the crags. Brilliant blue scales with streaks of white glistened in the firelight as he bit into a dried piece of meat and some bread that he had obtained before leaving the last small town at the entrance to the crags, also known as The Goliaths Roar. Not many creatures lived in these parts. Small rabbits and rats scurried about and the braying of mountain goats could be heard in the distance. The mountains were far too perilous for most creatures, and food was rare, outside of a few berry bushes and other flora that dotted the base of the mountains. 

As the darkness took it’s hold and the fire slowly died out, Iorkax drifted back to sleep, dreaming the same dream, only this time, he was closer to the temple and the shard, closer now than any living soul had been in a long time.