[The Oracle of It was a of change. The descendants of the Atlantean mages had fallen before the New Praesidium, and the wolves were baying at the door. An new faith was encroaching from the east, and the sylvan liege had locked tight the of his arboreal realm. And so it was that towards the end of the Age of Mystery, the last of Albion's Dragon Lords did for what would be their final battle...
[The War-song of the Dragon Dragon-phalanx the sky, Albion our gleaming prize, of land and sea, guardians of destiny. (Prowling amongst the pecseatan; Draconis Bipedes, swift and beast of battle!)
[The King's Vow:] (Dragon-Runes etched by the firey tongues of the IX Legio into the primordial stone of the great Drachenstahl Cromlech): The foes of sceptred isle shall be driven back into the sea! An oath sworn in battle, a vow by steel, I swear by the dragon's in my veins... and the dragon's heart that pumps it!
War-song of the Dragon Lords:] Dragonfyre in the fray, faith and steel win the day, A god to serf and king alike, the Hammer strikes! (Devouring the infidel outlanders; Draconis Nematoda, great worm of war!)
[The Dragon Vow:] To eternal... this world shall be our empire! Imperium, throne of the Ancient Gods, behold the axiom, Wyruld-Cyninga! It is time! We shall rule, and upon our dominion the sun shall set!
[12 October: I commit this to the pages of my journal, while it is still vivid in my recollection... not that such a macabre vision could possibly be blissfully forgotten. Just dawn,