Generations ago Witch reigned over the realms. The Black Lady from Dhemlan was not a friend of the people. Subjugating them until they turned on her. So history tells us. But the events that followed make us wonder if perhaps our ancestors were wrong.
Who was the truly corrupt? Witch, Hand of Darkness, Chosen by Mother Night herself? Or the people who turned on her like beasts, and broke the world with her murder?
Surely what followed was not peace or prosperity. Blight. War. Murder. Famine. Disease.
They woke them, our Witch murdering ancestors. First in Dena Nehele, leading to the decimation of the territory. And then in Hayll. They rose, one after the other. Waking from centuries long slumbers to take to the skies. Their fire burned land and people alike. Their rage was inferno. The world cracked open. The Winds fell dormant. And dragons filled the skies.
It was a purge. Perhaps a necessary one.
And now we live beneath the shadow of their wings, and the Queen that rose to rule them. Witch, the people whisper. And they are not wrong. She wears the Black, unseen since the murder of the Black Lady of Dhemlan. Some claim she is the Black.
Some worship her. Some serve her. Others stand against the ravages of the dragons. Against what they see as the unfair destruction of all they have built. The fires burn less hot now, but the animosity remains.