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Stories of the Moon

I've been collecting stories of Tara, or rather her nightly appearance in the sky, for some time now. These underground barbarian dragon priests have their own version of what that sphere is, of course. It is quite different from what I believe, but interesting all the same.

As we ate, after the Nemeddian priests had restored our energy and spells, I asked one of the faint specters how they thought of that lovely orb. I have found that different people have different stories of my Lady's existence and theirs was quite different.

The specter told me a lovely and sad story.

Once, when the world was young, long before Faery touched this world, there were few people and many dragons. All the dragons were metallics, beautiful and shining. The blacks shone like black pearls from the deep seas near the Daggers and the reds like the brightest dwarf-hoarded ruby. Most dragons were good, regardless of their color, and they interbred and the colors mixed and those interbred dragons had beautiful new-colored children. The world's dragons were a bright and happy rainbow.

Then the Kaeron came. They found some of the older dragons, those that believed only in pure-colored blood and shunned the new pearly pink dragons and those blues with golden sheen to their skins. With their powers of persuasion they twisted these dragons into believing that only those of pure blood had a right to life and that they must kill those interbred ones and those who bred to make them.

There was a horrible war, not really even a war, but a slaughter. Thousands of dragons died. As the dragon blood touched the scales of those who slew their brothers from hatred, their brightly burnished scales lost their deep and beautiful hues and these dragons became harsh primary colors, the ones the evil dragons wear today. There were many centuries of running and hiding, and the still-metallic dragons became mostly silver, gold, brass and the other good colors we know. They lived in small bands and tried to stay far apart and build secret bases to breed more good dragons to overcome those who slaughtered their brethren. There was an occasional pink or purple dragon and even a few of the blacks and reds had retained their true coloring and good nature. These last were looked upon by the evil dragons as favored prey and their numbers dwindled rapidly until a single black dragon remained.

His name, well it was long and confusing as most dragon names are, but his friends called him Urush in battle. He loved a silver named, for short, Aby. Their home cavern was getting too full and there was fear that their numbers would attract attention soon. Urush and Aby agreed to scout a new hiding place and start their home there. They wandered far and wide and after many months of searching, finally found a place they thought would be safe. Unfortunately the unseen influence of Faery was great in their hiding hole and as the passed the night in their new home, before going back to call others to join them, one of the Kaeron appeared and cast them out, while calling the evil dragons to come to feast. Urush and Aby flew high, higher than they had ever been, away from the smiting claws and biting jaws. Finally, there seemed to be no more air and their pursuers decided to draw one deep breath together and release it on the two of them. But The Dagda, in his wisdom, decided to encapsulate them in a sphere and save their lives, as they were his, seeking refuge in his underground places. The sphere protected them, but was blown far into space. And there it spins to this day, around Angaria, showing both the sheened black of Urush and the silver of Aby. And so the Draconic word for Tara, urushaby.

Legend says that if all the evil dragons are destroyed, Urush and Aby will return and there will once again be sapphire blues and blacks like pearls.

Very different from my Tara, eh?