[The Oracle of Logres:]
It was a time of change. The descendants of the Atlantean mages had fallen
before the New Praesidium, and the wolves were baying at the Empire's door.
An oppressive new faith was encroaching from the east, and the sylvan liege
had locked tight the gates of his arboreal realm. And so it was that towards
the end of the Age of Mystery, the last of Albion's great Dragon Lords did
gather for what would be their final battle...
[The War-song of the Dragon Lords:]
Dragon-phalanx rend the sky, Albion our gleaming prize,
Sentinels of land and sea, guardians of destiny.
(Prowling amongst the pecseatan; Draconis Bipedes, swift and furious beast of battle!)
[The Dragon King's Vow:]
(Dragon-Runes etched by the firey tongues of the IX Legio Draconis into the
primordial stone of the great Logres Drachenstahl Cromlech):
The foes of this sceptred isle shall be driven back into the sea!
An oath sworn in battle, a vow blessed by steel,
I swear by the dragon's blood in my veins... and the dragon's heart that pumps
it!
[The War-song of the Dragon Lords:]
Dragonfyre in the fray, faith and steel shall win the day,
A god to serf and king alike, the Adamantine Hammer strikes!
(Devouring the infidel outlanders; Draconis Nematoda, great winged worm of war!)
[The Dragon King's Vow:]
To victory eternal... this world shall be our empire!
Dragon Imperium, throne of the Ancient Gods, behold the axiom, Wyruld-Cyninga!
It is time! We shall rule, and upon our dominion the sun shall never set!
[12 October: 1893]
I must commit this to the pages of my journal, while it is still vivid in my
recollection... not that such a macabre vision could possibly soon be
blissfully forgotten. Just before dawn, I awoke from a fantastic and somewhat
horrifying dream in which I traversed a great black cyclopean cityscape,
its towering stygian walls inscribed with some form of outlandish glyphs which
seemed to writhe squamously and alter their shape even as I gazed at
