Riding on the back of a shooting star the Dragon fell from the sky. Devastation and destruction reigned.

The Slayer appeared. No one knew from whence he came, but he quickly found friends willing to die for him.

A valiant battle, the Dragon was destroyed, but the Slayer was dealt a mortal wound.

With dying breath he bestowed magic upon his faithful companions.

Take my bones, he said. Make beads for your children that the magic may live against a time when another Dragon may fall from the sky. 

Generations have passed. The magic is as fractured and divided as the Ancestor’s descendants. 

In shadows some seek to restore the Slayer’s glorious powers.

A restoration whose price is madness.