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Over yonder, far from time, there was a place in the North the Sun's rays did not bother to visit.
The woods, the fields and little rivers were cold and weak, for it was always winter here. A burdening winter, feeding from the very last breath of everything that moved - a netherland of discontent, free of the joy and bliss brought by green grass, morning dew, children's laughter.

It is said that a Dragon of terrible power lived in The Queens Cave of Winterburn. All who looked upon him would lose their breath and succombe to a gruesome death. The few inhabitants of the land could only tell tales of the creature while warmed by the crackling sound of burning ash logs, tales they themselves made up after guiding valiant knights to his lair and never hearing from them again.
'No stranger would venture in such a place', they said. 'It is folly!'

Until one day, a group of warriors appeared, with the mission to destroy the foul beast and send it to the fiery chasm from whence it came. Shimmering knights of majesty, coming from Mountfort sought the courage of taking on the adventure of their lives.
Among them, one stood out. A tall, blue-eyed warrior with blood-stained armour. Dragonfly, they called him. He was the youngest descendent of Sir Devin the Bold, the King's Hand.
Hope was high and the strong young men of the West marched against the beast on a gloomy, gray morning, through the flickering light of the woods.
So they wandered for days, weeks... Who knows? Time is of no value here, you can only feel it in your bones while walking becomes harder and harder.

Suddenly, the snap of a twig and the crunch of a few dry leaves on the forest floor made the group stop. Could it be that they have found the foul creature? Could it be that this is when they would find their eternal glory? Their eyes became big and bright and a smile came upon their faces. Dragonfly was not smiling, for he had heard the tales. He knew what he was standing up against, but somehow he was not afraid. What better end could a warrior hope for than fighting the battle of his life?

Utter darkness. The stars were veiled. The moment had come.
From behind a group of trees, a large flame came out and made its way to the skies. As they got closer, the knights could see the shadow of the terrible Dragon. It spread far and wide, covering a large portion of the forest. A shadow in the darkness, watching their every move. Smiles perished.
The beast had initiated his attack and already some of the men were laying motionless on the forest floor. No armour could bare the heat of a Dragon's flame, nor the strikes from his strong arms. Swords were drawn and held high, they flew in the direction of the creature but his scales were impenetrable. How could one be victorious over such might?
The silence of the night cradled the screams of the warriors.

Dragonfly saw his knights falling one by one. There he was... In this fight, all alone, stuck in a hellhole on his own.
But surrender was no option for him now. He blessed the souls that were sent to the other side.

'If you dare just look into my eyes', he shouted. 'My steel is warm and my face is stained with blood.' He raised his sword and in a heroic leap he managed to slide it accross the Dragon's face. Blood came gushing out. He would not stop. Another few hits...
For a moment everything was frozen again. And everything was quiet.
For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes. The same shade of blue radiated, same clarity, same intenisty of holding on to life. Another few hits... and it would all be over. Howls in the night.

The bleeding Dragon lay hurt on the ground. His big eyes no longler sparkled. His short breaths would melt the snow under his head.
The knight stood above him, sword drawn and ready to strike.
There was no use for the creature to beg. He would be sent to hell. The warrior's faith was far too strong., there was nothing that could deliver his soul from the sword.

The final strike was close. What could stop the brave young man from marking his name into history?
As the skies became clear for the first time in an age, the moon revealed everything around. The dead men, the lonely trees, the wounds on the enemy's body. And the eyes. The lost hope. The thought that one's desire to live could lead to actions not approved by others. Could lead to fear and isolation. Could lead to overprotection.

The sword, now baring the blood of the Dragon, slid from Dragonfly's hands.

'You... you are free. Go!' the knight shouted.
'Why would you set me free? It is many knights' dream to see this old Dragon bleeding on the ground, giving his last breath to their strike.' said the Dragon.
'We are not so different, you and I. Fighting battles to protect what we love, what we have, what we want.'
'I've already lost what I had and loved. Somewhere else there's a different world, with the sun that will rise and the moon that would take its place at dusk. I've seen it long ago along with many of my kin. But we were banished, as who would ever learn to accept a beast...'
'That is where I am going and you are welcome to come as my companion. You shall be called Howlgrad the Ashstorm and we shall be fighting many battles together, to keep the Sun up in the skies where it blongs.'

The Dragon rose from his near grave and took a bow in front of the lonely warrior that defeated him single-handedly. Dragonfly repeated the motion and they both took off into the mist of the new day dawning.

So, as it has come to be, in this place in the North, with mountains and valleys, where the people can now see the Sun, there was a battle between the Dragon and Hell Dragonfly, Dragon Knight Lord and Sun of the North, Tamer and Master of Howlgrad the Ashstorm, Seventh Seeker of the Aegis of Immortals, Regent of the Mystic Undying Realm, Elder in the Order of the Schwarze Sonne, God of War.