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In the glory days of Baksheva, before the Drought, when Gorimon was the greatest city in the known world, the Parech of Baksheva decided to forge the most powerful weapon in the world to challenge the mighty White Dragon. The Parech had grown greedy and bored, his treasure-hold filled with the riches of the world, and he desired nothing except the one thing he could never have, the unborn daughter of the White Dragon, the fairest, purest, and most beautiful creature in the Universe. He had asked the White Dragon for her daughter’s hand in marriage, but she has refused, scolding him for his insolence and warning him to keep his distance from immortals. And so the Parech sought the advice of a mighty Sorcerer, the dark and cruel Aos, to learn how to kill one of the Draic Kin. The Sorcerer told the Parech of the white silver of Mount Tireney, the strongest substance in Arcadia, and how it could be forged by magic to kill even one of the Kin. The Parech ordered his army to go north, across the ocean, and to bring back enough white silver to shape a weapon. When his men returned with the rare metal, the Parch ordered the finest blacksmith in Baksheva to his castle where Aos the Sorcerer cast a spell to create an unholy forge. Ten days and ten nights it took before the exhausted blacksmith could present a tall spear to his emperor, but before the spear could be used to kill one of the Kin, it had to be bathed in blood. Beheading the poor blacksmith and the soldiers who had retrieved the white silver from Mount Tireney, the Parech’s private bath was filled with their blood. As he dropped the silver spear into the red bath, watched over by Aos, a terrible scream erupted, and steam rose up in a red, foul-smelling cloud. When the steam lifted, the blood was all gone, and the spear was glowing in a deep, red colour. With the terrible weapon now ready to be wielded, the Parech issued a challenge to the White Dragon, to either surrender her daughter to him for marriage, or to suffer a painful death at his hand. Enraged, the White Dragon refused him yet again and flew to meet the Parech, his Sorcerer, and his thousand-strong army on the green fields outside Gorimon. Of the magical silver spear, she knew nothing, and the Parech kept it wrapped in a cloth by his side. “Bring your forces around, Parech!” warned the White Dragon. “If you do not, I will lay waste to them all.” “I wish my men no harm, “ lied the Parech, “for this is between the two of us.” He then rode forward, alone, and dismounted his horse, but stayed within reach of the spear. The White Dragon landed before him, and she said, “You are brave to face me like this when you know you cannot harm me.” Then the Parech raised a hand as if to greet her, but it was instead a sign to his Sorcerer, the terrible Aos, who cast a mighty spell to hold the White Dragon while the Parech drew his silver spear. The White Dragon fought bravely and she was close to escaping the Sorcerer’s magic, but the Parech was quick and he thrust the magic spear into her chest. She screamed in pain and anger, and the Sorcerer’s spell could no longer hold her. Rising on her beautiful wings, blood pouring down on the land below, she cursed Baksheva, her Parech and her people, for all time. Wherever the White Dragon’s blood fell, the land turned arid, and grass became sand. The Parech sent his army to follow the White Dragon and to bring back her egg, the Drought grew and within days the once-proud Empire of Baksheva was turning into a desert. Then followed a fierce storm that tore across the land for one hundred days and nights, and when the dust settled, there was nothing left of Baksheva but two coastal cities and a few scattered oasis. It is said that in the buried ruins of a lost capital, wrapped in the arms of the Parech who dared test the immortal, rests the silver spear of Gorimon.
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