Patriarch: They are my sworn enemy, those with that specific ocular shade. But bright though such silver shimmers may shine, they are overshadowed by the Draconic essence that pervades your soul!
Character: If that is the case, it seems we have similar souls
Patriarch: In a way, yes. All who have Dragon blood in their veins are partly one and the same being. but before we continue our conversation, please allow me to introduce myself. I am the Patriarch, of the Old Creator Race, true dragon, one of few within the universe beyond the Great Chaos. I bid you welcome in this lair. May it be a haven for you away from the spear and fire that hunt our kind.
Character: Is Patriarch your real name?
Patriarch: No. It is merely what I was called by the peoples of this Earth. My name cannot be uttered here for it is itself a spell of creation what would give different shape to these surroundings and would spawn new unheard of species. Even dwelling on it in my mind may topple nearby statues or push new breeds of flowers from the ground.
Character: Why are you hiding here?
Patriarch: Hiding? Oh no, that is not what I am doing. I am merely resting here for a while. Another year perhaps, or a thousand. What are millenia to me anyway, but the blink of an eye?
Character: Why did Maxos seek to enter the Hall of Echoes?
Patriarch: Knowledge was his answer to that question, power was the truth his eye betrayed. But I opened a gateway for him too, deep beneath the scorched wastelands of Yuthul Gor. He was successful as we almost always was, though now...But that is of no consequence. Nothing humans do really is.
Character: You said those with silver eyes are your mortal enemies, but how could the slayers possibly hurt you?
Patriarch: I could destroy armies of them, but it is not my place to do so. I shall still live when all their bones are dust and their civilization lies forgotten. Nonetheless, I hate them for their blind attempts to eradicate all that is Draconic. They destroy so many of the phenomena given unto them by our mediators, the Dragon Knights. Heedlessly, they crumble great sources of wisdom and beauty, that is why I despise them
Character: You are perhaps the rarest creature I shall ever meet. but still, doesn't Damian employ Dragons?
Patriarch: He does, the cunning devil. But they aren't real Dragons anymore. They are empty husks, soulless shells bereft of all that made them part of the ancient race. Pity them if you meet them, and give them a swift death
Character: Long have I searched for one such as yourself, because I seek to enter the Hall of Echoes.
Patriarch: Truly, may I ask why?
Character: My business there is the end of Damian, the Curse of Rivellon
Patriarch: Ah yes, the Damned One. How insignificant his role within the fabric of the cosmos, how decisive in the lives of the ephemera that is mankind. Nevertheless, I shall give answer to your query as I did for Maxos when he asked me the same. The Hall of Echoes is a place of memory and marvel, physical in shape, ethereal in nature. It is unreachable if one has not the means to enter, but immediate and everywhere if one has. Go on from here and I shall make a gate materialize beneath the roots of Irminsul. The old riddler will like the attention.
Character: I must leave, great Patriarch
Patriarch: May Ouroboros the Dragon God watch over you.
