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!
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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 them. A sibilant
whispering which seemed at once familiar and yet
intrusively alien compelled me to walk to the edge
of a particularly sinister looking edifice and
peer out over its precipitous perimeter. When I
did so, I beheld this world of ours, recognizing
vaguely the apparent shapes of the five
continents, yet the entire vista seemed so distant
that the whole appeared in its entirety no larger
than a sphere which I could fit snugly into the
palm of my hand. When I turned again to behold the
looming obelisks, I found I could then easily read
the previously untranslatable ciphers in the black
stone. They were the words of a great
thaumaturgist who had seemingly discovered a
repository of aeons-old lore detailing the
sidereal web of the cosmos, with arcane diagrams
pinpointing certain astral portals and places of
empyreal potency, a sort of pangalactic ley-line
chart, if you will. Indeed, these Star-Maps Of The
Ancient Cosmographers seemed to take a not
insignificant toll on the author's sanity, as
evidenced by the tone of his inscriptions, which
seem to suggest that in discovering this Pandora's
Box of dark elucidation, his fate was to be
inexorably dogged by some nameless and implacable
gloom;