The Tale of Westerin

Long ago, there lived a humble craftsman named Westerin Wester. He was a soft-spoken, simple-minded man whose greatest ambition was to rise above his station and claim a noble title of his own. That dream might have faded into obscurity, had Westerin not wandered one fateful day into the domain of a cunning Green Dragon.

The wyrm saw in Westerin a malleable mortal, desperate enough to bargain, and too naïve to understand the cost. The dragon promised him lordship and influence beyond his wildest dreams. Westerin, blinded by aspiration, agreed without hesitation.

The dragon performed an ancient, invasive rite upon him - one that was neither a blessing nor a curse, but a remaking. The ritual ignited Westerin’s dormant potential, sharpening his wit to a razor’s edge. The man who had once struggled with simple arithmetic now grasped alchemical formulae, biomancy theory, and arcane patterns as though he had always known it.

With his mind awakened, Westerin discovered he could sculpt a perfect lineage that could conquer empires and outlive this world. His dreams had changed. Nobility no longer satisfied him. He now wanted a dynasty, a line that would spread across the Coastlands, generation by generation, until his descendants occupied every seat of power, from the cold northern wastes to the fair lands to the south.

Westerin would divide his perfect bloodline into two castes: the greater of his line - bold and decisive rulers that would command the lands they had conquered - and the lesser of his line - deliberate and precise administrators that would advise and serve their greater kin with absolute loyalty. To prevent his dynasty from collapsing in upon itself, from greed or pride, Westering would weave into his lineage a deep seated loyalty and aversion to the spilling of Wester blood.

From his stronghold in the north, Westerin began siring descendants, and placing them into positions of influence. He did so quietly at first, spreading his domain southward like a creeping vine.

Decades would pass, children grew, and grandchildren were born into the burgeoning Wester Empire. Only then did Westerin realize what he had overlooked - the dragon’s “blessing” had concealed a curse. The dragon had placed a draconic seal upon Westerin and his line, and through it, the dragon could whisper to his descendants, influence their thoughts, and peer through their eyes into the world they lived in.

Westerin had found the Greater Westers - willful and bold - could resist the whispers, but the Lesser Westers - supportive, deferential, and orderly - took to the dragon’s whispers like dry parchment drinking spilled ink. Unable to differentiate the dragon’s whispers from their own thoughts, they would become its unwitting mouthpieces, relaying its nudges and suggestions to their greater counterparts, swaying their every decision through everyday bureaucracy.

In time, a horrifying revelation overcame Westerin: the traits granting the greater of his line resistance to the dragon’s influences were recessive. If left unchecked, his lesser kin would quickly outnumber the greater, and his dynasty would become nothing more than the dragon’s pawns.

Old, weary, and burdened by the consequences of his past, Westerin would institute a grim family tradition to preserve his dynasty. His lesser descendants, short and thin, would be magically sterilized at birth, not out of cruelty, but out of love for his dynasty.

With death approaching, and paranoia of a failed dynasty tightening its grip over him, Westerin sought to free his family from the dragon’s clutches. In secret, even from his closest of kin, Westerin created the Artifacts of Wester, a set of ceremonial weapons, armor, and tools forged with alchemical precision from black onyx. He bound them to the fate of his lineage as the weapon that would either save them or damn them to servitude.

In his final moments, Westerin would imprint his spirit onto the artifacts, staying behind as a guiding echo, awaiting the day a worthy Wester would take up his burden.