During the siege of Redoubt, Balagos, Wingleader of the Third Dragonian Legion, approached the city gates, alone and unarmed. The sunlight blazed off his glossy, crimson scales, casting little droplets of red light down upon the sand where he walked.

“Hear me, O City, for I bring the gift of Maelforge!

I speak to you now of his benevolence, of the city of S’maw’g, capital of the Dragonian Empire in the most holy Plane of Fire. For eons uncounted, we lived there in peace and plenty, taking all we needed from the ash of the land and the sulfurous skies, and sailing on the seas of lava to trade with goblin and gnoll and clever devil.

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But down from the sky swooped the Flame Sire, and his rage boiled the very ground beneath our feet. He roasted and ate the grown and the old, leaving only the young amid toppled, blackened marble.

“Try again,” growled the dragon, as smoke from between his teeth rose to the sky. “This time, do not be so soft.”

And so we built a new Smaw’g with thick walls, and sailed out to raid the goblins, and gnolls, and devils. Over the centuries, we enslaved their peoples and conquered their lands.

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But Maelforge came again, and his claws brought magma bubbling up from the rock. He broke our ships and he devoured our dams and sires and he left the young weeping amid the tumbled city walls.

“Try again,” growled the dragon. “This time, do not be so slow.”

Now the devils and gnolls and goblins banded together, and conquered our lands, and made us slaves. Within that same generation, we rose up.

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We put their leaders and elders to the torch and enslaved their children. We conquered all their lands within two of your years, and rebuilt S’maw’g grander and more terrifying than before.

Again came Maelforge, and with his searing breath, he melted the very stone of our city down upon us, and left only the young. “Again,” is all he said, and he flew away, laughing.

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Rage filled our hearts, bitterness our bellies. To this day, in the Plane of Fire, still we conquer. Never resting, never showing mercy, outward, outward. We are forever inspired by our Sire, who comes upon S’maw’g every decade, and burns it down, leaving only the young. We send our most beloved clan members to live in the capital, our greatest warriors, and most brilliant minds, to be consumed in Maelforge’s joy.

It is a great gift to constantly lose all you hold dear, to set a fire in your bones and hone your heart to hate. Now, our whole race is a roaring flame, one that consumes all it touches. In you, the Eth, we see potential. To you we give the gift of annihilation and rebirth. You are welcome.

All companies, advance! MAY BLOOD BOIL IN YOUR WAKE!”