"Maybe it was the way the lookout up in our crow's nest screamed, but I have never had such a fright shoot through me as that day when we all awoke to see the great carved dragon heads of the Arden Wall. During the night the ship had strayed off course, putting us just off the coast of that cursed island. The captain began shouting and cursing for us to set every sail, but even as we worked our hands bloody in our haste we could hear the beating of wings, and before the sun was even well over the horizon five of those monsters flew out over the island wall and were upon us. One of those beasts, the color of the water he was, grabbed poor Turkil up in his jaw and bit down so hard we could all hear every bone in the lads body snap, he wasn't screamin' after that. Then the dragon spat what was left in a big bloody wad onto our foredeck and told us to think ourselves fortunate. We all agreed and put the isle to our stern as fast as possible. We left Turkil to the sharks and threw some coin in the water for the favorable wind Brachis sent our way, so you won't mind me saying lad that if you want to go to that bloody damned island, you'll have to find some other old fool to carry you."

 -Overheard in a dockside tavern.

 In the center of the Sea of Arden, between the Red Mountains and the southern tundra of Orsica, lies the last stronghold of the ancient Great Dragons. Born of the blood of Galamadrix, they have ruled for thousands of years. And it is only the most foolhardy or maybe the bravest of individuals who attempt to set foot there without their consent or knowledge. Only those nobility from each of the nations of the west who plan to be named as a keeper of one of the seven Dragonblades is allowed to enter, and even then only after much ceremony and talking.