The Festival of Fodakar

3,000 years ago, during the Dragon Wars, a black dragon named Fodakar had his wings ripped from him and he fell into the Stone-Sky mountains, in the far north of the continent. Nearby was the village of Kyndharvest, and when the folk of the village came to investigate the colossal noise, they found that the dragon was terribly wounded, yet very much alive. The villagers debated their next course of action for a day and a night, until the villagers decided to act in kindness towards this dragon, despite the dragon being likely to destroy them at a whim once awoken. They drug the dragon into the village square, and began to apply their healing magics to him. When Fodakar arose from his stupor, he initially reacted with hostility to the villagers, thinking them insects beneath his concern. But when he came to realize that these petty humanoids were helping him, something changed within him. Fodakar’s wounds were extensive, and the folk magic of these farmers wouldn’t heal something as mighty as an adult dragon in an instant; and none of their magic could ever restore Fodakar’s wings. So, over the next few years, Fodakar used his breath to fight off pests which threatened to blight Kyndharvest’s crops. Over time, he grew to love the village and its residents, loosing his draconic arrogance as a result. Eventually, after hundreds of years, Fodakar became ancient and his old heart began to fade. As he died slowly, he whispered to the descendants of his original friends that he only wished to fly to his horde, to bring back one last gift to the village who gave him a second chance. And so, the villagers decided that they would do whatever it took to restore their old friend’s wings, and spent the next year scouring the whole of Ulithar for information on how they could do it. Eventually, they found that a different nearby dragon had the spell which they sought… the very same dragon who had taken Fodakar’s wings in the first place. So the villagers tracked them down, a mighty gold dragon named Nevyndos, the Sun Who Walked. They beseeched Nevyndos for aid, pleaded with all of their might that the great gold dragon look past their past with Fodakar, and simply look at what he had become. Nevyndos refused to believe that a wicked and dark dragon such as Fodakar could ever be worthy of life and redemption, but they did agree to fly to Kyndharvest to hear old Fodakar out himself. When Nyvendos landed before Fodakar and demanded that he prove why they should help him. The old dragon raised his ancient head and spake thus:

“Hear me, o mighty dragon of the Sun. I am wicked, I have lived wickedly. In my youth, I sought only power and wealth, and I cared naught for the destruction I wrought. But once I was brought low by your mighty teeth and flame, these humble folk showed me kindness. They would have been right to end my wretched life, but instead, they healed me from pain and injury. These mortals showed me that the ‘greatness’ of dragons is but the shining of the gold in our hordes; easily tarnished by the blood we spill. I have lived only by the kindness of these humblest souls, and have endeavored to use what remains of my power to return that kindness. I have protected their fields, fought back against those who would prey upon them. They are my family, fleeting as they are. And the entirety of my being is spent for them. I am unworthy of redemption, as you say, but the boon I ask for is not redemption, it is simply a loan to repay a kindness; finally and forever. If I do wickedness with this gift, then rip off my wings anew, and dash me upon these mountains grey. I do not wish to live in a world whereby petty gold is a greater treasure than this home I have made.”

With this plea made, Nyvendos found their heart moved, and cast their ritual spell with the help of the village. The wings of Fodakar were restored, and with a great roar, he rose from the ground and into the sky, flying off in the direction of his old stronghold. For an entire week, the people of Kyndharvest and the dragon Nyvendos waited nervously for Fodakar’s return. Had they been tricked? Was the dark wyrm lying through his teeth? They were all about to give up hope, when at sunset on the autumnal equinox, a great dark shape filled their clouds and the old dragon Fodakar landed in his place in the square, with his entire horde carried in a net tied to his back. Fodakar apologized, saying that his old back could hardly carry the weight of all his treasures. And then, with a final “thank you,” Fodakar breathed his last. At first, Kyndharvest mourned, lamenting the loss of their protector and friend. Then Nyvendos spoke, declaring that they would take up the mantle of Kyndharvest’s protector; and that the village should repay Fodakar’s sacrifice with their own new kindnesses; every year, on the equinox.

And so we do. Every autumnal equinox, we celebrate the Festival of Fodakar, where we bring our wealth together and make a great potion to heal the sick; dressing as dragons and going door to door to ask for boons. Once the last light of the sun dims, we gather the ingredients to make what is called Fodakar’s Froth, a tasty and healing brew which children look forward to all year round.

So, friends, let the fable of Fodakar the Shadowed Giver fill your heart with warmth. And know this: even the most wicked creatures in this world, if they make efforts to change, can still find love and understanding.