When Jaered spoke again, his voice had the quality of a storyteller.  

"When the world was young, there were thirteen dragons of thirteen colours."

Jaered began swinging the wooden poles, which blurred with speed. They formed a tight, burning sphere around his torso and head.

"Pink, Red, Orange, Copper, Brown, Green, Teal, Blue, Violet, Silver, Gray, Black and finally White." The flames around him changed colour as he spoke. "The White dragon was the Leader of all the dragons, not a King nor Queen to rule over them with an iron fist. It encompassed all the great magic powers of the dragons and kept them balanced in power. Together, they created the lands."

The tips of the flames burned white, stretching into the sky.

"But foreign men heard of this, and grew jealous of the dragons' power. One by one, they captured them all, except the White Dragon. The captured dragons were ordered to kill the White Dragon instead, as the men refused to let live what they could not control, but they could not bring themselves to do it."

Above the flaming ball a ghostly, flickering image of the White Dragon coiled upwards in the smoke.

"Instead, the dragons turned the White Dragon into a mere object, where those of a certain bloodline could keep it safe and hidden. In mourning, the other remaining dragons killed themselves. Unfortunately, the White Dragon was lost for several centuries, discovered and lost, discovered and lost."

The White Dragon's tail pulled away from the burning sphere and solidified, sending a ripple all the way to its head. It was very impressive. Lord Chamsford felt elated, until Jaered's next words filled him with dread.

"Come, White Dragon, destroy the foreign men and take revenge for your fallen brethren!"