All of the dragons are dead. Or, at least, all of the dragons live somewhere else and have not been seen or heard from for a very long time. Dragons were, for the most part, wicked viperous misers, almost manic in their desire for both riches and admiration. Born in the Immortal Furnace, or what is more commonly known as Eem’s Core, dragons sprang from the whirling firestorms of a forgotten age. It is believed that the volcanic chasm from which they first emerged has since gone cold, somewhere far to the north in the Broken Country, where no man or kingdom has ever dwelled.
Dragons are hulking, iron-hided juggernauts with lantern eyes and enormous, gaping maws stretched into perpetual grins and grimaces, regardless of mood. They will just as soon perplex you with riddles as raze a city to ashes. In older, more uncivilized days, dragons were among the worshiped deities of various folk and boggart civilizations–for they alone, in the great bestiary of Eem possessed the ability to conjure fire. In those times, sacrifices and offerings were heaped upon tall, wiry spires. Dragons would take wing and snatch the offerings like predatory birds, their cruel shadows stretching over the realms, reminding mortal folk of their grand and impervious enormity.
Indeed, though they are nigh invulnerable and live remarkably long, natural lives, they can be killed. There are several instances of this in history, generally depicted in pictographs and chivalric tapestries. Generally dragons were killed by their only natural enemy: the Therafreet (sometimes referred to as Luffdungor), a fabled, winged creature hailing from an island continent some miles to the west of Middle Kingdom shores, who contested by nature a dragon’s avarice and malice.
Today there are no dragon’s known by name, save for the tales that tell of a very old and diminished wingless wyrm by name of Gargamug, living deep in the swampy caverns below Murbletoad Marsh. However, these stories wouldn’t likely survive much scrutiny…