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Nulumriel was too powerful. None but a god could drive her out of the Nightlands, and the gods were all dead. Unless ... We were probably mad to try it. We would likely come to regret it. We had little other options, and desperation makes for strange bedfellows.
My grandfather used to tell us stories of the dragon Torryn. Torryn, if he was real, had been banished to a prison in the far west by the gods of old. Powerful even by the standard of dragons Torryn had set his sights on Elanehtar itself. Seeking to slay and replace Verecocho as the god of magic Torryn assaulted the gates of heaven and earned the ire of all the gods. Even defeated and broken the gods of old found that Torryn was too powerful, his magics too potent to risk slaying him and freeing his soul from his mortal body.
A prison was forged. Aren stole Torryn's original name, seeking to reduce the dragon's power with it, and in chains of soulsteel, in a cage of platinum, the dragon was caged. Far to the west, beyond the deserts and the mountains. A prison chained to the earth. A dragon undying. A threat even the gods feared.