In the grand and large region of Centerrum , many a city, and many a kingdom stood. Across the continents there were grand towers, grand people, and grand empires. Yet the world did not change in any of these grand places, instead it changed in the city of Sbuk. 

The city of Sbuk was certainly not a grand city, but it was not a dingy or decrepit one either. It was a mediocre city with mediocre people and a mediocre king. 

The city sat upon the Ruksótin, the rocky river. It was the capital of the lands of this river, an importance far more than it deserved. To their west was the Stoneway mountains, of the dwarves, and to their east was the pinerocks. The pinerocks were a region of their realm, yet little presence of the king was felt there. 

Within the center of this city was a castle. Built of cobbled stone, and covered in vines the castle was quite visually appealing. Within this castle sat the king. This king sat on the throne over many a borning, but safe day. The only worry he had was the idle threat to the north, the Empire of Bundumumír. As years passed however, no movements were made by the dragon tamers, and the Empire was not often in the king's mind. 

This would all change of course, when the Emperor of the barren lands sent his dragons south. Within fifteen minutes of the dragon's arrival, the city was in flames. The king had managed to escape his castle, not long before it crumbled due to the dragon's breath. He had fled to a hill nearby, overlooking the city. Upon reaching the top of this hill, the king looked down to see his city of Sbuk. The city was in flames, the citizens screaming and crying, and the towers falling.

Surprisingly, the king did not have a look of fear, or urgency on his face. He simply looked blank. And standing there, at the top of the hill, seeing his city in ruins and his people dead or dying, the king took out his pipe. It was quite a long pipe, made of wood and covered in ornate designs. The craftsmanship was quite immaculate. He lit his pipe, and began to smoke tobacco. He blew a smoke ring, fitting in quite well with the smoke of the burning city. 

As he continued to smoke, a red dragon and its rider spotted him and his silver crown. As the dragon dove, the king did not move, and as it opened its mouth he stared down it. The fire billowed out, engulfing the king completely. Once the dragon had passed, there was nothing left of the king, or his tobacco pipe. The age of fire had come, and the city of Sbuk, and its king was its first victim.