The White Dragon and the Chosen One

The black wizards have set their minions on gatherings East and West. Tents were flattened and many were taken. They were not the first gatherings trampled. They will not be the last. Councils held throughout the land vow to continue to gather. The red and blue wizards continue to bicker in their impotence. The wizard chief calls for the factions to reconcile falls on deaf ears. The land founders, the people downcast.
The black wizards continue to weave their spells, taking profit from illusionary gains. The dragons are loose in the land pillaging the storehouses while winter begins to bite. I sit in a cold kitchen feeling the chill air press. How many want for work? How many look at their meager shelves and scheme for ways to stretch it more.
When will the white arise? I hear rumors of their stirrings. There was hope the wizard chief was of the white. Some still hope, but hope is fading as he seems to grovel and scrape at the feet of the black. If only he would stand and that hope prove true.
Still, the white wizards are said to summon their power. It is said the white has dragons, too. The old ones tell of a great white dragon that awakes at the appointed time when the chosen one finds the narrow gate to his chamber. I have heard the chosen one is with us now. I have also heard he does not yet know he is chosen. The white wizards watch and guide, but the chosen one must discover his own destiny.