"I am the black."






Brutal Black Dragon




Chaotic Evil


Kreath'Ka The Black

Played by:


Kreath'Ka is a treacherous brutal black dragon who exhibits a particularly resilient acumen and formidable intellectual acuity. This horror of Gielinor resides in the Galarpos Mountains, a frightening expanse of jagged peaks that spire above the Kandar landscape to its West. Once a 'ling of this golden land's greatest warden, he is now a behemoth with legends reckoning his unfortunately devastating return.


Kreath'Ka is a dark charcoal black in color, devoid of wounds or battlescars. The dragon's visage is brought to vibrant light with a pair of gleaming fiery-orange eyes, bright as if visitant and glaring what chaotic hatred is present. Intense spikes roll in two symmetrical rows down his back, crested by a large thin but pointed membrane rising as a fin between the spines to aid in flight. They close into a single row along the serpentine length of his tail, and at its end, no spade nor spikes are found, but instead another thin membrane for matters of flight.

The intimidating dragon is unmeasured, but estimated to by the seers to be about "two to three men tall, and several men in length." Three-toed foot prints around the Galarpos Mountains display a broad-shouldered body and talons as sharp as a whetstoned sword. Not much else is known about the beast's appearance, though.


A graphite sketch of Kreath'Ka on a boulder in the Galarpos.

The Prophecy

A prophecy, several hundred years old, dictates that a "blight" would rise during the night of a certain man's rule and bring forth ruin onto the lands. It was said that this would occur following a wrongful ruler taking helm of the throne, though it was assumed fear-mongering jargon. This was once told at its beginning by the great King Oliver Cleeves, a man who ruled prior to the Vekon regime and prided himself in being a companion of Kreath'Ka's blood father, Darastrix Viir Tiichi.

The prophecy is as told...

"Ruler, ruler of the night, unto you comes great blinding blight. Of vast sorrow this will bring forth, but surely there is succor from the noble North. With blue legend, silver sword and shield, they will sow forth the beast's first yield. And on this day comes the first golden light, the final ending of this time's forever night."

An illustrated image of the Galarpos in the prophecy.

After the original reading of the prophecy by the now long-passed great King Oliver Cleeves, a seer whom is also now long-passed envisioned and scrawled on old, dirty parchment what he'd seen marching from the fiery ruin of the Galarpos onto the magnificent city of Ardougne. Very vividly visible is either a quadrupedal demonic being of Zamorak or the Empty Lord, or a beastly dragon of unknown chromatic or metallic type. Considering the known existence of the Arandar Pass and its lesser-known conspicuous involvement with Zamorak's supposed self-proclaimed necromancy-risen son Lord Iban, it was determined to be a demon by the largely Saradominist populace of Kandarin's scholars. This idea was later denounced considering the rise of a small upstart unholy kingdom leading a small unrecognized Zamorakian group by the name of "Kardia", the same moniker as the necromantic witch who rose the unholy Lord within the pass -- according to the Museum of Varrock.
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A indeterminable demon or dragon stepping from the Galarpos flames as described by the seer.

Later assumed that Kardia was destined to wake this beast through a ritual of dark magic and demonic script, the prophecy was thought complete before it ever began by halting Kardia's advance and breaking their upstart false sovereignty apart.

Considering that of the current time (3 Novtumber, Year 4, Sixth Age) a false ruler is sat upon the throne of Ardougne, it was expected that this prophecy would be proven true if not by Kardia's fall. Alas, nothing has yet revealed itself from the mountains and the people are left at peace.

The story is only found in various texts in the citadel library of Ardougne on the first floor beside the Sunlit Hall and is now thought an old wives tale.

The Beacon

The night of Novtumber 38th, Year 4 of the Sixth Age was a devastating one. A lone sentry tower and bridge along the jagged knife-like peaks of the Galarpos stood tall in the black, a piercing spire that rose along the cold snow-draped mountains like that of a glorious fort. It was a remnant of the Vekon regime, a small outpost that remained loyal to the powerful family that had ruled over Kandarin for such a great span of time. Purple flags emblazoned with the golden head of a singular dire wolf whipped in the frosty Autumn wind on that fateful dark hour. Few soldiers stood watch over the lands, a beacon and ballista at the peak of the tower's strong limestone-grey battlements that they swore to watch over and light should a terror be seen marching towards the great city of Ardougne.

Despite their fallen rulers and the arrival of a false pleb upon the royal throne, they remained. Not to watch in case of an army, but to complete their watch. It was their duty, and all the same was it their duty to die.


A penetrating high-pitched cry reverberated along the valley walls and cavernous depths within the Galarpos below. The few soldiers, about eight in number, were mostly sound asleep for the cold night. Two watchmen stood guard, Tally and Geor -- Tally at the tower and Geor at its base, just at the lip of a small lime bridge reaching from the ridge line before him and to another cliff face beyond, a smaller and much more ancient tower standing place there. Both watchmen stood still as if frozen in the cold, but certainly aware of the sound.

Minutes passed like an hour in the bitter wailing winds before another cry sounded, much more present unlike the faint ghostly howl of the Galarpos cold.


This time closer. This time at an altitude. It was not far South from the sentry post that this sound originated, its resonance bouncing back-and-forth between the peaks with an eerie attendance. Unsettled, Geor turned about and took off for the thick oaken door at the tower's snow-coated base. Barging inside, he swept a torch from an iron sconce alongside the entryway and rushed up the staircase with which spiraled along the tower walls.

"Awake, lads! Bring ye'self up -- we've a beast! A beast!" Geor hollered, rushing along the crude straw-lined beds to rouse his men-at-arms. He slapped the old wooden bedposts with a steel-gauntleted fist, the metallic thwump enough to spook the soldiers back to consciousness.

"Whas' the meanin' of this?" One of the six named who was called Reever responded groggily while the others woke at what seemed to be a snail's pace. It had been a decade since they were forced to wake so suddenly.

"A beast, lad! A fuckin' beast! I dunno' what it is, but y'get yer' shit on and grab a weap'n!" Geor rushed off without another word, the fires of his torch vanishing up the stairs. The very moment he stepped to the roof, a third cry pierced the dark skies, snowfall thicker than when he were at the bridge.


It was upon them, the shriek piercing the low clouds and squalls of driving snow. "Man the ballista!" The watchman that had stood first at the peak of the tower, Tally, called to Geor who just stepped forth with a torch in-hand. Casting his light source to the side, the duo rushed in a team to the old and withered weapon of war, forged with powerful iron, wood and steel by dwarves from the far North. Geor stood to the rear of the massive weapon situated at the center of the tower, cranking back the winch while Tally adjusted the thick bolted capstans that held the skeins and swing-arms in solid placement. The wood and iron, while dwarf-forged, crafted and strong, groaned and cried as if threatening to split under the weight of a drawn string after such abuse in the tormenting Galarpos cold. Reever joined them, rushing from the stairs with an old wooden and iron bolt-headed shaft.

"Ammunition!" Geor roared, his voice bellowing out to echo along the windy mountain peaks. Reever followed by command and slipped it in place, wood grinding along the ballista slider and table board. The two remaining men, Tally and Reever, stepped away from the old, but still potent weapon. Geor stood to guide the ballista's aim, but there was silence. A minute passed, the only sound a ghostly wail of wind.

"Where's the fuckin' so-called 'beast', huh?" Reever groaned with ire. "Don't think the others believe ya', lad." He joked, laughing heartily in the cold at his own abashing comment after realizing no others had joined them.

"Shut yer' damn mouth lad, I know I heard somethin'." Geor spat, ballista angling skywards to search the black, snowy clouds.

"Aye, and I too. Three times I heard a hawk, but louder an' bigger." Tally nodded, supporting Geor's claims. Reever snorted, but chose to stay silent for a while longer. At least ten blistering-cold minutes passed, but only the spectral wail of howling peaks was heard. This same sound was driving them mad.

"Yer' crazy! I'm tha' lieutenant anyhow, I'll do what I choose! I'm goin' back ta' bed." Reever finally snapped before stomping with snow crunching under foot towards the stairs. The crackling of a fire was welcoming him below, the other watchmen apparently having stoked one for warmth rather than follow commands.

Geor and Tally glanced at one another as a faint but ever-closer sound with rhythm closed in.

Shwumf-shwumf-shwumf ..

It was repetitive, and it only grew louder with each beat. "What direction?" Geor spoke in a hushed voice while Tally shrugged and turned his eyes skyward. "Fuckin' useless.." Geor whispered under his breath, the other watchmen seemingly all knots on a log. The beats kept growing closer, louder and a direction was harder to pinpoint as the rhythm resonated off of the jagged mountain walls. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed a faint orange gleam bobbing towards them just to the South -- the direction at which the beastly cries were heard just earlier. The light flickered and vanished a number of times, drifting about but never moving away. It only grew brighter.

He rotated the ballista with a groan of old wood fighting against him, the rusty iron bolt head directed to the light. "Tally, look." Geor motioned ahead of the ballista, that ominous light nearing. The sounds were nearing. The beast was nearing.

"Shoot it! Fire!" Tally called, rushing over to the ballista. "That's a damned dragon, lad! Fire!" Tally wildly fumbled to take command of the weapon, but Geor angrily called back and pushed to keep him away.

"I have to take aim, man! Keep off!" He ordered, Tally shoved to the side as his boots slipped on the snow underneath. Geor kept control of the ballista and arched it just above where he could see the growing glow. His adjustments were quick, but to no avail. Slamming the hammer back, the drawstring tore forwards to throw the missile out at blinding speeds .. but instead, the capstans tore free and the arrow shaft snapped. The weapon crumbled and tore apart, wooden splinters casting into the frigid air and blasting along the tower top in a chaotic explosion of wood and dwarven metal. Geor stood wide-eyed, and Tally lay deadpan in the snow at the sight.

They had no chance.

The light blasted forth like a runaway train, it's rhythmic wing beats hushed by the roar of flames and beast both, a wall of chaotic fires raining hell upon the tower roof like a Zamorakian inferno reaping the lives of these poor but brave two watchmen. The black shape behind the fires slammed into the side of the battlements, the machicolations and corbels crumbling underneath such immense force and weight. A sickly scream shrieked from the fiery jaws of the creature, mixed with the tormented cries of Tally and Geor who burned and roasted in the liquid fire and flame that licked away their boiling, melting flesh. The watchmen below that had huddled around a fire for warmth were now fleeing for their lives from the flames, dragon fire spreading down the stairs in a torrent.

Doom lmao

The two sentry towers and bridge following the attack, with surviving watchmen dotting the arch.

The winged beast pushed free from the sentry tower, upper floor crumbling and collapsing from the force before a second inferno blew over the bridge to ignite the second tower along the other ridge, the group of fleeing watchmen grinding to a halt on the center of the stone span. But they seemed to be left at what could be assumed as peace, as the dragon's shrieking cries and wing-beats grew ever distant. Left in bone-chilling fear, with flames around to accompany their cold.

But Reever was burnt, his flesh coarse with grievous contusions and lesions, skin melted and bone exposed at his marred and mangled fingers. His eyes were burnt shut, and he could no longer hear. A line echoed in his mind while he lay immobile on the bridge, comrades realizing the severity of his wounds and rushing to his aid. He heard it from when he was a small lad, a powerful crimson-haired king having spoken the soft words that now pierced him like a spear.

"Ruler, ruler of the night, unto you comes great blinding blight."

The beacon was aflame.




  • Kreath'Ka is a play on Ancalagon The Black from LoTR.
  • His name is translated by a mix of RuneScape Draconic and D&D Draconic to "The Black Berserker" or "The Black Cloaker".
  • He can be bribed with gold, gemstones and fancy mirrors.
  • Kreath'Ka is NOT a demon, only assumed so by what is currently known.
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