Updated: Sep 15, 2021

Everything starts somewhere. For Last Fables, we had an amazing video teaser to sort of officially kick things off, utilizing the talents of a lot of wonderful people to bring to life our vision. But the teaser wasn’t the first thing Weaver and I started working on for this project, and I thought today I’d sort of pull back the curtain a bit and show off our creative process and some of what we’ve done together.

Last Fables started with Weaver and me bouncing ideas back and forth. We both did some writing and some drawing, sketching things out with both words and art, but there is a reason I’m leaving everything public-facing when it comes to art in his capable hands!

The point is, though, that we started from something extremely basic and from it developed everything that goes into a story of this scope. An important part of that process, in our eyes, was building the lore of the setting. One of our goals was to make the world of Last Fables appear as vivid as the real one, and that meant that it needed a rich history of its own.

To that end, we created a detailed timeline, populated with all sorts of interesting events. I’m a bit of a history buff, and creating the fictional history of an entire world was naturally extremely appealing. Aerodan, the world of Last Fables, has a long history full of all the things that make real history worth reading.

What we have to share today is a little sliver of that history that was brought to life when Weaver decided the best way to answer the question, “What does a wyvern look like?” was with art. Personally, I think he came up with a pretty good answer, and it seemed only fitting to write up the event that his art depicts.

I do hope you enjoy this first taste of the history of Aerodan! We’ll be continuing to post blog updates with all sorts of different Last Fables content; there are some very exciting things coming I can hardly wait to talk about. Until next time, I’ll leave you with this: the Wyrmerian Wyvern.

"The graceful spires and lush gardens of Vallorin had been the pride of Volkis for uncounted generations, the city as unyielding as the citizens who had never bowed to a conqueror. But when the wyvern came it brought with it ruin and turned all to slag and ash. Fires burned for months until all that still stood was the blackened towers of the royal palace. A year after the blaze had sputtered out at last, nothing had taken root in the cracked gray earth that surrounded the keep for the better part of three miles. Misshaped craters that had once been foundations and irregular lumps of melted stone that had once been walls dotted the wreckage, but the fire had burned too hot for the bones of the wyvern’s victims. Five hundred thousand mammals had blown away as dust, and no one had been so foolish as to disturb the monster’s nest. Until the coming of the Slayer. He had crossed the ruins at night, while the beast slept, and scaled the walls of the city as the sun began to rise. Seven times he had already battled it, and seven times he had failed. There would not be an eighth. The wyvern had awoken as he clambered up a protruding cliff that had once been a buttress, but there was no fear in his heart as the Slayer drew his whip sword. Plumes of dust kicked up by a few threatening flaps of the wyvern’s wings filled the air, but the Slayer did not need to see the monster to attack. The edges of his weapon glowed first red and then burst into brilliant white flames as he swung it in an ever-widening circle, the enormous monster bellowing its fury from a mouth that could have swallowed him whole.

With a single monstrous inhalation the wyvern turned the day as hot and as dry as an oven, the air itself shimmering with the heat that baked off its inner furnace hotter than ever. The Slayer stood his ground, waiting for the opening he knew would come even as his whip sword thrummed above him, shooting off sparks as the dust in the air ignited. And then, just as the warrior shifted his balance and prepared to strike, the wyvern’s head shot forward."

- Rengard Mithrideirn: The Seven Labors