dragon

Dread gripped the massif and all its creatures: squirrels chittered, bruins moaned, trees quivered. As if spawning from this fear, a great behemoth fell from the clouds like a blistering comet and enveloped the sun in its abysmal shadow. The air screamed in agony as it descended, and all the courage of day fled behind an iron barbed wall of clouds. The stars crawled forth, and those burning tears of night wavered like lonely candles in the sky. The titanic drake hammered a mighty crater as it landed, sending tremors rippling away in the vale. Its clawed fists, gauntlets of wrath, pulverized the earth as it lumbered forth. Impermeable scales encased its body, each of which like to an aegis, and spikes ran down its spine and gave way to a mace of a tail. It reared back on its haunches, in the semblance of a twin mountain, and even the oaks were but blades of grass at its feet. The wyrm’s eyes, those ebony coals of rage, contorted as it bellowed a mighty gale. The beast’s voice rumbled as of thunder, “I am the sword of death. The seeds of joy and the roots of hope whither in the hearts of my enemies.” The awful serpent bared its dagger filled maw and unleashed a gushing torrent of crimson flame. The violent pyroclasm incinerated the forest, and where oaks once stood there was only ash; it melted boulders, leaving only searing rivulets of lava; and where streams once ran, noxious vapors poured into the air. It obliterated the mountainside. The beast stood unscathed amidst a hell of its own forging. Mortuus, eldest of the dragons of wrath roared, and the world shuddered.

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