Of Monsters and men
Prologue
Fire. Lioth’s entire world was fire as her serpentine form, its size dwarfing even the leviathans of old, bathed in the magma deep within in the Earth’s molten core. The liquid fire was a comforting balm against the leathery wings that wrapped around her frame, cocooning her. Even her thick red scales tingled pleasurably at the soothingly warm touch, their smooth surface glistening with a pristine gloss after countless years of being polished from within the inferno.
Lioth stirred slightly as she continued dreaming—of wars fought eons ago between men and monsters; of sprawling draconian empires that spanned entire continents; of magicks powerful enough to slay even the gods and cast them down from the heavens.
As she slept, Lioth let out a soft breath. Magic, thick and rich in power, poured from her nostrils in a bluish miasma, invisible to those not attuned to the astral. Before the miasma could escape, the swirling tendrils of magic were quickly drawn back to Lioth, compelled by her unspoken will, and injected into her body.
Upon her belly, a patch of fractured scales that hid a grievous wound just beneath the surface began to glow the same bluish light of the magic. But slowly, under the nurturing care of magic, the cracks started to seal and the wound beneath began to heal. Time flowed onward and countless millennia passed as Lioth continued to slumber.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
As she regained her strength.
Finally, the last of the magic infused into her body faded, its glow dimming to reveal her now flawless scales. And as the last of the magic dissipated into nothingness, the world itself seemed to grind to a halt, as if waiting with baited breath.
Lioth’s eyes snapped open.
Thin mucous membranes slid aside from the massive orbs smoldering with a malevolent and utterly inhuman intelligence, and the pupils narrowed to thin slits. Revealing herself in all her draconic majesty, Lioth’s wings lazily unfurled and stretched out wide, their monstrous span large enough to cast a shadow upon a small country.
A low growl, the agitated grumble of a titan rousing from its slumber, rumbled at the back of her throat as a cold blue light began to emanate from between the many rows of her clenched teeth. Lioth took in a deep breath and drank in the fire around her, her scaled chest swelling. Then with a roar powerful enough to make the Earth tremble, Lioth whipped her head forward, a torrent of blue flames and raw magic pouring forth, flooding into the world.
For Lioth, the Great Wyrm, had awoken.
And magic had returned.