Salal had spent the last four years working on a single project, sinking nearly all of his considerable wealth in great contraptions of silver and gold. He now rivaled some of the greatest gold smiths humanity had to offer and could proudly show his creations to even the dragon-kin, but that was not his goal, although it was a considerable boon in securing funding from Ratakanatiraka, the last great gold wyrm. His true goal was finding the root of magic, its origin, and hopefully why it has dissipated. Salal was strong for a young rune-mage, but the stories his grandmother told him by the roaring fires she could set with a casual wave and air-sketch enamored him and set his own heart ablaze. He yearned for the power to carve the mountains like the heroes in the old stories.
Working endlessly toward his goal, unwavering, Salal was interupted on this particular day by Ratakanatiraka as wind from its wigs as it settled in the courtyard of Salal's workshop. Hurrying out to great the great wyrm Ratakanatiraka spoke with the rumbling pervasive nature of dragon-tongue.
"HAVE YOU MANAGED TO FINISH YOUR RUNIC MACHINE OR IS IT FINALLY TIME FOR ME TO RECLAIM WHAT IS MINE?"
Salal walked at a quick pace once visible to remain dignified, not bothering to check his clothes for dragons care not for the paltry meanings of cloth.
"My work is nearly finished Ratakanatiraka, you have managed to grace me with your presence at a particularly opportune time, for within the fortnight it will be completed and I will have managed to find the origin of magic."
"YOU HAVE PROMISED SUCH BEFORE SALAL OF MITIGOTAN, YET I WILL WAIT AS EVERY TIME I GAZE UPON YOUR CREATION IT BECOMES EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN THE LAST"
"I thank you for the patience you display with the might you could display. I will make arrangements for a barrel of dwarven bone wine and a cow to be brought for your leisure."
"THIS WYRM ACCEPTS THE OFFERING AND IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE FORGOTTEN CHIMES THIS WYRM OFFERS YOU A SPARK"
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Ratakanatiraka then gently breathed a small mote of magic onto the tip of a single claw. To Salal the mote may have well been a bonfire, quickly taking out sheets of bronze and a pen of silver he quick-scribed a containment rune, boxing the mote of magic while endeavoring to not utter a sound. Walking reverently back into his workshop after the calling of the Chimes Salal breathed out a sigh and smiling. Ratakanatiraka always made a show of trying to take his gold back, but this same conversation had happened several times before and he never even so much as looked back after leaving.
Nearly eight days later, a miracle that no problems had occurred and each movement that Salal made felt as if the Ringers of the Chimes themselves steadied his hands to perfect stillness. With the care of placing feathers of glass the mote of magic now in a much more specially crafted seal was placed in the heart of the runic-machine, and with a single spell-rune the machine woke with the groaning and power of a titan and the delicate mana-weave of a star-fairy. Then, with a thrum of power the mote was expended. Salal rushed to collect the plates of runes that hold the possibility of his effort, and with shaking hands each plate was the same. Clutching the plates he ran.
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An empty throne of pulsing swirling crystal sits empty in a deep cavern shadowed in perpetual darkness. The creature of flesh and eyes lurches toward it, not a single of its numerous eyes having blinked since gazing upon the throne. It knew that it would be the most powerful thing to ever exist when it got the the throne, the crystal morphing into a dish in front of it told the creature that it would be the strongest. Just as the creature was about to touch the throne its life was snuffed out by a great needle like spike that even in its dying throes couldn't make out its wielder.
That Which Lurks was bored as the ball of flesh and eyes and teeth smashed itself toward the crystal chair below it. With almost an afterthought That Which Lurks speared the thing with one of its many legs and then eating it. That Which Lurks was hungry, it was too weak to eat the chair, although not for a lack of trying. So it has waited ever since the last monster king sat in the chair was killed by those who were stronger than him, eating the monsters that were enthralled by the chair. They used to be strong and filled That Which Lurks with delicious power, but now were too weak to satiate its hunger. Something needed to change, it had known this for long enough that it didn't remember when the idea came to its mind. That Which Lurks just didn't know what, or how to change things, so it waited and thought.