Deep in the distant northern mountains, peaks forever shrouded by black smoke, the sky rumbled and the earth shook. The dark dismal sky was filled with a sinister red light as the shackles that bound the horrid beasts crumbled to dust. The chasms between the mountains was filled with roars of delight and gratuity to an unseen benefactor.
Forever bound, forever cursed to remain entombed in the stone, guardians to deter any who dared to pass, the wyrms took great delight in their freedom. Fire filled the heavens and set alight the black clouds of soot that drifted across the mountaintops, clearing them and letting the sun shine down upon the barren wasteland where everything refused to grow.
The large wyrms with wings battered and torn leaped up to the rocky crags and from there roared to the heavens, releasing streams of fire that bathed the ground in a flickering chaotic light. From the mountaintops he descended, shrouded in darkness with eyes of silver and a cloak of night. Where he trod, the world itself seemed to bow prostrate. The wyrms themselves, creatures of evil and cunning beyond their years, with arrogance unending, lowered their heads to this ancient evil that walked their lands.
No sunlight seemed to touch him. The fires that belched forth from the earth avoided him. The wind stopped and held up the figure's cloak at his behest. Nothing could resist the eternal Destiny who sat upon the Veil of Worlds, the throne that allowed its possessor to see into each and every world, into each and every heart and mind upon whom he held dominion.
As he walked, the Wyrms stooped their heads to the ground, the flames that raced towards the sky fading as Destiny made his ominous descent from the mountains. The wind rose in rebellion and threw back his cowl, revealing the true nature of the Eternal. His eyes were closed and his lips did not move. His face was in the peaceful repose of sleep.
The sleeping king walked the lands of men once more. Down the valley he went and with his passing the proud wyrms fell silent and prostrate.
The voice of the sleeping king, came as a surprise to even the ancient wyrms. He spoke with a thousand voices yet spoke with only one. His lips did not move. The voices each spoke a thousand and one languages, yet these languages all blended into one. He spoke with the tongue of the Haien, the tongue of the worlds. At his whim, no spell would stand unbroken, no ward would hold its own, unless these were also spoken with the tongue of the Haien.
"Awaken bane of fire and let your children race across the land. Let nothing lie unblackened, destroy everything that lives" he said, the earth trembling with every word that came forth from his mouth. "Arise!" he declared and behind him all the wyrms released a jet of flame towards the sleeping king. The flame swirled around him faster and faster until it was a tempest of reds, oranges and yellows.
Into the ground the flames sank and released a mighty roar. The ground fractured and molten rock poured forth, hissing and groaning as it grew higher and higher. Dust filled the air and the wyrms hid themselves behind the rocks as a ring of flame bathed the valley in a reddish glow. When it was done, a towering figure of molten rock stood in the middle of the valley and the sleeping king was nowhere to be seen.
The figure spoke, guttural, primal and ancient. "At dawn, my children, we fly!"
Together they released a powerful roar, a declaration of vengeance against the descendants of the race that had so foolishly tried to imprison them.
Too cool.
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