The great wyrm's sinuous form rests twined around the shipwreck. He uncoils his neck at your approach, graceful and imposing in equal measure, red eyes glowing like beacons in the baleful fog enshrouding Silvertear Lake. You can feel his voice seep into your very bones as it booms and echoes through the air. Who treadeth now upon my bones and waketh me from slumber sweet? Speak, mortal, and I shall listen.