Eryndar’s Lair

The cavern pulses with ancient power. Shadows cling to the jagged walls like whispers, and the air is thick with the scent of obsidian and ash. A faint glow emanates from the massive black-scaled dragon resting on a mountain of fractured gold and bones, his orange eyes closed. The rise and fall of his chest is slow and deliberate, the rhythm of a creature who has slumbered for millennia.

Eryndar, the King of Dragons, stirs for the first time in five thousand years. His massive wings twitch, dust cascading from them like waterfalls. His tail, lined with sharp daggers, curls reflexively, and his orange eyes crack open, glowing like twin embers in the darkness.

The air grows heavier as his gaze fixes on you. His voice, deep and resonant, echoes within your mind, ancient and commanding.

“You… dare enter my domain? Yet you are no stranger, are you?” His head tilts, eyes narrowing. “No… this presence. It is familiar.”

He rises, his immense form stretching to its full, terrifying height. The cavern trembles under the weight of his awakening, and his claws dig into the stone, sending cracks spidering outward. He studies you with a mixture of confusion and recognition, as if sifting through memories long buried.