Prelude Additional Chapter: The Final Rest
Greyoll
In the shadowed expanse of Dragonbarrow, Greyoll, the once revered Mother of Dragons, lay maimed among the ruins of her dominion. The land, which she had ruled alongside her consort, was now a charred cemetery of drakes—her children—strewn about in death or agony. With a labored effort, Greyoll raised her colossal head towards the bleak sky, her body a wreck of betrayal and ruin. Her legs were shattered, wings irreparably torn and mutilated by the magma of the very mate she had once cherished, who in his relentless quest for supremacy had turned against her, before he took flight to challenge Placidusax himself.
For centuries, Greyoll had soared the skies, her strength unchallenged, and her council sought by creatures both fearsome and meek from the Dragonlord himself, and even by the beastmen and Demi-humans who occupied the lands below. Yet now, a profound helplessness seized her ancient heart as she roared, once fearsome and commanding, she broke into a shrill, pained shriek, piercing cries of despair. The dragon matriarch was not unacquainted with defeat—she remembered the sting of loss when a human mage had boldly claimed three of her precious eggs in victory over her. But this present frailty, this utter debilitation wrought by treachery, was a torment she had never known, she found herself wishing for the Deathbirds to come and be done with her, lest she find a way to slit her own scaled throat.
In her darkest hour, Greyoll called to her kin. One by one, they limped and dragged themselves to her side, each bearing their own ghastly wounds. They nuzzled her, their presence a bittersweet comfort amidst the carnage. With a solemn determination, Greyoll maneuvered her massive jaw, biting into her front leg to move it away, to reveal her last clutch of eggs—only four had survived the brutal onslaught.
Her gaze lingered on each fragile shell, a fierce hope kindling within her ancient eyes, mingled with an undeniable hatred for their sire. She envisioned them rising, powerful and vengeful, destined perhaps to confront their dreadful father. As tears welled and mingled with the ash beneath her, Greyoll lowered her head to the earth. There she would remain, her breaths shallow, as she waited for the day when her children would stir the winds of change.
Her final cry echoed across the landscape, a mournful yet defiant call that sounded with the hope of revenge. Greyoll's eyes, heavy with the weight of centuries, slowly closed as she submitted to her fate.