The dragon dwelled deep beneath the earth, the mountain, and the memory of mankind in the Northern Wastes. Quiet, but angry, it was lodged in the heart of the world and kept watch over the crystal that hung there, holding the world's first, and last true god.
I don't remember their name any more.... only...
It lifted a head as large as a barn and as broad across. It opened a maw that gaped like a cave and roared out a flame as wide and as forceful as rivers. The tongue of fire struck the walls, fanning out like liquid, and turned the heavy heartstone, black and veined in red, and melted it to a surface as smooth and reflective as glass. It stretched its talons and scarred a ground so scarred already that it had been carved into a bowl, and the basin of that bowl had been filled with stone dust ground so fine it could have been powder. It was the world's greatest mortar and pestle, grinding, and grinding away, until there were nothing left.
