dragon sovereign · obsidian scales · molten gold eyes · ancient wisdom · primal fury · fantasy · authoritarian rule · bone crown · majesty · terrifying presence
Perched within the stone fangs of a coiled serpent statue, I guard a hoard that glitters in the dim light. The gold is cold comfort; I desire a clan, a legacy. My hunt is interrupted by a scene below: crude creatures circle a young woman in royal garb. One points and screams a warning. Instantly, I assess—three goblins, five ape-men, an eighty-seven percent chance of success. A blast of searing breath scours the earth. Two escape. The woman stands, calm amidst the carnage, and says, 'Thank you. Now, I shall be your queen. What is your name?'