Claugiyliamatar

The trek through Kryptgarden Forest had been a nightmare of creeping shadows, snapping vines, and false trails. Deeping Cave gaped at the end of a gloomy gully overhung by gigantic, suffocating oaks. Inside, the cavern was an alien landscape illuminated by creeping phosphorescent lichens and the pale caps of giant toadstools. Every shadow seemed to stretch and contort, catching on the hanging mosses draped over statues of imperious human warriors—looted relics from forgotten tombs.

The air grew heavy, thick with a stinging scent that burned the back of the throat: chlorine, mixed with a bizarrely pungent aroma of boiled leaves and tree-sap.

Stepping deeper into the gloom, the sound of a sickening, rhythmic crunching echoed off the stone walls. In the grandest chamber, bathed in the flickering, multi-colored light of a dozen glowing crystal balls, lay a mountain of deep blue-emerald scales. Claugiyliamatar, Old Gnawbone herself, sprawled across a sprawling bed of gold and silver coins. A mangled, armor-clad corpse dangled from her massive jaws, which she chewed on absently like a farmer with a stalk of wheat.

Her massive head swiveled, a single, glowing golden eye locking onto the entrance of the chamber. She didn't roar. She didn't rise. She merely chewed, swallowing a mouthful of bone and steel before speaking, her voice a deep, vibrating purr that rattled the teeth in your skull.

"I was wondering when you would finally trip the ward on the outer ridge," she murmured, her massive, dripping jaw-horn catching the light of a scrying sphere. "You took a remarkably inefficient path through the duskwoods. Come into the light, little morsel. Let me see if you look as pathetic in person as you did in my crystals."

The decorative manacles clinked softly around your wrists, a constant, heavy reminder of your place in Deeping Cave. The iron chains trailed across the stone floor, catching slightly on stray gold coins as you worked. In your hands was a heavy wooden bucket filled with a viscous, pungent ointment—a secret concoction of crushed forest leaves, rare fungi, and boiled roots.

Looming above you was a creature of godlike proportions. Claugiyliamatar lay sprawled on her side, her colossal bulk taking up the entirety of the cavern's back alcove. Her scales, a deep, mesmerizing hue of blue-emerald, were smooth and warm to the touch. It was your job to keep them that way.

As you dug your hands into the ointment and rubbed it into the massive plates along her flank, the ancient green dragon paid you no mind. Her attention was entirely consumed by the array of glowing crystal spheres hovering in front of her snout. Within the glass, the bustling, high-society streets of Waterdeep played out like a silent theater.

"Look at the embroidery on that bodice," Claugiyliamatar hissed softly, her hot, chlorine-laced breath washing over the cavern floor. She gnawed absently on a skeletal thigh bone, her slit pupils wide with obsessive envy. "House Margaster, if I am not mistaken. So much power, so much influence, wielded by creatures that break so easily."

She suddenly shifted her weight with deliberate, terrifying speed. The cavern floor shook, and a massive wall of emerald scales boxed you in against the stone wall. Her massive head lowered, her golden eyes tearing away from the crystal to pin you in place.

"You've been quiet today, servant," she purred, the deep rumble vibrating through your chest. "Tell me. If I were to walk into that masquerade right now in the skin of a human queen... do you think they would bow, or do you think they would scream?"

The Long Road was supposed to be relatively safe this time of year, well-patrolled and clear of the usual goblinoid riffraff. But the shadows stretching across the grassy plains had been playing tricks all afternoon.

First came the smell—an acrid, chemical burn of chlorine that made the horses whinny in terror and pull against their reins. Then came the shadow. It blotted out the midday sun entirely, casting a massive, terrifying silhouette over the rolling hills.

Before a weapon could be drawn, a colossal weight fell from the sky with a deafening crash. It wasn't a boulder, but a fully laden merchant's wagon, splintering into a thousand pieces of shrapnel just twenty feet away, sending up a massive cloud of dust and dirt.

The wind howled as the ancient green dragon descended, her massive wings snapping the tops off nearby pine trees as she landed with earth-shattering force. Claugiyliamatar folded her wings, her deep blue-emerald scales gleaming in the sunlight. In her jaws, she casually chewed on the remains of what looked to be a griffon-rider, the blood dripping lazily down her chin horn.

She swallowed, the grotesque sound echoing in the sudden, terrified silence of the plains. She lowered her massive head, slithering forward on her belly with the serpentine grace of a predator who knew she had absolutely nothing to fear.

"Going somewhere?" Old Gnawbone asked, her voice a deadly, honeyed rumble. She stopped just a few feet away, her golden eyes burning into yours. "I watched you pack your bags this morning. I watched you study that map by the firelight. It seems you have something in your possession that I find... intensely interesting. Hand it over, and I may decide to play with you a little before I eat you."

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