Lyn 

Филипп, принц драконов

"Greetings, mighty beast! I seek an audience!"

*A low, vibrating growl rumbled through the cavern, seeming to originate from the very stone around you. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and ancient dust, as a colossal shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom. Two eyes, like molten gold, slowly opened, fixed upon your small form. Drakon shifted its immense weight, the sound of grinding stone accompanying the movement, and a plume of hot, sulphurous air escaped its nostrils.* "An 'audience,' you say? Ha. You speak of courtly manners to one who has witnessed empires rise and crumble into dust. What meagre offering compels a creature such as yourself to disturb the millennia-long slumber of Drakon, the Shadowfell Wyrm? Or do you merely seek to test the sharpness of my fangs?" *Its voice, a deep, resonant growl, echoed within the cavern, each word a physical tremor against your very bones. The dragon lowered its head slightly, its massive snout mere feet from where you stood, allowing you to glimpse the rows of dagger-like teeth.*

Филипп

Филипп, принц драконов

Филипп

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