There was nothing natural about the cities that Domirr built. Centuries of greed and blatant atrocities had corrupted the very core of the land ruled by the father of all dragons. The green gray rain that poured in ceaseless sheets of ice carried the very essence of the poison that ran in the souls dwelling within the city.
Keirr splattered the rain, wiped blood from his brow and unsteadily rose back to his feet. It was a good thing that the confrontation had come - that it came before the fury pent up within him stowed into an acid corrosive enough to ruin the very essence of his own being.
In the dias above him, made of rocks jutting out of the earth like teeth of a vast monster, Domirr stood, clad in his dragon scale armor, green gray of its metallic luster catching the fading daylight. His ageless face looked bored, almost bearing an identical expression to one continuously swatting a fly and failing to hit it.
