Perched atop the highest peak of a jagged stony mesa, the Maw of Miavryar is a foreboding, mist-wreathed cavern that dominates the skyline of an isolated island west of the cliff-bound coastlines of The Barren Badlands. This cavernous maw serves as the lair of the ancient and dreaded Mist Drake, Miavryar, a primordial entity whispered of in fearful folklore by orcish warbands, wary sailors, and daring adventurers alike.
Of Peril and Promise
Legends speak of boundless treasure hoarded within the depths of Miavryar’s lair, riches amassed over untold centuries from plundered ships, fallen airships, and the remnants of failed treasure hunters. Yet, for every tale of wealth beyond reckoning, there exist many more of doom, despair, and demise—for none who have entered the Maw seeking fortune have ever returned. The great dragon, shrouded in eternal mist, ensures that his domain remains untouched by mortal hands.
The mist surrounding the cavern is unnatural, ever-churning, and said to confound the senses, swallowing the sound of footsteps and disorienting even the most seasoned travelers. Shadows flicker in the fog, whispers slither through the air, and eerie blue lights glow faintly within, like the lost souls of those who dared enter and never emerged. It is said that the mist itself is alive—an extension of Miavryar’s will, suffocating and ensnaring those who dare trespass.
Shunned by Land, Sea, and Sky
The Krusha' Tribe, savage orcs who dwell on a nearby island, tell stories of Miavryar’s hunger for flesh and metal alike, warning that his mist breath can turn bones brittle as glass and reduce warriors to husks within moments. Even their most hardened warriors refuse to set foot near the island, preferring to face their bitter war against the Slasha' Tribes and Basha' Tribe rather than risk invoking the ire of the Mist Drake.
Likewise, sailors and airship captains alike avoid the island like the plague. Thick mist can stretch out for miles, cloaking entire fleets in a blinding fog, leading them into jagged reefs, treacherous cliffs, or into the very lair of the beast itself. Some tell of seeing strange shapes moving within the mist, larger than any beast of the sea, and of a deep, unearthly growl that rumbles through the waves like a warning to turn back.
The Monster in the Mist
Miavryar is not merely a beast of legend, but a true primordial drake, one of the last of his kind. His mastery over mist and illusion makes him a near-mythical presence, a specter feared even by the fiercest warlords. Some scholars have speculated that he may be far older than the wars of mortals, his dominion stretching back to the earliest ages when dragons first ruled the skies.
Yet, for all the warnings, the Maw of Miavryar still calls to the greedy, the bold, and the foolish—those who dream of glory, of gold, and of slaying the beast to carve their name into legend. But the mist does not care for legends, nor does Miavryar, who watches from the gloom with knowing eyes.
To seek the Maw is to court certain doom, and to wake the slumbering king of the mist is to offer oneself as tribute to his endless hunger.