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Crimson Menagerie: The Legend Escapes
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<blockquote data-quote="Aristoi" data-source="post: 2702637" data-attributes="member: 32975"><p><strong>Crimson Menagerie: The Scion Risen</strong></p><p></p><p>A grassy hilltop overlooked the city of Tilverton, a pastoral town really, but large enough. It was a sunny day and there was a nice breeze, his nose caught the scent of new grass and growing things. </p><p></p><p>And the whiff of something sweet and sickening, the smell of decay and great age. And there was this shadow over him. </p><p></p><p>He turned and started, for a huge purple dragon loomed over him, its great head looking down at him and one of its great yellow eyes regarded him with saturnine interest. He knew instantly what this creature was and dropped to a knee with a gasp. “My Great Lord!”</p><p></p><p>“Rise Scion of Cormyr,” the Dragon commanded, his rumbling voice coming from all around, seemingly from the Land itself. </p><p></p><p>He did and looked up, though his gaze caught on an object near the claws of the Great Dragon. An egg, made of pure amethyst, gleamed in the sunlight and quivered slightly with potential and promise. The Dragon raised a great clawed hand, catching Adama’s attention and then pointed to the blade with a single finger. That was one of two fingers that were missing claws, one on each great hand. </p><p></p><p>Adama gulped audibly and then gestured to the egg. “There will be a new generation?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. The knowledge seemed to come to him even as he thought the question, suddenly knowing, as if he was remembering it. “You are dying and in order for this one to live and Cormyr to thrive,” he raised the sword slightly, “I have to help set things to rights.” He paused and added, “As the Scion.”</p><p></p><p>Again the memory flowed to him, “A symbol.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Aristoi, post: 2702637, member: 32975"] [b]Crimson Menagerie: The Scion Risen[/b] A grassy hilltop overlooked the city of Tilverton, a pastoral town really, but large enough. It was a sunny day and there was a nice breeze, his nose caught the scent of new grass and growing things. And the whiff of something sweet and sickening, the smell of decay and great age. And there was this shadow over him. He turned and started, for a huge purple dragon loomed over him, its great head looking down at him and one of its great yellow eyes regarded him with saturnine interest. He knew instantly what this creature was and dropped to a knee with a gasp. “My Great Lord!” “Rise Scion of Cormyr,” the Dragon commanded, his rumbling voice coming from all around, seemingly from the Land itself. He did and looked up, though his gaze caught on an object near the claws of the Great Dragon. An egg, made of pure amethyst, gleamed in the sunlight and quivered slightly with potential and promise. The Dragon raised a great clawed hand, catching Adama’s attention and then pointed to the blade with a single finger. That was one of two fingers that were missing claws, one on each great hand. Adama gulped audibly and then gestured to the egg. “There will be a new generation?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. The knowledge seemed to come to him even as he thought the question, suddenly knowing, as if he was remembering it. “You are dying and in order for this one to live and Cormyr to thrive,” he raised the sword slightly, “I have to help set things to rights.” He paused and added, “As the Scion.” Again the memory flowed to him, “A symbol.” [/QUOTE]
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