An ember remained in the Firebleeder’s breast.
Yet what none saw was that, at dawn, the corpse twitched and stirred. A hundred lights glowed over its corpse by night, and of the Legion of Wands, only a dozen survived to rejoice in their victory and mourn their comrades. The Firebleeder fell, impaling itself upon a mountain made pale by the bones of the thousands of heroes that died that day, its hide shattering to cinders. And breaking the silence, a great cracking sounded as the Firebleeder’s volcanic blood cooled to stone and the beast crashed to earth. Yet as the abomination readied to unleash its final wrath, the wizards spoke as one, shouting a single word of arcane might that silenced all for a thousand miles, ringing off the clouds. Infuriated and confused, the fire wyrm summoned a blast of flame to melt the mountains and boil the seas.
Magma spewed from the Firebleeder’s wounds, each injury gushing like the eruption of a furious volcano, but the wizards stood strong. This bought the others time to bring their magic to the fore freezing storms, hails of icy spears, rains of hissing water, and thunderous lightning transfixed the wyrm as bolts of force broke upon it in a furious storm. The Firebleeder’s first blast cut their numbers in half, sweeping the weakest away.
After countless armies fell to the beast’s wrath, a hundred arcanists and masters of ancient magical bloodlines swore an oath as the Legion of Wands and set forth to test their magic against the nightmare. Heroes rose to the challenge and set forth to conquer the fire wyrm, but their silk banners burned away and their steel swords were reduced to slag. Vast deserts grew from lush forest in mere days. Moke and ash and cinders flew from the forests charred by the Firebleeder, fires that scorched soil into dust.
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