Laghart- Account of a dragon and its precious firestone
Its neck was slim and elongated, almost outstretching from its bony shoulders; in its sleep, it’d breathe dazzling flames that’d die away in the occasional gusts that’d creep inside the liar, from the surrounding mountains.
Its lair was a lonely place with pointed stone protrusions above, shrouded in moss; huge bats lurked in the darkest corners of the place, hidden from the sight of the colossal beast that’d been in slumber for over a decade.
Not a slight movement had ever escaped the haunting burrow of Laghart, the volcanic winged-reptile, which in the course of time had devoured seekers from across Pangaea, who had come looking for its precious fire stone.
The firestone, a blazingly scarlet pearl, held a solidified lump of the volcanic fire of Piatra, the volcano inside which, Laghart was born.
The clans, inhabiting in the southernmost tip of the continent, told tales about Laghart; they mourned the day when a group of hunters of their clan left in search of a ‘humongous lizard with wings’, never to see the faces of their clansmen again.
The sailors who left their coastal cottages and wailing wives, behind , in search for treasure troves and uncharted lands, told stories about hunters from southern clans, whom ‘a serpent with majestic wings’ burnt into flames, as they tried to steal a precious stone it was guarding.
Three bards who stopped by, every mud house in the eastern village of blacksmiths, sung about scattered skulls across the Eldurome Mountains; these skulls once belonged to greedy sailors who dared to steal a precious stone from a ‘huge frog with enormous wings’ who spat fire on them, turning them into skulls and bones.
The potters scattered across a little island, not far from the Eldurome Mountains, painted on their clay pots stories about six blacksmiths, from eastern lands, all freebooters, who reached the Eldurome Mountains after journeying on foot for three months; the only warmth, they received in that cold terrain, was the fire in which they melted.
A young weaver reached the island of the potters to buy a clay pot, discovered the painted stories about a ‘giant turtle that could breathe fire’ and that it guarded a precious stone.
He couldn’t make it to the lair of Laghart; he was murdered by the bandits of Eldurome on his way; though the bandits didn’t dare to go to the other side of the mountains.
They believed there lived a ‘huge bull with gigantic wings’ that had been guarding a precious stone for decades.