The Eternal
Magma courses beneath it's hardened armor like shell. The glowing, smoldering essence somehow contained despite the defined plates of igneous skin not adjoining flush, leaving gaps that one would expect torrents of lava to spew from instead weeps mere tears of it's burning essence. Emotionless it sits upon a throne of iron encircled by a river of molten brass and bronze filled with some equally horrific creatures briefly rising to the surface every so often. The churning of the molten moat echoing within the blackened, cavernous walls of stone and iron. The air chokingly thick with bone dust and soot. It sits with eyes so contrastingly gelid, watching all that happens. Watching and waiting. Waiting and silent. Silent and eternal.
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