Current Comms slots:

Art Comm slots	booked	slot 2 empty	slot 3 empty
Writing Comm slots	booked	slot 2 empty	slot 3 empty

Legends speak of the wyrm’s birth, for it was said that Mareth’Drak was not born of mortal wombs but arose from the depths of the ocean itself. It was no mere beast, but a living tempest, a mighty force of nature, both feared and revered by the people of the coast. Its form was vast as the horizon, with serpentine coils that could encircle entire ships and drag them to watery graves. Each of its scales glistened like shards of moonlight, reflecting the untamed fury of the sea. The dragon’s eyes, like burning coals, gleamed with an ancient intelligence, and its breath carried the scent of salt and storms.

It was said that the Wyrm’s domain was the deepest of the southern seas, where no man dared venture. Legends whispered that the ruins of ancient cities lay buried beneath the waves, now ruled by the beast, its great tail stirring the tides, and its wings stirring tempests that tore the sails of would-be sailors. None could escape its wrath once they entered the waters where the Wyrm reigned supreme.

In those days, the people believed that Mareth’Drak was a guardian of the deep, a keeper of secrets older than the lands themselves. Sailors spoke of hearing its haunting cry echo through the fog, a song of sorrow and rage that sent chills into the hearts of those who dared listen. Some said that the wyrm’s heart beat to the rhythm of the very ocean, and that if it ever fell silent, the world would sink beneath the waves.

It was also known that the creature had been bound by the ancient pact of the first rulers, an agreement that held the Wyrm at bay for centuries. This pact was forged in times when gods still walked the earth, and the Wyrm had promised to protect the kingdoms from darker forces, provided it was left undisturbed. But as the centuries wore on, and the kingdom grew bold, men began to grow arrogant. The sound of ships and the clatter of armor filled the seas, and the once-feared Wyrm grew restless in its watery tomb.

One fateful night, a storm unlike any other arose. The sky blackened, the wind howled, and the very earth trembled beneath the fury of the ocean. Ships were torn from their moorings, houses were swept into the abyss, and the seas themselves seemed to rise up in anger. It was on this night that the people learned that Mareth’Drak had awoken, and with it, the wrath of the ancient sea.

The great dragon emerged from the depths with such force that it shattered the coastline, and its roar split the heavens asunder. Those few who survived the flood spoke of the dragon's descent—its eyes burning with fury, its breath hot as fire, and its wings casting shadows across the sky. It was a creature of old power, a being not of this world, but a living embodiment of the sea’s wrath.

Though the Wyrm was never slain, it was bound once more by the sacrifices of the kingdom’s last great sorcerer. On the eve of his death, the sorcerer cast a spell so potent that it drove the creature back beneath the waters, though not without cost. For the Wyrm’s rage was not easily quelled, and its last strike tore a rift in the ocean that remains to this day—a scar on the land that would never heal.

And so, Mareth’Drak returned to the depths, its mighty wings now but a whisper in the wind. Yet, even now, when the sea grows restless and the skies darken, those who dwell near the southern shores remember the tale. They know that the Water Wyrm waits, its ancient eyes ever watchful, its breath ever longing for the day when it may rise again."