The Day of the Tempest

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Malystryx the Red lay on a plateau on the highest mountaintop amidst an arid wasteland. From this lofty position—in what once had been called the Goodlund Plains—she could survey a large portion of her domain. Smoke curled upward from her cavernous nostrils, douding her huge, dark eyes. Twin horns curved gently away from the sides of her skull and tapered to sharp points. Her scales were as large as a knight’s shield, and they glowed like hot coals in the late afternoon sun.

Those rare individuals who accepted invitations here, to her favorite lair—like the Knights of Takhisis standing before her—braved much. Streams of lava from the volcanoes that ringed her plateau ran perilously close to the steep paths that led to her lair. Unnatural creatures prowled the bleak slopes, and the visitors had to endure the intense heat once they climbed to the top—or perish.

The ninety men were here at the command of their governor-general. They were selected for their bravery, cunning, and loyalty. Malys thought little of humans, but she considered these far better specimens than the ones she had slaughtered in the many villages she had trampled since taking over this part of Ansalon.

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