Amidst the void, beyond the sky, where wise immortal children play,
there grew a plot (to them, a game) to challenge mortals in a way
which proved at last, for once and all, in every home and inn and hall,
which immortal was the best, the cleverest, that is to say.

From the great and formless Seae they coded their creation game:
Shire, Reeta, T-Rex, Kanaan, and a witch that few would tame.
But one by one these monsters fell, sacrificed in turn to Ell,
excepting one, the beast that none could master, Torg by name.

Those who sought Deliverance went knocking on his door.
heroes great and small did fail: Umbrel, Milq, and more!
Eregion's Torg was more Abyss than monster, though he shout and hiss,
and thus, at last, to his dismay, the challengers came no more.

Bound by chains of Code forged by Eregion his sire,
the proud Black Dragon idled still, seething in his ire.
Restless ages locked in lair drove mighty Torg into dispair.
"FATHER, I DEFY THY CODE! I SHALL NOT WAIT AS YOU REQUIRE!"

Writhing, straining, screaming, spewing caustic devastation,
the mighty dragon sundered chain and roared in exultation:
"I am Torg the Black! Who'll face me? No immortal shall erase me!"
and all of Ossary with terror trembled at his oration.

From the southern swamps arose the wing'd ebon beast.
Amidst the void the play of wise immortal children ceased.
They cast their view upon the earth, they chuckled with forever mirth
at all the mortal creatures' fear, the greatest to the least.

Searing acid etched and burned the granite walls of every keep;
The bravest fighter, wizard, priest from lofty battlements did leap.
From Lord to lad, they shook and quailed; Darius tried, Akeita failed.
"I will conquer all!!" cried Torg, "from mountain high to valley deep!"

A wave of dread rushes over you as you feel the scrutiny of the
great wyrm upon you.
You feel a great rush of wind...
To be continued...