Handy did not get to see this, for it was on fire. Great, fell, blue flames consumed the venerable and ancient steps, so much so that all Handy saw was a great wall of smokeless fire before him as the last glimmers of hope in his heart started to fate. He stumbled and fell, unable and unwilling to accept the sight he saw. The dragon stalked over to him, emerging from the streets and placing a bony claw over his body. Handy only had moments to register his danger before the beast had scooped him up. He struggled in vain to try to escape the death grip as he was raised to eye level with the grave beast, looking out over the abandoned city, resplendent in its sad glory. The dragon’s claws closed a fraction further, and Handy found it hard to breath. All thoughts of anger and resistance faded to be replaced by a terrible unease and chill that flooded into him. He felt a dull pressure on his mind. The dragon’s skull, which was now uncomfortably close, cocked to the side as he felt the pressure wax and wane. The creature spoke, its voice vibrating the air, and Handy felt the force of its speech and the chill of its breath, which the rational part of his mind pointed out should not be possible because it was undead, but that part of Handy’s mind had been wrong about a lot of things recently, so it could just sit in the corner and politely shut the fuck up.