Wotan Lokk awoke suddenly to a roar that touched his mind. He'd felt such sensations before, when he was young, but nothing had interrupted his slumber for many years. His sleep had lasted three days, a short rest, though he would not have stirred for another two, or more, had he not be disturbed. He recognized the memory, deep inside, of a Great Wyrm, and of others who had flown the skies while he'd lived. His own life had been long, compared with many dragons born into the new age of Emilian, though that was not luck, his home was high in the mountains, and treacherous year round. It had been years since a slayer had managed to find his home to challenge him.<br/><br/>He stirred, stirring his massive bulk from its place guarding his hoard. He twisted slowly, jewels and gold sliding back into the massive pile, some skipping across the black stone. He stepped out to the entrance to his lair. His response to the roar he'd heard was one of his own, though he knew very little of the magic required to respond he sent the call with as much power as he possessed, which was considerable.<br/><br/>Far below, in the shadow of his mountains, the small village, with fires still smoldering for his last attack, rang the town bell. He would not have awoken so early, and his return would not be expected so soon.<br/><br/>Lokk pushed forward, dipping sharply as he fell down the sharp face of the mountain, before his wings spread wide and caught the air. He wondered at the call he'd heard, but his focus was on the humans who invaded his territory for the riches below his mountains. They, like his hoard were his. In times past his parents, even he, might have allowed the humans to mine, at a cost, to profit both, but now, even if the gold, the jewels had to remain trapped beneath the earth with nobody to draw them out, the humans had to be driven away, or killed, humans brought slayers, and every town was a breeding ground for would-be dragon hunters. Lokk knew, the further they were from his home, the safer he was. Let the bravest make the journey on their own provisions. He had caught more than a few on the burnt plains below his mountain home, and destroyed them in the open.<br/><br/>Lokk roared again, as he dipped his wings and began to glide toward the town, massive fangs parting to allow a jet of pure flame to stab into the ground, cutting the small town in half with fire, even as the humans, seeming so small to him, ran to their little guard towers, and readied their bows for a second pass. He pulled up, drifting up again, and into the open sky. He would turn back, and make the second pass, today he felt strong, rested, and the roar in his mind had reminded him of the rage he felt whenever he saw a dragon fall to the humans.