The provincial capital fell to the creature known as the Grey Wyrm, a gargantuan, wingless Niwelwihta whose immense body bears the shape of some primordial dragon condemned to crawl upon its belly. Its hide is covered in overlapping grey scales thick as fortress doors, while its limbs end in vast hooked claws capable of tearing through stone and packed earth. Though it possesses no wings, the Grey Wyrm moves with appalling speed when roused, dragging its bulk across the ground with such violence that roads split beneath it and trees are crushed into the soil.
The creature descended from the mountains through the dense forest above the capital. It did not follow any road or mountain pass. It clawed its own path down the slope, uprooting ancient trees, stripping away the earth, and sending whole sections of the mountainside tumbling before it. The scar left by its descent remains visible for miles: a broad, barren wound of exposed stone and churned mud where little has grown since. Refugees later claimed that the mountain itself appeared to be collapsing upon the city.
When the Grey Wyrm reached the capital, it tore through the outer fortifications and unleashed its fire upon everything within. Timber roofs ignited in moments, narrow streets became furnaces, and smoke gathered beneath the heavy fog until those fleeing the flames suffocated before reaching the gates. Towers cracked beneath the heat or collapsed when the creature drove its claws into their foundations. The Wyrm crawled through districts too narrow to contain its body, grinding homes, temples, and fleeing citizens beneath its scaled underside as it forced its way toward the city’s heart.
The destruction continued until the capital had been reduced to a smoldering ruin. No clear motive has ever been discovered for the attack. The Grey Wyrm sought no tribute, issued no challenge, and made no effort to rule those who survived. It simply burned the city, devoured what it caught, and settled among the remains as though the slaughter had been nothing more than the preparation of a suitable den.
The ruined capital remains the Grey Wyrm’s lair. Its immense body coils through collapsed plazas, shattered government halls, and the burned foundations of noble estates. It sleeps beneath the broken citadel or within the vast cellars it has widened through repeated digging, surrounded by scorched stone, gnawed bones, and the warped remnants of the city’s wealth. Great mounds of rubble have been pushed into crude barriers around its nesting grounds, while entire streets have been buried beneath shed scales, ash, and the carcasses of animals dragged back from its hunts.
The Grey Wyrm regularly leaves the capital to prey upon the surrounding land. Herds vanish from distant pastures, fortified settlements are found torn open, and travelers disappear from roads many miles beyond the city. Its passing can be traced by flattened forest, furrows carved through the earth, and trees blackened by fire. When hunger drives it farther from its lair, even the hidden communities of the Nebelmark abandon their homes and retreat into caves or mine shafts until the tremors of its movement have passed.
Treasure hunters continue to enter the capital, drawn by stories of sealed vaults, noble estates, and royal stores abandoned during the destruction. The bravest wait until the Grey Wyrm has gone hunting before slipping through the breached walls. Yet the ruins contain countless places where such a creature might lie unseen, and the fog conceals both distance and movement. Many intruders realize too late that the Wyrm has returned when ash begins falling from rooftops, the stones beneath their feet start to tremble, and a furnace glow spreads through the mist at the far end of the street.