Of all the beasts chronicled within these pages, the Bloodwyrm is one that I hope to never again meet face to face. Ghost of sinew, wretchspawn, the living teeth - the wyrm has taken many names in the past, each tied to a story warning you about their tricks, and their endless hunger.
Bloodwyrms hail from living Marrun, where the floor is calloused, cracked and bleeding, forests of muscle pulse up from the ground and web fine canopies of glistening red and white across the breathing hills. In this environment, the wyrm thrives. Elementals of flesh, they can use their magic to shift form at will, growing limbs, wings, teeth, anything it might need in the moment. This mastery of evolution allows the Bloodwyrm to fill every niche at once - by pure definition, this is the apex predator. Its vast intelligence allows it to outmanoeuvre and trick even the most skilled of adventurers, luring compassionate wanderers to their doom. It is a master of mimicry, able to shift its many vocal chords to perfectly copy the sounds of previous meals, pleading for help just out of sight. Using its shifting abilities, it can create a somewhat convincing lure - usually at the end of its tail - that might resemble a lost child, a crying baby, or a wounded companion. Only when you are too close do you realise all the things wrong with the silhouette, the fresh, sore skin, the one too many eyes…
This mastery of fleshmancy leaves the Bloodwyrm with an enormous appetite. Lucky for it, the land of Marrun is ever breeding, an endless spawn of new creatures that slink from hidden damp burrows and sweat drenched folds of the earth. The Bloodwyrm has no lack of potential prey - they seem to mostly engage with travellers for the enrichment they can provide, and for the joy of the fight. By shifting their body around where a blade might slice or an arrow pierce, the wyrm - if quick enough - can easily avoid almost any physical attack you might throw at it. A sparring wyrm has been compared to a maelstrom of wet meat twisting and slinking about its rival, never in one spot. Like trying to catch a wave between your fingers, the fluid manner of the creature is one of its deadliest attributes.
One must assume that like the true dragons of old, they are a manifestation of the magic itself, taken form to walk among us - be that on scaled talons or grasping, familiar hands. If you encounter one of these wyrms upon your journeys, I pray that it has not already spotted you. Like a storm on the horizon, this is an uncaring force of nature, ever hungry, ever growing, and already eying the meat on your bones.
amandla
2087
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
