There are creatures that are born from natural instincts.
There are those that are born from a creator's design.
And then… there are the ones the world itself seems to hesitate before creating.
The one before me was one of those unfathomable glitches.
A serpent… no, calling it that felt almost disrespectful.
The thing was poetry carved into bone, muscle and mana. Twenty feet, maybe more if it uncoiled fully, its scales a sheet of white so pure it didn't look real.
Each one reflected light like carved ivory, or like marble that had learned to breathe.
And yet, the air around it wasn't divine. It was heavy.
Archaic if I could call it.
It was like the creature had inherited the silence of centuries and was simply tolerating us in its presence.
As she said, this was the [White-Scale Naga], an evolved variant of the [Argent-Scale] line, if the old Dungeon Compendium was to be believed.
