Low-Fantasy Occultist

With the death of the Western Guardian, the heat of the caldera had lessened to a dull warmth, but the smell of sulfur still lingered, preventing them from feeling comfortable.

Nick sat on a cooling ridge of obsidian, the Shard resting across his knees, and stared into the empty space where the Cinder-Maw had once been.

The adventurers efficiently stripped the massive carcass, packing away scales, claws, teeth, and the core into spatial bags, leaving only a steaming pile of flesh that was already beginning to harden into stone.

Sighing, Nick summoned the System.