Whisper

At the dawn of dragonkind, an ancient secret passed from the maw of one dragon to the ear of another. It was hidden under breathe, muttered, whispered—and from its recipient it drew a mournful wail. So great was the pain of the listener and so sordid the secret of the speaker that the words and their resulting shout took form, manifesting as a pair of monstrous dragons. Together, these beasts set out across Sornieth, leaving children at the borders of countless clans. These children, The Knowing, each possess an awareness of a unique secret from before the Third Age, plagued and blessed by its vexing mysteries.

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The wind that followed the beast was laden with unintelligible voices. Their words were lost, mired in a language older than the continents themselves. But even without sense they pricked the senses, drawing goosebumps to the flesh of mammals and raising the feathers of birds. The beast paid them no mind, drawing ever closer, dark eyes fixed upon his prey. Come to me, he beckoned, claws scraping along the ground, mouth unmoving as he spoke. As he pressed his target back against stone, he leaned close, the voices growing louder, his pupils blowing wide. With a creak, his jaw unhinged a crude smile, saliva dripping from a hundred jagged fangs.

Come closer and lend me your ear. I have only one secret to tell. Won't you give an old dragon just a moment? Won't you humor just one, short story?