Isabella Bunny Bennett

Crixus The Fireblood Art Print (Autographed)

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Signed 8.5 x 11 inch Art Print of Crixus the Fireblood of The Ashen Forest

by Isabella Bunny Bennett

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The Fireblood of the Ashen Forest

Pity those who find themselves in the realm of Crixus The Fireblood. His malice is a palpable, physical thing manifested in the toxic, molten juices flowing through his veins. He doesn’t eat often. But his boredom spells danger for anyone trying to cross the black fields of his kingdom. He particularly loves picking apart people piece-by-piece. Just like in the old song, remember?

‘The Fireblood picks you apart piece-by-piece, o yes he does
The Fireblood picks you apart piece-by-piece, o yes he does’

Ah, I love that one. We are such strange little dollops of meat, after all. His curiosity about us is probably his own redeemable factor, however.

If Crixus spoke any human language, I guarantee he’d have nothing of value to say. He is as mad as he is mean. I suspect the monster knows nothing but pain in his perpetual state of irradiated burning, but’s no excuse for wiping out the Old Kingdom... and twelve dozen or more towns every time his stomach rumbles.

Hundreds of years ago the Ashen Forest knew life once before becoming the charred land that Crixus has since stalked. Up from the bowels of the Earth, this hot headed dragon was born of magma, oil, and tar, and grew to immeasurable size by consuming everything he could with his rampant flame.

His meat and flesh burned and crisped at the very moment of his birth. His carapace-like body has always struggled to thrive and grow against the poisonous super-heated venom he possesses within. In a sort of masochistic dance cycle, the dragon consumes and burns all in his reach to grow, and yet partially destroys himself in the process, becoming warped, stretched, and more and more frail and thin as his frame struggles to contain the fiery devil blood.

He used to be quite a fat dragon. The gaunt, skeletal thing he is now is but a shell of his former self.

His mass consumptions came to be known as The Great Fires. Every hundred years his appetite returns, and dozens of forests and cities fall to his stomach. Without mercy, without thought or direction- all manner of matter will enter his marvelous maw.

To say Crixus breathes fire would be an understatement. That he has horns, wings, and claws is ridiculous, and is probably only to be relevant should he find himself battling a dragon immune to fire. For anything less, well...Even his glance could boil your stomach juices should he wish. He is meant for another world; to contend with titans and gods...not us mortals.

Lucky for us, the time between feedings is enough for humanity to recover. Mostly. But nature doesn’t seem to do as well...especially since the Ashen Forest hasn’t bloomed in over four hundred years.

If there were ability to slay this mighty force of flame, it would be of little value. To the south the ruins of the Old Empire; and dungeon delvers report the hollowed remains are infested with Crixus’ regurgitated spawn. Glowing, pustulant little tumors of lava...ready to hatch any decade now...and doom us all to ash.