A few minutes earlier.
Dvalin was dozing in Stormterror's Lair, his wings drooping onto the ground and rising and falling with his breathing.
The poet's lyre reached his ears from a distant world beyond his own.
"You there, Dvalin? You there? You there?"
The lyre rang out, carrying the god's words. That familiar voice babbled in the dragon's ears, "Stop sleeping, Dvalin! You've been lying around so much your belly's sticking out. Get up! I've got something good to show you."
The dragon snorted, something shifting beneath his closed eyelids.
"Wow, let me tell you, this place is so much fun! Birds singing, flowers blooming, gorgeous mountains and rivers, beautiful scenery everywhere. Even the air-cough, cough, cough... cough, cough... pfft. Ptooey, ptooey... uh. Well, the air's really fresh too! Come on over and play with me!"
The tinkling lyre music circled around Dvalin's ears. Even raising a wing over his head did no good.
Perhaps because no dragon had responded for so long, the lilting music grew even louder.
"Hey, all right, I was kidding. This place isn't nice at all. There are so many monsters! Swarms and swarms of them, and even the winds in the sky can't clear them out. Hurry over! My bow arm's getting sore."
"Oh, my poor knees! Oh, my aching back! I'm so tired. I'd love to lie down and relax with a bottle of apple cider, but I just can't stop fighting! Are you really not coming to help me?"
That incessantly babbling lyre made Dvalin's enormous head buzz. His eyes snapped open, and he raised his wings and slammed them against the ground. The dragon was furious.
"ROAR!"
He craned his neck and roared at the sky. The gist of it was: *Can a dragon get some sleep around here?! Barbatos, are