The King in Rags stands perfectly still, but the branch-tendrils on his back extend and spread out. A wind picks up... no, not wind. A breath, slipping through the cracks. Behind him, the fabric of the world seems to thin and tatter, revealing glimpses of another one. It seems to be a forest without end, filled with trees that reach higher than mountains and wandered by deer the size of churches and centipedes as long as roads. Then it's a boundless expanse of red-hot desert, with flying serpents floating on the ever-rising heat. This is replaced by a garden made of glass-like crystals, tended to by hummingbirds on six long legs. But they're just flashing images, that disappear as quickly as they appeared.
The King's form also shifts and blurs, showing more clearly than usual that it's just a shell and a mask. As he stands, motionless, the breath slipping through the cracks forms a small vortex, which then begins to take shape as motes of mortal dust float towards it.
They join together into the shape of an ashen-grey beast with wide wings, a pair of legs and no arms. It's roughly the size of a large car, with a long, stretching neck and a long, thin tail. Its head has no eyes, but an impressive array of teeth. The tail and wings sweep around in the ground as the beast turns its head around, hissing.
"Not quite a dragon," the King says. "But it is what some dragons became when the world became too thin for them. I think the mortals call them slyzards. The name will do. It can't breathe fire like a dragon, nor command the elements like one, but it will fly. Its shriek can freeze mortals with fear or, if focused, crack stone and metal."