Story that would make Camera happy.
Tribute to Wyrms
The dappled coat of the fox was camouflaged in the twilight forest. No eyes in the world were sharp enough to spot the kit as long as it stood still. Although unsure of what the danger was, the grey-green fox knew that death was lurking nearby. Autumn was coming to an end, and the beast was going to starve if it didn't find food soon, and lots of it. It spotted a vole nearby. Not much of a morsel, but better than nothing. The fox slowly crept forward, hoping it could hunt without being hunted.
Shinra let loose a blast of fire and baked fox, forest and vole in one inferno. AT LEAST THEY WON'T STARVE, she considered, absorbing the warmth of the flames with all her body. The dragonness let loose another snort of flame. Energy to make it was a precious commodity, but the forest was ripe with decay and rot, just waiting for the blaze to recycle it's mana.
She took a bit of the charred bones and ash that were left of the fox kit. Dragons needn't truly eat, of course, but she hated the idea of allowing someone else a scrap of her work. The humens called her a vain goddess. Shinra didn't much care WHAT they called, her, though. All that mattered was that they gave her the sacrifice.
It was all that she cared about. The sacrifice. The humens called it the Power of the Mountains. It was the dragon's right to demand one once a year from their humen subjects. The humens, apparently, disagreed, but were too afraid to rebel.
Or they had been. This year, the maegi told her, the humens would be taking the sacrifice for themselves, and delivering it to their hero-king. The maegi had told her more, but Shinra was done listening. She knew that the sacrifice must not be given to a humen. The sacrifice powered her fire, her flight, her life itself. Torching the forest helped, yes, but that charge would last a few days at the most. The sacrifice would last almost the whole year.
The Queen of Rosewood, as her humens enjoyed to title her, took wing with a running start not unlike that of a rhinocerous. Her irredescent wings shimmered, though the skin between her bony joints looked gossamer, they were nearly as hard as steel. Her golden, brazen, and rusty scales meshed into armor that could withstand obsyd blades, and turn a man to ribbons if he touched them. Shinra knew, however, that her nigh immortality depended on the sacrifice. She'd seen many a dragon crumble to dust in mere days from lack of mana. Smirking, the dragonness recalled the time when she had done in an old male simply by taking his sacrifice. That was when she wandered about, little more than a scavenger and thief. In Rosewood, she was a goddess. Shinra had known the comforts of cowed humens too long to allow some king to take it away from her.
She had flown for days before chancing upon the fox, and flew for days on after, all much like the last, until she spotted the mining village. It was perhaps three square leagues, in all, with no more than a hundred humens living there, and surely not that many. Not worthy of the haughty wyrm's time. It was a familiar sight, though. Shinra had her doubts that it was part of Rosewood, but little did she care. Impeding on the territorial rights of others was one of life's great joys, to Shinra. She had never been as fast, strong, clever or even as large as most of her kind. The one thing she had in spades was cruelty. A race always feared, but also respected and even oft loved, Shinra did her kind great shame with each humen she murdered. So murder she did, hating the concept of honor for reasons only she could comprehend. With a disgusting cackle, the Queen realized that if she killed these peasants, their Dragon-Liege would be blamed, pehaps even hunted. At the very least, he'd be denied the sacrifice. Knowing there was no greater pain than being denied the Power of Mountains, Shinra the Dragon-Liege would have no choice but torture his subjects until they gave it to him.
The smoke circled below, tainting the clouds a sickening yellow, and filling the air with fumes of death and pain. Lazily, she meandered above the cacaphony of suffering, absorbing the mana of the dying humens.
TO BE CONTINUED!
Pretend anything in all caps is italicized, I don't feel like not being lazy.
Poll