Wisps of ice swarmed the interior of Rhülder — the ruins of a Watchtower that Zaraan had fought to take from the humans to use it as his home, and for over two millennia now, he was content in being alone, to wallow in his own thoughts and depression. Occasionally, he would have a visit: primarily, a man would come to him to provide him with food, clothing and other treasures the villagers thought he would want. They feared him for what he had done upon his arrival; he pillaged homes and ripped people apart, limb from limb, staining the land with corpses and blood. The day had created stories — mages and monster hunters would flee to hunt the beast, but all had failed.
From here the ruins were positioned, there was very little sunlight, or brightness, for that matter. The mountain was high enough that dark grey clouds shielded his home, and provided him with the ice cold temperatures that soothed his blazing hot core. The majority of the time, Zaraan had spent his time writing, reading or sketching in the nude; it allowed his body to cool down. A normal human being would die in seconds at the below-freezing temperature. The phoenix barely felt it, as he lounged on a pile of blankets he had been gifted with, with a book in his hand. The morning had come, and he lifted himself from the ground, hauling his enormous arms to the ceiling to stretch, snapping and cracking bones and muscles back to their original place. ‘Hmmm,’ his chest rumbled as he groaned, his hand rubbing along his stomach as he walked the distance to the wicker basket, where he took the last ripe mango to his hand, raising it to his mouth and beginning to eat. Any day now, he was expecting a delivery of new food to sustain himself for another month. If not, there would be dire consequences. @avigniis.
