An Icy Reception
[Disclaimer - mentions of blood and pregnancy. You have been warned!]
The winter storm is not just about the biting cold. Ice and snow transform the landscape, making it both a breathtaking and treacherous journey for adventurers. And when the temperature plummets, some fully surrender to its cold embrace - becoming one with the ice and preserved until those fortunate to find their resting souls. Yet for those acclimated to these conditions, it was the closest thing to sanctuary. Howling winds and permafrost continued to stubbornly remain well after the defeat of the primalists and the primal incarnates. But peace became defined as danger in a matter of moments.
A bellowing, series of roars carried through the storm, adding a sense of dread to its already lethal company. The creatures wise enough to seek cover disappeared in the blanket of frost without a trace - burrowing their heat in makeshift dens or otherwise. Yet even in their hiding places, the bone-chilling terror of the unknown continued to lurk in their vicinity. Even as the roars had subsided to the storm’s boisterous fury, there would be other signs of something egregious lurking within this chaotic fog of war.
”CRACK!”
The heavy groan of an adult sequoia followed before leaning fully one way and snapping at its base.
”THUD!”
A tremor resonated briefly in the frozen ground before the downed tree seized beneath the weight of a colossal blue claw. Crystallized mana talons gripped fiercely, forcing the bark and integrity of the tree to wane until it shattered into pieces. The shadow of the dragon’s silhouette loomed before shifting away from the downed tree and disappearing into the fog once more. But this wouldn’t be done without leaving a trail in her wake. Generous amounts of blood provided an unsettling warning to those that found this path. It was an unspoken threat to most, but those who had the sentience to discover the truth would gamble on a dare to its meaning.
The mountains rose in a protective wall shielding any that ventured into the caves at its base. A number of occupants that had once filled these large frozen caves. Most being eight-legged freaks that had since been dealt with or migrated elsewhere to catch unsuspecting victims by surprise. Though it was a necessary place for refuge to one expecting a large clutch. Several times now she had paced out of her cave as the ordeal of laying eggs had become far more taxing than she realized. And with nothing to sate her pain, aggression was the only outlet for her to find inner peace. But it never lasted.
Thoughts of betrayal festered like living tendrils in her mind - seeking to transform memories of joyous moments into unyielding anger. Regardless of the cold, she felt the heat from her blood boiling. Several of her clutch stood silent in her blood, watching ever closely to a figure that could one day be their means of guidance in the world. However, she saw them as an inconvenience to her survival and wrinkled her snout until her fangs were bared in a gleaming display of sharpened ivory. Each tooth curled in a serrated series of weaponized daggers, awaiting to be drawn at any given moment to simultaneously puncture anything caught in the space of her gaping maw.
Despite these setbacks, the time to pass another egg came just as quickly. The strength in her legs lessened until her body was flush against the icy ground. Several claws tensed - seeking a grip against a surface harder than Azerothian diamonds. A rippling growl was heaved alongside a series of heavy snorts of her flaring nostrils. She could feel the boulder-sized egg in her shifting, maiming at her innards with considerable resistance. Anger flared again as her tail rose and lashed down at the ground like a whip. No matter how hard she pushed, there just was an egg unwilling to part from her warmth. But unlike other dragons who had the luxury of an assistant, she stood there alone with a predicament not so easily resolved.
It was now becoming a question if it was worth the life inside of her to be freed. But the hunger of a starving mother was now greater than tending to that minor complication that resided inside of her. Roughly, she forced herself to stand, feeling the prongs of her young dig into her sensitive nerve endings as she strode out with purposeful stride to hunt instead of give birth.
Several trees had toppled now as she let the snow relentlessly pelt the surface of her wings and body. It did seemingly help to numb some of the irritation as she moved forward through the remaining forest. With weeks of hunger now surfacing to be sated, she didn’t care what she would find in her path. There was no denying she had developed a newfound diet for Dracthyr after the discovery of their creation and the warning call from Lapisagos some months before. Even another dragon of any flight, along with her own kin, would not be spared her wrath. All had wronged her, and she seized the opportunity to carry out what remained of a Nexus War veteran. It was either kill or be killed at this point.
