@vulsoven
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Morndas, the 23rd of Second Seed.
A peaceful morn, by any account. ever privvy to fair climes, the Rift seemed-a blessing brought by the warmth of the Velothi to the east. Today proved no different in that regard, to those awake to witness.
A baleful scream shattered the peace, bringing with it the intent of its creator. The gentle breeze turned hot, hostile, a harbinger of what was to come. A farmer on the road could only watch in terror, ducking beneath his cart in a futile bid to escape the oncoming wrath. Eyes cinched shut, prayers to the Nine flowing from his lips.
He felt the heat of its breath, smelled the ash, the rot of what he could only ponder were victims prior to he. The ground shook, the air burned around him. His steer bellowed, tearing at its bonds only to be silenced by yawning maw. He was cast into light, the sound of wood splintering about; the farmer whimpered, praying that the end would be quick, for surely the beast had uncovered his hiding spot.
But....moments passed. His heart still drummed in his chest.
One eye, hesitant, cracked open to the world. All was quiet, calm-his cart had been torn into the sky, bovine yet attached. But he still lived.
&& so came yet another victim-lucky in his life, that the beast chose mercy. But another head of cattle reported gone, lost to the appetite of the unruly Dovah that had chosen a local swath of the Velothi as its eyrie in weeks past.
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Dozens of livestock had fell to her hunger, && dozens more would she take in the coming weeks. Thick crimson lingered heavy in her maw, only urging the beast to return to roost so as to partake in her most recent spoils- which still thrashed weakly in her claws. But the weight of the cart wore her down-taxed her strength, slowed her flight, kept her lower than comfort.
But it was necessary. For soon, she would have little time to hunt at leisure-a fact that churned the dovah’s gullet, a burning coal within her psyche. It was a price, one that she still debated paying, as a thermal rose beneath, allowing her to lift high and glide for some time in comfort.
Worries could be trifled with later, the Wyrm concluded, soaring unchallenged above unbroken wilderness. For her lair was far from the cities of man, && she knew not even the bravest of nords would risk the trek to her haunt. They would toil in the dirt, as they ever have-as she soars triumphant above, out of reach && out of harm.
Foolishly, she made that mistake- to believe herself safe from all interference.