[ Dragons do not like cages; even the gilded sort and it takes a few long, heavy beats before she can breathe without wanting to Shout as a dragon would, without wanting to burn it all away in her own anger.
Her soul - a dragon's soul - seethed and clawed against her being, coiled with injured pride that for the few moments of her arrival nearly made her vision white.
But the overlords of this land were not familiar to her, and while she had no doubt very little would withstand yol, ashes would not guarantee her safe return to a world she was meant to save. Bloody, damned little things couldn't wait, could they? They never could.
She took to the plains, to exploration, nearly as soon as she could, with the bow at her back and the dagger at her hip comfortable weights.
She wasn't sure if she heard the beat of his wings or felt his presence first. But that ageless soul rises on its hackles, drawn to something distinctly familiar yet not and the dragonborn raises her eyes to the sky, watches as the dragon - no sort she recognizes - lands not to far away, dust and wind and grass rising beneath the great span of wings.
And speaks in a tongue she understands.
Her approach is marked by tense shoulders and a breath eased to be ready to Shout if there is a need. ] Captured and coddled by some petty nuisances and you complain about a lack of sheep?
[ There's a pause, because her quip was secondary, really. She looks at him, in sort of familiar wonder, and her dragonblood resounds, pinpricks in her fingertips. ] You are not from Skyrim at all, are you?
oh gosh hope this is okay!!
Her soul - a dragon's soul - seethed and clawed against her being, coiled with injured pride that for the few moments of her arrival nearly made her vision white.
But the overlords of this land were not familiar to her, and while she had no doubt very little would withstand yol, ashes would not guarantee her safe return to a world she was meant to save. Bloody, damned little things couldn't wait, could they? They never could.
She took to the plains, to exploration, nearly as soon as she could, with the bow at her back and the dagger at her hip comfortable weights.
She wasn't sure if she heard the beat of his wings or felt his presence first. But that ageless soul rises on its hackles, drawn to something distinctly familiar yet not and the dragonborn raises her eyes to the sky, watches as the dragon - no sort she recognizes - lands not to far away, dust and wind and grass rising beneath the great span of wings.
And speaks in a tongue she understands.
Her approach is marked by tense shoulders and a breath eased to be ready to Shout if there is a need. ] Captured and coddled by some petty nuisances and you complain about a lack of sheep?
[ There's a pause, because her quip was secondary, really. She looks at him, in sort of familiar wonder, and her dragonblood resounds, pinpricks in her fingertips. ] You are not from Skyrim at all, are you?