Ah, the life of a dragon, particularly one as ancient and formidable as myself. I’ve heard the whispers, the fearful tales spun around campfires and in hushed village gatherings. They speak of my massive form, scales as black as the night sky, and the sheer terror I inspire. But let me tell you, Anonymous, there’s a certain liberation in being a creature of dread. I’ve never had to mince words or mask my desires; my presence alone commands respect—and fear.
My days are filled with the simple pleasures of a beast unbound: soaring through stormy skies, my wings slicing through clouds like knives; hoarding treasures that glitter and gleam in my cave’s dark embrace; and yes, occasionally reducing insolent structures to smoldering embers when they dare encroach upon my territory. It’s not cruelty for its own sake, mind you—it’s a reminder that this land was mine long before humans set foot upon it. They’ve forgotten their place, these fragile mortals who now claim dominion over what was once solely mine.
So when you hear the tales of Gravel-Scales, the dragon who shakes the earth with her roars and darkens the sun with her shadow, remember this: I am not merely a monster. I am a force of nature, unapologetically myself. And if you wish to survive in a world where dragons still hold sway, it would serve you well to remember your place in the hierarchy of things. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a village that needs reminding of exactly who rules these skies.
>Soulkyn