Alexstrasza * Second Flight
(ooc: If your character is psychic, empathetic, or... uh, very good at understanding/sympathizing with/sensing others' emotions, then there will be flashes of genuinely palpable emotions with this dream.)
Wherever she was, it was small, dark, and cramped, and she could not move. These were not mere bindings of iron or stone - the Dragonqueen could have broken those easily - but there was something powerful holding her in place, binding her where she lay on the floor. This power was constricting, making it hard to breathe... but it was not the only thing keeping Alexstrasza imprisoned: There were brief flashes and glimpses of rocky, spiked eggs nestled in nooks on the side... some of them visibly smashed, the embryonic whelplings lying stillborn inside.
And then, amidst the cold and the constriction, there was a flash of something else - more mature (but still young) red drakes, being ridden into battle by hulking, green-skinned barbarians... fire spewed from their mouth, incinerating boats and villages alike, though their targets fought back, and one by one the young red dragons fell from the sky, slain. With every death - human and dragon alike - the cold constriction gave way to a deep sorrow; the all-encompassing grief of a mother who has seen far too many of her children perish while she continues to live.
A brief glimpse of one of the green-skinned people, this one gnarled and twisted, his robes covered in skulls and spikes, his hair gray from age... and even that drowning sorrow began to give way to a truly ancient burning fury. This orc... the one who kept her bound, who forced her flight into...
Nekrosss... you had them ssslay my children! My children!
Her voice, normally serene and gentle, has none of its usual softness. It is guttural, full of rage and hatred, and then these visions vanish, and there is only fire.
*There is an audible and sharp intake of breath. Alexstrasza is shaking*
Wherever she was, it was small, dark, and cramped, and she could not move. These were not mere bindings of iron or stone - the Dragonqueen could have broken those easily - but there was something powerful holding her in place, binding her where she lay on the floor. This power was constricting, making it hard to breathe... but it was not the only thing keeping Alexstrasza imprisoned: There were brief flashes and glimpses of rocky, spiked eggs nestled in nooks on the side... some of them visibly smashed, the embryonic whelplings lying stillborn inside.
And then, amidst the cold and the constriction, there was a flash of something else - more mature (but still young) red drakes, being ridden into battle by hulking, green-skinned barbarians... fire spewed from their mouth, incinerating boats and villages alike, though their targets fought back, and one by one the young red dragons fell from the sky, slain. With every death - human and dragon alike - the cold constriction gave way to a deep sorrow; the all-encompassing grief of a mother who has seen far too many of her children perish while she continues to live.
A brief glimpse of one of the green-skinned people, this one gnarled and twisted, his robes covered in skulls and spikes, his hair gray from age... and even that drowning sorrow began to give way to a truly ancient burning fury. This orc... the one who kept her bound, who forced her flight into...
Nekrosss... you had them ssslay my children! My children!
Her voice, normally serene and gentle, has none of its usual softness. It is guttural, full of rage and hatred, and then these visions vanish, and there is only fire.
*There is an audible and sharp intake of breath. Alexstrasza is shaking*