The purposes, means and ends of war are of no consequence, what matters is the sport. Where many find their incentive in morals, Sable finds his in being better, in overpowering anyone that crosses his path. Put that together with a headstrong personality, add a penchant for slaughter, and you have a dragon that’s never taken a rider. Never intends to let anyone take that much control over him.
Though the esteemed high lord refuses to let a riderless beast into the air, considers them too unpredictable without a hand to guide them. Sable has demonstrated his prowess. He’s faster and more agile, fiercer and a better tactician than any of the meek flying worms in the Army. But rules have him anchored to the ground, have his jealous eyes turn up to the sky that fills with the flapping of leathery wings.
One joy in all passivity is watching his friend Xahet, the high lord’s mount, soar. This is who Sable aspires to be. Merciless, cunning and smart, though wanting all Xahet’s good traits, ends with wanting his obedience.
Today’s task is the impact of weather. Not all battles get to be chosen and not every condition matches the warlord’s goals. The plain they have moved to gets often whipped by strong winds as the crooked plant life suggests. Unpredictable, possibly, too, a territory unknown to instructors, fliers and riders alike.
Checkered flags rise, triangular, bordered in black. Using colours to colour-blind dragons is useless, and in an army that consists mostly of the dragons from the swamps, that became a rule. One by one they rise, beasts of all sizes, like giant, dark birds, raising the dust and dry grass with the sheer force of wings.
Over land and sea alike, plains as well as mountains. Where there is air, there is wind, and it howls in many directions. Whether a soft breeze or a violent gust, whatever can be carried away will be carried away. Eurus and his brothers, they make a game of it. As gods, they stand above many (though not all, even if their egos might disagree), and abusing powers come often when boredom strikes at the least convenient of times. His brothers have plenty to do. The northern wind has his wife, the southern wind thieves to aid, the western wind stuck in punishment from the king of winds. Eurus, the only one without an obligation and without a spouse to entertain.
Flirting with danger is the second best thing to do.
Dragons are seen as beasts, wild and dangerous. Some spit fire, others venom. Whatever their anotomy allows to use as a weapon, one thing humans as well as gods have learned quite quickly. They are weapons. Walking, breathing, flying weapons who often lack temper. They can be tamed, and many a beast has been done just that, but it doesn’t mean they can always be controlled. Their wings are large, and and they are intimidating as well as beautiful. Feared and adored all the same.
And to Eurus, that makes them the perfect target. Nothing is as entertaining as watching creatures so fierce struggle to keep their elegance when the wind sweeps them from side to side mid-air. The thought alone makes him giddy, and eager to take the first opportunity. Which he stumbles upon, as he has taken the shape of a crane. Such large and frightening beasts are difficult to miss, and circling the plain of land they have risen from comes easy. The god doesn’t even have to think twice about it.
Without so much of a sound, not caring about being spotted, the circle he rotates like a vulture rather than a natural crane would, begins to create a thickness in the air. Pressure. Pressure, that will eventually build into winds so violent and strong that none of the dragons lifting off from the ground will be able to control their own wings.
