Ceaselessly exhuding steam and malcontent, the black Dragonkin’s face is torrid with an unnatural fury and unease at the shackles which bind her wrists in-front of her. Restless, the towering figure of obsidian scales paces, scratching her claws along the cave floor as she does so. The acidic venom which froths from her mouth leaks it’s scalding ferocity into the beast’s very vernacular as she spits her words at the figure unfortunate enough to be shackled beside her.
Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention. I’ve just been handed an urgent and horrifying news story. I need all of you, to stop what you’re doing and listen.