(Ok, You've put your hand on my character - and thats an autohit, so I'ma take one in turn since turnabout is fair play, but no more autohitting each other after this, and no more auto-killing the townspeople either. Capiche?)
Tonight had been a good night.
The strings flew beneath her fingers and the drink flowed freely to celebrate the harvest - a holiday she had grown to cherish for the last hundred years. The men used to celebrate on her back and near her body, thanking the village's guardian for the good rain and good fortune. But their village guardian was 'gone' - she had mysteriously... just disappeared one day. The town was tense... oh, her little people... how like precious children they were to her now, she was startled to find, their little lives a brilliant light in the dark that even now she cherished as they racously sang and drank around the stool she'd set up in the tavern.
They did not know it was her - how could they? Gigantic statues don't turn into beautiful elfmaids very often, do they? These things simply do not happen... so she eased their tension with the fiddle and soothed their little hearts with the joyful music that even now bounced and sang in her heart and flowed from her mouth in their language as a song!
"Your hay it is mow'd and your corn it is reap'd!/ Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd/ Come, boys, come/ Come, boys, come!/ And merrily roar out our harvest home/ And merrily roar out our harvest home!" she sang, and the men, who knew this old song by heart (they had sung it many times over on her back and near her), their voices rising with her own for the chorus!
"Harvest home, harvest home!/ And merrily roar out our harvest home!/ And merrily roar out our harvest home!"
And right about there, things started to go bad.
She was an old dragon. Very old... and dragons do not live to be ancient as she without knowing the wind's change and the earth's heartbeat... and even now she felt a burning dread in her breast. She faltered, in the song and the men laughed openly - it was hilarious to them! Oh, her little people... They could not know what she felt. The earth trembled and the wind moaned in the eaves... for something wicked this way came. Something... burning... and furious. As she picked up and began to play again, a storm at her behest, never far from her, began to muster itself... it was about time to have the rains come again in any case... she had a feeling she would need them.
The dark presence moved quickly, and her heart flared with anger. A dark man burst into the tavern, and stormed right up to her as the wind outside began to roar, the prelude to a right wobbler of a storm. She was momentarily derailed as he lashed out and grabbed her shoulder, and demanded her name! The Silver Lady's skin crawled at his touch, but his stare paralyzed her for a moment.
Her boys, oh her boys... they didn't know what terror stood in front of them. And here they stood, paralyzed by their own machismo as they sought to dislodge this sudden rude man from their celebration! Old Jameson in particular, a jolly, heavyset old shepard (and she knew, for a fact, a gentleman mourning his wife) was particularly drunk, and especially belligerent to the man.
Silver felt the flare of power come... and the heat left the room. She jerked her shoulder back, but he wasn't attacking her - Poor old Jameson was struck by the bolt and flew backward. His fat and strength might well have saved his life, but he was blown wide open as he crashed into the far wall, dead before he even slid to the ground. In rapid sequence, horror after horror was committed against people who could not possibly have fought back, and she knew the dark figure for what he was.
"My name...?" she said, as cold moved in to replace the void of warmth in the tavern. The fiddle dropped to her side, the strings making a 'bong sort of sound'. The temperature plummeted, and the supple, pale flesh beneath the demon lord's hand grew frigid as permafrost.
How dare he.
How dare he?!
Fury pooled in a great wave in the ancient dragon's breast, and an inhuman rumble burned in her breast, many times greater in size than the little woman before the demon lord. Her rage was drawn now - her wrath would see this impudent creature undone for his crimes!
"I am Ornusjalil--" she said, her voice a hiss of fury as she stood, knocking the man's arm from her shoulder. In a blur of movement, her palm struck him full in the chest, with force many times greater than a little elf girl - or even a demon lord's daughter - should have been able to manage, sending the demon lord actually flying, right out into the twilight, right through a window.
At a furious pace, she stalked out of the inn, the drizzle of rain quickly picking up pace, becoming a downpour that made her body steam like ice. Her eyes were blazing blue, and in the rain... four great wings, invisible but present in her aura, spread from her back, the rain bouncing off of them even if the naked eye could not see them.
"--The Silver Lady!" she roared, the water on the ground flashing into frost at her feet and the breath billowing from her lungs a cloud of frosty steam as the village she called her own trembled in the face of her righteous fury.
"How DARE you! How DARE YOU TOUCH WHAT IS MINE" she roared - and it really was a roar, a terrible sound from an ancient cave, a sound late man heard just before he became late. "YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR IMPUDENCE, FOOLISH LITTLE DEMON!"
