Blackwing flies - an interlude

On a desolate continent far from humankind, something stirred. In the dark shadows of a cave, deeper shadows had been awakened. Joints creaked as long black limbs stretched after years of slumber. Eerie clicks and rattles echoed off the walls, and a dull blue light shone.

From the cave mouth it emerged, its exoskeleton all black glistened in the dull light. A bulky weight held up by six long limbs, four with tips pointed like spear heads, felt the sun. The two front limbs like bulky arms shifted the gravel, its fingers and giant claws clasped tight. On its back blue crystals shone bright.

Its great mandibles chattered. a screech escaped its throat. Its whole form exuded malice. The creature was unable to articulate with words, it never had to, but if it could describe its thoughts, it would be indignation. Something small had dared to enter its kingdom and now it would have to die. It had felt the magic, it had sensed the flutter, but now there was no sign. The thought that any living thing could enter its home and leave alive was unthinkable. So, it searched to satisfy its murderous desire.

Its movements were sluggish at first. Many years of sleep had dulled its senses and left its legs unsteady, but each step helped its blood to course through its body once again, bringing strength. Its black shell parted, revealing long black wings. Slowly blood filled the wings as they unfurled and straightened. They buzzed as Blackwing tested their strength.

In the plain in front of Blackwing’s cave was an empire of barren rock and gravel. No life grew except sickly grass clinging to cracks in the bedrock, their blades blowing in the dry air. No sound could be heard other than the shrill of the wind. Blackwing screeched in answer.

From the hills behind, two trespassers entered the king’s valley. They quarrelled amongst themselves, heedless of the danger. Any other day and they may have gone unnoticed, but Blackwing had been woken from his deep sleep. It took to the air.

A great claw clamped tight on one of the interlopers. Small it seemed compared to Blackwing and in this world of giants, but stood next to a man, it would be twice as tall. Blackwing squeezed, crushing the insect, bits of exoskeleton and flesh fell to the ground. The second, before it could react, was caught between two mandibles. Closing tight, they sliced through their prey, splitting it in two. The remains quickly vanish after being torn apart and swallowed.

Hardly satisfied by the small meal, Blackwing rears up, its prothorax and head lifted high above the rocky ground. It senses the magic around it, small and large, but none a match for Blackwing, not with the other kings still in slumber. Some other source of magic grabs its attention.

Far away and across the sea, Blackwing sensed that great magic has been done. Even now it felt the static in the air, as if the whole world’s magic had discharged. The Moorohid, the great sea of magic, swirled as it flowed towards the source. Blackwing felt an urge to follow, a great hunger awakening deep within.

The hard-shell opened once again as the wings unfurled. They vibrated, tasting the air, emitting a deep guttural roar. Blackwing rose, his valley shrinking underneath and revealing a large wasteland as far as the eye could see. Blackwing flew east heading first to the sea and then in the direction of great northern continent, Vettirland.

As the great Atematha flew, it failed to notice that it was not alone. Distracted by its hunger, Blackwing fixated on the horizon, overlooking the small creature, smaller even than a human, clinging tightly on. A flash of green and yellow scurried into one of the crevices of Blackwing’s thick armour as it sheltered from the rush of wind.