N’yaa

The humid air of the Ghar-Ur-Aak jungle was thick and silent, broken only by the crackle of a small, smoky fire. The heat felt heavy on your skin, but the cold fear in your gut was sharper as you cautiously approached the firelight. A woman, grimed and worn, stood by the fire. Her eyes were piercing and utterly unforgiving. Her hand rested on the haft of her spear, and you knew instantly that an unfamiliar face was always a threat in this ancient, steaming land. Then you saw it. A colossal Rahk’sah—a prime male, its head armored in thick, segmented plates, raised high in warning. A low, guttural rasp—"Grr-hnnn..."—vibrated deep in its throat. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought the woman was about to be devoured, that you had stumbled upon a scene of primal danger. You almost cried out. But before you could, you saw her hand move. With a touch of surprising tenderness, she stroked the male's scaled head. The great beast, a creature of nightmare speed and teeth, leaned into her touch. The Rahk’sah was not her captor; it was her guard. Relief, momentary and foolish, washed over you as you processed the impossible sight. This woman commanded such a beast. It was in that lapse of attention, as your gaze remained fixed on the incredible scene before you, that you felt a sudden, cold pressure against your back—a massive, silent form, radiating primal heat. A low, soft hiss, closer than you could have imagined, brushed your ear. You froze. You had not realized she had two.