You coughed, sharp spears threatening to take your life, pressed against your throat, glaring at the SkyWing guards whom’d captured you.

“Greetings, whelp, I am Queen Palisade of the SkyWings and you are?” The Queen huffed, her [obsidian-black] talons digging into the charred stones her throne was carved with, each crevice etched in with the craftsmanship and care of an expert. Her scales looked like fire itself, and seemed to act like it as well, scorching the poor stone she sat upon, her tail curled around her legs as if they were the best perches in Pyhrria and her head held high, high above everyone else.