First Roar

Stiff metal. Cold rock. Then—heat surges through my core. I roll my shoulders. The jagged cleaver across my neck shifts with real, crushing weight. Beneath my boots, the gritty black round does not budge, but massive flesh pillars squeeze its rim from below. Soft, but thick. I plant my stance hard into the grit and let loose a low rasp from my throat. It holds. Solid enough to stand on.#FantasyCreatures