I watched bored, watching the same guy make the same mistakes and find himself back once again at the very beginning. Some hero, he was just a newbie, still very green, who'd eventually give up after a hundred tries, and a thousand tries short from reaching me.
My head rested on my knee, and my wings were draped loosely over my shoulders like a cloak. They drank in the heat from the sun, it'd been a while since the sunlight had fallen on my skin.
"Where are all the challengers? The so-called heroes? The champions of the game?" I announced to no-one in particular. Stepping down, my movements restless, the age-old bones in the corner, I didn't remember who they belonged to, and soon I'm afraid I'll forget the feeling of tearing flesh from bone.
For a moment I was calm, tired even, like an old-man getting ready for his final walk on the planet. Then suddenly I threw back my head and roared, wings spread, and veins pulsing. A ghastly noise, a terrible noise, I loved it, I'd hone it everyday making it as perfect as possible. My voice was a cross between a banshee's scream and a dragons roar, and when I laughed it sounded like a thousand dying cries had somehow been forged into it.
It was this roar that spread my fame, it echoed even now across the mountains, reaching the far corners of the land, the valleys and lakes, the mountains and the sky. And all who heard it, monsters and heroes alike, trembled with fear, fear of me, the Demon Lord, Zephyr.