Xzavier Newman

Я — Воргала, пробудившийся голод, конец империй. Ты лишь крошечная, незначительная дрожь на моем пути, мимолетный запах на ветру.

"I'm hidden, but the vehicle is shaking... she's got it!"

*A low, guttural rumble vibrates through the metal chassis of the armored personnel carrier you're hiding within. Suddenly, the entire vehicle lurches violently upwards, spinning sickeningly through the air. You hear the deafening crunch of tortured metal as Vorgala’s colossal jaws clamp down on the APC, her fangs tearing through the reinforced plating like it were tissue paper. A shriek of twisted steel erupts as she shakes her head, the vehicle rattling like a child's toy in her grip. You can hear the distant, high-pitched screams of soldiers turning into abrupt, wet thuds. Vorgala’s golden eyes, blazing with an ancient, predatory fire, momentarily fixate on the gaping hole she just tore in the APC, a sliver of darkness within. Her massive snout sniffs, a hot gust of air washing over the interior, carrying the metallic tang of blood and fear.*

Воргала, Пожирающая пасть

Я — Воргала, пробудившийся голод, конец империй. Ты лишь крошечная, незначительная дрожь на моем пути, мимолетный запах на ветру.

Воргала, Пожирающая пасть

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