Rovina
Legacy Name: Rovina

She looked out on rolling green hills dotted with quaint wooden houses. The rice plants were a waving golden mass, reduced to coarse stubble as villagers in straw hats slashed the stalks from their bases, collecting the precious grains in large woven baskets.

The impulsive need to destroy formed and grew until she could not see the beauty in the graceful sweep of the knives. There was only the red haze that transformed the wooden huts formed by human hands into barriers that must be smashed and crushed and utterly pulverized.

She tucked her feet, allowing the tentacles that covered her body to propel her forward. The screaming wind was a voice of encouragement as she shot beyond the line of dogwood trees in full bloom. One of the village boys spotted her from a distance, giving the demon warning cry. The villagers fled, some attempting to pick up their baskets and others entirely neglecting the farm in favor of higher ground.

The elevated houses made an especially appealing crackling noise as they were leveled. Stored grains flew everywhere like golden fireworks that fell to the earth without exploding. The pit-dwelling houses of the village main imploded with splintering shrieks of protest.

The boy who burst out of the last house could not be much older than thirteen. He clutched his father's blade, mouth set in a grim line. The effect would have been more impressive if his knees didn't shake so hard. He raised the blade to the level of her eye.

"Please, stop! I don't want to hurt you. Leave my village in peace and we will rebuild. It doesn't have to be like this!"

A small part of her wanted badly to do just what he asked. She did not want to be the scary monster used to frighten children into heeding their parents. She wanted to be capable of creating beautiful things that could change the very course of nature's path.

You are a demon, not a fairy. They were her father's words, drilled into her head from the moment she took her form at the dawn of starlight. You are a force of destruction, not creation. Accept your nature, Rovina.

She really didn't have a choice when the haze came. It was later, in the cool darkness of her home cave that she would resent the impulses that led her down to the human world to once again cause them suffering. She didn't love humans, not in the least.. They were fundamentally stupid creatures who used other lives like seed pods that could be stripped of their fruit and discarded. Sometimes when the cries of some unfortunate farm beast reached her she was almost glad she could revenge the animals by striking fear into the hearts of their masters.

They were creators, though. They could control the evil when it entered their hearts and minds. They had a choice in the matter.

Cruel steel struck the tip of a tentacle, lopping it off. She roared her rage, slapping the boy down with a hand formed from tentacles. She flung him into the well, dismantling the stones around the rim for good measure. She could hear him splashing around and moaning but her attention could not be held by one weak human when there were so many structures left standing.

The severed tentacle grew back as she flattened the last few houses in the row and headed east. Here were the more affluent farms, boasting massive fields and livestock in large herds. She paused at the pasture of sheep grazing peacefully on wild grass. Standing in their midst was a magnificent ram, his massive horns tipped with gold.

The haze faded at the sight of that mild creature that looked on her with liquid brown eyes. Her family called her soft spot for fluffy creatures shameful but she could never bring herself to harm a sheep or even a little rabbit bounding across her path.

The distant cries were her cue to escape to the forest before men with better weapons could organize a search. They could not cross the line of dogwoods, for there were demons with much shorter tempers than hers that would not hesitate to slay a wandering human.

The members of her family could sense her thoughts the moment she crossed that invisible line. She could feel their approval as they viewed the images of her rampage. They were especially amused when the boy made a splash that sent water flying six feet above the well's lip. They played it back for each other as she escaped to the tranquility of her home cave, doing her best to shut out their loud thoughts.

Her father would not be ignored. He was picking out the moment when she gazed at the ram with the fine horns and soft fleece. His disapproval was a bitter taste but she was not some newly formed demon just growing out her tentacles. She had reached an age where she could ignore her father's wishes with some effort, though ignoring his desire was always harder at the full moon.

The attention span of the average demon is short. It did not take long for her many cousins to lose interest and go seeking their own forms of amusement. The pained cries of the villagers were a torment played continuously in her mind, a sound she could not block or brush aside. She sulked until sunset, emerging only when she was sure that even her mother would be busy feasting on the shadows of the moon. She could not let her family see her leave.

It was impossible to walk among the humans by day, even on days when the haze was absent. She used the long night hours to fulfill her purpose, gathering the best timber she could find from sections of the forest that had no demon guardian to growl over the loss of so much as a twig. The one she chose tonight was recently abandoned by a very old demon who had finally faded back to Mother Sky. It would not be long before a young one staked a claim, but tonight the grove was clear.

She carried a thick sapling in each tentacle, enough to rebuild the village twice. The entire load was stacked in a neat triangular pile. In the morning the humans would gather round and exclaim over the goodness of their god, the Protector of the Village. They were so convinced that the day would come when Protector would be truly enraged at the cruel treatment of the demons and come to slay them all.

If only they knew.

She fears that her small acts of goodness will never be enough, that a day will come when not even the mild gaze of the rams will be able to break her trance. It is a day most demons look forward to, losing the ability to distinguish good from evil, calling the haze at will rather than being a victim to it. In her mind, the fate of losing free will is worse than a million cuts from cruel steel.

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