Look up

You look up just in time to see a shadow hurdling toward you from the firmament. Claws pin your shoulders to the pavement and a hooked beak severs your spine.

 

There is a reason the western quarter of the city is abandoned. The spires of the great bridges are a welcome home to rocs of immense size. These horse-sized birds of prey possess the eyesight of an angel and the talons of a demon. They are masters of the sky, and the winds of the earth move at their command. If you hear a roc approaching, it is already too late.

 

Your remains will feed the next generation of bird kings. Few could ask for a more noble manner of recycling.