Ashlion's physic call goes out, and he hears a garbled and nearly unrecognizable response. The mindblade isn't sure what is interfering but he hopes his friend can hear his need.
As Ashlions shouts out his orders, every runs toward the piled ruins, hoping to use cover. Behind them the Hyrda lets out a bubbling, gurgling scream that sounds like a drowning giant. the noise fills the ruined arena, making the pooled water shake.
With a quick reaction that Ashlion is not used to associating with the undead, the massive beast moves into action. Lumbering quickly, the reptilian creatures moves around the deep pools of water and other terrain, ending up in the middle of the arena. The nest of weaving heads rest atop the beaten and battered body, obviously seeking to strike.
At his side Jeskartin says, 'It waits for us to try and slip past. It may be able to attack us when we pass, your plan might get us all killed. Maybe a change of tactic is in order?" The man offers acidly.
It strikes Ashlion how, due to his words, the others all look to him as the leader, although Jeskartin doesn't sound happy about it. The weight of command rests on his broad shoulders and the griping of his old enemy isn't helping.
The exception is, of course, the grippli. The frog man stands off the side, holding his spear loosely, staring at the raging undead beast with a mix of fascination and holy dread. Ashlion doubts he can hear anything they are saying.
Above, the grippli watch, unmoving and unspeaking.
Ashlion's magical cry fills the silent, watchful arena. The searing heat of his rays lash the undead creature and he can hear the sizzle of flesh melting and the stink of burning bone. With a gurgling roar the hydra reacts and Ashlion guesses some damage must have been done.
Jeskartin, next to him, seems to limber up. Like a runner faced with a long race he seems to stretch and and extend his muscles. It looked familiar somehow, something in the way the man moved reminded him of something...the smooth grace, the fluid movements, the surety of action.
Then, he raises his hand and there is a flash of light. Out of the air, a weapon of pure force appears. It is a long handled fauchard, a reach weapon made of shimmering light.
It sails through the air directly at the hydra.
The weapon lands a blow, but it doesn't seem to do as much damage as it could have.
Jeskartin also then edges closer to the beast, eyeing the distance carefully, obviously measuring it.
Beyond them the grippli sneers, 'This is our destiny. Do not dishonor us or the gods."
With that he pulls a bow from his back and draws it, aiming at the massive creature.
The arrow goes wild, flying above the creature and nearly out of the stadium. As it reaches the seats though, Ashlion sees a brief flash and the arrow stop, as if it hit a solid wall. Some sort of magical barrier prevented it from leaving the arena.
Despite Ashlion's words and action, the sight of the giant undead reptile strikes fear in the hearts of the other captives, who begin running in fear and confusion. Most head toward the piled ruins, some heading too close to the hydra's gaping jaws....
One of the heads strikes like a lightning bolt at the the hapless fleeing man. The massive jaws clench around him, teeth the size of Ashlion's forearm digging into the soft flesh. With ease it lifts him high in the air, flinging blood onto the muddy ground.
Only four stand their ground, behind Ashlion. One is the oread blacksmith, Trilla, who had the cell next to him. The big apprentice walks over to him, taking up a defensive position with a halberd.
"What is the plan./" he says, his voice strong, but with a current of fear.
Another one is a woman, standing tall and proud. Around her neck hangs some holy symbol but Ashlion can't quite make it out. She draws a great bow and, calmly, fires it three times at the horrid abomination.
Two of the arrows hit, sticking into the putrid, re-animated flesh. Ashlion notes they don't do as much damage as they should have, the dead flesh being thick and stringy.
Another of those who remain reaches into a pouch, swallows a vial of fluid and simply vanishes.
The last is a hulking wild man, who reminds Ashlion of the caravans guards who used to visit the remote temple where he was raised. With a blood curdling warcry the fighter throws themselves directly at the hulking beast.
Like a next of snakes, the heads attack the charging foe.
The mouth clamps down on the man, grabbing him with a grip of iron. As the fighter bellows in rage, he is picked up off the ground, struggling furiously.
Ashlion eyes the great beast, rising high above them. Even as he looks he sees undead flesh knotting together, cracked bones re-joining...the hydra is healing somewhat. Not all of the damage is undone but some of it.
Two heads hold men, one feebly struggling the other, the powerful fighter, hitting it with his axe.
The first is killed outright as the Hydra simply snaps him in half, and there is an oozing mess of organs and blood between it's jaws. The other man is a tougher nut to crack however.
Somehow, impossibly, the fighter wrenches free of the vise-like grip of the hydra and falls to the muddy ground, with a loud wet squelch.
Ignoring him for now the hyrda lumbers forward, claws digging into the soft earth. Ashlion can see old skin heaving and wrenching under the strains, old bones creaking.
Jeskartin's floating weapon attacks it.
Ignoring the blows,a head lashes out at the still fallen man, who just escaped the jaws of death.
Although the teeth open gaping wounds on the fallen man's back, it fails to pick him back up. Apparently, whoever that man is, he doesn't enjoy being held aloft.
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Ashlion takes a fraction of a second to curse when one of the men with him ignores his warnings and gets torn in half for his trouble. He takes a deep breath in and touches the minds around him with a caress of lightning speed, nodding in approval as his allies begin to act faster and faster.
"Hit it as hard and fast as you can! Jeskartin, can you protect that man somehow?"
As Ashlion shouts his orders and warnings, some ignore him. One of the those who did not stand and fight simply runs for the edge of the area, looking to scramble up the ruined wall. However, as he jumps for the cragged stone, he is caught in mid-air as if invisible barbed wire guarded the way. Hovering above the ground, the man starts to scream in pain, writhing as his clothes and skin start to smoke and melt. In a few moments he is fully on fire, screams his last and then falls to the ground a charred corpse.
The other coward runs toward the ruins.
From an unseen space behind Ashlion hears the invisible man curse at the coward's fate. Escape was obviously not an option.
The grippli, seemingly unconcerned and perhaps even smug at the barbarians plight, fires two arrows, obviously enjoying the feeling of the Haste spell.
A look of displeasure fills his face, as the arrow bounces off rippling undead scales.
Nearer at hand the barbarian, muscles bunched in rage, attacks the hyrda with an axe. To Ashlion's surprise, the roaring man attacks one of the giant weaving heads.
With a mighty heave, one of the hydra's heads falls to the muddy ground, undead eyes glassy in the gloomy light. The hydra seems to ignore it, obviously not feeling at pain.
Jeskartin frowns at Ashlion barking out orders, but he does lift his hands into the air. Ashlion feels a warmth come over him as some magical spell is applied.
The paladin glows slightly in the dark light, as if she is imbued with some inner force. With a calm resolution her hands flow into a Hasted blur as she fires arrow after glowing arrow at the hydra's body.
Despite her efforts, only one arrow seems to really harm the beast.
Next to Ashlion Trilla tries to join the fray with his own, longer weapon.
One head shy, the Hydra lashes out. First, it targets the barabrian, who removed a head.
Caught in the jaws, this time there is no escape and the barbarian is fully enmeshed in the grasping jaws.
One massive head snaps out and bites down on Ashlion. The mindblade can feel the huge teeth slice into his skin like an iron trap. Even as his blood runs he feels himself dragged closer to the slavering beast.
Brushing past his defense, Trilla suffers the same fate, although the jaws seem to clamp even tighter on him.
After a blizzard of attacks, everyone, except the grippli, is caught in the jaws of the great beast.
The grippli, the only fighter still free from the toothy maws, released more arrows at the Hydra.
This time one arrows finds the mark, sticking into the neck of the creature not far from where Ashlion struggled.
The paladin drops her greatsword, unable to use it while being thrashed about. Instead she resorts to her long, pointed dagger.
One of her blows slices deep into the undead flesh, and a horrible yellow ooze pours out. Ashlion can see the repeated attacks have done considerable damage to the massive creature.
The barbarian roars in rage and drops his own greataxe, turning to a smaller handaxe. He savagely begins to hack at the head holding him.
He fails in removing the head, but does cause damage on the scaly neck.
Trilla, lacking a short range weapon, simply tries to escape.
The teeth hold him fast however, his bulky, rocky form not suited to wrestling moves.
Jeskartin, instead of attacking or evens truggling, seems to grow still. he begins a muffled chant that Ashlion can't make out. Slowly it grows louder and the powerfully built man seems to swell slightly, his movements become stronger and more frantic. Soon, he is roaring and wrestling as strongly as the raging barabrian further down the line.
His floating spiritual weapon keeps attacking.
Watching more undead flesh get cleaved from the Hydra, Ashlion tries to summon his own magical powers, but the jostling and tossing is too much. Between the movement and the pain in his side, he can't concentrate on the power inside him. Even his struggles to escape fail, leaving him trapped in the great jaws.
From the jagged stump the barbarian left and Ashlion failed to cauterize, two more heads burst free, thrashing and snapping at the air.
Ashlion also notes some of the damage they have been dealing re-heals but the hyrda still looks very battered and worn. He guesses it will soon collapse.
Each of the heads crushes tighter, trying to keep the squirming enemies in its mouth.
Only Ashlion manages to get free, falling to his feet, free from the biting grasp. The mindblade looks up seeing his allies still grappled by the imposing creature, which looms above him like a mountain. Yellow ooze drips from it's many wounds, and dead flesh flaps like great sails in the wind. Even the bones underneath are cracked and splintered.
Above the hydra takes the grappled paladin and tosses her aside. She tumbles some distance and lands in the sticky mud. Ashlion notes she is still moving, but looks gravely wounded.
The massive beast's bulk lurches forward, trying to slam onto Ashlion.
But the nimble mindblade dodges aside the gravely wounded creature. Inside his mind he can hear the distorted and garbled voice of Lisk shouting, Strike, strike!
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I hope you know what you're doing old friend!
Ashlion roars mightily as he unleashes his full potential - throwing as much magical might as he can into an assault of blows that blurs in the eye.
Lightning crackles, not only around his hand but across his whole body as his falcatta gains a white edge, the light painful to look at even for Ashlion's practised eyes. Darting into his strikes the mindblade ducks low and strikes...
By the time the blur subsides Ashlion is literally smoking, as are the mighty gashes he has left across the hydras body. One of Ashlion's hands is still inside the hydra - the concentrated lightning he is forcing into its skeleton lighting the creature from the inside out.
The entire arena fills with the smell of ozone and smoking flesh as Ashlion unleashes power not seen here for centuries. A storm's worth of lighting is released from his body and charges into the great hydra. Crackling bolts of electricity surge into the beast, making the flesh bubble and melt from sheer heat, as bones crack and splinter from the force.
With a final roar, the creature thrashes to and fro, being cooked from the inside out. Then, like a felled tree, it falls to the ground with a great splash, throwing mud on everyone as it splashes down.
There is a moment of silence, as everyone stares at the fallen beast, still charred and smoking from Ashlion's attack.
Then he hears the grippli's voice, from the crumbling stands above. The voice, still magically amplified rings in his hears, even over the crackling powers slowly dissipating.
'Well done!" The old musky voice says, "I knew we had chosen potent warriors this time. Perhaps you even approach the mighty heros of old, that once battled here."
The others stare up at the old grippli, obviously wondering what happens next. Only the young grippli fighting alongside them seems tense, ready for more action.
'Now, though, comes the true test. To separate the chaff from the truly worthy." A pause then, 'I will say it simply. Many enter the arena to worship the gods, but only one may leave in trimuh and glory."
'We have to fight each other?" Trilla mutters, clutching his halberd.
'It is only in this way are the gods satisfied and their wrath turned from us. So it has been done for millennia and so it shall be done today." The voice booms through the arena.
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Ashlion lets his arms fall, sword down by his leg. He turns slowly to each of his companions. "I have no wish to fight you. We have fought their beast and triumphed together. If they have to face the wrath of their gods then I care not! Let us leave together and if they try to stop us then we will fight them! Together!"
He waits, trying to gauge the interest in his proposal.
A moment of silence is met by Ashlion's words, only broken by the bloody coughing of the paladin, still lying in the mud.
Then the grippli in the arena with them speaks up, 'Easy for you to say, outlander. Why would you care if the city is ravaged by the gods? That thousands of innocents would be wiped out because you are too proud to fight? It is not only for the grippli, but for all those who live in these lands."
His father's voice, Master Ruue's, booms out, 'Yes, it must be so. This ritual, while perhaps a shadow of what it once was, is all that keeps the storm at bay. You must fight each other, or this was all for naught and you doom many."
Trilla, the oread blacksmith mutters, "That doesn't sound so good."
Louder he says, "That city is my home. I am certainly not in favor of its destruction."
The wounded barabrian, leaning on his axe, grins, 'I don't know. It sounds like a bit of excitement and adventure. Besides, I've never liked following orders." He spits in the direction of the grippli, who simply ignores him, those large black eyes fixed on Ashlion.
Ashlion's eyes linger of Jeskartin. His old school rival stares back, eyes unreadable. What did this man, so different then the student Ashlion knew, stand? For now, the mindblade cannot tell.
Ashlion ignores the argument goes to the paladin. He fiddles with the wand, unable to get it to work properly. That priest made it look so easy...
Then the paladin groans and rolls over, face up. Her skin is pale and her face drawn in pain. Murmuring a prayer to some god, there is a faint glowing as she heals herself. Looking up at Ashlion she says, "Thank you." her voice is faint.
From behind him he hears the grippli say, 'You refuse to fight then, human? Do you lay down your blade and let us kill you?"
Trilla holds up a hand, 'Easy now. Let's not be so hasty." Then the oread looks up at the distant Master Ruue, 'Is it true the city is in danger?"
'Yes. It has always been so. This ritual is vital in protecting the city against the wrath of the old gods, the spirits that men have attempted to crush. Now more then ever, we must appease them. If not, they will lay waste to the city and many will die."
Trilla looks concerned at the talk of his homeland being ruined.
Then, out of thin air, the voice of the man who vanished during the fight sounds, 'So we kill each other, and then you let the winner out? Only one?"
'Only one.' Master Ruue booms.
Everyone looks at each other, weapons held closely. What other options did they have?
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Shaking the wand and wondering if he can turn it off and on again Ashlion attempts again and manages to get a faint glow of power.
]"And yet you still offer no proof." He comments. "You wish sentient beings to slay each other to appease gods you cannot demonstrate, for a purpose you cannot prove. If we fight and the spirits come tomorrow then our sacrifice will be insufficient. If we do not fight and the spirits do not come then clearly we have already sated them - or perhaps they do not care! You BELIEVE that this matters - bbut tell me, what of yesterday? What of tomorrow? You have been taking us for a week or more - why did they not come yesterday? What stopped them then?"
Looking down at the fallen paladin he speaks in an undertone. "You have divine power. Can you convince them of this folly - that we need to shed no more blood?"
"Spoken like a true human." the grippli fighter says, mockingly, "Dismissive of traditions that go back thousands of years, cemented in the very dragons themselves. Who are you to deny the gods?"
The barbarian lifts an axe threateningly, 'Easy friend. I'm a human."
The paladin stands up, sword in hand, 'This man is right but more then he knows. Even if these gods were coming and this ritual was effective, it would not be right. Innocents should not be forced to kill each other to satiate some savage gods."
Trilla, up to now calm, grows agitated, 'Savage gods'? How dare you say that about the faith of my ancestors. I see the humans are all the same, willing to put a city full of others at risk. very noble."
"I don't like your tone." the barbarian says, stepping forward.
The paladin steps between them and the rough looking axe wielding laughs, 'Out of my way, woman. There is killing that needs done, gods or no."
Things are spiraling out of control.
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"Spoken like a true human." the grippli fighter says, mockingly, "Dismissive of traditions that go back thousands of years, cemented in the very dragons themselves. Who are you to deny the gods?"
Something the grippli says touches a nerve in Ashlion. "You say we know nothing - you claim to have the only connection to your gods? To the dragons of old?" His form swells, his sword vanishes as his hands morph into claws and his head throbs painfully as his nose and mouth elongate into a dragon's mighty jaws. Now standing a full twelve feet tall he lets out a roar, taking huge strides towards the grippli as he does so.
As Ashlion changes from a muscular human to a towering, draconic monster, the atmosphere change. Instead of rising tensions, a feeling of panic and unease sweeps the assembled fighters.
The grippli takes a startled step back, dropping his bow in panic. In confusion he glances to his uncle, high among the stands.
It is Ruue who speaks, "Then you, beyond all, should understand what he do here is for the greater good. Would you willing risk the city?" The voice is no longer commanding but conversational, at least as conversational as a magically enhanced voice booming across a ruined arena can be. "If I let you leave, is it not on my head that the deaths that will follow? Are you willing to take that blame?"
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"I do not fear your gods." Ashlion replies, draconic arrogance suffusing his voice. "If they question you then tell them that I would speak with them. Their price on my head - not yours!"
Ashlion glares around the arena, before refocusing on Ruue. "You will let these people go. You will not take anymore from the city for one month. If you do then I shall return here and it will be my wrath you have to face before your gods ever reach you!"
Contemplative silence meets Ashlion's bold words. Then Master Ruue's voice sounds, quieter now, 'You take this responsibility yourself? The blood on your hands? So be it then, young warrior."
'Son, you know the ways."
Behind Ashlion the grippli warrior moves toward him slowly. He doesn't meet Ashlion's eyes, and instead begins tracing out a set of intricate symbols on the ground, traced in the muddy ground. he ignores the other watching fighters, obviously taking care to get things just right. As he does so, he begins to mutter in some soft, gulping tongue. Grippli speech, perhaps? Then the frog-like man reaches for a small bag at his waist, pulling a glittering powder from it, sprinkling it over the symbols.
They begin to shine with a faint purple light. Lastly the grippli bends down, and pulls out a small silver knife. With a short motion he cuts one of his long fingered hands, and leaves a small spatter of blood on the arena floor. He backs away, and still ignoring Ashlion, nods to his father in the stands.
"If you truly wish this, then step into the circle and swear it. Match my son's blood. Then the oath will be complete and the responsibility for the city will rest with you." a pause then, with a whisper, 'As the heroes of old."
This seems to startle the younger grippli, who starts, staring up at the barely discernible shadow that is his father.
Ashlion feel the slightest tingle of arcane energy...or was it just his imagination?
"And so it is done." Master Ruee says, still atop the ruined seats, among the remains of the old statues. "Now, we shall see."
He taps the stone and mutters something. The hazy magical field around them vanishes and Ashlion can hear, clearly, Lisk shouting, You fought well! a pause then, Shall I come down?
The other warriors stands around, looking unsure what to do.
The gripplis merely stare down at them, as if expecting the gods to suddenly appear and devour Ashlion on the spot.
They do not.
Ashlion looks toward the heavens, arms held wide. Out of the air, Lisk falls like a thunderbolt. The rushing of his wings is like a wind, and it kicks up sand, swirling around Ashlion.
With a slam, the large dragon hits the ground near Ashlion, talons gripping into the damp earth, tail lashing the air. With a roar that this arena has not heard in centuries, Lisk proclaims Ashlion's victory.
The other warriors stumble back in fear and confusion, event he paladin. Only Jeskartin is unmoved, staring at Lisk with narrowed eyes.
Then there is movement and one of the great gates to the arena floor opens. For a moment Ashlion fears betrayal. Another monster unleashed? But no savage beast emerges but instead the old grippli, Master Ruue.
Leaning on a stick, he crosses the sodden ground, approaching carefully. His eyes are locked on Lisk, wide and staring.
He walks up to Ashlion, muttering, "Maybe the old stories are true...." then he glances at Ashlion's draconian face, 'For the city's sake, I hope so. May you weather this storm, young warrior."
Then Ashlion hears a grunt from the barbarian, "Think you can nearly have us killed?" With a rusk he throws himself at the grippli, axe slicing through the air.
Ashlion's claws catch on the barbarian's steel, blocking the blow. The human grunts in surprise at the parry and twists the blade free. Then Ashlion tries to jump on him.
The man swings his sword up in reflex as Ashlion charges at him.
But the hurried blow misses as Ashlion slams into him. The barbarian is an experienced warrior however, and keeps his feet. He faces Ashlion, confusion in his eyes, sword held low.
"He tries to kill us and you defend him? Out of my way, dragon-man or I'll kill you too."
"What a way to start." the still invisible alchemist says, voice floating on the wind, "Killing humans to save some jungle trash. Really inspires us to listen to you."
The barbarian merely sets himself and charges, letting a loud yell loose as he rages.
Ashlion's magic freezes the raging barbarian in place. Instantly the big man halts, mid-stride,axe in hand. Although he is perfectly still, there is appreciable feeling of the man straining to break free, of the slightest trembling of his muscles, a quiver in the ground. Although Ashlion's magic holds him, he has not stopped trying.
Still out of sight, he hears the alchemist's mocking voice, "And now what? Kill him while he stands immobile? Honorable."
Ashlion grabs the man's axe from locked, gripping fingers (not as easy as it sounds). Then Lisk not so gently, knocks the man over and sits on top of him.
Even as the dragon does so the man breaks free of the spell and starts thrashing.
"Your pet will have to move eventually!' the man says, spit flying from his mouth, arms and legs churning for purpose.
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"Before or after he crushes your chest?" Ashlion responds in a low growl. Turning to Master Ruue he tries to resolve the situation.
"Master Ruue. You will remove yourself from this arena and your people will allow all combatants to leave this arena and return to their homes without molestation. If they need help then your people will provide it. Once I see that this is done you and I may speak as it appears you wish to do." He pauses, but does not ask Ruue for confirmation.
Lisk, reluctantly, climbs from the barbarians chest. Ashlion passes the barbarians axe to Lisk. "Fly above this man and deliver his axe once he returns to the other side of the river." He glares at the barbarian. "This city is under my protection - that means you, and it means Master Ruue. Do not make me regret the efforts I have gone to to keep you alive."
"They are your charges now, human." Master Ruee says, "I will not hinder them but help them get back across the river? Why should I? I still think this is blasphemous folly." The grippli almost seems amused at this, as if waiting for the gods to swallow Ashlion up and happy he has a front row seat.
Ashlion's words mean nothing to the raging manand as soon as Lisk moves, he lunges at Ashlion, hands reaching for his throat.
He misses though, Ashlion stepping back,out of reach.
Hidden, the alchemist laughs. "He doesn't seem very grateful. I wonder if the rest of the city will feel the same way."
As the barbarian surges to his feet Ashlion calmly and coldly punches the man, hard. The blow connects solidly on the already heavily wounded man and he falls like a sack of bricks, landing face down on the mud.
Everyone stares at Ashlion and Lisk, until Trilla asks, 'So, um, we should go?"
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"Yes," Ashlion growls. "Leave now and quickly. I have business with Master Ruue."
He waits until all the captives have made their getaway before shrinking down to his normal size. "Now Master Ruue. You need to tell me more of your gods. What do they demand? Why do you sacrifice to them in blood? What do you fear so much? Where do they rest?"
The other leave, eager to be away from this place. The only one that remains is the barbarian, still sprawled out in the mud. Luckily the female paladin turned him over, to keep him from drowning.
The older grippli absorbs these questions calmly, his massive wet eyes scanning Ashlion. There seems to be much thought happening behind the rubbery, glistening face.
"A bit late to ask questions now, no?" he says, leaning on his staff. He suddenly looks very old and weathered, as if stored in some forgotten swamp for untold ages.
After a long pause, he says, 'The demands are old, from time immemorial. This ritual is all that remains, a shadow of what it once was. We keep the tradition, knowing little but with much faith. Blood they asked for, so blood we give. The ways of the gods are inscrutable but I would guess....I would guess they were gods of struggle, of life, of passion. Blood to them was life. It honored them."
"I let you have this task because I am curious about you...human, yet dragon. Your lineage demands a certain respect, which I have granted. The dragons and the old gods are intertwined, in ways beyond that we know."[/b[ then he face sets, [b]'However, I am not pleased with it, and it saddens me that likely many will die before you either fail or are forced to complete this ritual."
'As for where they dwell...where do gods dwell? What kind of question is that? They no longer walk among us, this much is plain. But they dwell in the jungle, in the river, in the wind itself, or so the old stories claim. Other than that, I do not know how to answer."
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"Then the course is simple." Ashlion replies. "I will go to seek them out, whether that be in the jungle, the river or the wind itself."
With that he nods farewell to the grippli and strides from the arena, uncaring about the unconscious barbarian. Once free of the arena he and Lisk spend some little time exploring the area (which I assume is in the Dead Quarter?) before examining their options for returning to the lands of the living.
Ashlion leaves the muddy arena, and soon finds himself (as he expected) in the Dead Quarter. The sky above is cloudy and grey but it still reveals the area better then his previous visit, in the dead of night.
All around him are charred buildings, melted streets and burned earth. The dragons that did this left little behind and what ruins remain were probably left on purpose, to act as a message. It is a chilling and disturbing place. Ashlion doubts that the populace was able to evacuate before this disaster was upon them. How many hundreds, thousands had died here? Was he risking the same disaster for the rest of the city?
Ashlion catches up Trilla at the water's edge. The oread looks troubled, staring over at both sides of the downstream city. He glances at Ashlion and says, 'Any idea how to get back? Few ships come close enough to even see us."
Then, 'I worry that the grippli may have been right. Maybe it was better for some of us to die to placate the old gods."
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"And maybe he was wrong and his kind have been murdering innocents for a century or more." Ashlion responds. "As to how we get back... Lisk?" He looks up at his familiar. Can you find the boat-woman from before? Madala? Ask her if she'll come and get us. I can promise a good story and fair payment. Make sure she knows that.
With Lisk gone he turns back to Trilla, "Why are you so concerned? What makes you believe that the grippli could have been right?"
Lisk replies, She will agree, weather she wants to or not. With that the dragon flies off, soon lost among the gray low clouds.
Trilla watches the beast fly off before replying, "The Old Gods were strange, everyone knows that. Bloodthristy and demanding. A blood sacrifice isn't that strange, is it?" He shivers and goes on, 'The old gods live, no matter what the humans say. They claim to have killed them in ages past but I've heard stories..."
Trilla stands, although with his stocky build and thick legs, Ashlion guesses the oread could stand all day without getting tired.
'Oh, you know, how those stories are. Rampaging gods, ravaging the lands, battling heros. At least those are the ones told int he taverns and such. I don't know how much truth is in them."
He quiets a bit then goes on, "But I know they were real, and still are. Despite what the humans do, there are still a few to hold to the old ways and even some who await the return." he laughs then and points back to the arena, 'Apparently more then I thought, considering that ritual."
Trilla shakes his head, "I am no scholar, just a blacksmith apprentice. Sorry I don't know more." then he adds, 'Do you actually intend to find one of the old gods? And do what, convince it not to destroy the city?"
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"Find them certainly." Ashlion replies. "It's what I've been journeying for this whole time. My mother was human and I never knew my father - but as far as I'm aware he wasn't a dragon... so yes, I seek the old gods, or those who can tell me about them." He pauses, reflective for a moment, "Once I get there... well since I have to protect this city now your idea is a good one!" He smiles, wicked teeth appearing as he does so.
Trilla frowns at Ashlion's grin, 'And how do you convince a god to do anything? Don't they have a reputation of ignoring the wishes of mortal men? At least they do in the stories."
Trilla merely shakes his head and mutters, "The man is crazy." but grows silent.
Time passes and Ashlion simply enjoys the day, with a warm breeze off the river, playing among the cattails and other plants at the river's edge. The river is flowing smoothly today, barely a ripple in the shimmering water.
Soon, he sees a speck in the sky. Lisk.
She comes The dragon says, staying high and nearly out of sight.
After a short wait, Ashlion sees that same, battered looking boat approaching, skilfully crossing the river. In the stern sits Manala, the old undine woman. She looks less mysterious in the daylight, green hair rippling in the breeze, blue eyes like twin pinpricks of light. Trilla glances back at Ashlion, "This is our way back?"
Soon the boat arrives at shore and Madala beaches the small vessel. "Your friend is insistent, young warrior." She says to Ashlion, with a quick glance to the distant speck that is Lisk. "But I imagine such is the way of dragons."
She sighs and sits on the gunnel of her boat, 'So, what do you ask of Old Madala?" a pause then she trails one hand in the water, "The river...she tells me you have not been idle."
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"Madala, I ask for passage to the other side of the river, for myself and my friend here." Ashlion speaks formally, remembering that this a woman who appreciates the courtesy of the old ways. "I offer payment in coin or tale as should please you."
If she allows he will step into the boat and move to the bow, in order to counter balance the effects of an oread in a boat - drowning in the river is not how he plans to go.