What happens next is a bit curious, but you respectfully follow along. The hunters return to the chamber above and gather up the fragments of Aekil’s body. Then they carry these down to the nest. Finally, they take the stone fragments and throw them at the eggs. Chathorik throws the first stone, hurling it with as much force as he can at the nearest mound. The stone clacks against the eggs shell, which appears to similarly be made of stone. He chucks a second chunk at the same egg, and this time the shell breaks. A viscous green fluid spills out, hissing as it pours over the rest of the eggs in the pile. You gaze in astonishment as the acidic fluid eats away at the other shells, which eventually break and spill their own contents upon the mound. In a matter of seconds, the first mound is reduced to a sticky green goop.
The rest of the hunters, and yourself join in this strangely ritualistic process of using up Aekil’s body as ammunition to destroy the remaining eggs. At some point it is explained to you in hushed tones that the acidic egg filling will eat away at stone a metal. To use your own tools to break the eggs would be to needlessly waste a good weapon. Plus, Aekil probably would have wanted to know that he helped destroy the next in some way, so it seems a fitting epitaph to your brief relationship.
Once all the eggs have been destroyed, you and the hunters leave the cave the same way you came in. Outside Chathorik instructs you and the hunters to close off the fissure by causing a small landslide. It is a relatively simple task, and when it is done the entrance is buried under a mound of rubble. Then you begin the hike back to the village. It is just past midday when you arrive.
The villagers are out and about, going about their daily lives. The watchman at the fence sends word to the chief that you have returned. You make your way down the road to the center square once more, and once again, a few villagers leave what they are doing to follow and see what news the hunters have brought. Right away, some of them notice the absence of one of your members. Word begins to spread. You can see it going around. You can also see that it is affecting Chathorik, though he bears the gossip with a stoney exterior, his jaw set of iron.
You reach the chief’s mound. He is waiting at the bottom of the steps, with several of his wives. You can see that he already knows Aekil hasn’t come home, the messenger undoubtedly told him as much. He approaches the hunters.
”Kora-Chathorik, you have returned,” he begins, speaking with forcibly calm but clear authority. ”Tell me, were you successful?”
”We returned to the mountain pass,” Chathorik responds with equally tempered measure, ”and found the nest of the Thro’ash’a-koa within a deep crevice. We slew them all, destroyed their eggs, and buried the entrance. The pass is secure once more.”
A murmur of assent passes through the crowd, but the chief looks around with fiery eyes, silencing all. ”There were five of you that set out this morning, were there not? Tell me, where is Aekil-borados-rathka-krazx? He departed with you this morning, and yet I do not see him return.” He fixes Chathorik with his wrathful eyes.
Chathorik bows his head and exhales. Clearly he knew this was coming. Clearly, he also did not look forward to it. ”Tar’kora, Aekil-borados-rathka did not return with us. His bones now lie buried with our fallen foes’. His flesh was turned to stone by the monsters’ venom. The cave became his tomb.” Chathorik looks up to face the chief. ”Your son died valiantly. Many serpents did he slay, and more did we slay in his name.”
”Do not speak to me of ‘my son.’” the chief spits, coming down off the step and striding towards Chathorik, who in turn takes a step forward out of the group. ”He was weak, he was young, he was stupid. He shames my father’s name, and now you shame mine by saying ‘my son.’ He was never good enough to be my son,” he hisses, through gritted teeth.
The two khana now stand face-to-face, toe-to-toe. Tar’kora-karachodak stands a full head taller than Chathorik, who is by no accounts a small khana. But the latter is older, and wisened. He is not afraid of this giant. ”You do yourself no credit disowning your own son after his death,” he growls.
”And you do yourself none by standing there like the coward you are.” Karachodak spits back at him. ”You should have challenged me long ago, Chathorik. Instead, you hid your head under a rock! And now you admit your failure!”
”I have admitted nothing!” Chathorik growls louder.
”You failed to return with your weakest member,” Karachodak continues shouting in Chathorik’s face, ”and you cover up his weakness with a tale of heroics! Aekil was nothing! And yet you defend him?”
”I defend him as I would defend any member of my clan!” Chathorik roars, and extends a hand in gesture at his hunters, and the rest of the clan.
By now you can see that many more khana have begun to show up. The raised voices are drawing them out. They know that the wrath of the chief is fearsome, and traditionally well placed. They want to know who is the subject, and of what he has been accused. They anticipate what may happen. They anticipate the worst. Among those emerging, you spot Chekana, the glistening scales of her armor shimmering like fish scales in the sunlight. Even this foreigner knows to bears witness, and to keep her peace.
”Your clan?!” the chieftain roars, ”I think we both know the clan belongs to me, Chathorik! I am Tar’kora! I am the strongest! I took that title from your father when I cut him down on this very hill! You had your chance! You should have challenged me right then, but you turned your back and walked away. You denied yourself vengeance, and traded it in for a few more years of life.”
The enraged chieftain's words are cruel. Shaped like a sword, thrust at Chathorik. You can see that he is struggling. But Chathorik is not backing down. ”I have served my village dutifully, from the day I was named, until today, even until this very moment,” Chathorik lowers his voice into his measured tone. ”I was not born to be chief. I have never desired that title. I have lived and served by the ancient wisdom that our fathers passed down to us from the day our clan was born.”
”By which you mean you chose to lie down, and let others walk on your back. You chose to admit your weakness to the world.”
”I chose to see wisdom. To accept that some things are not meant to be.”
”You chose to admit your cowardice. Clan Krazx has long hidden in the shadows and only I can see that we are strong. We deserve more than this,” he throws his hands into the air ”and I would see that we claim what is ours to take! But you, you would hide under a rock!”
”I would see my village safe,” Chathorik rebukes, ”but you would see it burn to fuel your own selfish ambition!”
”The strongest steel can only be born through fire!” roars the chief. ”The time of words is over! Let our actions speak for us, Chathorik. Come and face me, coward! Let us see you stand up for your conviction!” Saying this he reaches to his belt. Grasping a curved hilt, he unslings the coil of bones that hung around his waist. A long row of jagged teeth on a ten foot coil of rope slides from its place, one end attached to the oddly shaped handle he now grasps in his hand.
Beside you, Rakun leaps forward drawing an axe. ”You will not call Kora-chathorik a coward!”
”Would you challenge me, Rakun-adjil’atta?” the chief glares at him.
Rakun makes to launch forward, but Chathorik grabs his arm. ”Patience!” he says, chastising the younger khana. Then he answers the chief, ”It seems I am left with no choice. On behalf of my second, I challenge you for leadership of clan Krazx. May Kaaroxus give me strength.” His hand moves to his side and he draws his scimitar, stepping further into the clearing.
The chief whips his chain around menacingly. The two circle each other. ”Kaaroxus is dead, fool. And soon, you, as your father, will join him.”
This is poorly done. Had I not spent all my effort on those foul serpents I could have challenged the dull-scaled twitchling.
Kagrenac scowls darkly at the spectacle.
If Chathorik falls this day I will take up his cause tomorrow. His cause will be remembered.
The crowd gathered grows anxious as the two Khana face off. Chathorik holds his scimitar out in front of him, keeping the blade level and his arms steady. Karachodak swishes his chain this way and that as it trails behind him in the dirt. This is the contest of nerves, where two dueling Khana assess each other, studying their foe, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. It is not obligatory, but it is traditional, and both sides reap the benefit of the study.
From your own perspective you can begin to see a few tactical advantages: Karachodak’s chain, while possessing the longer reach, is a slow, unwieldy weapon that requires momentum and power. If he moves, Chathorik will almost certainly be able to anticipate his blow. On the other hand, Chathorik holds off from attack. While he possesses the faster weapon, he is no doubt preparing rather to counter than to lead. From your time spent with him you begin to understand that this is not a duel about revenge, but honor, and that were the world aright he would rather not duel at all.
As the tension gathers to an unreasonable climax, Karachodak finally makes his move. Twirling his arm high above his head, he spins the chain around himself like a coil. The line of teeth whistle as he gathers speed. Then with a flick of his wrist the chain darts out towards Chathorik. the elder easily bats the line aside, but Karachodak anticipated this and using his built up momentum, brings the chain around quickly again, higher. Chathorik ducks the second blow, and thrusts, forcing Karachodak to step back. But Karachodak is swift, and his momentum is increasing. the line whirls around again. You begin to see the chief’s tactic: continual blows to Chathorik’s left side - his weaker side - keep the latter’s weapon busy and his balance off. You can see the lines of concern furrowing their way across Chathorik’s brow, indicating he has come to the same conclusion. If he keeps this up, he will be worn down and will inevitably falter. This eventuality must be avoided.
Several more lashes come hurtling towards Chathorik, and several more times his steel rings as he deflects the blows. Then he ducks and spins under one, just as Karachodak over-extends. He nearly catches the chief’s hand, but Karachodak pulls away just in time. However, his rhythm is momentarily broken. As the chain arcs upwards, Chathorik comes in for a swing at Karachodak’s left side, but Karachodak snaps his chain downward and pins Chathorik’s sword to the ground under it. Chathorik instead kicks him in the chest, and he stumbles backwards. Chathorik does not make an immediate advance and instead slowly approaches his foe, leveling his sword again. Karachodak snarls and whips his chain back and forth twice between them, before flicking it outward. This move Chathorik anticipates and sidesteps, then closes the distance.
The two join again, and the pace quickens. The previously confident and arrogant Karachodak begins to show concern, while Chathorik remains as level as he always has. The clashes of steel ring out from the square, and ocne or twice you swear a tooth on the chief’s chain chips and a shard goes flying. Yet the incredulous weapon does not give in, and neither does its bearer. Both are out for blood, and neither will be satisfied until it is had. A few minor wounds are traded, at moments when it seems the other must surely have the upper hand; Chathorik’s dull red scales become flecked with crimson lacerations across his ribs and elbows, while Karachodak’s legs and arms bear grizzly red smiles. Karachodak switches tactics and begins striking Chathorik’s feet, aiming to trip the smaller khana, but Chathorik is quick of foot and deft of hand, and most of his attempts are turned away.
Finally Karachodak moves to disarm Chathorik, taking a backwards step, he flicks his chain out at Chathorik’s sword arm, and snares the elder Khana’s wrist. Chathorik grimaces in pain as the jagged teeth bite into his flesh and tear at his arm. Then in the instant as Karachodak draws back to pull harder, Chathorik drops his sword. A second before the steel clangs against the stony ground, his open hand closes on the line of the chain, his fingers between two of the toothed links, and Chathorik in turn pulls back. The chief did not expect his counter, and as he is already mid-motion, his balance is lost, and just as quick he come crashing down hard on the ground below.
The crowd utters an inaudible gasp. Chathorik stands there, his wrists weeping, hand still clutching the spiked end of the chain. Karachodak lies on the ground stunned. Defeated.
”Karachodak-Thos’kamul-krazx” Chathorik pants, ”you are defeated.” The crowd begins to murmur once more. How can this be? The contest is over, yet neither one has paid the price for failure. The victor must have his foe’s head! ”I banish you, and strip you of your title as Tar’kora. You will live out your days as an exile.” The crowd grows louder with their incredulity. Never has this happened before! The chief, ousted by his challenger!? ”Leave our village, and do not return here. I will not show you this mercy twice.” Chathorik’s words are firm and resolute, and only just audible over the excited crowd. Clearly some are in favour of Chathorik’s generosity, while many demand Karachodak’s head. Some are trying to shout him down, and others back him up. Mostly they seem confused, and quickly becoming divided.
With that Chathorik turns to walk back towards the hunters, who are as equally confused and divided as the crowd. The crowd begins to surge inward, some moving towards Chathorik, some kneeling to help the wounded chief to his feet. But as the sympathetic crouch down to help him, Karachodak springs to his feet. Grasping the hilt of his chain once more, he winds up - nearly lacerating a number of those near him - and lashes out at Chathorik one final time. His aim is true, and he catches Chathorik around the neck, then yanks hard on the chain and flings him to the ground. At the same time he grabs Chathorik’s scimitar and leaping towards the fallen victor he screams “Coward! You should have killed me when you had the chance!” The curved blade sings through the air in a downward arc. Wide-eyed and gasping for breath, Chathorik brings his hands up to stop the blade...
That scimitar was passed down from Chathorik’s grandfather, to his father. It was the weapon he had carried as his honorary symbol as chief. He had given it to Chathorik on his name day, just days before he in turn would be murdered by a brash youth, who wanted to be chief more than one of his age should have. The blade was said to be magical, blessed by the spirits of the great beasts who roamed the mountain long before the clan first set foot on its slope. That magic made it sharp and keen, and stronger than any bone or metal. That legend proved to be true, as it first clove through Chathorik's outstretched fingers, and then his neck.
Pandemonium breaks loose. The would be victor, slain by the Khana who fell before him - the chief declared an outlaw finally displays his savagery. Rakun jumps forward immediately, screaming in rage. He collides with the chief and they both go down. At the same time, Punaka, one of the chief’s own sons, rushes into the circle. The other hunters, Aekil, and Thro-ku join, members of the crowd get pushed and punch back. They surge, the masses merge. Weapons break out. Steel rings in the air. Mayhem ensues. Anarchy reigns.
”Such is the Khanan way.”
Looking down you notice Tal-shagga Thorus. The one member of the village who was notably absent has once again mysteriously materialized at your side. Caught up in the emotion of the duel and the pandemonium that has now broken loose, the old blind Khana has appeared like a ghost, without a sound.
But he is not about to sit there either. ”Come quickly,” he says urgently, pulling your hand. “We must find Chekana-kota-catharros, and then be away from here. We don’t have much time.”
Kagrenac nods twice, a sour taste in his mouth.
These are the ways of my people? Our pride has made us weak.
Remembering that Thorus is blind, Kagrenac reluctantly speaks.
"Agreed. Let us make haste."
Thorus pulls you away from the crowd, towards a side street, but you take no more than six steps when you hear an ominous noise over the din of the angry mob.
*Whumf. Whumf.*
The sound is coming from overhead. Looking up you can see that the cloud bank that rolls over the mountains, has come quite low, spreading like an ashen blanket over the village. Patches of grey are briefly illuminated by a dull whiteness as overhead lightning foretells of an electric storm being brewed up by volcanic activity.
You have a sinking feeling about this storm. As you listen you can trace the beating noise. *Whumf. Whumf.* As you watch carefully, one particular flash of lightning illuminates a long sinuous silhouette, wings beating in time with the supposed thunder.
no peeking. it was more than 30.
I have a bad feeling about this...
Kagrenac looks up at the creature.
"There appears to be a flying serpent in the storm above." Kagrenac's tone is akin to someone discussing grain prices in a nearby country.
Thorus stops dead in his tracks. Since he was rather forcefully pulling you, that means you also lurch to a halt. You can hear him muttering something quietly. "ohnoohnoohnono no! This is too soon!"
Thorus whips around. He would be looking straight into your eyes if he weren't blind or had a hood covering most of his face. "We have to get to my hut. Chekana will meet us there--"
His words are cut off as a bone-shaking roar punctuates his sentence early. Bursting through the layer of clouds comes a creature straight form a nightmare. The long black, serpentine form swoops down towards the village. You glimpse red eyes, black scales, leathery wings, clawed forelimbs, legs, and horned head. The angry shouts of the mob quickly turn to screams of terror, as its huge bulk crashes down onto the chief's hut, flattening it, sending splinters flying. The gathered khana panic and run screaming as it pounces into the middle of the square. It rakes a number of civilians aside with a swipe of its massive claw.
As the people scatter you see a number of bodies strewn about the square, lying where they were felled moments earlier. Chathorik still lies where he fell, and now Rakun lies nearby, as does Punaka, and many more whose names you do not know. You spy Thro'ku further away, and realize he must have been felled by the foul creature, his torso torn open with violent force.
Unfortunately you don't know what leviathan has just dropped from the sky onto the normally quiet village of Chutek but because I'm nice I'll tell you. It's a Dracolith, a lesser cousin of the Great Dragons of old. They are mythical creatures with the body of a serpent, and wings of a bat, and otherwise the same as any chromatic dragon, with one exception: all Dracoliths are pretty well pure evil.
"Kah-gurr-nack" bellows the horrific beast, badly mangling your name, "Where aaaare you Kaaah-gurr-naaaaack?" Its voice is deep, ancient as the bones of the earth, but just listening to it hiss its terrible diction of common brings to mind images of death and decay.
Kagrenac stares at the winged monster in shock. Speaking to Thorus out of the side of his mouth, he mutters quietly.
"You and I are going to exchange words. And possibly blows."
Summoning his courage, Kagrenac takes a deep breath.
"I am Kagrenac, and I am HERE!" Kagrenac bellows up at the serpent, trying to bellow as politely as possible. Of course, being a well-traveled Khana, Kagrenac kindly bellows in Common.
Please don't eat me.
"Hah hah hah!" the monstrous creature cackles menacingly, if it can be called cackling, when each utterance is like to split your eardrums. Then with a voice that shakes the earth, and makes your bones rattle, he shouts in Draconic: "Ahst lingrah laat Zu'u lost grind hi. Ahrk wuth vrii los voth hi? Studen." The creature bares its teeth in a ghastly grin.
"Ful daar los hin brod? Nust los tiiraaz sahvol fah joriin. Frolok ahst niin. Nust ahkrop neben dii jusk." You watch as the beast extends a claw. Previously unnoticed, one khana - maimed and bleeding profusely - frantically tries to claw its way towards you. Seeing its eyes full of terror, you suddenly realize who this creature is: Karachodak, previously Tar-kora of clan Krazx. The black beast's claw closes around the crawling form of the chief, who is lifted, flailing, into the air.
"So this are your clan? They are sad excuse for people. Look at them. They crawl under my claws."
Kagrenac snorts lightly at Karachodak's precarious predicament.
"Zu'lost kosaan brod fah son fein keyal, Lot Viing. Zu'u los ni tul Konaar, ful dreh ni zent niin wah kos bahlaan tul."
Kagrenac bows to the Great and terrible Wyrm.
"Fos los hin nuft het, Gruin Vrii? Vorey fein kog mii voth hin Lot ahrk Zomaar nuvah?"
I have been clan for less than a week, Great Wing. I am not yet Chief, so do not expect them to be worthy yet."
"What is your purpose here, Dread Scales? Other than gracing us with your Great and Terrible presence?
The Dracolith chuckles again. "So modest. Is this truly your great warrior, Old Scales? You are hardly the adversary I was told you would be." Through wicked teeth the monster sneers at you.
He continues to examine the squirming chief like a trinket or plaything, sniffing at him and dangling him in the air. He seems to only be showing partial interest in you. "I came here seeking vengeance on the one who would dare oppose me. 'A khana of great renown' I was told, 'a master huntsman, a leader to his people.' I can't see what all the fuss was about. Here I find you, your people in disarray, your army in a sad state, your village is pitiful, and you didn't even have the stones to kill your predecessor."
Now he looks intently at you, with a look that might be of mocking piety or condescendance. "Would you like me to finish him for you?"
The Dracolith chuckles again. "So modest. Is this truly your great warrior, Old Scales? You are hardly the adversary I was told you would be." Through wicked teeth the monster sneers at you.He continues to examine the squirming chief like a trinket or plaything, sniffing at him and dangling him in the air. He seems to only be showing partial interest in you. "I came here seeking vengeance on the one who would dare oppose me. 'A khana of great renown' I was told, 'a master huntsman, a leader to his people.' I can't see what all the fuss was about. Here I find you, your people in disarray, your army in a sad state, your village is pitiful, and you didn't even have the stones to kill your predecessor."
Now he looks intently at you, with a look that might be of mocking piety or condescendance. "Would you like me to finish him for you?"
Kagrenac arches a scaly brow in confusion. "How does someone opposing you warrant vengeance?" Kagrenac mutters to Thorus, before turning to the terrible Wyrm.
"I'd actually like to fight him myself, but I won't object if you're hungry. Now what was all this about an army, a village, and killing predecessors?"
I've only been here two days! What in the Eleven Circles of Hell does this Wyrm want from me? If he wants a miracle, find a gods-blasted cleric!
"Oh I'd certainly consider it," the dracolith says, licking its lips, "but we are getting ahead of ourselves."
"It is customary for a khana to duel his chieftain to the death, and so assert his dominance over the tribe, is it not? I should not wish to rob you of that right." The dracolith holds the thrashing chief aloft. He opens his mouth, and from his jaw pours forth a cloud of noxious fumes, enveloping the chief. The chief begins to jerk around, his movements becoming erratic, uncontrolled. His flesh begins to melt exposing the bones beneath. A unholy light fills his ribcage, travelling up his spine and into his mottled skull. His eyes shine forth like pinpoints in the cloud, and a bodiless moan fills the air.
The dracolith sets the possessed body of the once proud Karachodak upon the ground. Unfurling his massive black wings he turns to leave. "Let us see if you are truly as great a warrior as they say," he says in a parting taunt. "Battle your chieftain. Prove yourself. While you fight your battle, I shall busy myself enslaving your people..."
With that, he leaps into the air. As he flaps away, he shoots glistening green lines of acid into the streets below.
As the dracolith flaps away, the glowing corpse of Karachodak takes a lurching step towards you. In the dim light of twilight and fire you can see that he still holds his chain, as well as Chathorik's scimitar. A miasmic cloud hangs around him, striated by faint beams of light issuing from holes in his torso, giving him the look of a battered and smoking paper lantern. A hollow, raspign voice emanates from unmoving jaws: *K-k-kagrenac... mussssssst... kill... Kagrenac...*
By your side, Thorus finally finds his voice again. "Blood of the ancestors... The village is lost. We should get out of here while he is distracted," he says, referring to the dracolith. His eyes do not leave the slowly shambling Karachodak, but with his free hand he begins rummaging around in his satchel. "Still, I suppose soemone should end the old chief's suffering..."
Kagrenac grunts in response, hefting his slade.
Kagrenac bolts forward, bringing his slade around in an arcing slice at the Abomination-Chief's torso.
The once-Karachodak brings its sword arm up as you rush toward him. The movement is slow and languid, the movement of one who is already overcome by great fatigue. You easily adjust your swing, cutting under the lazy block, catching him under the ribs. The abomination makes a coughing noise, and something black and slimy falls from the gash in his side, trailing on the ground. You have the distinct impression it may be atrophied viscera.
The abomination seems to take a moment to register this. It stands there stupefied, looking down at its own entrails.
Kagrenac attacks again, swinging his slade in a deadly arc.
Your blade looks to be heading for home in the abomination's torso, when suddenly the scimitar is there to intercept the blow. Your blade crashes into it with the sound of metallic thunder, sending shockwave shivers up your arm. You can't comprehend, the movement was faster than the eye could follow. One moment the monster was staring fixatedly at its own entrails, the next its sword was in the perfect position to parry the attack. Its glowing eye sockets seem to be fixated upon you now.
It makes no additional movements, so you counter balance and come around again. However, due to the sudden interruption of your previous attack, your execution isn't quite as clean as it could have been. The corpse-chief sidesteps the swing, hissing in a manner that mimics indignation.
"Aha!" Thorus finishes rummaging around in his satchel and holds aloft his prize, a glass bottle holding an unremarkable clear liquid, but catching the reflection of a lightning bolt that streaks by overhead, it shimmers momentarily. "Kagrenac! Here!"
The monster attempts to retaliate, with almost comically exaggerated swings. It seems as though the recently deceased Karachodak has forgotten how to use his chain, as he more drags it along the ground than properly swings it. His wild movements with the scimitar resemble swatting flies rather than anything combat effective.
Kagrenac looks over at the elder, a dark scowl on his face.
"What is that substance, Tal'shagga? How would it help defeat this reanimated abomination?" Kagrenac questions as he swipes twice at the undead horror.
The now aggravated corpse of Karachodak evades your attacks, but is once again unsuccessful in returning that which you have bestowed upon it. On that note, you notice the gaping wound in its side has stopped spilling abdominal fluid and what look like strands of filament have begun to lace the severed folds of skin together.
"What is that substance, Tal'shagga? How would it help defeat this reanimated abomination?"
"It's holy water, damnit!" Thorus shouts in impatience. "Undead creatures are particularly affected by sanctified weapons! The holy water can provide that sort of power for a short time!"
Still holding the phial aloft, Thorus takes a wide stance and shoves an open palm through the air in front of him. At the same time a surging wall of earth rises between you and the groping monstrosity, and flings it back several paces. "Here! Grab it and douse your blade in it. That should give you a fighting edge!"
"Troublesome old lizard," Kagrenac grumbles. With frightening speed, he sprints to the elder's side, grabbing the phail and spreading the liquid along his weapon.
His slade covered in blessed water, Kagrenac leaps back into the fray.
With blinding speed you make your round trip, grabbing the phial of sacred water, spilling its contents upon your blade, and racing back to meet your foe before he takes more than a step. Thorus flinches momentarily in your wake as you snatch the flask from his hand.
Your slade cuts into the monster's side, not as deep as the first wound, but the creature wails as the blessed weapon wounds it. The foul light pouring from its eyes and mouth seems to diminish slightly. Then it rails at you once more. His flailing strikes do not phase you.
Kagrenac slices twice more.
You continue to trade blows, Karachodak steadily pressing the advance. You have backed up the alley 30ft (in total) by the time you finally deal a blow to the monstrosity that ends it. The light pouring from its skull goes out, and it collapses in a pile of withered flesh and bone.
The Dracolith, which has continued to rampage overhead, lets out a loud roar when Karachodak falls. You can't see where the beast is, but you can hear it all the same. It seems to know its pet has been slain.
"Well struck," Thorus says, coming up along side you. "Now would be an excellent time to be going. We need to get to my hut. Come"
Thorus leads you to his hut by ways of back streets, moving up the slope of the mountain's base, then skirting the perimeter. Below the dracolith continues its rampage, tearing apart houses and bathing their fleeing inhabitants in jets of smog and acid. The elder's hut is situated on a low precipice overlooking the rest of the village. Miraculously, it is still intact. The dracolith seems to be concentrated on the lower streets, where most of the village's inhabitants would flee to escape.
Thorus waddles up the steps ahead of you and sweeps aside the flap that covers the entrance with his stick. You see a flash of vivid orange as a figure bursts forth, its guantlet wreathed in flame. Before either of you can act it grabs Thorus in one hand and hoists him a foot off the ground, the flaming hand about to strike, when clarity sweeps over the scene and Thorus clears his throat. "Hr-hrm. Chekana. Glad to see you are still in one piece."
"Tal'shagga," Chekana says, and the flame surrounding her fist goes out. "My apologies."
"It's alright." Thorus says, "Could you put me down, please?" Chekana sets him gently back on his feet and Thorus waddles into the hut.
Inside you see that the Tal'shagga's hut is a cluttered mess of shelves, and pottery piled high with scrolls, skins, phials, bones, tomes, and various ingredients. You also see two more khana within: Chathorik's mate and little Chath'rodan. "After the serpent attacked, I made my way here," Chekana explains, "I found these two in the streets and brought them here for safety."
"Hmm, it won't be safe for long," says Thorus, who has already begun rummaging through the clutter. "Volokiir will raze Chutek - and us with it - if we are not gone swiftly. Did you find the wishbone?"
"Yes it's here," says Chekana picking up an old bone off the table Thorus hasn't started scattering stuff across just yet. The bone has three points, and appears to have been taken from some fairly large creature.
Chathorik's mate speaks up, her eyes wide and not a small amount of fear in her voice. "What are we going to do, Tal'shagga?"
"We're leaving," the old khana replies curtly.
"Where's dad?" little Rodan asks plaintively.
"Hush child," his mother assures him, "it will be alright." Her outward expression seems to be searching, as if willing someone present to validate her words against all odds.
The hut shakes as outside something catastrophic occurs. This is accompanied by another muffled roar, this time coming closer.
"Alright," Thorus announces, "everyone take hold of the bone. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. Think of the walls around you and the ground beneath your feet. Feel the earth with your toes. Concentrate on that feeling."
The ground tremors once more, causing a brief cascade of dust to rain down from the thatch roof. Little Rodan makes a whining sound and his mother hushes him. Everyone keeps their eyes closed.
"Feel the bones of the earth. Feel the cool of the depths, and the fire that courses through its veins. Feel it shift beneath you. Concentrate on that flow of motion." Thorus speaks in a calm and commanding voice, then allows a measure of melody to enter his words. With a low monotonous resonance he begins to recite
"From the bones we were taken,
from the bones we were formed,
of the ash we are created,
of the stone we are born.
"To the earth we return,
through the earth we must go,
on the currents of ages
let our bodies be borne"
The ground beneath you rumbles, and your whole body shakes. The very air seems to vibrate. The rumble grows to a roar, nearly deafening, but within the noise you hear Thorus' droning voice.
"Let the flesh of the earth
be the flesh of our own
as the currents convey us
through the fire below
"From ashes to fire,
from dust to bone
the spirits will guide us...
You do not make out the last line of the chant as the overwhelming power of the earthquake overrides all your senses. The vibrations rattle you to the core, and you feel as though a cold, rushing wind is whirling around you. Keeping your eyes glued shut you concentrate all your will on not letting go of your hold on the bone.
It seems to take forever, but then it stops. Almost all of a sudden it seems, the rushing sensation and the vibrations cease. You open your eyes. What you see when you do is the five of you huddled in a circle, each clutching the wishbone where they can. One by one the rest open their eyes. Thorus, for an old blind khana, seems to be standing more upright than you have seen him do before. You realize that he would probably have been quite tall for a khana if it wasn't for his excessive stoop. But then his shoulders slump and he shrinks back down to his usual size. Everyone but he lets go of the bone, as it suddenly begins to crumble under your fingers, blowing away to dust on the breeze...
The breeze draws your attention outward. The hut is gone, along with the rest of the village, and the dracolith. Before you stands a new landscape. You appear to be between two mountain ranges. You recognize the range of the Talons still to your east, and your gut tells you you are now several leagues south of Chutek.
This place is crazy. Fell magics, dire wyrms, and a soul-sucking desert. No wonder everyone thinks Khana are crazy.
"What. The. F---. Was. That?" Kagrenac bites out, his eyes wide.
Things are moving FAR too quickly! I just want someone to explain things to me, is that too much to ask?!
Thorus doesn't exactly answer your question - what he believes to be a rhetoric, seeing as magic never is as simple as what can be explained in a few words. Instead he answers by saying "We're safe, for now."
"Volokiir will no doubt notice our absence. Well, Kagrenac and I anyways... But he won't come looking until after he has finished subjugating the rest of the village. That buys us some time. Time we should use to find shelter. I think most of us are unfit to be travelling long distance today." Thorus looks at you, acknowledging your fatigue. Somehow the old khana also looks more tired than normal.
"Tomorrow we should head south. We are two days away from Bôh-Cúun. I don't think they are in immediate danger of the Dracolith, but they should be warned. Hána and Rodan should be safe there," he says indicating Chathorik's wife and son. "After that, well, I guess we go find some answers."
Chekana seems to be in about as foul a mood as yourself. Once Thorus has finished she speaks out in incredulity, "So that's it? Your village burns and you will just walk away?"
Thorus stops. It's an amazing thing to see an old khana get mad. Mostly this is due to the fact that there are so few khana who actually reach a venerable age, but also because the difference between an angry lizard and any other lizard isn't so much about facial expressions so much as the way in which they carry themselves. Exactly that happens with Thorus now. The blind old khana's back straightens imperceptibly, and his breath comes a little more forcefully when he replies. "Yes." he says, "yes, I walk away. I walk away because I know that no matter how hard I try, right now there is nothing I could do to stop that monster and save Chutek. Right now I have you. I have you, Kagrenac, and my good friend's wife and child to care for, and that might be about all I can manage right now. I have done what I can to secure the safety of those whom I was able, and I have not the capacity to do more.
"I need your help, Chekana. You and Kagrenac. I need you on my side, not running off your head for vengeance. They are not your people, they are his people," Thorus points a gnarled finger straight at you without takign his blindfolded eyes off Chekana, "If anyone has a right to be angry with me it is him. I brought you to Chutek because I needed you, not your self-righteousness. This fight is not one that any of us can win except him, and he won't get that chance unless we help him get there. Now when I say that I need a team, will you go with me? Are you able to move on and help me complete this mission, or do I need to go looking for another thread of the prophecy to take your place?"
The fire in Chekana's eyes seems to be somewhat subdued by the elder's harsh words, but it does not go out. Lowering her chin in submission, she growls, "I am with you father."
"Good." Thorus says and turns, ready to begin the search for shelter. "Kagrenac, would you help an old lizard find a rock to lay his scales under?"
...
As you help the old khana with his search Thorus says to you, "I bet you have some questions. It's understandable, after what you've been through. The last few days have certainly been eventful for all of us."
"I know you probably don't trust me just yet, but what I said earlier, I meant it. I need you. The clan needs you. Well, what's left of it anyways.." Thorus seems saddened admitting how catastrophically things have turned out. "So, in light of that I think it's high time I gave you some answers.
"What do you wish to know?"
With an ease bordering on nonchalant arrogance, Kagrenac finds a camping spot.
"Why do you call them my people, and not hers?" The question bubbles up like super-heated gasses in a magma stream. "And how can you say I am the one to vanquish that monstrous tyrant? What prophecy do you speak of?"