THE HONORABLE DRACODILE was pleased: The easygoing merlady hadn't required him to spend several awkward hours likely failing to explain to her the vast, religious intricacies behind life debts and proper integrity as demanded by Illorassk the Devourer. Gossk noted Lynn's delight in petting Licks, reminding him of his long investment in the reed cat; Not only was she useful in battle, but certain social boons (cuteness) could be harnessed as well. At the sight of the dried fish meat, Licks looked to Gossk before taking it--not that he had priority over food, he knew, but to confirm that he does trust Lynn and so should she. Gossk nodded at Licks and gestured a claw at Lynn as he spoke something gentle in Rasskarr.
Licks decided to like the fish thing called Lynn. It fed her willingly and offered intense grooming as a bonus. Licks didn't even have to do anything for Lynn. What a deal! The reed cat then knew that Lynn would make a great cohort, albeit not necessarily a replacement for Gossk. As she consumed the first dried meat, she eyed the Dracodile, judging everything that he had done for her. Her rather high intelligence (for a reed cat) voided her capricious whims and immediately quash the notion of cohort replacement.
Gossk was daddy. Subtle strings of guilt pervaded her inner being, as she stared at the second dried meat... no longer hungry.
Gossk stooped down to pocket Lick's food for later, whilst attentively paying heed to Lynn as she explained her mission, and the calamity before it. He remained absolutely silent as he paced casually along side her hovering 'stick' (Gossk didn't know what to call it). He'd occasionally nod at her, making brief eye contact, the longest of which was during the reveal of her right arm's scars. It reminded him of his own scars, especially a non-physical one: loss of friends and family. At least she wasn't an exile. The other thing he pondered along with this were the magical clubs, and their rumored power.
'Those sound useful.' As much as Lynn enjoyed chatting, she might notice that Gossk simply wasn't used to chatting with someone while on the move. As she continued to speak, his unblinking eyes would scan their horizons constantly, searching for threats and points of interest. It was, to be fair, a great deal of information to take in, but Gossk wasn't worried as he knew his mind would recall it perfectly. However, he did realize one fact: this merlady was stronger than she looked, and determined as well. He liked that very much.
At the top of a grassy knoll before the terrain would gradually transform into the desert, Gossk knelt into a coiled position, admiring their vantage point as Lynn stopped hovering for a moment and shared it with him. He then turned to her, as though he had been waiting for a chance to say something since the end of her story. In a low, rasping voice, Gossk said,
"Lynn... this all tells ne... you and I are alike, and dy Illorassk, I kno' that you... are thery strong."That admission was the single, most heartfelt statement that Gossk had uttered to anyone in years. It roiled his stomach inside, though he wasn't sure why. It was an odd feeling for certain--he had even stood up then rather hastily, looking away as though he might be a little embarrassed. Licks was even looking up at him funny, her head tilting sideways and lone ear pointing skyward. Gossk grunted at the reed cat, causing her to flinch and saunter away from him and over to Lynn to check out her 'stick.'
As they made their way down the hill, towards the desert, Gossk spoke again.
"As thor o-wear to look, o-ee nust think our eneny's thoughts after then," he stated with a touch of enigmatic eloquence.
As the harsh desert began to take its toll on them, Gossk felt emboldened by the challenge, not yet noticing how poorly Lynn and Licks were faring under the dry heat. He was used to such temperatures back home, albeit with greater amounts of humidity. It bothered him a little and he knew that he could tough it out until they found shelter. Eventually he did notice that his new partner wasn't taking it very well. Licks had actually petered out long before Lynn did, even with the water that the merlady had provided them periodically. The reed cat had taken refuge in Gossk's large satchel. Her long tail hung out of the side, flicking lazily about.
It was at this point that a certain ping of stupidity raked up Gossk's spine, threatening to shake his scales. He should have used his
Far Stride spell to assist them in their travels. It was a useful incantation for such situations, and he hadn't used it since that one time that he failed (arguably) to escort a bunch of travelers across a dangerous route up north. As he turned to Lynn, gesturing for her to stop so he could explain what he wanted to do, her attention was stolen by something making a loud thunderous clap somewhere off in the distance. He followed her gaze as he turned, his hands clenching as he took a small step and his tail settled behind him.
Gossk squinted, his keen eyes taking in what details they could. A boat (or floaty thing that humans used) was somehow in this dry, waterless land. His first thought was where was all the water that he and Lynn had apparently been missing? That was a mystery for another day, as his ears picked up sounds of a brutal and chaotic struggle, the cling and clang of weapons as well. Lynn's discernment merited a glance from him as she figured someone was in trouble. At that point, the Dracodile withdrew a large spyglass, extended it to its full length, and brought it his eye. What the Dracodile witnessed spiked his adrenaline: a couple men and a cloaked figure clashing for victory, a handful of women in tattered clothing scampering out of sight, and a lone man on the skiff who was apparently intoxicated and batting at non-existence foes. It was not necessarily the plight of those people that roused the Dracodile, but rather, the thrill of battle and the winning of trophies, not to mention the delicious consumption that would take place afterwards.
"You are right," Gossk told Lynn, handing her the spyglass so that she could see.
"I nust ask you to, uh... thor-githe me, as I should have done this be'thore," Gossk added, going on to explain very briefly the nature of his
Far Stride spell.
He then proceeded to speak its incantation, after which they would all immediately start feeling better with every passing second, as though traveling in the desert had suddenly become a lazy Sunday stroll in the park. Not that Gossk would know what such a thing was.
"<DILSSK KRAS QUOR-JISSK KASTH; LORR'AJA DOUKO TAJJ>." Gossk then turned to Lynn, murmuring for her intentions to this encounter.
"Thank you, Gossk, but I really can't quite tell what is happening from here, it's still too blurred..." Lynn replied sadly, lowering the spyglass,
"but something doesn't feel right, we should probably help..." "So shall it de," Gossk growled, albeit not in annoyance, but more like acceptance of the situation, and all the consequences inherent in getting entangled with the business of others.
Gossk bowed lightly at Lynn, taking a few paces away from her as he explained that she should use her superior agility and flight to find those women 'chattel' and secure their safety and trust--he emphasized to her to leave the 'killing' to him. Lynn might notice now that all those signs of Gossk's gentleness were absent and that aura of submissive tentativeness completely gone. Instead, a powerful and deadly seriousness took root in the calm Dracodile's body language (and somewhat in his face, as he wasn't one for facial expressions). Even the reed cat had emerged from his satchel, her ears folded back as though she knew what was to come. The two of them faced towards the battle scene, their paths being traced before them. With a shared glance and a murmur in Rasskarr, the Dracodile and his reed cat suddenly bolted and raked their protected feet across the sand, kicking it all out behind them with great intensity.
Gossk's
Far Stride empowered their sprint; What would normally take a few minutes to reach the battle now required only a mere moment and a few breaths. Gossk recalled what little he had seen through the spyglass: Someone had fallen along the path of the crags, there had been two dark-skinned Varuks with battleaxes, but one had fallen after the cloaked figure threw a large stone at him. Gossk thought he saw green flames, but he wasn't sure. He did however notice the cloaked figure's endurance, taking the beating of the lone Varuk's battleaxe with a shield. A
wooden shield. Not to mention the ruthlessness with which the cloaked figure had stepped on the dead Varuk's neck. It would be amusing to fight that one, he thought, but first things first: he would tie up the loose end.
The Dracodile's purple irises spied the lone human swordsman atop the sand skiff. Licks disappeared ahead of him, among the rocks and bushes. With a bounding jump, Gossk drove his claws into the side of the odd boat, effectively cutting into the wood as he climbed. His head peeked over the side of the railing: the swordsman proved to not be drunk after all, but he was distracted by weird noises--that much was certain. Though he could pinpoint exactly where the sounds were coming from, Gossk couldn't
see the source. He deemed it odd, but inconsequential as he crawled over the side, his tail spikes splintering the wood rather loudly. The swordsman gasped and turned towards his new foe while taking a couple steps back. Whatever he was thinking or planning, it was already far too late for him---he wouldn't even get a chance to blink before the distance was closed between them, for if the Dracodile's naturally long stride was more than enough, a magically boosted one would yield nothing to chance.
After all, the stark presence of a large, bipedal dragon-like creature suddenly appearing and power-walking towards you as though you were an everyday meal... was not exactly something that played nice with a person's ability to think straight.
The poor man's incoherent exclamations and wild swings were trivial nonsense that did not faze the Dracodile whatsoever--the sword, although sharp, was poorly aimed and bounced a few times off of his scales. Gossk tilted his head then, and simply reached into the human's exposed throat. His black claws enjoyed no resistance as they passed his trachea and grasped the twitching spinal cord. He lifted his now dying prey with an outstretched arm to his eye level, the copious amounts of blood spurting everywhere and staining the two of them, as well as the floor below. The sword fell out of his hand, clattering with finality as the swordsman went limp.
Gossk caressed the fine hair on the human's scalp, pushing its plush face left and right with his other hand as though examining its features for some sort of value. A short puff of air escaped his nostrils, as though disappointed, perhaps disgusted. Stepping towards the other side of the skiff so that he could see Tyrael, the Varuk, and the other swordsman, Gossk used both of his hands to completely rip the head off, which he tossed over his shoulder carelessly. As he came to a stop and observed their situation below, the body stopped dragging along the wooden floor. The Varuk looked good to him. Without warning, Gossk then took a step back and, with great strength, proceeded to
interrupt their nonsense with an airborne decapitated body, aimed squarely at the Varuk.
Gossk didn't really expect his throw to make contact, as it was merely an act of dominance and intimidation. As if that wasn't enough, the Dracodile then roared at them, the sound of his anger echoing greatly throughout the crags and sand dunes. His pearl-white teeth shone brilliantly in the sun as saliva and spittle dripped onto the wood below, mildly burning it.
Gossk Quor-dek then leaped down into the fray, intending to crush the Varuk with his weight, his claws and teeth poised to sink into his delicious-looking flesh.
