Topic: A Journey Long Forgotten ((Tied to the WT, RH, and HG SL's))

Jester

Date: 2011-07-02 02:14 EST
Echoes of screams and rubble drifted upward through the rock, arousing the Saurian's interest. The Catacombs beneath the city were no place for the unprepared to venture, and in his mind, most if not all of the city's denizens were woefully unprepared for such delvings.

The latest rumblings from below brought up a stench wholly unlike the normal miasma of decay, a waft of brimstone and steam, of scorched rock, and seared flesh. No longer could he ignore such signs.

Choosing safety over stealth, the Saurian's armor whined, lessening his weight considerably to allow him to move with less hindrance, aside from the necessity of selecting paths suitable for his bulk.

The first shuffling obstacle moaned at him, reaching for him with filth-encrusted hands. One resounding thud later, and the mighty lizard-like warrior wiped the knuckles of his armor clean from the decaying gore, leaving a much-compressed pile of twitching flesh in his wake.

The sound, however, drew the notice of other dwellers of the deep, some much less decrepit than others. Slime-dripping teeth parted in the darkness, drawing in the approaching scent of new possible prey.

To his golden gaze, the stifling darkness beneath the ground held little in the way of secrets, his enhanced eyes seeing things quite clearly, including the mostly-silent stalking of other monstrosities. The corner of his maw curled in a rare smile, as he chose a rather capricious cavern and waited.

Thrum, thrum, thrum. His trunk-thick tail rolled out a slow beat, reverberating through the ground to draw even more attention. At the first sight of a tentacled cthulean horror, he drew in a mighty breath, growling out an echoing challenge into the air.

Such a sound would carry for miles in the tunnels.

((This ties in with the Hunting Grounds, Wrong Turn, and Ravening Hunger threads, and is open for interaction. Thanks!))

Jester

Date: 2011-07-03 14:58 EST
The Saurian surged from the cavern-turned-abattoir, his armor bearing the brightly gleaming marks of new gouges, rents in his flesh knitting themselves with remarkable alacrity. In his wake, gobbets of twitching undead flesh lay mixed in congealing pools of what little remained of the abominations he encountered. With each passing cavern and branching path, he sounded out his rumbling challenge, seeking to draw the assorted dangers to places of his choosing.

With innocent lives on the line, subtlety was disregarded over results. He mused silently as his rapid footfalls echoed through the subterranean maze. Subtlety was never a strong point of his to begin with.

Again and again, predators of the deeps became prey, drawn by the great lizard's calls to find swift ends at his mighty fists. The stench of rotting gore trailed his passage like a charnel fog. Naturally carved rock gave way to the touch of civilization as his steps slowed, not trusting the artificial construction under his bulk. A misstep here could mean lives lost, wasted in the darkness.

A vast underground lake, the shores of which still bore the stench of death and the blackened evidence of searing flame, caused his path to veer. While his armor could lessen his weight, it could not imbue a divine miracle, no matter how fast his footsteps.

There. Somewhere in the filth and mire clogging the air, the fainter scents of life. Fear, and sweat, even the lingering traces of magic at work. His pace quickened once again, following the trail.