Sweet Cinnamoth
EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
Level completed: 31%,
EXP required for next Level: 6,234
Slogging through muggy air and a pebbled shore frothy with foam, Fenn’s eyes wandered out across the lake. Even on dry land, he wasn’t breathing easy. Anticipation filled his lungs. A potent mixture of dread and eagerness, fear and perhaps even righteous (a rare word for him) anger.
He tried, as always, not to think too hard about the unpleasant feelings. It was easier to let them be. Maybe, just to let them fuel him forward. After all, there wasn’t anyone to cause collateral damage to right now.
It was just him and the heavy mist, the weary sun, the wash of waves over stone.
Tracking the beast wasn't too hard. Maybe didn't die from the wounds Daugi inflicted, but it sure left behind a lot of blood. For some reason, it had returned to the shore after its tussle, leaving streaks of ugly green sludge on the rocks behind. Likely, Fenn realized with a shiver, it was hoping to show off its injuries to some new sympathetic sucker. He stopped and inspected a viscous spatter of goo. The green-stench made him sneeze; in all honesty, he wasn't actually sure he could call this blood. It looked more like liquified pond scum.
Fenn knelt by a thick spot of the ooze and prodded it with one hand. It froze over slowly and shriveled up on touch of his frost, all crackly and snot-like. Gross. It… did seem to be mostly plant-matter and salt water. Yeah. Not blood by any conventional measure. This was not an earthly creature.
As he stood up again to trail after the gobs of guck, he tried not to think too hard about his distinct lack of a plan in facing this kelpie. He knew, without a glance at the frothy water to his left, that his ears were flattened again his head. Yet, he felt compelled to keep going. The anger hadn’t sputtered out yet, even if it confined itself to the faintest swirl of snowflakes. His magic pulsed out against the boggy weather in defiant snarls of cold. Something in him was crying out for revenge.
What are you doing? Turn back, turn back. You are small and fragile, his self-preservative side mumbled, a soundless voice in the back of his mind. Even Daugi couldn’t stand up to it. You are going to get crushed.
Nothing gets to hurt her and get away with it, replied his inner thief, though not very confidently.
He wondered, as he heard a whinny in the distance, who had the misfortune of losing their horse to the waves. He wondered how upset they had felt about it. He wondered, with a sense of unease, if they’d found the kelpie in its place…
Last edited by FennWenn; 05-31-2018 at 03:21 PM.
