Iricah yelled, “She’s coming back around!”
The bard and archaeologist was trying desperately to hold onto Gaelon, and hold onto something that would stop her from falling out of the mouth of the colossus and into the sea below.
“We’ve got to stop her,” she shouted as her body twisted this way and that, precariously dangling in the air. Her garments billowed around her. She stood choked by her own bags above the whipping winds. Iricah, as anyone who had ever met her knew, hated being choked by her own research, but she hated something far more– being wrong. And still, actually, one thing more than that drove her absolutely nuts! She hated not having an idea. She figured, just then, while she was torn to pieces in the gale, that this was about her biggest not idea ever and it was driving her to madness. She gripped some terrible fleshy lump she dared not think about, and held onto Gaelon with the other hand. She had had to say goodbye to the younger brother of Genoran that night–she wasn’t going to lose another brother, her own! Somewhere, something was going to come of this chaos!
Below her dangling feet, through the teeth of the beast she now found herself in, the horizon was coming into view once more. The enormous creature was about to make it’s turn and come back to destroy the rest of the Celn fleet.
“I can’t have all the ideas all the time people! Please. Someone has to stop her!”
Thrak heard her, she knew, but he just stood there. Like a mountain sized runaway carriage with spooked horses, it just wasn’t stoppable. That much was obvious. The power, the sheer power was insurmountable. Thrak rode out the motions of what Iricah, and she reasoned the others did too, now knew was the colossus. This giant dragon was the form Wrath had taken using the souls of countless lives over countless years. All of the many folk taken from the isles, to the Host for this singular purpose. She, Wrath, had literally built herself out of the mutilated corpses of her victims. And now she was invincible.
“We’ve got to stop her before she destroys them all, before she kills him!”
“What would you like me to do?” Said Thrak, blinking. “I’ve never felt more ussselessss.” He twirled his axes frustratedly. “How doessss one fight such a thing?” In exasperation, he struck out at the walls of the tunnel, impaling his axe into the soft flesh of the sides.
The entirety of their surroundings shuddered!
Zy’an watched Thrak’s confused look and suddenly his own face broke out in understanding. Thrak however did not seem to follow. “What?” Asked Thrak.
“Thrak! That’s it!”
The monk clenched his fists with a crunch, crunch. An energy sizzled from each, as if they were some kind of magical weapon now stuck to his wrists instead of simply hands. The others knew he had grown powerful in his martial arts, but there seemed to be something else he had gained, something more than a knowledge in combat. As if to show them, he struck the insides of the creature. One. Two. Each fist was like a miniature explosion and the fleshy material that made up the cavern wall shuddered once more with the impacts.
Frank, realizing what Zy’an was doing, did the same with his mace and so did Iricah with her shovel. More quaking followed and there was a deep rumbling from somewhere in the dark behind them.
Thrak still watched confused. Iricah, who now seemed to “think Thrak” better than anyone could, yelled at him. “We aren’t angry Thrak! She’s vulnerable here!”
Frank, who always seemed to have a place in his heart for the so called half Celn, explained while bashing the walls with his mace. Shards of electricity shot out around him like sparks. “Thrak! Come on! Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to swallow that juvenile chuul in the swamp at First Isle?”
Thrak blinked. Then he made a sound like a grunt and an ah-ha mixed together. He brought his axes around in large circles, slicing into the walls. Another jolt rocked the insides of the beast.
“I had a bellyache for weeekksssssss.”
“Well let’s give this royal backstabber a bellyache too!”