Grootslang

Grootslang | Swamp Monster • Magic-user | Clanless | As soon as there is life, there is danger. - Ralph Waldo Emmerson Grootslang is an unpredictable, solitary creature with unclear morals and the tendency to blow up intruders' heads. She likes being alone in her swampy abode and gets irritated when disturbed. She is the product of some dragon's sorcery - a beast made of many creatures and the spirit of the dragon, granted cunning and power and intelligence. She is driven by an eldritch rage to kill, which is the reason she secludes herself from civilization. That, and people are scared of her. Grootslang is confused. She doesn't know who she is, what she is, what she was created for. She is a creature of no purpose and it puts her into a fathomless whirlpool of uncertainty. She is unlike anything, dangerous and quick to lash out. She is alone. "...there is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein." - Psalm 104:26

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Description Grootslang is massive. She somewhat resembles a female Ridgeback, but more monstrous and wild. Red spikes protrude from her wings and back and the end of her tail. Her claws glow crimson and runes circle and spin around her head. Tattered rags and makeshift armor hang from her thick-scaled body, thrown together from the remnants of spoils gained from her kills. A bloody cleaver is strapped at her side, although she rarely has to budge more than a claw for her prey to fall to the ground, screaming and writhing as her runes are burnt into their flesh. Job Description Clanless, Grootslang is also purposeless. Her creators were slain and she lives alone, doing nothing but surviving...although even that is pointless and easy for her. She has the drive to kill, so she secludes herself where only those who wander by will be slain. Den Grootslang has constructed herself a den of sorts in the depths of the swamp, formed of twisted branches and scavenged bones. She wanders the area, pacing restlessly and destroying wildlife if she can't sink her claws into flesh.

Barkback Root Organics When planted, these roots produce fast-growing, if curiously aware trees. 42 Strangling Vine Organics Moving through a patch of these vines is a slow process. 23 Plaguebringer Bone Scrimshaw Trinkets A menacing engraving of the Plaguebringer. It is scrawled on the side of a large bonespike and reeks of decay. 105 Jasper Minerals & Ores The vibrant red has earned this variety the nickname ''Bloodstone''. 120

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she is alone

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No place in the Plaguelands is ever truly uninhabited. It is a realm of survivors, and there will always be something even in the most desolate stretches of wasteland.

But even this bleak, blasted expanse gave Ares pause. It was the silence of it, hanging over everything like a net about to drop. The silence of the absence of life...

He could see plants, certainly, plus several luxuriant growths of fungi. They clustered thickly on the mud and trees. Fallen trees...What had knocked them over? Some storm, perhaps?

Or a larger creature, cleverly concealed...

“No wildlife. I don’t sense anything. They could have fled or been chased away.”

Normally, he would have moved on—but the clan had been on the move for several weeks now, and they badly needed a place to stay.

Yes...this small space seemed safe enough. He would get the majority of the clan settled in, then take some warriors and scout out the rest of the territory. They would be able to determine if the place was truly safe for their clan.

“And if it isn’t,” Ares thought, his mouth settling in a grim line, “then we will make it so.”

~ ~ ~
She felt the footfalls long before she smelled and saw them. The vibrations, resounding through the earth, stirred up her ever-present rage. It filled her like molten steel flowing into a mold, inflaming her with the desire to erupt from the earth, to maim and tear and kill.

But the footfalls also stirred up something more: memory. She’d heard those sounds before, and through the red-hot haze of rage, her mind found a match.

Dragons.

The anger ebbed somewhat, for instinct, and long years of pain, had taught her that these beings were not to be trifled with. She sank deeper into the earth, burrowing farther away from them. Not quite far enough to erase signs of their presence, but enough so that they didn’t enrage her.

For now.

~ ~ ~
The Cursed Ones had not named themselves, and it was difficult to say if they’d earned the appellation. But they were often treated as such—treated as cursed—and it had been difficult for them to find territory that would accommodate them all.

But find it they did: They were a Plague clan, after all, and Plague dragons survived. While the eerie silence of this fetid, sweltering swampland initially unnerved them, they soon pushed it aside.

And they set about making this land truly theirs.

Day by day, their territory expanded outwards. They cleared the fungus trees, shaped the sun-baked earth, began to build dens and pathways. Day by day, the clan grew—and always, ahead of it, ranged Ares and his scouts and warriors.

He recalled the unease he’d first felt when he’d arrived here, and unlike the rest of his clan, he hadn’t really shaken it off. Once he left the edge of the lair behind, his scales began prickling with the sense of being watched, the sense of being followed.

He reached a vast, shallow channel. It marked the end of the swamp, and he squinted across it, trying to peer through the haze at the far shore.

Would the clan grow beyond this boundary someday? It likely would—and then they would have to drain this area or build a way across. He turned his gaze downwards, idly wondering if he could ford the waters and—

He paused. He remained perfectly still, but his heart leaped suddenly in alarm, and blood rushed to his ears. Upon the tepid surface of the channel, he could see eyes...but they weren’t of his reflection. They were radiant, virulent green.

And then they blinked.

The water bubbled and churned as if suddenly boiling-hot. And then, as Ares guessed it would, it exploded. He leaped back, landing well out of reach as it happened, shielding himself with his wings. Through the billowing steam, he saw a vast shape rising from the water.

A line of spines. Spreading fins...wings? He struggled to see clearly. Lines of gold shimmered across the spike-studded hide; it was difficult to tell if they were smoke or light.

And then the creature was lifting its face, its eyes boring into his, and Ares beheld utter wrath. It rose up on two legs, hissing like a fumarole, the vast wings outspread on either side. Suddenly, it looked about ten times larger than it really was.

He heard a shout: The rest of the scouts had been attracted by the commotion and were now bearing down upon the creature. It turned towards them, its green eyes alight with utter fury.

And Ares reacted. Not overtly: The change was felt rather than seen. The air around him suddenly seemed darker, more oppressive. His midnight-black scales seemed to shimmer, as though he were about to melt into some nameless void...

And the beast felt it. With a final defiant bellow, she twisted away, slamming heavily into the water. Ares remained where he was, unflinching as more water rained around him.

His vision cleared, and he saw Thanatos beside him, the other scouts catching up. The red-blotched Imperial was remarking upon the creature, exclaiming in horror and awe.

“The rest of the clan won’t stand a chance against it! We’ll have to dispatch it now.”

Ares shook his head. Thanatos frowned, clearly confused. “Shall we drive it away, then?”

“No.” Ares studied the water. It was calming now, returning to its previous flat, stagnant state. The beast seemed to have vanished entirely—though he sorely doubted it.

“Such a vast creature...It’s survived for some time. And it’s comfortable even in such an inhospitable place. It knows the terrain well...”

He motioned to the others, and they fell into line behind him, heading back to the lair. He said to them, “This swamp must be its territory. It’s been here much longer than we have—and I don’t doubt it knows where our lair is.”

“And it hasn’t approached,” Thanatos said, understanding dawning. Ares nodded back. “She lives on the edge of the swamp...” He briefly paused, wondering about that word, she. Perhaps it was because the creature had resembled a female Ridgeback?

He smoothly continued, “I do not think she will menace us—provided we allow her space. She is not here to battle. She just wants to survive.”

The encounter was further discussed later on in the lair. Like Thanatos, most of the dragons were initially alarmed. But they calmed themselves when they heard Ares’ reasoning.

After all, they too were survivors, and they could respect another living being’s struggles to survive. Perhaps she would respect theirs, too.

~ ~ ~
She sank into the deepest part of the channel, and bubbles streamed from her jaws as she hissed in fury. She understood some of the words dragons spoke, and a few stood out to her: clan, lair, territory. As the voices faded, she began to understand that these were not nomads who had found a campground; they were here to stay.

She considered leaping from the water and pursuing them. Envisioned herself falling upon them, her claws punching through their flesh. She had slain dragons before—it was difficult, but it could be done! She would drive these intruders from her territory...

But the memory of the dark Imperial, the power lurking within him, once again gave her pause. Better to lie low, she decided. To stay hidden, out of reach of the dragons’ dreadful magic. Perhaps some of them, the weaker ones, would come closer...in range of her claws and teeth...

The lair continued to grow, and the creature observed the dragons, often spying upon them with her eyes just above the waterline. She learned to pick out individuals, slowly familiarized herself with their mannerisms and routines.

When night fell, the dragons lit lanterns, but that didn’t deter her. She crept ashore under the cover of darkness, and while the lanterns illuminated the dragons’ paths, it also disturbed their night vision. It became easier for the creature to creep closer—much closer—than she normally would have dared. During these forays, she could get a closer look at the lair, identify smaller details. She could pick out voices and words...even smell the intruders...

Her nostrils quivered, and she began salivating. That scent: It was the unmistakable aroma of fresh meat.

She lunged forward—and the dragon who’d been scurrying past jerked back, suddenly silhouetted against the lamplight. Alarm flared once again within the creature (the dark Imperial!) and she surged back into the shadows.

Even as she did, however, she realized her mistake: She’d seen a dark-colored Imperial, but not the same one who’d menaced her. This one was thinner, almost sickly-looking, her hide further marred by scars and sores.

The creature did not grasp pride or shame; more often than not, she did as instinct demanded, what was necessary for her to survive. It told her now to keep moving, ignoring the calls from behind her; told her to retreat into the tangled swamp foliage, where the dragons did not follow.

Pride, shame...she lacked these finer feelings. But she did feel something other than white-hot rage when, hours later, she peered out through the foliage again. The lair was silent, most of its inhabitants having gone to sleep. She did not see any roaming about outside.

There were, however, several chopped-up chunks of meat scattered on the ground, several meters away. She extended her long neck, scooped them up with her jaws. A suitable snack—and one that had been left by the dragons, as evinced by the nearby footprints.

Gratitude was not an emotion the creature was familiar with, either. But she did feel a stir of satisfaction.

~ ~ ~
“You’ve been feeding it?!” Styx gasped. She stared at Destruction as if the other Imperial had suddenly sprouted ten more heads.

Destruction hunched down. She looked wary, but she growled, “Is it a problem?”

“Well, Ares says we should leave her alone...”

“She needs to eat, too.” It was an almost-inaudible mumble, but Destruction said it with a defiant glare.

She had nothing to fear, however. Styx wasn’t angry or even horrified: She was in awe. She’d been largely confined to the infirmary, helping Anaideia with all sorts of tasks, unable to explore the lands surrounding the lair.

By now, it seemed that everybody but her had glimpsed this mysterious creature. She couldn’t help pouting a bit—she was beginning to feel left out.

But having finished most of her assigned tasks, she had more free time. And so she began approaching clanmates, asking them about their encounters with the creature. Most of them had nothing more to share than brief glimpses. “A green hide, vividly marked with red,” they told her. “Traces of glimmering, golden magic. Spines like knives, slicing through water and ground. Vast wings. And green eyes, shining like wicked flames in the dark...”

She knew she probably ought to ask Ares, but she found the prospect a bit intimidating—he was their leader, after all. Talking to Thanatos was, to her, only a slightly less frightening prospect, but at least it made her feel giddy with excitement.

Thanatos was, as always, polite but a little somber. He gravely described Ares’ confrontation with the beast: the shock of seeing it rise from the water, mottled with magic and fury...

“Yes, yes, incredible!” Styx gasped—for the moment, she was more fascinated by something other than him. She scribbled down his words, adding, “Did you get a good look at its teeth? Would you say it’s capable of crushing bone?”

“I didn’t care to look too closely. We were more focused on reaching Ares before it attacked...”

“Of course. Do you think it ran away solely because of him? Or perhaps it saw you and the other warriors, and decided it couldn’t take all of you on?” Styx’s eyes briefly widened. “Do you think it could?”

“I certainly hope not. Will that be all?” And as Styx nodded, Thanatos cocked his head. “Here, what are you up to?”

She blushed and scuttled away, mumbling vague excuses. She wasn’t sure which she was more embarrassed by: the fact that he’d shown interest, or that she was indeed up to something.

~ ~ ~
Styx’s plan and motives weren’t particularly complicated. She wanted a closer look at this creature, so she would lure her out with some seafood. Destruction had mentioned that the beast didn’t seem particularly fussy about what kind of food she got, but Styx was wondering if, because she resembled a Ridgeback, she would be attracted to seafood as well.

The Imperial crept out before dawn. She scuttled to the edge of the clan’s territory, where the ground was soft and swampy and squelched quietly under her feet.

She found a suitable spot: It wasn’t too far from the water, and there was enough foliage nearby to conceal even a dragon of her size. She dumped the seafood down and scurried for cover.

She did have to wait, but not for as long as she’d thought. She’d barely settled down when, with a tremendous splash, the creature appeared opposite her. With a single tremendous snap of its jaws, it scooped up the fish—and then froze when she spied the Imperial lurking among the leaves. Styx watched, equally mesmerized, as the creature’s pupils contracted.

She’d never thought she would get this close to the beast. Close enough to see her reflection in its eyes; to feel the heat of its breath; to smell it, a pungent mix of wet earth underlaid by sun-baked carrion. Her usual eagerness faded, replaced by uncertainty...

But only for a split-second. It returned in the next instant, and she straightened up, her face alight with a smile.

“Ah, you really are an incredible creature! How magnificent!”

The creature’s jaws didn’t move. Only its tongue did, curling back over the half-chewed chunks of fish and pushing them down the gullet. Styx watched as the creature’s throat surged. She noted the lines of pale gold flickering over its hide: Indications of magic or mood? Possibly both? Or something else entirely?

And then her speculations shattered as the creature suddenly roared, showering her with saliva and the stink of fish. Instinct took over once again, and Styx turned, scrabbling madly through the foliage, heading back for home.

Behind her, the creature loosed another thunderous roar. Or perhaps...it didn’t?

It sounded like—

“Go! AWAY!”

Styx slammed to a halt. She spun around. “W-what? Wait...you can talk?! Wait—”

The creature was already sliding back into the water. Its tail lashed out, slamming into another tree and knocking it over.

It was as clear a dismissal as any Styx had ever received. She frowned, but continued back to the lair. This had been quite an interesting encounter—she would have to make sure that there’d be more.

~ ~ ~
The creature listened to the dragon’s footsteps retreating, and she sighed with...relief, perhaps? Exasperation?

Perhaps she was simply tired. Dawn was near, and the baking heat made many creatures, including herself, feel rather groggy.

It was just as well. She didn’t feel inclined to run away. She’d often done so, after such close encounters. She’d learned the hard way that dragons did not often tolerate strange, singular beings such as herself. In a dim, distant corner of her mind, she considered rising from the waters the next night, setting off in search of a new den...but only briefly.

This time, she felt that there didn’t seem to be a need.

The feeling persisted as time went on, as the Cursed Ones’ clan grew, and even as they welcomed more beings into their lair. The creature was suspicious at first—she hadn’t survived this long by being blindly trusting, after all. At times, doubt intruded upon her thoughts, and she wondered: Find a new den? Or stay with...

...this one?

She tested the things they left for her: more food, swathes of cloth, knickknacks of carved bone. No poison could kill her, but if any laced these objects, then the bitterness would warn her right away. Warn her that there were worse things to come, traps and blades and spells.

But there was no poison. There were no traps. There was no weaponry raised against her, no alarmed cries.

Well...almost none.

“She talks, I swear! Hey, d’you think she has a name? She needs one, doesn’t she?”

“If she doesn’t wish to share it, you’d best stop asking,” Anaideia growled. She and Styx were harvesting medicinal herbs, and the creature was observing them from just out of sight. Although judging by how Anaideia looked in her direction, she wasn’t as well-concealed as she’d assumed.

She felt no concern now. She even yawned lazily as Anaideia continued, “Just because you keep asking questions doesn’t mean she’s obliged to answer. Perhaps she prefers silence, just as some of us do. No more questions, Styx! Let’s head back...”

The creature didn’t grasp all the words, but she instinctively knew that she had nothing to be concerned about. And so she carried on basking in the sun, watchful but at rest.

It was much the same when other dragons came here, to the very edge of the swamp. Sometimes that chattering Imperial would come by, laden with notebooks and questions, or the hunters would come through in search of game. Herbalists came to harvest plants. Scouts passed by as they monitored the territory.

They infrequently crossed paths, but whenever they did, there was no fear, barely even any nervousness. There was recognition in those gazes...and now, even respect.

Perhaps it was no wonder that the creature no longer felt the urge to flee and seek out another isolated den. The dragons, after all, did not bother her, and the territory was still hers.

Although at least this time, she was more than happy to share.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users