Private Tales First Contact

[Zathria At'Arel]

Even after decades, little was known of the Naga. In the underrealm, even less was known. News of the surface didn't often make much impact below, but even Zathria had heard about the raiders of the surface. The drow saw an opportunity for an alliance, but there was an incredible amount of risk.

That was why Zathria had been picked as the drow representative. Personally, she found it a bit odd. She didn't see herself as a diplomat, which led her to question if others thought this was going to turn to violence - which Zathria was quite adept at - or perhaps Naga politics was built around violence and duels of principle. She didn't know, but she'd find out and adapt. Ah, that was probably why she was picked. Adaptability.

She emerged from the underground with the sun lowering toward the horizon. While true night would have been preferable, approaching an ally at night was apparently inadvisable, but high noon would have been simply too scorching for she and her fellow drow.

Having picked a retinue of skilled warriors, she approached the Naga now, unsure of what she would find. What precisely a Naga king was like remained to be seen, but she was both eager and anxious to find out.

One thing she did know, however, was that she expected if they could get past first contact without bloodshed, the two cultures would likely have a great deal in common.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

As Zathria emerged from the shadowy underground, the grand city of Samskaya met her gaze. The last few remnants of sunlight streamed past towering pyramids and monuments built above a sprawling cityscape. The walls of the citadel were intricately and beautifully carved, painting scenes of devouring serpents and devoted Naga servants. The city was magnificent, a pinnacle of achievement on the island and, perhaps, elsewhere as well.

For a race so young, Samskaya appeared as though it had stood for centuries.

Hidden away from the eyes of the world, it remained nestled in the thick, humid jungles of Nagai, where every manner of exotic beast roamed. Naga hunters could be seen returning from the rainforest, carrying desecrated corpses and cadavers alongside beastmen slaves, before entering the city. The tongue they conversed in was almost entirely alien, seemingly only a collection of guttural and harsh hisses and clicks.

One of the Naga guards positioned at the city gates took note of the approaching drow, instinctively raising a sharpened spear in her direction and alerting the others to her presence. "Tusk'it-huani!"

Their cold, calculating gaze remained locked on the drow, just like their spears. One of the Naga, whose scales were red and blue, uttered in a broken and unused tongue: "Purpose, speak quickly."

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria approached the guards, holding up a hand to slow the drow that followed behind her. She had every confidence in her own survival ability, and knew they could close in quickly enough if the situation turned sour. But that wasn't what she anticipated happening.

She came to a halt several feet outside the range of the spears, and though her hands rested on her sword hilts out of habit, she made no move to draw them.

My name is Zathria At'arel, and I come as an ambassador from Zar'ahal, she said calmly. The reality was that such a move was all but unprecedented on the surface. Drow almost never treated with any surfacers, but in the Naga, there was the potential for common purpose. To capitalize on that would benefit both peoples. She hoped the king would see it the same way.

She gazed up at the city she was about to enter, and couldn't help but be stunned. It was so different from anything in the underrealm. So... bright and open and airy. It made her feel utterly exposed, which in turn made her uncomfortable.

She awaited the guard's response, though she didn't doubt that accepting or turning away ambassadors was above their pay grade. Nevertheless, she was confident that it would at least get her through the gate. Or they would challenge her and it would end in blood. Probably not, right?

 

[Tir'Coatl]

Forked tongues flitted out from serpentine maws as the Naga listened for their answer, their eyes unmoving.

Naga language was an oddity among the races, not just for its unnatural sounds and mechanisms, but for the fact that it was only partially verbal. A great deal of the language's true meaning was hidden behind pheromones, offering up morsels of thought and emotion to those who listened. As Zathria spoke, the air grew thick for the Naga as hidden scents left their brethren.

Safe? Uncertainty, what does she speak of?

Likely. Ambassador, drow. Bring to Him. If she moves wrong, kill her.

Though not a noise left them, mere moments passed before the largest abruptly thrust his spear in the direction of the city. "Come. You will meet the Scaled King."

A few of the spare guards came to flank the dark elf, offering their spears as incentive to listen to them, while the one who spoke guided her down the wide streets of Samskaya. Passing markets and homes, they slowly moved closer to the Scaled Palace.

The palace was a grand structure, flaming braziers illuminating its size against the setting sun. Iconography of some great serpent was rife in its carvings, along with what seemed to be a larger naga amongst a great crowd. Fountains were plentiful, with myriads of colorful fish swimming in its waters.

Soon, they had arrived at the throne room. Great doors separated it from the palace halls, heaving open at the behest of a royal guard. The throne room was an ornate room, braziers sending orange light streaming through gilded pillars. Naga and slaves alike kneeled either side of the carpet leading to the throne, murmuring in some kind of chant. Channels of what appeared to be blood ran through the hall, leading to the throne. Every bit of it demanded attention and power, none more than the figure on the throne itself.

The Scaled King sat on a raised, gilded throne, standing taller than any Naga or drow in the room at a height of 8 feet. A lengthy tail wrapped around the throne, and an imposing spear stood in his hand. At the sight of the drow, he cast a heavy glance in her direction.

"You stand in the court of the Scaled King, drow. What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria followed the guards through the city, though they had never said a word about what to do with her. Whether there was some form of telepathy at play or they simply had protocols for every situation, she didn't know. Nor did she linger on the thought long. She was entering potential enemy territory, and she had limited back up. Far from home. It wasn't the best situation to be in, but she would make due.

She seldom came above ground nor did most of her comrades, so her presence here drew many eyes from the surfacers, most of whom had never seen a dark elf before. With the sun now shrinking back behind the horizon, she was able to get a better view of the city, despite the offense to her eyes.

It was well built and well populated. She saw guards here and there and her mind began trawling through options if this came to battle. The drow forces would have had quite the time assaulting this city.

She reprimanded herself for allowing her thoughts to deviate toward war and then promptly started thinking how to infiltrate the city for an assassination. She... had a problem.

Finally, they arrived at the palace and her eyes gazed up at it as she was led inside. The familiar scent of blood filled the air and the slaves throughout the room were another concept she was quite familiar with. Drow kept slaves in droves, and she wondered if the Naga's slaves faired any better than the drow slaves.

Finally, her eyes came to rest on the man she'd come here to meet. A man... how could these surfacers allow males to have any say in leadership? Males were simply incompetent and worthless for most things. Nevertheless, this one was large. She had heard the stories about how he came to power, and if the stories were true, it had been through rivers of blood. And that was how he maintained his power.

My name is Zathria At'Arel and I come as an ambassador on behalf of the drow people, she said.

We believe our people may have some common ground. I've come to discuss a possible alliance between our peoples, she said. Perhaps she should have hidden her hand better, but she had never been much for the conniving of her people. Subtlety wasn't her strongest suit. With any luck, the Naga would be a straightforward people as well.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

The servants eyed the drow woman nervously, a lull overtaking their chanting as they listened to her reply. At the mention of drow, eyes quickly met with a silent wondering.

The drow were rare, though not unheard of. Dark elves, the others called them. Strange Skinned Ones, whose people remained huddled in the dark beneath the sun's light. While Naga bathed in the light, they hid in the darkness that followed. Their prisoners would spin rumors of spiders and insects, of dark and corrupting magics, and of queens with as much power as kings, with disgust in their voices.

True or not, she was an oddity in his court.

Tir'Coatl merely tapped a claw against the throne, a dull thud against the gilded stone. In an instant, the crowd of servants returned to their chanting without argument.

Resting his eyes upon her, he saw nothing more than a Skinned One. One who claims to deserve an audience with the Scaled King himself, claiming to be on the behalf of a people who cower in caves. A simple taste of the air around him signaled that much of his court felt the same, wondering how this interloper thought they were worthy.

"A Skinned One wanders into my court and deems herself worthy of my attention." The voice was booming and powerful, the great Naga lord now leaning towards her. His eyes remained keen, looking over the drow as if to discern if she is better left as food. "More have died for less."

However, he decided to indulge her. Whether he truly planned on going through with this supposed discussion or not, none could tell. "Tell me this, Skinned One. My armies leave behind them great oceans of crimson blood, my cities sprawl across this jungle and scrape the skies with their peaks, and we feast on wealth and harvest." The Scaled King left a pause, the air thick with tension. "Why should I pay you any heed, when others were given none?"

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

She didn't have to have pheromones to sense the shift in the room. Everyone's eyes were on her, and she was surprised to find that she loved it. The attention was exhilarating. These weren't students at the academy who paid attention because they knew she was an exacting woman, but individuals fascinated and captivated by her. She didn't waver under their gazes nor under the gaze of the serpent king.

Others died for less because they were less, she said. If he expected her to grovel, he would be sorely disappointed. She was here to make an alliance, but she wasn't going to subject her people to a bad deal by presenting them as desperate or subservient to a male. They were neither, and if she died, she would die with pride. And in a river of blood probably.

Because you're not satisfied with stagnation, she said. You can be more, and I think you want to be. But for that, you need allies, she said.

Or perhaps you doubt me and require a demonstration? she asked, motioning to one of the King's guards while laying her other hand on one of her two sword hilts, indicating that they could duel here and now. Specifically, she chose the largest one.

She had several advantages, and she knew it. Her weapons were not in direct sunlight, which meant her enchanted, dark steel swords would do a number against any enemy. She also knew that she'd been training swordsmen for longer than most anyone in this room had been alive. Such was one of the great advantages of elves.

She awaited the king's response. He would receive a show either way if he accepted. If not, then she had her foot in the door. Either way was a win.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

The Scaled King rested an elbow on his throne as the dark elf uttered her reply, clenching a clawed fist. So the Skinned One thinks herself better than the others of skin. Perhaps she was. After all, it was a low bar to judge one's self against.

What kept her alive, what kept him from flicking a wrist and dismissing her to the gods, was what intrigued him most. There was a fighting spirit, one of a young Naga hoping to build a kingdom from the ashes of those that fell in his way, trapped within a lacking form. It called for change, for improvement, and for perfection. It was familiar.

A shame, given the limitations of her race. Had only she been born a naga...

At the mention of a demonstration, Tir'Coatl nodded with a slow, curling grin. "Perhaps I do." A large clawed hand gestured towards the chosen Naga guard, instructing them both to come to the center of the hall. "As you have chosen, Kul'Tana of the Tiskuani shall be your opponent."

The Naga guard was large, with colorful scales of blue and red highlighting thick muscles, once more towering over most in the courtyard. She wielded a large spear in her hand, decorated with intricate carvings of her own. As most females in the naga were, she was naturally larger than her male counterparts.

Kul'Tana slithered opposite Zathria, jabbing the spear into the ground. She snarled in the drow's direction, "Kuzcani triverta graula. Ifli yokoya." Scents of death and combat filled the air.

"May Quetsaal guide your blows, and may their blood paint your spear." The Scaled King cast his gaze to both of the combatants and uttered the final word:

"Begin."

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

And so it was decided. Zathria's lips twisted into a wicked grin as the large Naga began to approach.

Very well, she said calmly. She drew both her blades from their sheathes with a satisfying and reassuring shlink. Both willow leaf style sabers had jetback emril blades. The metal of the underrealm was quite well known below the surface: bound together by powerful magic and capable of defeating many types of armor.

Zathria considered whispering a prayer of her own, but it had been nearly a century since her goddess had seemed to pay heed to the drow people. Her own steady hand would have to protect her today.

Instead of a prayer, she muttered a quiet incantation under her breath, letting magic flow into her body that would quicken every one of her movements. She would need it.

The matchup at first looked comical with the size difference. At five and a half feet, she was dwarfed by the Naga, but the weapon master didn't seem disturbed. She had fought creatures larger than this in the underrealm and claimed victory.

With the single word of the king, the duel began. The Naga had a serious reach advantage in both personal size and weapon length, but spears were more difficult once inside the guard. And if there was one thing Zathria had in abundance it was agility and speed.

She darted forward and the Naga thrust her spear at the drow. Zathria's right blade shoved it wide and around her body, moving forward as she attempted to reach striking range. But the Naga was quicker than she looked. She had withdrawn quickly, making another jab that Zathria narrowly evaded.

The exchange continued for nearly thirty seconds as spear and sword cracked against one another. Zathria was simply biding her time. An opportunity would present itself, and even more than that, she was learning about how Naga fought. It was a first for her to fight the serpent creatures and only time would tell if it was the last time.

A thrust came in low at Zathria's legs and she saw her opportunity. Her foot slammed down on the end of the spear. It slammed into the dirt and she pushed off, using the strength of the Naga warrior against it.

That leap propelled her forward and her blades moved in sync with one another. One blade cleaved down, slamming through the hand that held the spear before it could withdraw and cutting through the scales and down to the bone. The other whipped out at the spear, slamming down into the upper part of the shaft and forcing it free of the hand that would now be weakened by the injury.

She knew that the Naga would have killed her without mercy, and her own instincts told her to do the same, but the logical part of her mind told her that actually killing the guard might not be the right call. Unless, of course, that was what was required by Naga culture, in which case, Zathria would happily oblige.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

As the first struck was blown, the room was alight with the sound of drumming and chanting. Serpentine eyes remained unblinking as they focused on the duel, darting between each open wound and each blocked blow with an intense concentration. The spear clattered against the stone floor, free of the Naga's grip as the dark elf landed her precise attacks.

Tir'Coatl watched, and Tir'Coatl grew interested. Kul'Tana was by no means an inexperienced fighter, having served by his side since the conquests that built the kingdom they stood within. If she could be defeated, then perhaps this Skinned One truly did speak of truth.

Time would tell whose corpse would litter the floor.



Kul'Tana let out a grunt as blood streamed down from her empty hand. The sight of the sanguine fluid was, oddly, a comfort to the Tiskuani Naga. This Skinned One would realize the extent of her misfortune soon, as the blood began to turn to thick smoke that trailed to the ceiling.

The eyes of the Naga grew thin. Bloodthirsty. A predatory instinct typically relegated to their primitive ancestors once more awakened, fueled by the touch of crimson. It fueled her strength and her speed, guiding her claws and fangs alike into the flesh of her opponent: Quetsaal's gift to those who followed the way of war.

Discarding her weapon, Kul'Tana quickly surged forward with a speed unlike what had come in the prior moments of this battle. She batted away any oncoming strikes with her scales, some digging into uncaring flesh while others were simply tossed aside like playthings as the Naga continued to push back. Some claws may have found their way to the flesh of her arms, leaving long jagged lines of blood in their wake.

Abruptly, a clawed hand shot out to grasp Zathria's neck as the Naga's tail began to wrap around her, constricting the drow. Zathria could feel it tighten and tighten around her legs, with every passing moment making escape less likely.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria knew the sight of bloodlust well, but she was still surprised by the speed with which the Naga moved. It closed in swiftly, but instead of the expected attacks or defensive strikes, Zathria was moving. It wasn't enough to evade everything, however. She felt claws rake across her arm, blood beginning to drip under her armor. Had she not been wearing any armor, it likely would have done even more damage.

The arm that shot out toward her neck, however, wouldn't fair so well. The decision to simply tank the blows and rely on scales was not a prudent one. Magically enhanced strength and the preternatural sharpness of her enchanted dark steel swords meant that she could chop through armor. It had done so many times before, and scales - tough as they were - weren't armor.

The blade came down, cleaving through the hand and specifically the tendons and nerves that commanded the hand. Combined with the positioning of the blade and her own head movements, it would prevent her enemy from clamping down or even getting close enough to her neck for a killing blow.

Unfortunately, the tail around her legs wasn't quite as easy to evade. It managed to grasp one of the legs while her other leg remained free. With her movement significantly impeded, she capitalized on the advantage it gave her: that part of her opponent was stationary as well.

Zathria's blade slid quickly across the creature, searching for something specific. If there was even a minute gap between scales - as all creatures no matter how smooth scaled had - a razor sharp sword tip would either find it or create one. After a moment it caught in a gap in the scales and she shoved the blade deep. Into the fleshy bits it would go, and whether strong or not and whether eight feet tall or not, having nearly a foot of enchanted metal in your flesh was bad news for any fight. As the muscles would tear and be severed, the grip on her leg should loosen, but Zathria wasn't going to bet her life on it.

With her own blood and the blood of her enemy to fuel her magics (the specialty of the drow people, after all), the blade of the sword would heat and begin to burn the muscle and flesh and boil the blood of her enemy if she were lucky.

She had to admit, she had a newfound respect for the Naga. This fight was certainly one of the more unique and challenging ones she'd had in some time. The strength of a beast of the underrealm, but more cunning. A dangerous combination.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

A hideous screech left the Naga guard as the blade cleaved downward on her hand. Nerves split as the sword's sharpened edge pierced through scales and tendons alike with frightening efficiency. The hand fell limp, twitching and throbbing as though it still reared for a rematch. Dulled by a bloodlust that grew unsatiable, the excruciating pain only served to further enrage the hulking behemoth of a Naga.

As blood seeped from her wounds, she only grew more relentless in her frenzy and strength. As Zathria's blade found itself shoved into Zul'Tana's flesh, her jaw unhinged and released a spray of green liquid over her prey. As it met armor, it began to burn through it rapidly. As it met flesh, it scalded and burned like the worst acids.

The blood magic of the drow was met with a pang of biting laughter from the wounded Naga. After all, it was the specialty of the Naga people as well. While a brief flash of heat did sear through her skin, causing an exorbitant amount of pain, the blood utilized as the source of the attack was abruptly pulled away.

It was drawn to her claws, which struck down with a strength fueled by her many wounds. Should it hit, it would pierce through armor and leave behind sickening gashes of dark blood, draining of energy. Shortly after, the Naga surged her head forward to take a poisonous bite out of Zathria's shoulder. The tail remained in place, unable to tighten yet unwilling to completely release their elven prisoner.

She was wounded, horribly so, but she refused to back down to a Skinned One.

The throne room watched with bated breath, knowing the battle only had a few moments left before one of them fell.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

The situation was dire, but Zathria knew what she was waiting for. She simply had to survive long enough. Her blade had pierced deeply and now she pulled it free, tearing nearly a meter worth of scales and flesh free as it swung outward from where it had been buried. Blood poured out, but the Naga were well versed in blood magic, it seemed.

Zathria knew that the acid spit of a Naga would be problematic, and she'd hoped not to remain in this proximity for so long, but adaptations had to be made. She shielded her open skin with her bracer, but her armor began to be eaten away under the acid. Surely she had little time left to finish this fight or at least get her torso armor free. But the time it would take to loose the armor would surely see her dead right now.

With the tail of the Naga still grasping, Zathria took a more direct approach. The sword had opened a massive gash, and if Zathria couldn't force herself free via pain then she would do so by practicality. The blade dug in and sliced perpendicular to her original cut, severing the muscles that would have run the length of the body. The tail should go limp whether the Naga wanted it to or not and with its determination to hold her in place, the strike was nearly assured to land.

The maneuver, however, meant that the blood magic attack tore into Zathria's left side, ripping like an animals claws and shredding pieces of her armor. Blood flowed freely down her side now, but her opportunity had come.

She had intentionally removed two of the Naga's means of attacks - that was to say the hands - and that left a single route as the most logical means of attack: the fanged maw. She had been hoping for this for some time now, and when the opportunity came, she didn't miss it.

As the mouth lunged forward to bite, Zathria's blade thrust forward. The combined momentum of the lunging bite and the thrust would mean that the blade would pierce straight through the maw and out the back of the head, impaling the brain and finishing the fight. Or so Zathria hoped. With the Naga in full lunge, she found it highly unlikely that such a blow could be avoided. At worst, the blade would prevent the bite from finishing its course and killing the dark elf.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

The battle was brutality incarnate, vicious and cunning with every strike and every wound marking their bodies. Savage blows and barbaric animosity practically flowed off of the duel, painting a scene of crimson that left scars on both ends.

Yet all things come to an end. One of them would be lucky enough for it to be one on the field of combat.

Zathria's sword aimed true, piercing Zul'Tana's scales. It sank deeper, thrust through flesh before it struck bone, where it continued and continued onward. It carved a path of blood and flesh through the Naga's head, leaving the other side matted in the refuse of combat.

The body hung limp, slowly sinking down the length of the blade. Its eyes continued to remain open, as intense in death as they were in life. Zul'Tana's corpse twitched erratically; the final nerves firing off whatever impulses they had left.

Tir'Coatl looked on from his throne, nodding. "Carry the body to the shamans. They know what they must do. Though Zul'Tana has fallen, that which was left behind shall serve its purpose fueling her people." Blood would be turned to foul magic, while her scales and bone would adorn the armor of her brood. As was the way of the Naga, brutal as it was.

Slowly, a few spare servants dragged the corpse away, leaving the hall. Blood now stained the pristine stone. The Scaled King's eyes returned to the drow, wounded as she was. "You have fought well. Not many of your kind, feeble as they are, have lasted against a Naga in the field of combat. You have earned your audience."

As he spoke, Naga adorned in bones of countless creatures approached the drow. One held a golden bowl filled with blood, the other dipping their claws in. Muttering something in Nagish, the shaman ran bloodied claws across Zathria's wounds one by one. As they did so, the wounds would begin to heal and merge themselves whole once again, leaving behind pristine pale skin.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria held her hand firm as the killing blow was struck. She could feel the impact of piercing bone through her entire arm and it made everything begin to tingle. The piercing eyes never wavered, but there was no longer life behind them. It was a look she was closely acquainted with.

She would have liked to enjoy the victory, but her mind was still in the mode of combat. She pulled a knife free and severed the straps of her armor, ripping free the torso piece even as she began to feel the burn of the acid against her skin. Although not quite naked from the waist up, it was close. Now it was clear that blood drenched the left side of her body and the skin had already begun to warp from the burns of the acid.

She was about to have some of those from her retinue summoned up for healing, but before she could worry about it, the king of the Naga had already done so. His servants appeared and began to heal the injuries that covered her and he commanded that the body be taken for "recycling." It was devilishly pragmatic and not all that different than what the drow might have done.

When it was done, the skin was completely healed. It was quite spectacular, and also something she was quite familiar with.

Because those you've met in the past are less. My people are not feeble, she reiterated. She wasn't going to let him assume any weakness in her people.

She took one of the outer cloaks of one of her people and placed it on to cover herself and replaced both swords in their sheathes.

As you can see, our people have much in common, she said. Just from the battle alone he would have seen her use of blood magic, the combat prowess and ferocity they both shared, and the fact that neither group was afraid of a fight.

Which is why I'm here. An alliance between our peoples could strengthen both of our peoples, she said. The drow were looking to expand, and she assumed the Naga were as well. Two groups with so many similarities would do well to ally against the other races.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

"Then consider your people a worthy exception, drow." The response was succinct and blunt, yet it somehow managed to possess an oddly charismatic tilt for a race not known to speak Common. If what Zathria had shown was an example of the rest of her species, then perhaps they were worthy of this alliance. If they were not, well, they would soon follow the rest.

The Scaled King nodded, keenly remembering the usage of blood magic. It was a desirable tool, one that had guided him to his throne alongside his other thrones. While he was confident that the drow were only learners of the art rather than the Naga gifted with it, their combined knowledge could spell an unrelenting expansion.

A new Red Tide.

"Your blood magic is primitive, yet it could easily be honed, and you fight like one of our own. Remarkable, given the unfortunate bindings that nature had given you." A keen mind could quickly grasp that Tir'Coatl was giving an underhanded compliment; praising the skill in spite of the perceived relation to Skinned Ones, though she had at least proven the drow to be far more worthy of respect than the rest of their ilk.

At the mention of an alliance, the Scaled King leaned back on his throne. A tense silence passed, the air thick with scents of consideration and worry alike. Some desired her to be put to death for her insolence, believing her unworthy regardless of her victory. The youngest, as of yet unaware of the horrors produced by the Skinned Ones, offered their silent opinions for approving the request.

Before Zathria was a silent congregation of voices, each clamoring to demand the unaware drow's fate. To die, or to be accepted.

"It is the destiny of Naga to overtake the land we are due to inherit. To sweep across the earth and sea in a torrent of blood and ash, turning the hovels of the Skinned Ones to glistening temples and cities." His gaze swept across the throne room, eyes meeting each and every one.

"The drow have, today, proven themselves worthy, proven themselves above their lost brethren." His voice rang through the hall, authoritative as he spoke to his people. The air was clear, save for the King's own scents. His gaze turned to Zathria directly, about to speak.

The door to the throne room slammed open, drawing a horde of eyes upward to see the source. A group of beastmen slaves raced in, frantic and anxious as the glanced about.

The Scaled King's spear struck the floor with a sudden CLANG!, declaring, "What is the meaning of this interruption, slaves?" The nearby guards immediately began to come forward, ready to apprehend whatever primitive nonsense the slaves had to spread.

One of the beastman, whose skin had been scarred from years of abuse and displayed various runic tattoos of blood, quickly held his hands up. "No! The... primal. Here! Border, moonward."

Immediately, faces grew dark. Though the scrambled words of the slave likely spoke little to outsiders, purposefully done to limit their communication, they meant a terrible thing for the Naga. The Scaled King immediately rose from his throne. "Organize the soldiers, I want every capable hand in northern district of Samskaya ready to fight now. Bring the Tiskuani and Aswani."

The Naga sharply turned to Zathria with a jerk of the head. "Your alliance is worthless if you do not care to help, gather your weapons and women and join us. The Primal awaits." He did not wait for an answer, immediately turning to leave as a troop of soldiers followed suite.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathtria gave a nod, a silent acceptance of the compliment of the drow. It was all either of them could expect of one another. Even the kindest gesture was still a bit cold. Zathria wasn't bothered by the standoffishness at all.

I am not a personal specialist in blood magic, she said. Although she knew some basic magics, she paled in comparison to the priestesses and specialized mages of the underrealm.

Zathria was still listening to the king's plans for expansion when someone burst into the room. She didn't know what the message meant, but she was perceptive enough to sense the shift in the room. Something menacing was on the horizon. Something dangerous had come.

She mentally cursed the fact that half her armor lay shattered on the floor, but she was thankful that she had chosen to come near night. The darkness and lack of sunlight would make hunting this "primal" easier for she and her people. And tracking in the darkness would only further demonstrate the prowess of the drow people.

She didn't give any argument as he mentioned that they should follow along. He couldn't have stopped her at this point. Zathria quickly administered orders to her drow, ordering them to assemble themselves. She slipped on a proper shirt in place of the cloak and let one of her swords slip free of its sheathe.

With barely a word, the drow soldiers fell into line Handbows, swords, and magic together were ready for fighting what faced them.

What is this "primal?" she asked as she joined the king and his troops in their assembly area.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

As the drow forces quickly found themselves in line with Naga soldiers, an odd assembly of lithe elves and towering lizards, enslaved Saurians and beastfolk were dragged in by handlers as cannon fodder. They were a hoard, untrained, and utterly expendable. Their death served far more purpose in the time of battle then their life did, after all.

Tir'Coatl oversaw the assembling troops, giving a sharp glance to Zathria. "The Primal One, the forsaken and abandoned child of Quetsaal. It haunts Nagai, devouring whole tribes in an instant. It bears the scars of generations of Naga, adorning its scales like a taunt to Samskaya. It was born before us, and it will long outlive us if it is not led to submission."

The nearby Naga's faces grew dark, nodding along. Tir'Coatl continued, saying, "Whether it can truly be killed, one of divine blood, is unknown. Today, we shall test that theory."

The Scaled King clenched his claws, gripping the spear beside him. His people relied upon him, and he refused to let them down. He could not sit idly as a beast laid waste to the city he built, the life he created.

The demigod's blood would paint the grass red, and it will remain a trophy to the true glory of the Naga.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria understood what they were up against even if she didn't understand what the creature actually was. In the underrealm they were surrounded by monsters on every side that attacked and mauled drow who weren't careful. Here the monsters may have been different or larger, but they were still the same in a way.

She pondered his words for a moment, considering how to defeat a monster that may not be able to be killed. Either way, they would fight and see what became of it.

She watched as the Naga warriors assembled, noting how they used the slaves as frontline fodder for the battles. It was a technique she recognized well and had used many times. It was the same thing the drow did in their wars and battles.

We shall, she said. She pulled her swords free of their sheathes and looked at the force assembled. The ground began to rumble beneath them, and if she didn't have such impressive balance, she might have fallen to the ground.

The rumbling broke the ground and dust began to heave into the air, casting a dense cloud over the whole area, obscuring their enemy... if it was there. A nagging feeling tugged at Zathria's mind and she couldn't help but feel that something here was wrong. She just didn't know what yet.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

They had come to the outskirts of the city, a portion that was still under construction. The sites of newly built homes and others to follow dotted the landscape, slowly devolving into the thick jungles of Nagai. Past the brush was darkness, a dense canopy blocking any moonlight from brightening the wood.

The ground churned and cracked, dust drifting into the air with each sudden wave of vibrations. Moments of silence were quickly cut through with multiple bursts of noise. The assembled hunting party set their gaze on the cloud before them, trying to decipher tricks of the mind from the true beast that hunted them.

In an instant, hell broke loose.

A surge of scales, riddled with dozens upon dozens of scars, burst through the cloud of dust. It was massive and all-encompassing, even from the limited view its appearance provided, and possessed an uncanny speed to its movements.

Massive rows of teeth devoured a swath of slaves before vanishing into the dust, a dark shadow circling them. "It plays with us," Tir'Coatl muttered. "Dir act'kir tel."

As the words were uttered by the Scaled King, the blood adorning the ground throbbed. In the mist, lines of crimson began to glow—wounds on the surface of the Primal, allowing the army to vaguely make out its location in the dust. The wounds burned and sizzled as though they boiled, though the Primal remained stubbornly ignorant. Javelins flooded the air as they were thrown at the beast, some piercing flesh while others fell short.

The Primal was unfazed.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria didn't let on that she was shaken by the sight of the creature. It was huge and the scars across its body indicate that many, many had tried to kill it before. She could only assume that there were fields of bones that marked the locations where they had failed.

The slaves were devoured first. It was as one might expect, but it didn't make Zathria feel better. Not because she pitied the slaves, but because the ease with which the creature devoured them spoke to a power the likes of which she doubted they had the power to kill here.

She took up a backpack filled with javelins, but even as each found its mark, the creature seemed not to notice. It cut in through the lines of drow and Naga alike but both the drow warrior and the Naga king stood firm in their resolve.

Screams and blood filled the field of battle, and many missiles pierced the creature, but they seemed to be little more than splinters. Zathria was no coward, but she didn't fancy throwing herself at an enemy suicidally either.

As the creature did battle with the soldiers, she began churning other options in her mind. Perhaps they were best saved for after the battle - or rather slaughter - but one did come to mind.

Meanwhile, the primal made a surge for the pair of leaders, lunging forward and battering royal guard and drow retinue alike aside, making for what it somehow perceived was the... head of the snake.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

The Primal surged forward like a raging river of carnage and teeth, barreling between Naga and drow soldier alike in a relentless path towards the pair. Vast arrays of bodies littered the ground it traveled, pushed back by the unrelenting behemoth as only a few of the truly lucky remained.

Tir'Coatl, the Scaled King, gazed at the enraged demigod as it barreled towards him. Whatever intelligence hid behind those eyes, it was cunning enough to know to aim for the king. A creature with intelligence and the strength to act upon it was a truly dangerous hunt.

The Naga warlord quickly darted to the side and, spear tightly gripped in his hands, punctured the scales of the Primal's face. As it surged forth, the spear ran down its form, eliciting a slight trickling of dark blood.

Immediately, a blood-curdling roar erupted from the toothed maw of the beast, loud enough to last long after it finished in the ears of its prey. The Primal continued to surge forward, lashing out at a group of archers preparing their next volley as its jaw bit down on their bodies.

Its tail, long enough to still linger where the leaders were, quickly flung itself to the side towards Zathria.

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria was suddenly glad she didn't have half of her armor. It wouldn't do anything against this monstrosity, and it would only slow her down now.

She saw the king strike a blow that drew blood, but it only seemed to further enrage the monstrosity. For her part, Zathria darted aside as the creature flung its bulk in her direction, she planted a foot on the creature and used magic to force herself upward into the air, launching higher than she should have physically been capable of doing. It launched her clear of the creature's attack as she slammed her dark steel sword down. A scale cleaved free and landed in the dirt as the creature chomped down on another soldier.

Without warning, the creature turned and left. The carnage left in its wake was horrible with most of those gathered either dead or dying and blood running freely over the ground. Zathria bent down to look at the scale she'd torn free and the blood the king drew that coated the floor.

Blood, she muttered. She turned quickly to the king, seeming to barely even notice the death that surrounded them. Can your mages track with blood? she asked, glancing around to see that her own mages were dead after the battle. If they could track the creature to its lair, they could find a way to kill it. Or at least subdue it.

 

[Tir'Coatl]

The stench of death hung in the air.

What was once an army had been reduced to corpses and the injured, a field of carnage and crimson that they alone stood uninjured in. Naga and drow alike suffered, a menagerie of soldiers releasing their final breaths among a graveyard. This site would follow the path set by many others before it; a land filled with the remains, cursed by the demigod that wrought such carnage upon it.

The Scaled King took a deep breath as he set his gaze on the desecrated landscape, a serpentine gaze sweeping across the dying and the dead. His grip tightened on the spear. Should it be the last thing he does, he will ensure that the Primal submits to the power of the Naga, knows its place as a servant beneath them.

It will be done.

Tir'Coatl nodded to Zathria's question, his gaze falling upon the bloodied spear. "I can." A clawed hand gently ran along the blade's surface, the Naga murmuring an ancient ritual as he did so. The blood slowly transformed into mist, churning and flowing in the air.

A moment passed before it suddenly pushed past them, moving toward the direction of the Primal. "It shall lead us to it. Those who are able, follow. Those who heal, stay. May the dead find their way to another life."

The Naga turned and followed the spell, watching as the mist wrapped around trees and flowed through the underbrush. "If death is not an option, then perhaps servitude is another. The Primal is the forsaken child of Quetsaal, who forgot his place among her children and grew angry. If we were to remind it..."

 

[Zathria At'Arel]

Zathria nodded, glad that it should work as a plan. She watched the hissing of the blood as it began to lead them along their path. A mix of drow were injured and some of the healers stayed behind, but a half dozen of her soldiers came along. She wasn't surprised to see which of her people had survived. They were the best from her academies. She began to wish she had brought several hundred drow along rather than a single platoon.

She thought about what the king said as they proceeded. She was beginning to doubt their ability to kill the creature. Or at least they wouldn't be able to do so through conventional means.

Her mind went back to what she had learned in the academy: if you're backed into a corner and you can't run from it, use it.

Subjugation might be preferable. A creature with that power would be a powerful slaves, she said. The drow were true believers in subjugation of others. They trained giant spiders from the underrealm and turned them from enemy into powerful tools.

She had a nagging suspicion that creatures of the dark would be roaming the jungles as well. Simply making it to the creature's lair was likely to be dangerous.