Posts
They camped in the
blasted wastes around the Maelstrom. Nothing stirred here, save for
the occasional errant winds. No creatures moved beyond themselves.
Fatigue, and the oppression of the desolate landscape, meant the
little group spoke little as they made a cold camp. None of them knew
what lay ahead in the Maelstrom... and none of them really wanted to
discuss what they might encounter.
The sun seemed
hesitant to rise the next morning, shining weakly through a haze that
was not quite thick enough to call cloudy. The two half-dragons and
one griffon arose just as reluctantly, eating a cold breakfast to
prepare themselves for the day. They spoke few words, avoiding
talking about the challenges ahead for just a few more minutes.
At last they could
put it off no longer. Almonihah looked out over the wastes to the
Maelstrom with a soft growl.
“Don't like th'
thought 'f flying through that,” he commented. “Walking 'd be
worse.”
Garkhen nodded
wordlessly. Zakhin'Dakh screeched agreement, then knelt down to let
his friends on.
The flight to the
Maelstrom was uneventful, but not exactly silent. At first just the
moaning
of a fitful wind
accompanied them, but as they drew nearer the shifting landscape
ahead of them, a bizarre cacophony met their ears. This was matched
by the sights drawing ever-closer to them. Iceburgs crashed against
one another in a sea of sand. Distant volcanoes erupted, sending
hunks of electrified mud into the air, before the cones collapsed and
became forested hills. Thunderstorms lashed the ground with a hail of
nails, which swiftly dissolved into rivulets of acid as the
stormclouds turned into floating islands.
“It is... rather
impressive,” Garkhen opined after a few moments.
Almonihah snorted.
“Mean deadly. Fly int' the wrong thing here 'nd we're dead.”
“I can do it!”
Zakhin'Dakh screeched, proudly.
Almonihah patted
his friend's side. “Yeah. Wouldn't want t' trust th' flight to
anyone else.”
And with that, they
plunged into the Maelstrom. It was madness. It was chaos. Zakhin'Dakh
had aimed for a clear-seeming patch, but shortly after he flew in,
downdrafts buffeted him as a sudden storm swelled above them. The
great griffon stroked hard with his mighty wings, fighting to gain
altitude, to get above the storm before it hailed burning coals or
something similarly unpleasant.
Garkhen chanted a
spell-prayer, and a canopy of holy energy shielded them as the storm
opened up—dagger-like shards of jagged ice, to be exact. He gritted
his teeth against the expenditure of energy, knowing that much more
would be required of him in the hours to come. He made the ward as
weak as he dared, just barely strong enough to shatter the ice
shards.
Then they were
through the storm and soaring over a peaceful field of purple grass
with green flowers. Green flowers that started shooting seeds at high
speed upwards. Fortunately Zakhin'Dakh was flying high enough that
they lost all momentum before reaching him, dropping back to the
ground just below him. Just to be safe the big griffon flew a bit
higher.
**************************
I'm really struggling with this for some reason. I'll try to get back on track.
