Thread: The Great Serpent (M2) Dreamie~Middie

A wave of nostalgia hit Ammon like an overpowering ocean wave. This man's - no, this naga's - features were overwhelmingly familiar. The ardent glimmer within his serpentine eyes and the flicker of his desert scales made her stop and ponder. But, this was no time to fantasize. With the sun quickly rising the rest of the caravan would be up, fed, and ready to continue the journey to Haven though Ammon still planned on sharing the presence of slavers in the area with Deacon. For some odd reason she found that at the bottom of her list. This creature. She knew him. There was no doubt about it. But from where? When? Who was he? A name make things easier for her pinpoint but she chided herself and said she would worry about it during another time. She gave the naga a reassuring nod, her coal lion's mane bounding up and down with the movement of her skull. Ammon? Why are you out here? Irvine, being the nosy, intruding bastard he was, came parting the bushes and toting about an oversized broadsword. A naga! he fumbled to wield the weapon - which was larger then him - but held with the utmost grace. He took a defensive stance and stepped in front of Ammon, dwarfing her in his height even though she stood nearly six feet tall. A desert naga ... help me subdue him. He'll put up a fight. Irvine prepared to lunge forward but not before Ammon could intervene. She took position in front of him, driving her hands into his chest as to thwart his attack. What are you doing? His genuinely inquisitive tone irked Ammon to unfathomable reaches. Are you out of your mind? The pure vehemence in her usual soft, nonchalant tone made Irvine feel as if he had just slaughtered an innocent doe for fun. Are you ? he retorted, his voice suddenly low, I know you know Deacon has need for a desert serpent. We need to bring him back - Before the dark haired man had the pleasure of finishing his plight, Ammon thrust a furled fist forward which made perfect contact with Irvine's jaw. His bastard sword planted its blade firmly in the soil while his tumid body fell idle towards the marshland that covered the oasis' strand. They're sentient. Attacking them, threatening them ... this makes them violent, irate and if anything frightened. You won't report this sighting to Deacon either. Damn, woman ... you hit like a man. Jesus. He pressed his clammy, muddled palm against his jawline to check for a wound. If anything was wounded, it was his price. We don't need a naga to protect us on the way to haven. What we need is to be prudent and cover our footfalls. Changing travel patterns every once and a blue moon may hinder any followers for a certain period of time but that's just it. It only hinders them. Sooner or later they'll recover and chase after us with a divine vengeance. Irvine wasn't paying attention to Ammon's bible-school preaching. Rather he had caught a glimpse of an attractive desert insect which hindquarters were vivid like quartz. He watched it until Ammon retorted. She threw herself on the ground, upon his lap, and took the crown of his tunic in her hands. Are you listening!? she cried. Her voice was a voice not to be reckoned with, deep and honey-like. It had authority. Those fucking slave drivers are following us. We slip up this time and it's all over. All of those little girls go right back to their cells to be brutally raped and molested. The mothers will be put to work, raped alongside their daughters, and sons left to toil in the desert sun all day with no food or water. Get your head out of the fucking clouds and pay attention, Irvine. Things were fun once upon of time but this is no longer a game, for the price of losing this time is far greater then it's ever been before.listulistulistu