Page 50 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

Jutting out from within the apparent water source are sharp, insect-like appendages, barely visible. As I hesitate, the “water” transforms into a swarm of swiftly moving boney wings. Reacting quickly, I leap back, claws extended, preparing for the onslaught of these large predatory insects.

Shimmerscales, the Sanaxus, call them. These creatures cluster together, masquerading as water to lure thirsty victims. Their carapaces sparkle with a light blue-purple color. I curse myself at nearly falling into such a blatant trap. I find my footing on the soft sands, ready to face the oncoming horde, their chitinous wings creating an eerie buzz as they close in fast. Their twin, wicked scythe-like mandibles gleam menacingly under the brutal sun’s glare.

Within moments, my clawed hands thrash into the frenzied swarm. I enjoy the satisfying impact as I rip and slice through several of these loathsome insects. Agony courses through my arms as others retaliate, their sharp scythes rake across my body. Amidst the chaotic fury, I keep an eye out for the sharp, tube-like appendages extending from their elongated, thin heads and necks.

Only their venomous stingers protruding from their heads give me pause. Gladly, I accept slices from their bladed arms while evading the stinging stabs. There is no finesse here, no skillful thrust and counter of warrior-on-warrior combat. This is a brutal test of endurance, of Klendathian versus the forces of nature, and like my ancestors who tamed these lands before me, I will prevail.

I rip, I tear, I slash, I slice through the swarm. My Rush, now stoked, blazes hotter and hotter within me, and my claws lash out with ever-increasing speed, an almost imperceptible whirlwind of death. It’s as though they retaliate in kind for eachof their comrades slain, extracting blood from my flesh as the price. I accept the cost unflinchingly, knowing they will break before me, for I will never succumb to such as these.

At my feet lay hundreds of the vile creatures, their exoskeleton gore and yellow blood, mixing amongst the streaming green blood from my own wounds. Only the sounds of buzzing wings and heavy breathing can be heard as I continue rending my opponents to pieces. I barely notice the last few fluttering off in a defeated panic as my claws hunt for more victims.

When I realize they are all dead or gone, I crash to the sand on my knees. As my Rush fades away, a thousand cuts and bruises register their existence, the pain cascading through my mind like an unwelcome charging boracks. Sucking in great gulps of the hot desert air, I’m once again reminded of my lack of water.

I’d love a drink right now. Stardust Sunrise with Pebbles relaxing near a waterfall. Sounds nice…

With a start, I shake myself awake from near-unconsciousness. The lack of sleep and brutal exertions are taking their toll.If I don’t get going, I’ll die an ignoble death out here.

I pick up the remains of one of the shimmerscales and squeeze its gluey meat from its torn body into my mouth. The revolting salty taste makes me retch, but the precious moisture it contains forces me to persist.I refuse to die here!

After consuming as much disgusting shimmerscale flesh as I can stomach, I cautiously step over a macabre gathering of bones and remains, their bleak assortment a chilling reminder of a fate narrowly avoided. Amongst the bleached bones of unknown creatures, a few Klendathian skulls stand out amongst them. A bleak fate indeed, thinking I almost joined my brothers in bone.

I trudge through the dunes, my gaze fixed on the eastern stars. I persist despite the searing pain coursing through my body witheach step. Soon, I settle into a staggering pace, finding some respite as the blazing sun dips toward twilight, casting a dim light to ease the tormenting heat. However, having to slow down due to the encroaching darkness is unfortunate, but I am glad of the nearly full moon casting an eerie purple glow over the landscape.

A male’s voice rings out in the distance, halting me in my tracks.

I strain on listening. The loud panicked voice is an unmistakable cry for help and sounds out again from the next dune. With haste, I crest the next sandy peak, crawling on my stomach as I near the top, intending to remain hidden. Down below, I see a Klendathian trader sinking slowly into the merciless sands. A ladened borack kicks and whimpers helplessly a small distance away.

The smart decision is to leave the poor fellow and not risk discovery, but I cannot leave him to such a terrible fate. I tear off my scale cloak, twisting it into a makeshift rope as I run down towards the sinking trader. He screams with renewed vigor, his blue eyes widening with shock and horror at the sight of me.

“Fallen into a sinkhole, only to be eaten by a Hemovyrn, the Gods have truly cursed me!” the male laments loudly.

“Shut up and grab on,” I command, tossing him an end of my rolled-up cloak and gritting my teeth, I brace myself as he clutches the material frantically.

With a strenuous pull, many of my recent wounds reopen, causing fresh rivulets of blood to trickle down. Desperately, the trader clutches and hauls at the makeshift lifeline, eventually reaching safety, panting heavily on all fours. The borack kicks excitedly with its six legs, its massive gray tongue lapping at the trader’s face.

“Get off me!” The trader waves his hand at his brown furred borack. “Standing there watching me slowly dying, stupidbeast,” he says between breaths as the borack continues licking his face despite his feeble protests, but a relieved smile also dons the trader’s face.

“Least the beast has the sense to avoid sinkholes,” I chide, offering my hand to help the trader up.

The man takes my hand, rising to his feet. “True enough,” he laughs dryly, before he recoils in shock, taking in the sight of me. “Good Gods, what in the netherworld happened to you?” he inquires, gesturing in my direction.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix. Do you have news from Draxxi?” I inquire, draping my scaled cloak over my shoulders.

“A good night’s sleep? You look like a venefex has chewed you up and spat you out,” the trader retorts, turning towards me. His short, yellow hair is barely visible under the wide brim of a black leather hat. “Let me see here… Ah, yes!” he exclaims, rummaging through one of the large satchels strapped to his friendly borack.

Approaching me with a jar of oily blue ointment, he offers it. “What is that for?” I ask, taking a step back defensively.

He raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Easy, friend. It’s just an antiseptic, see?” He rotates the bottle before opening it, dabbing a small amount on his cheek. “Warriors like you often focus on the killing blow, but infections are the real killer. That’s what my father used to tell me.”

He cautiously approaches me and begins applying some of the stinging liquid to the gashes on my arms.

“I usually charge ninety-nine credits a bottle, but for you I’ll make it one hundred and ninety-nine!” He erupts into laughter, until he notices my stern, unflinching expression.

He clears his throat before continuing. “Of course for you, friend, it’s a gift. You know, for my timely rescue,” he finishes, handing me the jar. “Here, apply the rest yourself. I don’t offer those kinds of services,” he quips, eyeing my bare chest.

I take the jar and begin applying the ointment to the remaining wounds, somewhat skeptical about its effectiveness. “Thanks for this,” I say, tossing him the empty container.

He catches it while waving his other hand dismissively.

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