Aliksai looked at the massive carcass of the beast on the sand. It was the size of a mekillot, at least 30’ long. She had heard stories of silt horrors from the tribes that ventured east, beyond the Mekillot and Black Spine Mountains, or south to Balic. But such beasts were terrors of the silt sea, not found in the sand wastes or foothills of the Ringing Mountains. It was a mass of mouth and grasping tentacles. Tentacles that seemed to read her mind, appearing out of the sand just as she had determined the best course of action, to thwart her will and deepen the party’s danger. Why was it here? A question for another day. Today they would have to survive the wastes.
She turned her attention to Dirjyn. The druid had spent a fair amount of the frustrating encounter nearly engulfed in the maw of the horror. Only his mutable shape, the fact that he could transform into a mass of insects, had saved him as far as Aliksai could tell. She rather liked the druid. He paid fair prices for the various herbs, plants and seeds that passed through the elven market. Fair enough that she’d convinced the tribe to leave him alone.
Chisel had been swallowed by the silt horror as well. But the beast spat him out promptly. Clearly it didn’t eat stone. Maybe that would be useful knowledge if they ever faced such a foe again, but Aliksai was not eager for that meeting and thought no more about it.
Deoch had kept the party in the fight, healing where he could, and calling on his spirit beast, the ghostly kirre that followed him, for aid. She felt a momentary sense of panic whenever she saw the many-legged cat. But it seemed focused on their enemies, and Aliksai felt the spirit’s presence as a source of inspiration, rather than a threat as the fight wore on.
Banmarden’s arrows peppered the foe incessantly. And it was possible that he was somehow connected to the flurry of bats that had haunted their last two encounters. The bats usually arrived just as Aliksai had determined to take to the air herself. She resolved to ask Banmarden about them, to see if the wilden had any control over the colony. The creatures certainly hindered their foes, so Aliksai welcomed that at least.
Like any elf, Aliksai detested confinement. The grasping tentacles of the silt horror frustrated and angered her. She still felt the rage within her, but resolved to let it fade. Now there were other dangers to worry about. The wastes surrounded them. The wastes would test this party at least as much as the silt horror had. They had lost most of the crodlus that the others relied on to move swiftly. Aliksai estimated that they were at least two days hard travel away from Ripple Ridge on foot, at the pace the party was likely to be able to muster. She turned her attention to surviving the now, and her anger faded like the light of Ral and Guthay at the rising of the sun.