Into the Depths: Investigating the Shimmering Shore Tunnels (Group 4)

Truthfully, if Lebraid had of known what was going to happen, she would never have come -- the worm’s cross-stitched pupil suddenly bursts open, slugging the ore whole -- and with it came a shingly, gruff, granulate squelch plagued by olid, sulfuric smells. It’s wet, meaty body lunged at the group, muscles flexing in avoidance of its spinose weaponry. Billows of dust seeded the air, blanched nebula’s bracing a repugnant glare as defences were ironclad; unpredictable herself, predicaments like these nettled a frenzy in the pits of her gut. There was no time to waste, and nowhere to go. A bottomless, gory growl hulled past gaping jowls, purposefully ignorant to orders. She would not regale to a stranger’s plea, of course –– albeit, with dyad launches made, suggestions to use it as a battering ram seemed more, well, feasible. Lebraid may be an estranged, sordid and erratic hellion, but that did not mean she was imbecilic, nor naive to the perils they had yet to see. If it be so, that is.

She’d move in-front of the gap from before, jostled jacket jerking in porous pain, magnitude, a means to get the fuck of here as she seized a rock from the crag. Like the boy, she’d attempt to hurl it at the worming beast, hoping to balk its attention; if successful, perhaps having it come this way will stage an opportunity. Mania kindling, it was kept at bay, for now.

Action. | “Speech.” | Skill.
“Wrong me once, I’ll kill you twice.”