Don't Swim With The Krait

Toolamoo sat watching intently, lips pursed as the strange plant thing huffed and puffed on the shore, kicking at rocks and shouting strange words the quaggan had never heard before. It must have been close to midday, the sun high in the sky beating down upon the otherwise quiet beach. Lake water peacefully lapped at the sand and the muted cawing of gulls could be heard in the distance. Calling upon all her hunting instinct, Toolamoo began to sneak forward, the perfect vessel of stealth and camouflage.

The strange plant thing immediately fell silent and turned to Toolamoo, making her freeze. The thing looked like a shadow on the beach, clothes, hair and skin too close to black for the quaggan to distinguish well. It wasn’t as tall as some of the plant things that Toolamoo had met, and certainly didn’t seem as friendly. She wondered if all the same anger was just compressed into that tiny body. Its clothing was long and swished about with its movements. It was the spookiest plant thing Toolamoo had ever seen.

“Did you take it?” the plant thing snapped, pointing an angry limb at Toolamoo.

“Quaggan did not take anything!” she said quickly, raising her hands. “How you hear quaggan?”

“Those big flipper feet slapping across the beach were a bit of a giveaway,” it spat. “Give it back!”

“Quaggan has nothing,” Toolamoo said, splaying her fingers. She could barely make out one of the plant thing’s eyebrows lifting. Toolamoo glanced at her own black stained fingers. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” plant thing said through teeth. “Where is it?”

“No taste good.”

“You ATE it?” plant thing roared, stepping furiously toward Toolamoo.

“No, no,” Toolamoo said with the nervous waving of her hands. “No taste good. Krait took it.”

“You expect me to believe that, stupid quaggan?” The plant thing was close to her now, close enough that Toolamoo could make out its features. It did not look happy.

“Krait came, quaggan had to hide! Quaggan no lie, quaggan scared of krait.”

The fierce look remained on the plant thing’s face for a short time before it deflated, shoulders sagging and sighing sharply. “So where did this ‘krait’ go?”

Toolamoo pointed out to the lake, where there was a wooden structure of rafts and planks protruding from the water in a high spiral of perches and rickety walkways. A few ragged red flags could be seen swaying in the breeze, along with several gibbets – not all empty. Every now and then tall, serpentine shapes flitted between the perches.

Plant thing groaned. “Oh, come on.”

“You wish quaggan to come?” Toolamoo asked, equal parts excitement and apprehension.

Plant thing’s face snapped back to her. “What? No! That’s not what I meant. By the Pale Mother, no. You stay here, stupid quaggan.” It then shook its head and said very quietly toward the sky: “I blame you for this, Isci.”
Toolamoo watched as the plant thing waded into the water, grumbling discontentedly and gasping the further in it went. Toolamoo, ever the vigilant quaggan, decided to stand watch. Just in case.

 

#

 

Nickori did not like to be wet. Or cold. Or impaled by krait spears. They’d all happened before, all on the same day, and he seriously hoped that he was not going for a repeat performance. He stuck to the surface of the lake but kept looking down as much as he could. The worst thing about being in the water was that things could attack from anywhere – and usually did. And that it was cold. And wet. Nickori swore under his breath.

The water level deck, if the rickety raft structure could be called that, looked deserted from where Nickori approached but there were enough pillars and sloping walkways to keep him alert. It was silent as he drew close to the planks, just the gentle slapping of the water against the wood. He grasped the edge with one hand and groaned – even through gloves it felt slick with slime. Slime that stank of rotten fish. He carefully hauled himself up, grumbling soundlessly and scowling.

Nickori stayed still a moment, frozen on his haunches on the lightly pitching wood, but the dripping of his clothes didn’t seem to have stirred any trouble. He exhaled, and took the time to prepare himself, drawing a dagger in one hand and a wooden focus in the other. Both looked plain and boring but he knew how to use them. The krait he was looking for couldn’t be far – he hadn’t been gone that long.

Long enough for a krait and a quaggan to sneak up on you, he thought bitterly.

He stalked forward, staying low, and quickly checked the lowest level. It was clear. He scowled. Up we go. He found the closest slippery plank and moved up it, practically on all fours for all the times he had to steady himself with his weapon laden hands. Something slithered on the deck above. Much to his discontent, he flattened himself against the beam and pulled himself the last little way on his belly, accumulating a fair layer of stinking muck as he went.

He peeked his head up to the next level and ducked back quickly. There were two krait conversing in hissed grunts, clutching spears in their hands. The scaled, serpent like creatures were big – much bigger than Nickori – but they shouldn’t be a problem. That is, they shouldn’t be a problem if they couldn’t alert the others to his presence. Krait nests were rarely empty. The best he could hope for was that most were below the water. That could cause problems later but hey, that was later and this was now. Nickori took another peek.

One of the krait had a poorly fitted, soaking wet, floppy black hat upon its head. Tendrils of black dye leaked from it and down the krait’s scaly back. Nickori’s fingers tightened around his dagger. He closed his eyes and opened them again to a world tinted green and hazed with black mist. Thick black wisps danced around him.

Like a ghoul he surged forward, sweeping his arms through the air. A long black scythe fashioned from the tainted mist materialised in his hands and sliced at the back of the hat wearing krait. The thing howled and stumbled clumsily on its thick tail. The second krait roared in fury and thrust its spear at Nickori, who twisted around it like smoke. He brought the construct scythe down and through the krait’s arm, severing it in a spray of off crimson fish blood. It wailed as Nickori raised a hand to it, met its eyes and grinned. He launched a torrent of dark energy toward the mutilated thing, knocking it from the platform and into the water below with a loud slap.

The first krait had recovered as best it could, striking at Nickori’s back. The shadowy sylvari danced away from the spear, just avoiding its fierce point. The creature sagged from blood loss, and with a flick of his scythe Nickori took its head. It thudded loudly against the wooden planks twice before rolling to a stop, and the body followed, landing untidily next to Nickori as it belched reams of thick krait blood across the deck. Nickori paced over to the head and took from it the soaking, poorly dyed hat. He looked into its sad, sewn quaggan eyes with a sigh of relief.

When he looked up, there were four angry krait staring at him. Nickori glanced from the krait corpse and back to the others. Then the misty black fog dissipated and the green tinge to the world faded away, leaving everything in glaringly bright technicolour. He had run out of the life force required to keep him in his ghoulish form. He chuckled nervously.

“I can explain this,” he said, wringing the sodden hat in his hands.

He then turned and bounded two long steps before launching himself from the tower, arms windmilling as he plummeted back into the water. The lake engulfed him with a deep ‘whumf’ and air bubbles streamed from his nose as he floundered, struggling to get his bearings. Just as he was about to break the surface again, white hot pain seared through his thigh and the last of his air was released in a muted scream. Beneath him a furious, one armed krait had thrust a spear into one side of his leg and out of the other. Nickori was dragged back down further into the dark water as the spear was torn from him. Spots of colour blotted his vision as he glanced down to see the krait preparing another strike.

A turquoise blur whizzed past him and the next thing Nickori knew there was a pike sticking from the krait’s forehead. Something grabbed Nickori’s shoulders and, just as everything began to turn black, he felt himself accelerate through the water like an arrow.

 

#

 

The next thing Nickori remembered was throwing up on the beach, covered in sand, soaking wet, stinking of fish and with a leg in agony. And something was shaking him. He blinked up blearily into a familiar big, blue face.

“Quaggan no know how to fix leg,” the thing said with a nervous hop.

Nickori groaned and laid his face back down in the sand. That was more comfortable than moving. The quaggan shook him and he groaned some more.

“Must go. Krait will come.”

“Tell them I’m not home,” Nickori said with a whine. Clammy hands began to pull at him and with a weak arm he waved them away. “I can do it.”

He couldn’t. He tried to push himself up with frail, quaking arms and barely made it upright. He then tried to stand and fell whimpering into the sand twice, all the while insisting that he didn’t need help. Eventually the quaggan simply grabbed him and jerked him painfully up with a surprising amount of strength. Nickori cried out as pain seared through his leg and he had to drape himself across the quaggan’s back to keep upright.

“Must go,” the quaggan said as it began to lead him into the treeline. “Krait angry. Quaggan killed krait.”

“Heh,” Nickori said through a grimace of pain. “Damn right quaggan killed krait. That was… actually kinda impressive.”

The quaggan peered up at him as they shambled away from the beach and into the loose woodland beyond. “Quaggan impressive?”

Nickori nodded, gasping as they struggled over a thick fallen branch. “Yeah. You did good. I… thanks.”

The quaggan’s chest puffed out a little, and it held Nickori a little higher as they moved deeper between the trees. Dappled shadows fell over them and the familiar, comforting sounds of rustling leaves filled Nickori’s ears.

In reality it didn’t take long for them to reach the little glade that the quaggan, apparently named Toolamoo, deemed safe but to Nickori it felt like a certifiable eternity. By the time he got a chance to look at his thigh the blood flow has slowed to a thick, gloopy sap. He kept his medical supplies in an airtight leather pouch, which had apparently become less airtight upon being skewered with a spear. Still, damp bandages were better than no bandages and he wrapped them tightly to stop the last of the flow.

When he looked up again, Toolamoo had Nickori’s dyed hat in her hands and was peering at intently.

“Hey, give that back,” he said, a little more sharply than necessary.

Toolamoo plodded over to him on her clumsy quaggan feet and passed Nickori the hat. “Plant thing risked life for quaggan hat?”

“I told you, my name isn’t plant thing,” he snapped as he pulled the blood soaked, fish reeking hat on over his sad, damp fronds. He looked away from Toolamoo, before quietly adding: “It’s an important hat.”

“Nickori is quaggan fan?”

“A friend gave it to me,” he said with narrowed eyes. Then he sighed. “Though I guess after today you could call me that. Thanks... y’know. For saving my life. And stuff.”

Toolamoo puffed herself up again. “Quaggan friend?”

Nickori exhaled deeply and a small smile found its way onto his face. “Yeah, all right then. We can be friends.”

Nickori held his hand out to her and, with a delighted little chirp, Toolamoo took it.