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Message: <blockquote data-quote="GuyBoy" data-source="post: 8339705" data-attributes="member: 7031143">Teerka followed the silvery meanders of the stream as it flowed down twixt the two beehive dwellings and into the dark, low opening in the low rise. It was as if the Mountain devoured the Serpent. She shivered at the imagery and glanced down at the Serpent tattoo that ran down her right arm, her spear arm, guiding her aim as a hunter of the wild lands. She remembered the Calanth artist who had created the art, coloured with powdered Kerit venom and lapis dust. It’s guidance had not failed her yet. Both huts were deserted and crumbling. The leftmost had remnants of broken furnishings, created of ghost elm, but little else. The rightmost was more disturbing. It contained remnants of a fire pit, not recent yet more recent than the crumbled furnishings. And on its interior walls, strange art, seemingly made by thin, clawed hands, six-fingered and dipped in either ochre or...........before being pressed to the walls in a spiral pattern. Teerka resolved to spend the night in the first hut and then to move on in the morning. Using the remaining light, she gathered some Sarak root from the stream banks; nourishing if tasteless when boiled, and she had plentiful water and broken furnishings to burn. Later, she slept fitfully, dreaming of Xrione, of the venom-emeralds and of Zlabarsh i’Kood who had taken both. It was the tingling of the Serpent tattoo on her hand that warned Teerka awake as the malformed shadow of the thing that emerged from the cave rippled obscenely in the moonlight. Hey, Steampunkette; you inspire.</blockquote>

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