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The Ecology of the Giant Sea Horse (unpublished AD&D 2E version)
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<blockquote data-quote="Richards" data-source="post: 8105643" data-attributes="member: 508"><p><strong>THE ECOLOGY OF THE GIANT SEA HORSE</strong></p><p></p><p>Theresa walked along the shore, enjoying the feel of the ocean on her bare feet and picking up the occasional seashell to add to the basket on her arm. She had spent sunny afternoons in like fashion for the better part of the year now, one of the advantages of living in a fishing village on the coast. But she always started her walks at the edge of the village and headed directly away from it, disliking the fish stench that was part and parcel of the life of a fisherman's daughter.</p><p></p><p>Today, though, her walk ended abruptly by the sounds of a struggle up ahead, past a jagged rock that jutted out into the ocean. Curious, Theresa cautiously waded into the ocean and stuck her head around the rock face. What she saw shocked her momentarily to rigid immobility.</p><p></p><p>Near the beach, a man knee-deep in water wrestled with a shark as big, if not bigger, than he was himself. His clothing was torn and stained dark with blood and he looked like death itself, yet he lurched, step by step, closer to the sand, dragging the gnashing and writhing shark with him. At long last, ankles only occasionally splashed by the waves, he spun to the side, thrusting the great fish away from him as he collapsed to the sand.</p><p></p><p>Theresa dropped her basket and ran to his side. He appeared to be breathing, a good sign, to be sure. Her attention was diverted by the shark which thrashed at the man's left. It was suffocating in the air and no doubt in its death-throes; still, it was too close to the man for her comfort. She rolled the man over onto his back and dragged him further up the shore, well past the reach of the beached shark.</p><p></p><p>It was then she got a good look at the man's condition. His shirt was torn open and several deep sword cuts crisscrossed his side. There was a gash on the side of his bald head, just above his left ear, which was pointed like an elf's. But worst of all was his leg: it looked like the shark had taken a chunk or two out of it. The fact he had managed to wrestle the shark to land in such a condition seemed nothing short of miraculous to the girl.</p><p></p><p>Still, he was not safe just yet. He would need a healer, and soon, if he was to survive his wounds. Theresa knew that there was no way for her to carry the man back to the village by herself; it had taken all of her strength just to pull him up onto the beach. She would have to go and get help.</p><p></p><p>Holding his scarred head in her hands, she told him, "I'm going to fetch help. I'll be right back." She didn't receive a response, but neither did she really expect one. Turning, she ran back into the ocean, skirted the out-thrusting rock and raced back to the village. Unnoticed, her basket of shells was caught by a wave and drifted off to sea.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Richards, post: 8105643, member: 508"] [b]THE ECOLOGY OF THE GIANT SEA HORSE[/b] Theresa walked along the shore, enjoying the feel of the ocean on her bare feet and picking up the occasional seashell to add to the basket on her arm. She had spent sunny afternoons in like fashion for the better part of the year now, one of the advantages of living in a fishing village on the coast. But she always started her walks at the edge of the village and headed directly away from it, disliking the fish stench that was part and parcel of the life of a fisherman's daughter. Today, though, her walk ended abruptly by the sounds of a struggle up ahead, past a jagged rock that jutted out into the ocean. Curious, Theresa cautiously waded into the ocean and stuck her head around the rock face. What she saw shocked her momentarily to rigid immobility. Near the beach, a man knee-deep in water wrestled with a shark as big, if not bigger, than he was himself. His clothing was torn and stained dark with blood and he looked like death itself, yet he lurched, step by step, closer to the sand, dragging the gnashing and writhing shark with him. At long last, ankles only occasionally splashed by the waves, he spun to the side, thrusting the great fish away from him as he collapsed to the sand. Theresa dropped her basket and ran to his side. He appeared to be breathing, a good sign, to be sure. Her attention was diverted by the shark which thrashed at the man's left. It was suffocating in the air and no doubt in its death-throes; still, it was too close to the man for her comfort. She rolled the man over onto his back and dragged him further up the shore, well past the reach of the beached shark. It was then she got a good look at the man's condition. His shirt was torn open and several deep sword cuts crisscrossed his side. There was a gash on the side of his bald head, just above his left ear, which was pointed like an elf's. But worst of all was his leg: it looked like the shark had taken a chunk or two out of it. The fact he had managed to wrestle the shark to land in such a condition seemed nothing short of miraculous to the girl. Still, he was not safe just yet. He would need a healer, and soon, if he was to survive his wounds. Theresa knew that there was no way for her to carry the man back to the village by herself; it had taken all of her strength just to pull him up onto the beach. She would have to go and get help. Holding his scarred head in her hands, she told him, "I'm going to fetch help. I'll be right back." She didn't receive a response, but neither did she really expect one. Turning, she ran back into the ocean, skirted the out-thrusting rock and raced back to the village. Unnoticed, her basket of shells was caught by a wave and drifted off to sea. [/QUOTE]
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