Death be my dignityExecute hemlock philosophyPoison fills the cup of the carpenter

Content Warning: gore

Naja twisted, jaw snapping shut over and over, venom sacks swollen as he attempted to sink his fangs into the sandworm's vulnerable pink flesh. But, almost comically, he was caught, drawn short by his own coils, having looped himself around the sandworm one too many times.

The sandworm's mandibles snapped shot around his neck like a pair of pruning shears, and his spine was severed. Scales crumpled, and shattered, his hood torn, and his head was seperated from his body. It vanished down the sandworm's gullet, as his coils loosened from around the sandworm. They hit the sand with a thump, and thrashed about as the last synapses fired, splattering blood this way and that.

As the coils began to still, the vibrations caught the attention of another sandworm, the first having dove back down into the sand. It lunged into the air, wide open maw engulfing the remainders of the Cobra, as well as the blood soaked sand, before vanishing back into the sands, leaving nothing to show that Naja had ever been there.

"Speech looks like this."
Thoughts look like this.

Naja has died

As the last of the Gembound made their way away, the Merchant stepped into Hydra. The beast at his side followed, and behind them, the barrier shimmered back into place. By the time the Masked Merchant arrived at the place where the sand was soaked in blood, littered with feathers, they would likely all be gone... at least, if they valued their survival.

The vulture fled at his approach.

The Merchant went first to where Naja had been dragged down. He stared down, for a moment, and then knelt; a robed hand shot into the sand, and there he stayed, seemingly motionless, for long minutes. When he stood, the sand shifting from his sleeve, he held something clasped within his hand. He opened his clawed fingers, palm-up, and there--resting beside the eye--lay a dull red-brown Carnelian.

Fingers closed around the stone. The Masked Merchant raised his fist, tilting it, holding it... and after a moment, a fine thread of red-brown dust poured from his fingers, taken by the wind, scattered into nothing.

The robed figure moved then to the dead gull, lying with one lifeless eye, its beak parted, its body a ruined mess of blood, feathers and bone.

Clawed fingers plucked the labradorite, shimmering with the blues and greens of an unknown sea, and lay this in his other palm. Again the hand closed around it; this time, a slender hourglass spray of deep blue sand drifted away with the hot wind.

The Merchant then stood, Vargas at his side--and began to slowly walk after the group. Not a single Sandworm drew near them.

_________

Ahead, the surviving Gembound would find the sand dunes ending. A tall labyrinth of red, rocky canyons, mesas, and ridges lay ahead, with thin trickles of creek hidden here and there along the mostly-dry riverbeds, for the thirsty. Parts of the ravines, too, are shrouded in shadow--a welcome respite from the baking daylight of earlier. The Gembounds' next task is to make their way to the tops of these outcrops, towering high above--their walls sheer and rough--in search of a Vulture Matriarch.

_________

Round Two

Gembound must roll to climb/fly safely to the tops of a mesa, ridge, plateau etc in the Crucible (the ravines). No Vulture Matriarch will immediately be visible; the climb itself is treacherous. You may use magic, strategy, or physical combat however you see fit.

Those who fail their rolls might face a terrible fall down the sheer cliff faces to the unforgiving rock below, or an attack by the highly-territorial, eagle-eyed Eyehook Vultures, a hypnotic or aggressive attack by a Spire Spider or Sand Spider, respectively, or even a venomous Scorpion's sting.

As before, Gembound who succeed must choose whether to press ahead or to remain behind to aid/sabotage those who might fail. This choice must be clarified in your post, and cannot be changed once made. Note that Asimona has fallen behind the entirety of the group due to a critical injury sustained. Others may choose to remain far behind with her, but must clarify this in their post.

A Critical Fail on this roll will result in a severe wound from an attack or fall, and will drop the Gembound one place behind the others in the running should they survive.

Please post & roll only once.

Click to view current placement rankings.

1st. Labradorite Five-Four-Six, Shango, Desert Rose Thirty-Five, Opal Three-Seven-Six, Lapis Ninety-Five, Garnet Five-Seven-Nine, Agate Two-Three-Six, Amazon, Reseda, Yoosung

2nd. Styx, Mayngo, Quartz Five-Two-Four, Imp

3rd. Asimona

@Yoosung @Amazon @Shango @Opal Three-Seven-Six @Quartz Eight-Six-Zero @Labradorite Five-Four-Six @Agate Two-Three-Six @Desert Rose Thirty-Five @Lapis Ninety-Five

Vargas watched without a word. There wasn't a need to speak; the Merchant was dealing with the stones, as he always did.

He himself raised his head to the wind, ignoring the vultures that didn't dare draw close, though he was ever-wary of a possibly too-bold sandworm coming up from underneath.

None did.

He wondered if any of the testees remembered him. One of the Overseers: an administrator of these tests, callous and merciless in his culling of the weak. Strength was all that mattered... and so far, the strong were surviving.

He was interested to see how the prior Champions would fare--and these new ones, the young ones, the ones he didn't recognize; were they an improvement upon past generations, or was this but another failed experiment? The dragon, for all its size, had seemed surprisingly weak. Many of them seemed scattered, rushing too far off ahead, or lingering behind. Some of them, though, held promise. A number had rushed right over the dunes, hardly stopping, making it over safely right alongside the Champions--that was impressive; the squat brown flying thing had fought off an Eyehook on its own.

The Merchant was moving on, now--the sand scattered, his task here done. Vargas took a glance back at Vinnie, and then moved forward, pacing through the blistering dunes.

There was shouting, and shrieking, and horrific screaming behind him, but Yoosung didn't stop. He hauled ass across the sands, squealing as though there was a sandworm gnawing at his heels, only stopping when he nearly ran nose first into a mesa.

For a moment, he looked around, debating trying his luck for a less... intense climb, but the scent of blood on the air had him leaping up, dull claws digging into stone as he scrabbled upward, yelping every time he skidded. It was hard, he wasn't built for climbing, and he had to leap to avoid a Sand Spider, but finally he managed to make it to the top of the mesa, collapsing to the ground and wheezing as he caught his breath, squinting--oh, oh, it was so hot.

I've been on a lonely tripdragging along a lonely shadow

Yoosung is: Moving ahead

Ru is quiet as Asimonia thanks it. I know, that is why I assisted you, it thinks, but does not say. It will not risk its newfound alliance over something so trivial. It slots Asimona in its mind as an ally. A friend, it thinks. It would cement it's friendship into place--Its goal was not to win the trials, but simply survive Hydra. Those who wished for more were fools in its eyes. It pauses once they gain a certain distance from the site of the sandworm attack, and glances around it, observing for potential danger. Finding its surroundings satisfactory, atleast for the moment, it turns to Asimona.

"Place your steps softly next time, gently." It takes a moment to consider if something as large as the dragon was capable of that. "Sandworms are drawn by noise. Stay quiet. Your name?"

As Ru spoke, it began readying its pickup spell once again. It was miraculously easier, and the winds flowed around its hooves with ease. It surrounds Asimona with wind, not yet helping, but gaining a feel for her shape. It is not used to using its magic upon others. It feels anxious being still, not moving. It begins again, keeping ahead of the dragon, a brisk trot.

"We must move. I fear worser things if we do not move for too long." Ru tilts its head in thought. And then, out of the blue, asks a question.

"Have you ever considered shaving your horns?" It was nonsense, but it would serve to distract Asimona from her pain, temporarily atleast. And give Ru more to work with in terms of her personality.

Upon reaching the towering cliffside, Ru begins to climb. It's steps are practiced and it uses pickup to ensure its steps find footholds within the rocky mountain. It is oddly suited to climbing with its hooves. It takes a path that it thinks is easiest for the injured dragon, although that is not saying much all things considered.

It is Hydra after all. It glances back at Asimona, staying close enough to be nearby, but only just. It feels relief upon reaching the top of the mesa. It sits, tense, resting upon its back legs as a dog might, and taking a moment to breathe. It keeps it's eyes to the sky in case a vulture spotted it resting. An easy target. It does not want to end up as the bird had.

Ru is staying behind to help Asimona

Shango blithely pushed on, oblivious to the carnage behind them. His eyes were ahead: on the rocky canyons, on the ravines.

The hybrid paused only briefly to drink at one of the trickling creeks, glad for the cool shadows and the refreshing water. He took his time, though he didn't dawdle--but he saw little need to rush.

He remembered something about having to take something from a vulture at the top--he knew that, at least--and so he started clambering up the rocky face. Taloned feet easily gripped the stone, though even so he sent many rocks tumbling with a clatter down below. Wherever he needed a little lift, a few flaps of his narrow wings gave him just the lift he needed.

Still, there were parts perhaps too steep for even him, and so he focused on bringing the warm winds roaring into the canyon, a distant focus in his eyes, the word again escaping his lifts in a soft and reverent murmur: "Stoooooooorm..."

As he stood there, concentrating, he did not notice the rock shifting beneath his feet. His wings crashed against the rock, battering uselessly as he tumbled down and down, losing all the ground he'd gained and landing at the foot of the rocky wall he'd been trying to climb. Pain lanced through him--his ribs, broken or at least bruised; his head bashed. He felt dizzy, and he smelled blood--a little trickled from his mane.

Shango turned, and blinked the confusion back, limping to his feet to glower at the rock face. If looks could kill, the stone would have fallen dead.

Imp was a little behind the rest.

The thin, shallow wounds criss-crossing his hide didn't bother him all that much--they burned a little, sure, but more than that his adrenaline was still pumping like hell. He careened into the canyon somewhat behind most of the others, gasping and wide-eyed as he hit the ground and tumbled head-over-heels along the rocky floor.

Quickly he pulled himself up, staring back out behind him, over the bright-lit sands. That guy got killed! --BOTH those guys got killed! He'd seen the flash of feathers and blood--seen the rush of sand as the snake was pulled beneath the surface.

Imp turned, calling out after the group.

"WE'RE TWO DOWN!" and his voice echoed through the rock formations.

He took a moment gathering his breath, drinking the cold water that threaded through the canyon bottom. He waited for Asimona to catch up, watching with blank eyes as the wounded dragon made her way. Then he started his own way up; Imp was a spectacularly good climber, able to cling upside-down even from vertical stone, and so he began to simply scamper up the rock face.

He wasn't halfway up when he disturbed a Spire Spider resting in its crevice. There was a pointed, sharp pain and a strange, draining sense of confusion, and Imp threw himself instinctively away. The spider backed off, and he saw a black-blue blur of pedipalps and then the canyon was spinning--oh SHIT!

Imp spread his wings, barely catching himself, not quite plummeting to his death. Like Shango he bounced off one rock after the other before his wings got hold of the wind, and then he glided down unsteadily into a half-crash landing in the dust.

He turned, staring at the spider-bite. "Oh no," he said aloud--he wasn't sure what that thing had been, but he knew he wasn't feeling so good.

Astraea slipped into Hydra just as the barrier resealed. To say he was excited would be an understatement; he was thrilled, adrenaline blooming within his chest as if everything—all he had worked toward and all he would still—was finally coming back together. His pace quickened to catch up to the Overseer and the Merchant. Just as he departed the entrance, a buzzing fluttered around his ears before a sprite planted herself between his antlers.

"YEESSS," screamed Nemean. "WRECK THEM, HYDRA." Her arms were outstretched, holding onto his antlers as she nestled between the mushrooms on top of his head. Her tiny feet kicked excitedly between his eyes. "GO!! GO, MAN, I CAN'T SEE!" Nemean's tiny frame bounced on top of his head, like a child going to the candy store.

"Yes," Astraea agreed, unable to hide the cruel and wicked smile brightening his features. He had to put in more effort than he remembered to move across the sands, and he grunted while climbing the dune to reach the other two.

His eyes had locked onto the oily shape first.

"Overseer Vargas," he greeted in a monotone, formal way. "It pleases me to see you back to work." Red eyes shifted to the Merchant. "Likewise with you, Hag'rteho." Astraea found his breathing labored as he struggled to keep up in the sand.

Nemean patted his head. "Your ugly little feet can do it, keep going—LOOK, there they are!" her voice cut off as she pointed enthusiastically at the Gembounds. She chittered and cooed at the bloody remains, clapping her hands and laughing.

Along with the others, Amazon finally found herself facing something a little different then desert sands. A mesa, many feet high, obviously something they were supposed to climb. The last couple of hours in the heat and been exhausting, even for her, so she wondered if she'd be able to make it to the top.

But, well, there wasn't any looking back. She remained blissfully ignorant of the horrible deaths that had just occurred and that was probably for the best - she might not have the strength to go on, knowing what sort of demise was waiting for them.

There were lots of footholds, of course, but for bigger creatures, maybe. She was small and just walking up and trying to clamber up the first ledge was difficult. However, she perservered, scratching her way up the sheer cliff and going from ledge to ledge. Eventually, however, her miniscule strength failed her and she found herself tumbling back to the ground. She immediately rolled into a tiny ball of spikey scales, banging against rocks and pebbles, but at least her vitals were safe for now.

She flopped right back on the ground and unrolled, groaning. "Ow."

The cold chill managed to get Reseda safely out of the dunes. At one point, however, she paused for a moment to look back, watching, from a distance, the horrible, gruesome deaths of the snake and the gull. She watched without much interest but found herself a little disappointed that the dragon had lived. She was the only of the three that could be a thread. She narrowed her eyes, but turned indifferently and caught up with the rest.

Before them was quite the climb and something in the depths of Reseda's stomach made her burn with rage. This reminded her too much of the pit, the crevice she had been stuck in for cycles. This wasn't going to go the same way as last time, though. She'd spit in the face of the Seven. She could do whatever she wanted to do.

She lifted herself up and hooked her claws into the first crack in the rocks, hauling herself up. It was slow, difficult work - she was a heavy creature. Perhaps she could climb when she was young, but now...she wondered if she'd make it.

It was the fire to succeed this time where she had failed before and pure spite towards her previous captors that got her up the rocks. With a heave, she pulled herself over the top and didn't hesitate to continue, as if the ordeal hadn't even happened.

Reseda will be moving on