Fighting Fire With Fire

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AssiduousGhost

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The hardest thing about leaving the mountains is the sweltering heat. The pulsating rays from the sun burn though his shirt uncomfortably leaving him in a pool of sweat that drips along his back and leaves him with two large sweat stains under his underarms. As he walks he roughly kicks up the sand that bulls his shoes under and drags a dust cloud with him. He sneezes lowly to himself and shakes his head as the dust settles onto his glasses. His shoulders sag and his steps are heavy with weariness as he slowly moves along the barren landscape. He glances around him and sighs softly to himself, his lungs burning from breathing in the constant clouds of dust and grit, and squints his eyes towards the North. He notes with an unwelcome sense of dread that it's nothing, but mounds and mounds of yellow sand- if you count the blurry looking telephone things that sticks out like a sore thumb. He glances backwards to look at his steps and sees with a slight satisfaction that his tracks are already covered up with the ever moving sand that blows and twists in the wind. He notes to himself that it almost look like water. Water that some kid has pissed in, and continues forward.

His feet throb and his skin itches as the heavy clothing sticks to him, it makes him wish for the baths his mother used to give him when he was young... As he walks he feels the heavy weight of the gun in his pocket. A 22-revolver that fits perfectly inside the palm of hand, as he thinks back to the gold inscription and remember the heavy dose of Holy Water that the priest put on it to ensure his safety. The gun is like a sword to him, it's an extension of his arm. If you count that arm to shoot silver bullets at a respectable distance. He smiles to himself as he remembers the ugly and twisted faces of his enemies. The dark eyes and mouths filled to the brim with blood and torn flesh as they growled at him. Arrogance tells him that he's the best, but common sense tells him that he should mind himself. He shrugs as he decided to carry on with his task. Hell, he forgot the name of the damned beast anyway.
 
a stillness could be felt from around the area. something felt wrong as the sands under you shifted and stirred about. was it a collapse? no it was the underground movement of a underground beast. a monster. Judging by the size of the movement the monster had to be at least ten meters long and a couple meters wide.
 
The sand. The fucking sand is actual-to-goodness moving and he's excited about it. The currents of tiny rocks are swirling around his feet like waves of water around his feet. It slides against his boots and swirl in tiny motions as the air around him gets colder despite the blaring sun. He decides it's probably the cold chill that runs down his spine as the adrenaline climbs and goes to his head. He watches in slight awe as the sand inhales and exhales around his feet burying within itself and twisting and turning around him. He stands still as he grins cheekily to himself, thoughts becoming a blur of excitement and the always ever present fear of what might happen. His heart is beating within his chest and he breathes in the dust that clouds the air. His lungs are burning with pressure as his hand slowly slides toward his gun. His hand gripping the tip of the smooth metal.
 
the sand settles for a split second as a huge beast rises from it. the beast has stone like skin and a beak like face. It is a long serpent like creature with extending arms and claws that are thick and sharp. but it's approach seems non hostile and it stares at you blankly with it's beady wet eyes, but it seems to approach with a more curious intent taking in your smell and appearance as it inspects you.
then the large beast opens it's mouth and reaches in pulling out a sign that reads in your native tongue in a barley literate text "ride? $20" the sign seems to be a poorly engraved piece of wood with splinters and nicks in it and a "40" seems to be crossed out over the 20
then it flips over it's sign to reveal more text "or 50 5.56mm bullets"
 
Sighing heavily, he wearily removes his hand from the tip of his weapon, making a quick note to clean it as he feels the chipped edges of the handle and engraved markings. He crosses his arms and cocks his head to the left, sweat dripping off the end of his nose and breathe slightly drier than before. Grunting low to himself, he struggles to get his wallet in the may pockets and eventually finds it resting beside the Holy Water he stored from the month before. Looking down onto his hands he flips it open-not without staring pointedly at the Blue Sand Wym- and pulls out a wrinkled $20. It's slightly cut near the edges, but he decides it doesn't matter and holds it up to it slowly. He nods his head in a show of respect to the creature and doesn't look at it directly in the eyes- experience and scars have taught him not to do that- and stares at the ground instead. He wishes this process would hurry up as the sun heats his back. It doesn't exactly help with the layers upon layers of clothing....
 
it's tongue strikes out like a frogs and grabs the money taking it into it's giant mouth. then the creature turns down and Diggs into the ground and makes a circle around you before it rises out of the sand revealing a saddle on it's back made for humans to ride on and a set of ropes on witch to guide him with. then the creature sits patently for you to mount it
 
He swings his body over the worm and sits upon it's back. He grips the handles tightly in his hands, remembering the last time, and squirms a little. A little rough, he decides, bit it isn't bad. The saddle rubs against his bum and seems to fit in the right places. He looks around him, seeing nothing but the yellow sand and blue skies surrounding him and raises his head. He regrets it instantly. The sun seems to burn him and he flinches almost falling off the worm and raises an arm to shield his eyes against the deadly rays. He curses himself for his stupidity and notes that he shouldn't be so naive as to think he would get a sign from them. Blinking wetly and licking his dry lips, he turns his attention back towards the worm and whistles. He clicks his boots against the worms sides (?) as a gesture for it to move. He glances behind him-taking a note not to look upwards- and squints into the wavering distance. He grunts as he makes up his mind and tugs the worm South, leaning his body against it like his father taught him.
 
the worm dashes with a hasted initiative weaving through the sand like a needle through fabric. it's nose makes a brutish grunting sound that almost sounds like a loud bull dog as it breaths. as it winds through the sand it leaves behind a huge trail that is quickly blown over by the wind leaving you with a safe blank trail. the beast up close looks rugged and rough like someone has been shooting bullet's at it, but luckily for the beast his Armour like hide protects him but some of the wounds do look like they hurt. but from what you can tell his hide actually heals and parts fall off as time passes on.
 
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