Dhashma and the Ranger

[The Media Wizard 2954]

DHASHMA AND THE RANGER

A True Tale of the Father Circle

 

The wind sifting between the treetops and blades of grass soothed as much as it unnerved. It casted shadows over peculiar spots of the underbrush. There, in the peripheral, something darted between the trees. The rogue end of a green appendage sunk behind the bark of a towering oak and caressed it’s side like a hand behind a door.

 

There, a young ranger came to a halt. He was found where he usually would be: scouring the outer borders of the woodland realm. The darkened forest encroached on him as something black and wrathful schemed. Among the twilit Hinterlands, the ranger saw a branch shudder and fall. Revealed in the absence of light was a gaunt face towering above him. A solitary eye blinked as the scaled surface of its writhing, snake-like body wound itself around the tree’s base.

 

The Cave Naga known as Dhashma.

 

The elven ranger withdrew his longsword — amaelaurir — with the soft singing of ferrum. His eyes darted back to the face, but it had departed long before. The wind shifted and the tall grass began to wind and fold like waves in the ocean. A mass broke through the brush and leapt toward the elf. With a saliva-covered maw, Dhashma lunged at the ranger!

 

“Gah!” the ranger yelped. He dove to his right and tumbled down a short hillside helplessly. With a deft foot, he caught his fall and slid to a crouched pose and leveled his weapon toward the black creature. “What foul, dark beast are you, serpent-spawn?”

 

The wax-like face of the naga reared back toward the ranger. Dhashma was a cruel and hungry beast; no ranger of the wood elves would stop her feasting. “Hhhrrrk!” the abomination roared as it slithered down the hillside to face the ranger. Its mouth grew full and cheeks puffed as venomous spitfire bubbled in its gullet. With a violent expulsion, green ichor pumped outward in a misty spray toward the ranger. The elf’s cloak was pulled across his form and grew thick and heavy with the ghastly ooze of Dhashma. He unclipped his cape and waded back through the brush with his weapon posed to strike. In his left hand, however, there now appeared a marble-sized bead of pure white.

 

Dhashma the Cruel hacked and coughed violently. Convulsions spurred it forward as its form passed between the ranger’s legs and wrapped around his calf. Then, a flash of white!

 

Flash powder. The ranger fell to his back with shrouded eyes by way of his bicep. The naga screeched before bringing its teeth down toward the elf — but it missed. Confusion etched across the monster’s human-like face. Once more it attacked; once more it missed. The ranger’s leg was encased in the grip of the naga as his bones began to bend in unnatural ways. With a tightened jaw, he slowly rose the pointed end of his longsword toward the blinded Dhashma. With a final prayer to Amaethon, the ranger spoke: “Speak, you vile beast!”

 

The bait was set and accepted. Dhashma’s blurred eye found the source of the taunt and lunged forward. The loose, aged skin of the naga was burrowed through by the edged point of amaelaurir and its skull was cracked open like a fresh-cooked lobster. The ranger’s hand sunk deep into the rotting maw of the naga as maggots writhed around his fingers from their residence inside an untreated wound in the beast’s mouth. Dhashma’s body wiggled and tore at the ground helplessly as Death began to tighten its grip around her mind. Soon, the Mother of Cruelty was dispatched.

 

The ranger gasped and rolled to his side. Rain began to fall as he shook off the maggots and other ill insects that lived within the naga’s craw. A long, silent moment passed.

 

A ghastly whine sounded from the tall grass. Much more calmly, the grass parted. A smaller face — that of a baby — appeared as the Spawn of Dhashma slid forth to press into the dead temple of the naga. Sorrowful weeps and cries echoed throughout the forest.

 

The ranger watched silently for a long while. Then, he withdrew his longsword from the head of the corrupted creature and sheathed it. He took a knee beside the child as it began to furiously attack his boot; however, it had yet to grow teeth. Sadness and gloom filled the ranger’s heart. He spoke thusly: “You deserved no sorrow or fear in your life, oem’ii. Your pain is my pain — unnatural as you and your kin were.” With that, the elf grasped the child and withdrew his obsidian dagger made from the black-rock of the Firelands. “Asul lente karinto. Van’ayla.”

 

No more crying was heard in the Hinterlands that day. A ranger soon returned to the city of Amaethea with a sack full of strange pelts — one of an adult and one of a child.

 

Spoiler

A big shout-out to sluggobuggo for helping me do this Rite for the Father Circle in-game. Much of this post was based on the encounter and had multiple excerpts from their own emotes. I highly recommend having sluggobuggo run your own event. If you'd like to see the actual SCREENSHOTS, go ahead and click the link. Have a nice day, folks!

Edited February 21, 2021 by The Media Wizard