Snippet #2549210

Ragoth felt his right leg try to buckle under his weight while the powerful limb drove his solid frame forward once more. This was the fourth day of a mad march that began when he'd neared the southern border to human kingdom of Harlemont and heard stories of his people being a bit more widely known up north. It wasn't that he hated Ata'hua...in fact after living in it for so long he'd almost grown attached to the place. However, given the relative reclusive lifestyle of his people and the vast openness of the Tribeslands he'd long learned that there were some places he could travel and others he couldn't. Given his appearance and stature, he couldn't exactly blame the frail little humanfolk of their caution in his presence. But Ragoth yearned for the company of other Zokah and his exile made it rather difficult to return home. This resulted in his current frenzied travel, which was finally taking its toll.

Come on just a bit further, I must beat the dust storm if I wish to reach shelter. Ragoth had been running, his long loping strides eating away the distance and grinding away the miles without rest since his departure. His venture had been further aided by the song magic of his people, using the Song of Wind Ragoth had yet to find an animal that could match his speed. Since he had expected the journey to be a long one, he also had kept chanting the Song of Earth to prevent exhaustion. However, even magic had its limits and despite the tones still clearly continuing as a thundering hum in the back of his throat he couldn't continue. His current destination was a rather large hill- well technically a mountain but compared to the massive peaks he'd grown under Ragoth could only see the formation as a glorified hill. Gritting his teeth, Ragoth redoubled his efforts and barely managed to beat what he'd mistaken as a dust storm to some of the mountains shelter. At this distance, his tired eyes discerned the storm was actually dirt kicked up by a marching column of soldiers. Had he been less tired, the Zokah would have realized his own rapid approach made a tall and narrow dust cloud of its own. He ceased his chanted and collapsed against the hard stone, Ragoth was beyond exhausted, thirsty and his body finally had the freedom to convulse in protest at its abuse.

Ragoth began the Song of Flames in panic while ducking out from his equipment. His large body could potentially damage the very gear he used to earn his livelihood among humans. A rush of burning vitality, and excruciating pain coursed through his limbs as the song clocked his body in flames in a magical attempt to purge his affliction. However, this wouldn't help since he was out of water himself. Instead he made one last bet, and began to hum a note from his mouth-much like a human in sync with the one in his throat. It took a bit for him to get the separate vocal cords working in harmony, but he roared out loud note that marked the end of the Fire's second verse. While air left his maw, just past his jaw air became flame and shot forward thrice his height in a cone. He'd discovered this trick roughly a month ago, and marveled since until then he'd only seen fire go to half that distance. It was for this reason, he sought his people after nearly twenty years of exile. Ragoth held the note for nearly fourteen seconds until he ran out of air, unlike throat chanting which he could do indefinitely this style of singing had clear limits.

Before the magic powering his limbs could wear off again, Ragoth dug his claws into the stone for support. Calling his movement at this point more than a staggered limp would be an exaggeration, but his need of water left him hobbling towards the oncoming march in hopes of aid.