Welcome to Gaia! ::

God, how could he not feel reinforced about his decision when he was rewarded with a smile that big, and even a kiss? He bent down, selfishly trying to steal as much of the kiss as he could before she pulled away, and by then he was grinning like a giddy child. There was no portal there, anymore. There wasn't a cockroach in a vial (though he was glad, at least, that it was now in a vial). There was no impending fight or danger or - there was nothing but a girl on his arm, telling him the world was his. Reminding him that sometimes, he made good decisions.

This was a good decision. He was sure of it.

"BREAKFAST!" As tempting as something else entirely might have been, all those vegetables had him absolutely dying for some breakfast. Eggs and ham and sausage and BAGELS HE WANTED LIKE TWELVE BAGELS-

Now, there was only the girl on his arm telling him the world was his, and bagels. He couldn't get out of there fast enough.

The Sahara. The ******** Sahara. Mark could get them all in deep s**t, and Jordan wouldn't put it past the guy to decide to report if they bolted out of pure spite. He'd given it some serious consideration anyway.

The sand whipped around him as he stepped reluctantly through the portal, and he took a moment to rearrange his scarf and tie it over his face, grateful that he'd done so a moment later when the smell hit. Great. They'd be dealing with bodies, probably rotten ones again. He'd expected bodies when a headless one landed in the middle of the vegetables, but decaying bodies were a whole other level of special. Let's go for a nice walk in the garden, shall we? he said to Ferros, remembering Jerry's dissociative episode.

Ferros rumbled softly in grim resignation.

When the sand started sliding and pitching under his feet, Jordan staggered and scrambled for balance. He squashed the urge to summon Ferros as the toothy pit opened beneath them. On such uncertain footing, the hammer's size was a disadvantage; his weight might unbalance Jordan, and with more area to push on the wind would have a much better chance of toppling them straight into the creature's throat. He fought the flow of the sand, but the wind and the tipping, shaky footing sent him sliding down in bursts, a bit at a time.

One of the smaller teeth loomed out of the sand, and Jordan grabbed onto it, kicking the toes of his boots hard into the thing's flesh to help stop his skid. It worked, and he hauled himself up, getting his footing on the wrinkles and bumps. He hung on while he looked around, trying to spot anyone he knew. The howl of the wind mostly drowned out the shouts and yells and screams of all the Hunters scrambling and climbing, slipping and struggling.

Where was Rep? Where were Robert and Mimsy? He spotted Melvin clawing his way upward and felt a moment of relief. Melvin was a tough b*****d. He'd be okay. But Rep wasn't anywhere he could see. Jordan swallowed hard. He had to get himself out. He had to find Rep, but if he lost his hold he'd be no good to anyone.

He started clawing his way back up, a step at a time. Three points on the wall at all times, he remembered, and tried to think of the effort as a rock-climbing exercise, ignoring the foul wind whirling around him. At least it wasn't bugs.


Distance: 11
Roll: 0

Something was sticking out of the fleshy wall of the creature's mouth, some kind of long pole, broken off at the top. Jordan's first thought that it was someone's broken weapon, but he knew immediately that that couldn't be accurate; the pole seemed to be some kind of wood, and if it was someone's weapon they could have just desummoned it to retrieve it. Or, alternatively, it wouldn't be there as a weapon. Jordan's mind flinched away from the thought of tablets.

Instead, he took hold of the pole and tried to pull it out. It was firmly stuck, and the wood creaked in his fist but he couldn't budge it. Good. It was in there solidly. He climbed until he could get the sole of one boot onto the pole, got a firm, steady foothold, and used the pole to lunge up the slope.

Distance: 1
Roll: 1

An outflung hand skidded down the wall next to Jordan, suddenly visible in the roaring sand, and he grabbed the hand without thinking about it. The hand stayed limp, and he thought, unconscious, even as the weight of the other person dragged at him and the fingers of his other hand began to slip.

He looked down as the wind settled slightly and saw that the woman he was holding onto had no legs, had no lower body from the waist down, and her face was locked in a final twist of agony. He let go and grabbed for the wall. His other hand slipped before he could get a hold, the wall lurched under him, and he fell again.

This time he caught a tooth; a serrated edge ran down the ivory material, and it sliced painfully into his hands, but getting torn up by a tooth was infinitely better than falling into the mouth of the pit. He hung on to it and found footholds again, looking up towards the edge of the pit.

Distance: 16
Roll: 3

HP: 55/60

The edge of the pit was in sight, but Jordan couldn't see any obvious handholds above him. He clung to the spot he'd found as the wall began to shake under him again. Once it stilled, he'd keep climbing. Almost there.

Distance: 6
Roll: 5

HP: 55/60

Something large and hard smacked up against Zascha. He couldn't tell exactly what it was. A rock maybe. Or perhaps another dead Hunter. The Trainee had seen a few bodies whip by in the moving sand.

Zascha wasn't concerned with the dead bodies.

What concerned him was that mouth with all the sharp teeth. The sand that kept moving him closer and closer to it. He supposed if he died well then, perhaps it was the right thing. If he wasn't strong enough to escape it then it was just meant to be.

Gothsmog would have none of that thinking. If only she had hands she would have smacked him around a bit. But if she'd had hands she'd have wings to and she could just fly away. First world weapon problems.

Zascha's Distance: 14 + 10 = 24
HP: 35/40
(1/5)

Not allowing himself to get swallowed up like the rest, Zascha summoned Gothsmog's weapon form. She was a spear after all. A good tool to use to drag himself through the sand.

He was kind of glad she was a spear at this point in time.

That's it! Good thinking! Ouch!

Zascha drove Gothsmog blunt end first into the sand and pulled with all his strength. Slowly dragging himself further and further away from the sand mouth. It was a long and slow process as the sand continued to shift and move about him. He grit his teeth and muscles tensed. His armor felt a bit heavier as sand began to spill in between the gaps.

Zascha's Distance: 24 - 10 = 14
HP: 35/40
(3/5)