The Beginning of The End

"Hey ho there, Travelers!"
A voice pulled Crayg from his heat-induced daze; they'd been walking for hours. now, down this plain, stone-cobbled road. Heat radiated off of the dark stone and floated around them, Sticking to his scales and leaving him overheated and lethargic. His feet dragged as he walked, his eyes were pinned to the ground, and his mouth was agape to breathe heavy, labored breaths. Petunia, however, looked unbothered by the sweltering temperatures. She perked a bit, then, when the man ahead of them called out to her; and she put on her best scowl as she made her way closer to him.

"Howdy there, you two! Lookin' to buy anything?" The middle-aged man sat atop his cart of wares, and he gestured to the spread with a charismatic smile. Petunia stared him down in the eyes, and then elbowed Crayg hard. He jumped to attention. "Tell him I want those cool gloves."
"Why can't you do it?"

Petunia stared Crayg down, and it dawned on him that petunia hadn't understood a word the man had said; he wasn't speaking the common tongue. He was speaking a near-dead language, actually; one Crayg had happened to study years prior. Petunia's scowl spread across her face, sharp reptilian teeth behind curled lips. "You know I only know common, Crayg. Don't act so fucking smug."

"Right-- Sorry." He nodded to the merchant, and pointed to the gloves, pausing a moment to struggle with the words he needed to communicate. "What do those do, sir?"
The merchant responded with a warm smile. "Why, those gloves detect magic! I'm selling them for 800 gold pieces, if you'd like them," He responded, and Crayg relayed the message to petunia. She wrinkled her snout. "Tell him ill give him 200, and nothing more." She pulled her axe.
"Petunia, I don't know if that's--"
"Tell him!"

Crayg sighed, and relayed the information to the merchant with an apologetic gaze; but the merchant stayed rather calm. "''fraid I can't do that, sir." He responded.
"He says thats not enough, Petunia could we please just--" Crayg started, but she was already moving to point her axe at the man, her threat clear.
He looked at her Axe blankly for a minute, before saying something that even Crayg didn't understand; and then the man collapsed, convulsing, onto the ground.

A few moments later, the man was twisting, writhing into an abomination of some kind, growing larger and more menacing with every moment. His arms elongated and his jaw fell slack, lined inside with rows and rows of sharp, jagged bone; his body shrank and his clothes melted from him, a mere puddle on the ground, now; he stood to his full height, grayish skin taught across his now bare rib cage, and he let out a sound akin to a human scream, raising both clawed hands to swipe at each of them. Petunia was quick on her feet, throwing herself back before he could grab at her shirt; its claws scrape across her breastplate, leaving deep gashes in the insignia at its center. Crayg, however, wasn't as lucky; and the monstrous thing before him took him by the shirt, raising him up high, but bringing him no harm. Petunia struck out at the thing in retaliation, but it moved away quickly; and Crayg took the opportunity to place his hands upon his captor and chant a spell.

Fire burst from his palms, shooting down the monster's arm to about what one would call its elbow; It howls again, guttural and primal this time, and suddenly puts its attention on Crayg, forcing him into its mouth and thrashing him about. Crayg shrieked, but before it could tear him in half, it suddenly wretched forward, and spat him onto the ground. Black liquid, glittery like the cosmos itself, poured from the creature's neck; at the base just by the shoulder, it's arm nearly removed entirely from its body. It clutched the injured shoulder in question, and Petunia swung her axe about herself, ready for another blow, a smirk on her face and it's "blood" smeared across her chest plate just as the scrapes had been.

Of course, Crayg ran.

"COWARD!" He heard Petunia's voice behind him, but that didn't stop him. He ran, as fast as he could, for the treeline, away from this actual monstrosity and into the forest, and he didn't stop running until he found himself rolling, straight down a hill and into a shallow creek.
His breath was heavy, and ragged, he was exhausted, overheated, and trembling with pure fear. The nature about him was quiet, and empty, but at a distance, he could still hear the creature screaming, absolutely howling with anger and agony. Footsteps caught Crayg's attention and he forced himself to his feet, ready to flee again, when the Elven face of a man popped out of the underbrush, eyeing him.

"Quickly-- we must save your friend!" He snapped, and he was off again, running towards the fray as a new, more soul-shattering sound split the air-- complete silence.

Crayg followed, breathing heavily, following the path he'd carved through the forest.
"Hope she got what she deserved..."

I am a Writer by the Name of Crayg

This is a tale of an Adventeurer,
Cruel and Unusual, some would call her
I'd rather say she's more like the black plague,
I am a writer by the name of Crayg.

I am a bard, of the Lizardfolk breed,
I've seen Petunia through bleed, mead, and through all her bad deeds
And through every encounter, and every feat,
Petunia's come out on top,
of every monster she's beat.

"CRAYG! STOP WRITING IN THAT BLASTED BOOK AND CARRY MY BACKPACK!"
A gruff voice yanked Crayg from his book, and he in turn knocked the ink pot from its place on the makeshift table he'd created from a piece of lumber and two shin-height rocks. He rubbed at the back of his neck with a scaly palm, groaning at the mess he'd made of his paper, and quickly lifted it from the puddle, hoping to salvage the binding from the black death itself. "Yes, Miss Petunia." He hissed softly through his teeth, gingerly folding the book and rising before Petunia had enough time to call for him again. He exited the tent to find Petunia, A young Lizardfolk fighter with broad shoulders and a massive battleaxe mounted between her shoulder blades, holding her backpack out to him already, her free hand on her hip. "What took you so long? we need to take down the tent and get moving, Craygery. Stop fuckin' around and let's go." She didn't give him time to make his response, turning and gesturing to the campfire. "Put that out for me, would you?"

Crayg hissed again, but obeyed, approaching the fire and holding his hands over it ceremoniously; a few sparks lit about his palms and they glittered a bit as he cast his spell, water appearing beneath them and quelling the fire. The steam and smoke that met him choked him, and he stumbled back, coughing and wheezing as he waved his arms to clear the smoke. All that was left behind were damp coals, at least. He brushed his tunic off with a soft sigh, and turned to find Petunia tearing up the stakes that held the tent in place. "Petunia, don't--" But before he could stop her, the last stake was pulled, and the tent collapsed, trapping its contents inside.

"What? It's easy to carry this way!" Petunia protested, placing her hands onto her hips and scowling. "Do you have a problem Crayg?"
Crayg wrinkled his snout. "Yes, actually, I--"
He found her axe pointed his way; he gulped audibly and looked down at his feet, shaking his head.
"Good!" She huffed, collecting the cowhide tent into a bundle and throwing it unceremoniously over her shoulder.
"Let's go, then, hm?"

The pair set off, Petunia leading and Crayg at the back.