Lizardman and the Sea (2)
A quick glance at Queo-Tlann... hmm, let's just call him Queo from now on. Simpler that way. His condition was a total wreck. From what I remembered, he'd spent days clinging to that tiny boat without proper food or water. It was a miracle he was still breathing. A typical lizardman would have stored ample nutrients in their thick tail, but his was now skin and bones—probably because he'd burned through every last bit just to survive. Or maybe that tail fat was the only reason he'd lasted this long.
Anyway, malnutrition aside, the real killer was dehydration. Sure, there was plenty of seawater, but you can't drink that. No shade from the blazing sun, and the glare bouncing off the waves sucked every drop of moisture from his body. Lizardmen are sensitive to water loss at the best of times, and out on the open sea, every element conspired to squeeze the life from him. All he could do was regret his choices and pray to me. Well, he might've caught some rainwater during the storms, but it wasn't nearly enough.
So, what to do with this Queo? The simplest fix: send him home. Toss him on a raft and let the waves carry him upriver—he'd be back in no time. But... where's the fun in that? If he's praying hard enough to wake me from my nap, he needs to spark my interest a little. That's the whole point of saving his scaly hide!
Thus, it begins here! Queo-Tlann's Drift Saga!
Alright then... time to spruce up this little island! Make it just livable enough for one lizardman, toss in some subtle help, and watch him go. It'll be perfect if he figures out an escape while holing up here!
The lizardman, swept away by the storm and knocked unconscious, awoke to realize he was on an unfamiliar island. Waves crashed on the sandy beach. Grass and trees covered the hills. And beyond them, a faint whisper of running water tickled his ears.
Even in his dazed state, Queo-Tlann staggered toward the sound, pushing through knee-high grass until he found a small stream.
To his parched lizardman senses—sharpened by endless thirst—it was unmistakable: pure, fresh water without a trace of salt.
Clean water. He reached out tentatively, feeling the cool, clear dampness on his fingers. And with that, he lost all reason, plunging his snout into the stream.
"Puh, puhaaa!"
Queo-Tlann gulped down the water frantically. His fogged mind cleared bit by bit, and reality crashed back in.
"Where... is this...?"
Moistened by the pure water, his surroundings sharpened into focus: the crystal stream, patches of grass and trees everywhere, and the distant beach.
He stumbled back to the shore where he'd washed up. The endless, salty expanse—the massive lake at the world's edge, a lake of death where no lizardman could survive.
Queo-Tlann shuddered. How was he still alive? Had the Genesis Dragon heard his desperate prayers? Had his faithful pleas reached Her?
As he scanned the beach in wonder, his eyes caught fragments of his shattered boat. Had it failed against the brutal waves, or reached its limit bringing him here? Staring at the wreckage, a pang of regret hit him.
His first boat, bought with money earned hunting fish after leaving his parents. Old and worn, but well-maintained and still seaworthy. The vessel that had carried him so long had met its end against the merciless sea.
"Hoo..."
Queo-Tlann sighed. Without a boat, he couldn't cross the lake of death. He couldn't even swim it.
If he didn't cross... if he found no other path... could he ever return? Even if he built a new one with his crude skills, would it survive those horrors?
He shook his head. Thinking of those waves and storms, nothing less than a proper vessel would do. In the end... he'd have to find another way.
Grrroooowl.
His stomach roared, hunger gnawing deep now that death's shadow had passed. Normally, he could go days without eating, but with his tail already withered... he couldn't hold out much longer.
Gripping his rumbling belly, Queo-Tlann stood. He had to eat to survive.
The island Queo-Tlann had washed up on seemed small. He couldn't climb the tall mountain on one side due to exhaustion, but circling the coast showed no connection to other land.
Lush vegetation, fresh streams—it was survivable for now. Edible fruits hung ready to pick, and the stream's pools teemed with large fish, oddly abundant for such a tiny waterway. But who cared? Not starving was a win.
Queo-Tlann focused on refilling his strength with fruit and fish. Surviving that hellish sea meant something—a purpose. The Genesis Dragon had spared him for a reason. He'd struggle to live, no matter what.
Queo was surviving better than expected. He foraged fish and fruit, drank from the pure streams to rehydrate, snapped slender branches or whittled them with his claws to build a simple wooden shelter. Somehow, he endured.
He even rubbed sticks sharpened by his claws to start a fire, prepared fish with those same claws... huh. Are lizardman claws some kind of multi-tool? So handy in every way.
With steady food, water, and warmth, the island held no real threats—no beasts to endanger him. Survival should be no issue.
After a few days of island life, Queo realized no easy escape. Now, his gaze turned to the mountain, hoping it held some key to freedom.
Of course, I'd placed something useful for his escape at the peak... but convincing it to help? That's on him.
Queo-Tlann had scoured the island but found nothing for escape. Fresh water and food were blessings, but useless for leaving. And the fish were dwindling.
He couldn't stay forever. The answer: find a way off. A crude boat without tools seemed his only shot.
As a last resort, he eyed the mountain. Praying for something helpful, Queo-Tlann began to climb.
At the summit: a tiny spring. Impossibly clear and beautiful, it mesmerized him instantly. He reached out—and something emerged from the transparent waters.
A being from the pristine depths revealed itself.
Spirit of clear water.
Spirit of pure water.
We offer our scales to you.
In return, grant us pure water.
Envelop our path with water as clean as your breath.
With you on our journey, we can go anywhere.
The Prayer of Pure Water. A prayer uttered by lizardmen embarking on voyages or sea journeys. By offering their scales, they receive the water spirit's blessing. This mitigates their species' weakness to low humidity to some degree.
No one knows why the spirits demand scales. Even the spirits themselves don't know why they crave lizardman scales. Perhaps they simply feel a longing for them.