Undead Seamstress: Desert Rose Mini-Quest

Random encounter in the desert, unlocked after talking to Marielle about her father's likes. The scene for gifting her the flower is also included here.




> [Explore] > [Desert]

As satisfying as the soft, rhythmic crunch of sand [if (isnaga) {under the weight of your coils|underfoot}] is, you are starting to think that aimlessly walking through this desert might not yield much, if anything at all. Heat distortions flickering high into the air[if (!isday) { despite the late hour}] and the steady rise and fall of sandhills are almost all your eyes can see. Although, just almost—far in the distance, you spy something that looks like the tips of a group of spires peeking out behind a dune. It's hard to tell them from a mirage, but with the utter lack of other points of interest around, you might as well investigate.

Having made your way close enough through the [if (!isday) {still-}]scorching sand, you realize they are indeed real, and a bit larger than you initially thought. Towering a good [if (metric) {ten meters|thirty feet}] above you and standing wide apart, a circling quintet of stone monoliths soon draws you into its shadow as you slide down into the deep caldera that is their resting place.

Dried-out shrubbery and small, dead trees decorate the ground around the weather-worn standing sandstones; perhaps they once marked an oasis, but no trace of water remains, nor of any other signs of life. Only the white of bone hangs discarded in one of the bushes to the side. The unfortunate soul it once belonged to could have been a succubus, though you only have its horns to go by—the lower half of the skeleton is missing and nowhere to be found. You wonder what happened to it. Perhaps the demon simply died of thirst in this endless desert and crumbled under the oppressive heat, but the remains provide no answers.

As you look around more, you notice inscriptions on one of the monuments, something scratched into the brittle stone.

What looked like ancient writing at first turns out to be a picture. A picture of what you think is the scene of a hunt: a sizeable group of humanoid stick-figures with long spears chasing a creature that has been rendered unrecognizable by erosion, a few bodies lying dead on the ground, some missing limbs or heads. You glance at the skeleton and back again. There are some shapes that " + (flags[kFLAGS.CODEX_ENTRY_NAGAS] ? "should be nagas" : "that seem like a cross between snake and human") + ", standing in opposition to the hunters. It's rather difficult to distinguish, since time and the elements have left what probably was an elaborate carving barely legible, but it continues on the other boulders, showing off different settings. More humanoids, more snake-people, palm trees, and that creature again. It's depicted as fairly large, long, bulky at the front, and always in the center of attention. Perhaps a[if (silly) { K-pop|n}] idol? Was this a site of worship?

Your mind is called back to " + (flags[kFLAGS.MET_MARAE] ? "Marae's little island, and " : "") + "the half-sunken temple in the bog, but this place feels entirely different. Nothing surrounds you but dry hotness, stone, dead wood, and sand, and you now realize just how still and quiet this spacious basin is—no wind pours down from the high crests of the dunes around you, no animal moves below the sun-[if (!isday) {warmed|seared}] ground at your [if (singleleg) {[foot]|feet}], no bird's or reptile's call can be heard in the distance. All the more easily, a tiny trickle of sand down the hill draws your eyes. You watch it slowly slide down and pool against a withered tree, where it comes to rest again. Nothing else follows.

You have some options. Staying here is one of them; you could catch a little break and explore further—maybe you've missed something. Or you could leave and return to your camp. There's a good possibility that you can find this place again anyway, if you wandered the desert long enough.

 [Investigate] [Leave]


//Second (and consecutive) time finding the place, until encounter is cleared:

Having followed a path you're quite sure you have treaded before, you find yourself close to the five sandstone monoliths again, their tips peeking out behind a large dune not far away, and soon, you're sliding down the other side into the wide caldera. The old sandstones' shadows [if (!isday) {deepen the night even further|are a welcome comfort}].

The same dead, dried-out bushes and trees sporadically adorn the basin, giving the strong impression that, in the past, this could have been a beautiful oasis underneath the scorching sun. But none of that beauty remains—all the branches are ashen and gnarled, their leaves and blossoms long gone, and no life calls these sands its home. As if to emphasize that, the upper half of a succubus's skeleton is tangled in one the shrubs, her cause of death unknown. But at least the stalwart boulders themselves have retained some of their carvings: chiselled into their worn surfaces are once-detailed scenes of battles, hunts, and celebrations involving what look like humans and " + (flags[kFLAGS.CODEX_ENTRY_NAGAS] ? "nagas" : "snake-people") + ", though at the center of it all sits a creature that time and weather have rendered impossible to identify. It's fairly large, long, and seems to have had quite some frontal bulk, but that's all you can reliably discern.

It's quiet down here, almost too quiet for even a desert, and besides a short, faint trickle of sand down the inner face of the high dunes around you, you cannot make out a single movement underneath the ground. It's truly dead and deserted.

Other than a simple glance-over, you haven't yet explored this place much, though there doesn't appear to be anything of interest here, apart from the etchings. You could just take the opportunity to relax while taking a proper look. Or you could simply leave again.

 [Investigate] [Leave] [Never Again]


> [Never Again]
//Tooltip: "Leave this place and make a mental note to never return."

There is no value in exploring this—that, you are sure of. You climb the surrounding dunes, making up your mind to never return here again, and when you reach the crest and stand perched atop this tidal wave amidst a sea of sand, you cast a final glance towards the five stone monoliths, lying there in silent, lonely desuetude, before you turn your back to them and leave the site behind for good.

//Back to camp
//One hour consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks disabled

> [Leave]
//Tooltip: "Get back to camp."

With some difficulty, owing to more than a few treacherous layers of sand, you climb the surrounding dunes again and slide down on the other side, continuing on back to camp and leaving the engraved boulders as nothing more than a memory for now.

//Back to camp
//One hour consumed

> [Investigate]
//Tooltip: "Investigate the place more thoroughly."

There ought to be more to this circle of stones than just that. Some civilization has left its handprint right here—though evidently long ago—so perhaps there is still something to be uncovered.

Your hopes are ready for the noose, however, when even after a good half-hour of searching, you come up empty. You inspected the boulders, combed the sand around them, dug into the middle, even probed through the dead bushes and the succubus's skeleton for anything that could have value, or just anything at all. But nothing. No chests, no artefacts, no pouches of gold and gems. Although you didn't expect too much in the first place, you're still disappointed to have found not even the slightest scrap, just smooth sand and old, sun-baked vegetation. You sigh and flop down [if (!isday) {against one of the stones|in the shade}], considering what to do now.

It is when you let yourself rest that you note something to your side, stuck between the sandstone and a small, miserable tree. Stretching from your seat, you reach out and pull it free.

It's just another tumbleweed, a bit larger than your fist, entirely dried up, and curled in on itself. You're not sure why exactly this thing caught your eye, but something about the lifeless plant in particular piques your curiosity: its branches—leaves?—are entangled with one another, seemingly twisted and bent at random. The longer you stare, the deeper they take you into their maze, and the more you are convinced that there is some sort of meaning to their labyrinthine structure. Something almost... magical. But that can't be. As oddly beautiful as it is in its long-withered state, you don't think it holds any actual magic. At least none that you are aware of. Yet what is this feeling that's been creeping up to you?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a distant rumble. You look to the sky, but of course there is not a single cloud to be seen above the dune's peak. You are in a desert. With nary a drop of water anywhere.[if (silly) { You briefly wonder why the rest of Mareth doesn't look like this, considering its total lack of rain. If this realm was the subject of a fantasy novel, it surely would have been written by an absolute fucktard with no understanding whatsoever of how vital precipitation is for a diverse, functioning ecosystem.}] Another rumble, closer. Underneath your butt, you're sensing slight tremors, and a few handfuls of sand slide down the nearby hill.

It's approaching at a rapid pace, rises to a volume that is joined by a strange abrading sound, and shakes the dunes around you until it reaches a deep, foreboding thunder right below you. An earthquake, here?

You scramble [if (singleleg) {upright|to your feet}], but before you can even stand, all purchase disappears as the ground sags away, from one blink to the other providing no more footing than thin air, and you fall. Panic grips you in your sharp plummet. Your body is helplessly being tossed around into a mighty whorl of sand that comes crashing down upon you from everywhere at once. [if (haswings) {Your wings instinctively beat, but a single split-second illustrates the futility of that reflex, and you quickly hug them to you for fear of snapping them apart. }]Desperately keeping your mouth shut and shielding your eyes while you grasp for support, you only catch a brief glimpse of polished onyx before, through the maelstrom, something rises. Something massive. Something alive.

Streams of sand cascade down from smooth slabs of armor, pooling again into the vortex around you as the creature heaves itself from what you now hope won't be your grave.

A sand trap? No. It's as black as one—obsidian chitin plates swallowing the few remaining rays of [if (!isday) {mellow moonlight|harsh sunlight}]—but far too big. As the grainy whirlpool settles to a more manageable intensity, you can finally behold its gargantuan form: shovel-like pincers large enough to crush a minotaur, mandibles more akin to an ogre's butcher knives, and a flat, many-legged torso transitioning into the segmented length of an upcurved tail, its sharp needle-end ominously hovering high above and pointed right at you.

You steady yourself on the still-shifting ground, to varying degrees of success,[if (haswings) { and flap your wings again, but the sand around you has caked them thoroughly and weighs you down, making you stumble. Taking flight is going to be difficult, so for now you concentrate on}] trying not to skid too close to the enormous arachnid and keeping a cautious distance. Peering up, it sinks in that you are trapped here. You have fallen deep into a dark, expansive pit, joined down here only by the sturdy bases of the five monoliths, mountains of sand, and what must be an absolute [if (silly) {unit|colossus}] of a scorpion.

The carvings. The hunters of a bygone time, the " + (flags[kFLAGS.CODEX_ENTRY_NAGAS] ? "nagas" : "snake-human hybrids") + ", the bodies, the creature amidst them—it all clicks into place. You first thought those depictions to be exaggerated, but if your assumptions are correct, then indeed none did its size even remotely justice. It takes up nearly a quarter of your arena, though it appears not the slightest bit hampered by its own bulk and the interspersed pillars, nimbly scaling the steep walls to manoeuvre around the circumference.

Something cracks beneath you. A skeleton, not the succubus from above, but still demonic in origin. You can't afford to dwell on that, and train your eyes back on the scorpion. The way it skitters with such spider-like grace across the treacherous sands that bog down your own efforts is frustrating, if not unsettling, considering your predicament. But it hasn't attacked you yet. It's circling you, though whether like a hungry predator or a curious cat, you cannot tell. Perhaps it doesn't know what to do with you, perhaps you can still avoid a fight.

 [Attack] [Talk]


> [Attack]
//Tooltip: "No time for foolishness, defend yourself!"

No sense in trying. Mustering what you have, you [if (!hasweapon) {crack your knuckles|ready your [weapon]}] and [if (ranged) {take up position|charge forwards}].

Raising its pincers high, the scorpion behemoth scuttles a few evading steps back before standing its ground, an incensed, rumbling rattle—like large rocks grinding together—emanating from within its core.

 [Fight]


> [Talk]
//Tooltip: "Give talking a try."
//Subtracts 2 from the number of consecutive nonaction turns required for special victory

[if (isnaga) {Nagas. There were nagas by its side in the stone carvings, and you [i:are] one! This might be a long shot, but you still try.|You don't know how to communicate with such a beast, but you might as well try.}]

As you call out to the creeping behemoth, it stops in its steps, tail-end twitching. You continue to calmly talk to it, evidently having some sort of effect on it, and take a tentative [if (singleleg) {slink|step}] towards it, then another. And another. At the fourth, you note a minute shift it its posture, a certain tension, and the next heartbeat, you're diving out of the way of a massive pincer that buries itself deep into the ground before it's yanked free again by the hissing beast, both its claws raised and spread wide in an obvious threat. Another lightning lunge has you pressed up against a pillar, and you quickly round it to escape its reach.

The scorpion doesn't attack again and instead just keeps you within sight while you try to put the obelisk between you, but a rumbling rattle—more like large rocks being ground together—emanating from it makes it clear you are not welcome here.

That seemed to have only agitated it, if anything. Perhaps you were a bit hasty. Now circling you more aggressively, it's most definitely not going to let you climb out of its den without a fight. You steel yourself for the inevitable, [if (!hasweapon) {crack your knuckles|ready your [weapon]}], and assume a fighting stance.

 [Fight]
//Stats and combat texts down below



> [Defeat]
//Nearly the same for lust and HP losses

//If HP loss:
You lurch over, vision swimming. The strength of this goliath is overwhelming; there is no way you could win this fight, not with everything, even the very ground you fight on, conspiring to bring you down.

//If lust loss:
You lurch over, loins aching. The allure of this bodacious beast is overwhelming; there is no way you could not want to fuck it, not with everything, even your own degenerate nature, conspiring to keep you up all night.

//Both:
Suddenly, the earth spins around, your feet knocked out from under you by a swift swipe, and you hit the sandstone hard. You try to roll away, but the scorpion pins you down with its massive claws, its maw hovering above you, mandibles quivering in anticipation.

A numb pain in your abdomen. You didn't even see the stinger before it dislodges itself from your midsection, black chitin coated in your blood.

The effect is immediate: bile rises up your gut, your heart starts to palpitate, threatening to break the confines of your chest, and the scene around you takes on an otherworldly saturation. Everything looks so sharp, yet so blurry, the images swirling in your head like a raging whirlwind. You vomit, but there's no relief. [if (lust loss) {This isn't the kind of S&M play you had in mind. You|The world only rolls faster. And you}] vomit again. Your insides feel like they're being balled up into a tiny marble, squashed together and wrung out by a giant's fist strangling your gut and turning it inside-out. You dry-heave into the sand, the ground growing ever-slicker with your stomach acids as the venom in your circulation forces out retch after excruciating retch from you while you writhe in hellish agony.

It hurts, it hurts so much—your throat is being put through a cheese grater, your veins are burning and freezing at once, muscles spasming feverishly out of your control, all sound drowned out by the maddening staccato of your frantic heart. But beyond all this, there is something else: an encroaching serenity, bubbling forth from the depths of your being, slowly wrapping itself around you and putting your hysterical mind at ease within its soothing embrace. That's right, you don't have to endure all this, you could just shut it all out, breathe deep, and let yourself go. Everything will be fine, once you do.

You're lifted into the air, towards the onyx beast. A panicked voice in your head screams at you to struggle, cry out, and fight your fate, but you don't feel the drive to do any of that. In fact, you don't feel anything at all as your [legs] disappear into that alien, arachnid maw. Nothing unsettles you as your bones are crushed, as the scorpion's mandibles close around your hips, as everything narrows to a distant, hazy tunnel.

You... just let yourself... go.

//BAD END

>If lost during grapple:

You can't. You can't break free of this indomitable, ever-tightening grip. You cry out in frustration, then in panic, and finally in sharp pain as a loud snap echoes through the pit.

Looking down at yourself, you catch sight of your ribcage caved-in in ways it should never be, the massive onyx pincer mercilessly clenching deeper with another series of sickening cracks and pops. You violently hack and cough through the smell and taste of copper. Your breath is pressed out of your body and replaced by a flood of blood into your lungs while your mind roils in frantic terror, when the other claw pulverizes your hips by way of a single swift crunch. Shards of bone dig into your flesh and innards in a wave of excruciating agony, your heart's mad hammering only serving to exacerbate the pain of being crushed alive. It feels unreal. Like it shouldn't be real. Like it [i:can't] be real. But you know it is.

You're powerless, flailing, feverish—there's nothing you can do, nothing that could persuade these cold, obsidian pincers to release you from their fatal grasp. With another snap, your head lolls backwards, your entire body suddenly numb, and you watch in helpless horror—unable to even scream—as the scorpion lowers you into its hellish, arachnid maw.

The last thing you see in your[if (ischild) { short}] life are the beast's ravenous mandibles shutting closed around your face.

//BAD END

>The Fantasy Tango, aka losing while fantasising with shitpost-mode enabled:

You can't keep it in any more, all that fills your dirty mind is the enchanting rhythm of polka music, the cheery melodies of a thousand accordions and trumpets driving you to musical insanity as the scorpion closes in on your defenseless form. Those gigantic pincers, those massive mandibles—yes, that's it, you're ready for the sweet release of death right now. You stand tall and welcome the coming end with arms outstretched.

Only, it never comes.

A slight tap to your hand has you flinch and open the eyes you had kept closed in hopeful anticipation.

Not death, but the dark, chitinous beast stands before you, regarding you with what may be curiosity, though that emotion might more befit [i:you] right now. Its claws hover right to each side of you, closing ever so slowly around your hands, and only your hands, nothing else. The arachnid seems concentrated on showing you the extent of its already-impressive precision. When they're nearly shut, it stops, somewhat pinching your flesh, though not quite hurting you. You would clap, if you could. Though now, it's almost as if you're... holding hands. Oh my.

You blush.

It blushes back.

Picking up where it momentarily left off in favor of sappy romance, the maddening melody rises in volume again, and you're not even sure at this point if it's really all still inside your head, but you're left with no time to wonder as the gentlemanly—gentlewomanly? You don't even know—scorpion gently pulls you forwards.

Slowly, it guides you: one step forwards, then one to the side, forwards, another forwards, sideways, then backwards, to the other side, and repeat. Gradually, the two of you, linked together by hand, heart, and pincer, build up to a cheerful rhythm, curiously matching the one in your head. It's like it understands you, knows exactly what your suicidal mind wants, and when your ebony partner takes you for a half-spin, you find yourself hollering out in joy. What is this magical, nigh-ambrosial act? It's not death, not yet, so what else could it be? Perchance, a dance? Is this actually it? Are you doing it? Whatever it is, you can't contain yourself any longer, and let your voice be as loud and proud as it wants to be, the scorpion chiming in alongside your jolly jubilations with clicking clacks of its melodizing mandibles.

Your feet fly over the sand—more or less literally—and you truly feel like the world is yours to take. You're whole, complete, the instruments in your head only affirming what you already knew, or perhaps should have known all along, when you began your journey in Ingnam: this is your doom and destiny. And all you need is this beautiful beast by your side, and your concerting conquest will be unstoppable. You have finally found your spirit animal, and you are ecstatic to have done so.

You're watering up in multiple places.

As the comely creature raises you up for a plucky, pretty pirouette, a piercing pop informs you you may have just lost something significant, but you don't care at this point. Everything you want is already here before you, how could you 'need' any more than this? Its creaseless, coal chitin, its extensive, ever-expanding eyes, your amputated arm in its crushing claw, dripping blood as it disappears into the monster's—no, your [i:lover's]—mangling maw...

'Hey, that's my arm, I needed that!' a diminutive, doltish dimwit inside of you wants to pitifully protest, but it never leaves your lips through their screwy smile as you rap your phantom fingers to a rhythm that may or may not be a fully fabricated figment of your fantasy.

Feasibly, fantasy is also what keeps you from screaming as you are thrown into the air for the thrilling finale, for one death-defying display of fantastic fireworks—blood, tears, and a few fluids further flung far and high in all their brief, bedazzling beauty before you plunge down to a dark, dreadful demise between your deprived darling's daunting dental daggers.

[b:Dashing dances demand devilishly disastrous, though direly dueful, donations.]

//GOOD END


> [Victory]

Visibly wounded, the scorpion raises its claws and stinger, hisses at you, and swipes a few more times at your general direction as it backs off until fully turning tail and scrambling up one of the sandstone pillars. It's still displaying some surprising speed, but the creature is clearly limping, and before you can think more of it, what footing it had crumbles, and the colossus comes crashing down in a shrill screech of panic. You leap for cover as the impact shatters the hard-packed earth and blows up a mighty billow of dust and debris in its wake, the entire arena disappearing in an impromptu sandstorm for a long, deafening moment.

As it clears away, you right yourself up and assess the situation.

It's still alive, but has landed on its back, and a good portion of its onyx carapace is buried in the ground. If it still has any strength left, it's not enough to pull itself free, or even raise its enormous pincers.

Mindful of your incapacitated opponent, you let your gaze stray, now able to pay more attention to the dots of white, weathered bone littering the pit. Most of the skeletons are in terrible condition and entirely unrecognizable, but you can make out the occasional horn or sharp tail—at least one full posse of demons is spending the rest of eternity down here. None of their weapons and armor look usable, though; the beast must not have a habit of being gentle with its victims. And speaking of said beast, it lets out a low, depressing rattle, wiggling its legs in a hopeless attempt to turn itself back over.

You doubt it's going to pose a threat any time soon, but perhaps it would be best to outright end its life and make sure it will never again [if (corruption < 50) {prey on anyone else|rear its ugly head}]. Or, if you are inclined to, you could try and help it up, as much of a foolish idea that may be.

 [Spare] [Kill] [Help] [Fuck]
//[Fuck] requires genitals, as well as a considerable lack of sanity, aka either the masochist perk or 150 points of corruption + libido. Should be invisible otherwise


> [Spare]
//Tooltip: "Spare the creature."

There is no need for bloodshed, that beast can't do anything to you right now.

Not far from one of its pincers, you notice something familiar. It's the tumbleweed from earlier, the very same one that's partially responsible for having gotten you into this mess in the first place. [if (corruption > 50) {You briefly consider burning the thing out of spite, but|Be that as it may,}] you remember the strange fascination you had with it. That has worn off by now, though you still wonder what that was all about. A little reluctant to get so close to the scorpion's claws again, you pick the withered plant up and briefly turn it about in your hands before pocketing it. There's probably nothing special or magical about it, but after all this, you're well going to take it with you.

Picking up a dead clump of twigs is one thing, but climbing out of this deep pit is another entirely. [if (haswings) {You check your [wings], still crusted with dirt and hurting from the grating treatment they've received. They'll be of little use until you've washed them properly. You then|You}] test the steep wall and find the sand giving you just enough purchase to establish a foothold, though any wrong step will see you plummeting back down onto the unforgiving sandstone, something you would much rather avoid. Another glance at the weakened, supine scorpion assures you that you can afford to take your time.

And time, it takes indeed. When you finally reach the crest of the dunes above, you're panting and sweating, your hands sore and your heart and mind tired after a few near-slip-ups too many. But you've made it, you're finally back under Mareth's dreary, [if (hour >= 18) {dark[if (isday) {ened}]|blinding}], though at this moment more than welcome, sky. You look back towards the five obelisks, their weather-worn tips giving a good scale to it all. It's quite a fall down into the scorpion-pit. You can still see the black mass of the titanic creature far below, no movements discernible, and wonder if it will ever recover and rebuild the trapdoor to its lair.

In any case, there's nothing left to do here, so you turn to head back to camp.

//Desert rose get!
//Fatigue +35
//Back to camp
//Three hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared


> [Kill]
//Tooltip: "Kill that monster."

This monster has to die.

Striding close to the supine scorpion with your [weapon] raised, you

//no paragraph break
//if sword
clamber on top of it, locating a gap between its heavy plates where you assume its throat would be. You angle your sword down and, with a mighty thrust, ram it into the beast's flesh down to the hilt. It screeches pitifully and tries to throw you off, but having little strength left, its efforts soon die down, as does the goliath itself. You pull your blade out of its lifeless body and wipe the clear blood off.

//if spear
thrust deep into its maw, making use of your weapon's length to drive it deep into its vulnerable insides. It screeches in pain and tries to bite the shaft of your weapon, but having too little strength left to do anything, it soon grows still and lifeless. Now sure of the beast's death, you pull your spear out and clean off its clear blood.

//if dagger
climb on top of it. The plates on its underside are significantly thinner, so you locate a joint between them where its heart should roughly be. The beast screeches in pain when you ram your dagger inside. Clear blood bubbling forth indicates you've hit your mark, and you stab again and again, widening the gash with each thrust. By now, it seems to have given up on trying to throw you off, pitiful rattles and twitches being all it can muster until the massive scorpion finally goes still. You wipe off your blade after you've made sure it's truly dead.

//if blunt
climb on top of it. The plates here are much thinner than the ones on its back, and a single mighty strike is rewarded with a satisfying crunch. The goliath screeches in distress as you hammer into its underbelly again and again, widening the cracks each time until, with a deafening crash, the chitin finally splits, clear blood bubbling forth from its torn-open underside. You continue to pound into its exposed insides, only stopping when its pitiful twitches and utterances have died down and the creature lies still.

//if axe
swing it into the gap where one of its massive mandibles meets the head. It screeches in pain as clear blood gushes forth, and, with another swing, the mighty mouthpart comes off, exposing the vulnerable flesh below. Again and again, you strike your blade into the dying goliath until it finally lies still before you, mutilated and lifeless. You wipe the last of its blood from your axe and massage your back muscles.

//if scythe
swing its blade-end right into the creature's small, onyx eye. It screeches in pain as you draw across to its other eye, clear blood gushing forth from the gaping gash. Its feeble cries don't last long however, and the massive beast soon goes still as its life pours out into the sand below. Having made sure of its death, you wipe your scythe off.

//if gun
press the end of the barrel into the vulnerable flesh of its mouth, aiming down to where you'd guess the beast's brain should be. A pitiful screech is all it can muster before you pull the trigger, ending its life with an echoing thundercrack. It seems you hit your mark dead-on.

//if magic staff
charge energy into the tip before pressing it deep into the creature's vulnerable maw. It seems to sense your intent, but weakened as it is, even the massive mandibles cannot bite through your staff before you release the pent-up magic in an arcane detonation, turning its innards to mush and killing the mighty beast in an instant.

//if none or gloves
grab one of its massive mouthparts. It gives a protesting screech as you pull with all your might, but the creature is too weak now to stop you from ripping it off with a sickening crunch, blood spurting forth from the gaping wound. Ignoring its screams, you then turn the sharp tool around and ram it right back into the goliath's maw, impaling it on its own mandible and driving deep inside, ever deeper, until its pitiful twitches finally stop and it lies still.

//all:
As you step back to appraise your work and contemplate how to get out of this pit, you notice something familiar lying not far from the scorpion's left pincer. It's the tumbleweed from earlier, the very same one that's partially responsible for having gotten you into this mess in the first place. [if (corruption > 50) {You briefly consider burning the thing out of spite, but|Be that as it may,}] you remember the strange fascination you had with it. That has worn off by now, though you still wonder what that was all about. Picking the withered plant up, you briefly turn it about in your hands before pocketing it. You doubt that there is anything special or magical about it, but after all this, you're well going to take it with you.

Picking up a dead clump of twigs is one thing, but climbing out of this deep pit is another entirely. [if (haswings) {You check your [wings], still crusted with dirt and hurting from the grating treatment they've received. They'll be of little use until you've washed them properly. You then|You}] test the steep wall and you find the sand giving you just enough purchase to establish a foothold, though any wrong step will see you plummeting back down onto the unforgiving sandstone, something you would much rather avoid. At least with the scorpion dealt with, you'll have all the time you need for the ascent.

And time, it takes indeed. When you finally reach the crest of the dunes above, you're panting and sweating, your hands sore and your heart and mind tired after a few near-slip-ups too many. But you've made it, you're finally back under Mareth's dreary, [if (hour >= 18) {dark[if (isday) {ened}]|blinding}], though at this moment quite welcome, sky. You look back towards the five obelisks, their weather-worn tips giving a good scale to it all. It's quite a fall down into the scorpion-pit. You can still see the black, unmoving carcass of the titanic creature far below, and you wonder if it was the only one of its kind, or if more are lurking beneath the sand.

You'll have to watch your step, you think as you turn to head back to camp.

//Desert rose get!
//Fatigue +45
//Back to camp
//Three hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared


> [Help]
//Tooltip: "What is madness to one is kindness to another."

As ill-advised as it might be, you want to help this poor creature. You barged into its territory, likely disturbed its sleep, and then proceeded to beat it half to death. It seemed like a fairly smart animal, and you did act in self-defense, so maybe it will understand your peaceful intentions, if you helped it now. That's all much easier said than done, though—this scorpion is utterly humongous, surely weighing more than an entire [if (silly) {brick shit}]house. Just how are you going to move such a titan?

It rattles at you when you [if (singleleg) {approach|step closer}], but doesn't try to stop you as you [walk] over to its side and plant your hands against the thick, black chitin. You give it a testing push. Nothing. Not even a millimeter. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the task ahead, then shove. The creature screeches in protest as your muscles strain against its gargantuan weight, your teeth clenched tight, [if (isnaga) {tail|feet}] anchored fast on the sandstone.

//If strength > 100:
//Yes, more than a hundred
There. Just a tiny bit, but it moved. Its shrieking stops, the creature perhaps comprehending what it is you're trying to do as ever-so-slightly, you manage to budge it. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice something move overhead, and four armored legs thrust themselves into the ground beside you. With the arachnid now helping you, its body tilts higher and higher, hauled up by your combined efforts until, with an earth-shaking crash, it finally tips over and comes to rest in a surging cloud of fine sand. You actually did it.

//Else if manlet:
But there is nothing you can do. Its complaints finally stop when you think it moved for a second, but taking your burning lungs into account, there is simply no way you can flip this towering arachnid over. Slumping against its side, you consider your options. A lever would be handy. A long and sturdy one.[if (spear) { Your [weapon] comes to mind, but you'd rather not risk it.}] Thankfully, you don't have to look around for long before you find what could fit the bill: a rusty but oversized lance, clearly intended for someone a good bit larger than a mere human. You lug the hefty weapon over and, with a bit of insistent pushing, work it between the ground and carapace, despite the scorpion's audible disapproval.

Yet even still, the tiny bit of space you win by hanging your weight on the other end is nearly negligible. A hair, at best. Just how heavy is this thing?

Trying your best to push and lever, push and lever, soon panting in exhaustion, you eventually notice a stirring. Four long, chitinous legs and an enormous pincer scrape the earth around you as the arachnid joins your efforts to slowly but steadily produce something you could call 'progress'. Bit by little bit does it tilt up under your combined strength until finally, its body stands near-upright, and you give it one last, spirited heave with your lance. Through the sounds of cracking wood and crumbling stone, the creature pitches, falls, and lands in a surging cloud of sand that you barely have the energy to shield yourself from. You gladly let go of the now-splintered weapon in your throbbing hands.

//Both
While the dust settles, you carefully round the behemoth, watching those gigantic pincers; but they, just like its tail, lie flat against the earth, keeping still as it regards you with its deep, obsidian eyes in turn. They're small for its frame—mere pinpricks—and entirely black, and something about them does indeed suggest more than just the rudimentary intelligence of a simple beast. Though that could very well be your imagination.

In your examination, you spot something almost buried underneath its right claw. It's the tumbleweed from earlier, the one that captured your interest and arguably got you into this [if (silly) {hole|whole}] mess. Making the judgement call that the scorpion isn't going to attack you again, you tread closer. Its gaze follows you, but the mighty, fearsome pincer right in front of your face remains dormant, letting you take the strange plant unhindered.

The magic—if it could be called that—from earlier appears to be gone, the withered little clump of branches in your hands making you wonder just what it was that you felt before. No matter, whether plain or magical, you'll pocket it anyway. You briefly show it to the scorpion, but get no reaction.

In general, the onyx beast is more interested in you than anything else. You wish you could decipher what the faint clacking noises coming from its mouth mean, but as you try to speak to it again, it soon becomes evident that there is little common ground for communication between you two. Still, you find some strange satisfaction in talking and gesturing to the slowly recovering creature, the beast answering you from time to time with little clicks and clatters.

Sadly, as fascinating as it is, your 'conversation' gets you absolutely nowhere, and so you eventually let up from the arachnid, having a look around the bottom of the pit instead.

The five sandstone obelisks bear no engravings down here, and the ground between them is littered with various bits and piles of old bones and equipment. Weathered down and sun-bleached, most of these are indeed the remains of demons, although you do turn up the carcasses and probable possessions of some other races, as well as one large carapace-piece of who-knows-what. Crushed, broken, ground to dust by their sheer age and the creature whose tiny eyes you feel are glued on you at all times—no merchant would ever buy any of this, unless you find one that deals in heaps of rust and rubbish.

A sigh leaves your lips as you let yet another skeleton you were inspecting fall to the ground, where it collapses with a wooden thump. Wooden? You pause, then peek down. The corner of what could be a chest peeks out beneath, filling you with the hope of a treasure hunter smelling gold as you start digging. The thing is buried deep, however, and the ground is packed hard enough to be almost rock, quickly frustrating your attempt and demanding a pause to think.

The sound of flowing sand, followed by the now-familiar scraping of eight feet and a heavy tail draws you back behind you to the scorpion, which is looking much healthier already and is currently creeping up to you. It's also clicking in what may be an insistent fashion, so you warily move aside, away from your find. More clicking, and you're not sure at first what it wants as it taps the earth with a single foreleg, but it then jams the tip of its claw right into the sandstone to upheave the chest in a single twist that seemed more like a simple flick of the finger for the great arachnid. That certainly works.

Voicing your thanks, to which you get another rattle in response, you promptly pry the wooden box open.

Nothing exciting, but a whole lot of gems, stuffed into the sand that seeped through the cracks. You grab them by the handfuls, their light clanking against each other like music to your ears while you put them safely away before rising up. That's all there probably is for treasure; now you only need to find a way back up and home. This has been a long ordeal.

Only, getting out of this pit could be a whole challenge of its own. The walls are steep, the sand treacherous[if (haswings) {, and your [wings] are still sore and crusted with dirt}]. A climb seems possible, but potentially dangerous and quite strenuous, though you suppose you don't really have any other choice.

As you test your grip in search for a good spot, you hear the scorpion again. It's making those same clicks from before, interspersed with short rattles that call for your attention, so you oblige to see it shuffling around, crawling a few steps closer, and lowering the front portion of its massive body to the ground. It then wiggles itself a little deeper and spreads out its pincers. If you had to guess, that looks awfully like... an invitation to hop on.

//Fatigue +25

 [Do It] [Don't]


> [Do It]
//Tooltip: "Trust the scorpion."

You trust the colossus to have no ill intentions.

The dark, chitinous plates feel smooth and surprisingly warm under your touch as you cautiously climb up the towering creature's lowered pincer joints and onto its back. It's easy to slip, but you locate a good foothold and push yourself up. The upper carapace is relatively flat, not too difficult to stand on, but there's little to grab onto, and most of it looks fairly dodgy. Though eventually, a grove between the armor segments proves to be what you were looking for, provided it won't chop your fingers off once it moves.

Your scorpion-mount sounds a series of clacking noises after you've settled in, one that you liberally interpret as a question by their tone, so you pat its plated back and hold on tight.

A strange, pressing feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach when the gargantuan creature rises from the sands, but disappears again as quickly as it came, leaving you with an odd lightness to your gut. [if (canfly) {Riding something like this definitely feels different than flying.|Riding this thing will definitely take some getting used to.}] It gives you no time to contemplate further though, as it turns its body to the pit's wall and pokes the sandstone with its forelegs before it begins to ascend.

Holding on turns out to be far easier than you anticipated—its motions are astoundingly smooth and fluid, barely rocking you atop your perch, even as you're tipped back into an unnatural angle on this vertical climb. With it, the pressure returns once more, and you elect to press yourself flat against the carapace to [if (isnaga) {try and coil as much of your tail as you can over its bulk|let your [feet] find additional purchase on another plate}] while the ground grows ever more distant, the scorpion scaling the sandy walls in a sure-footed, perfectly rhythmic crawl very much akin to its normal-sized brethren. For a moment, you crane your neck as far as you dare and take a peek around you.

What if it shakes you off? It would be a long fall, now. Earth and darkness meld together far below, and the pull of gravity threatens to wrench you back into the depths as you approach the overhanging mouth of this trap-like pit.

But your brief anxiety wears off, and the arachnid crests the dunes above like a mighty man-of-war, having carried you out of its lair and onto Mareth's surface swiftly and safely. The scorpion skitters down on the other side, where it tapers to a halt and snakes itself flat into the sand before remaining still. The next clatter vibrates its entire body, emanating from somewhere underneath your fingers. You suppose it means for you to get off. It feels good to unclasp your sore hands, and a light wind caresses your face as you take the couple meters of a slide to dismount.[if (ischild) { You resist the impulse to climb right back up and do that again.}]

" + (time.hours >= 18 && time.hours < 21 ? "Night has fallen, and the moon's light" : (time.hours >= 21 || time.hours < 3 ? "The moonlight" : "The sunlight")) + " coats the black carapace plates in a marvellous shimmer, quite like real, polished obsidian—regal, almost deific. While you're not sure how to say goodbye to a creature like this, you try nonetheless and give it a farewell-wave on top as you turn around to leave. Behind you, you hear it click and shift, but it doesn't follow you. Instead, it just sits there the few times you glance back, watching you depart, one large spill of ink in the desert that slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes from view behind the sandhills.

//Desert rose get!
//Gems +713
//Back to camp
//Three hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared


> [Don't]
//Tooltip: "Sounds like a terrible idea."

You don't trust that thing with your life, even if it has shown no further hostility. No, you'll rather climb this on your own. Its pinprick eyes stick to you, incapable of displaying emotion, yet you could swear the scorpion still looks dejected at your decision. You stand by it.

The way up is an arduous one, and more than a few times, your heart is forced to skip a beat as you threaten to slip up. You never fully do however, and with an enormous arachnid in tow at a respectful distance, you finally arrive on Mareth's surface once again. Panting, sweating, and aching, but glad to be back.

A small tide of sand follows as the beast crests the dune behind you. It settles against the slope, facing you, its tail hanging down into the pit that is its apparent home. Under the [if (hour >= 18) {dark[if (isday) {ened}]|bright}] sky, the [if (hour >= 18) {moon|sun}]'s light is more absorbed than reflected by the thick chitin of its armor, lacquering it in a marvellous, muted shimmer akin to real obsidian—it makes for a regal, almost deific presence.

While you're not sure how to say goodbye to the creature, you try nonetheless and give it a farewell-wave on top as you turn around to leave. Behind you, you hear it click and shift, but it doesn't move any further. Instead, it just sits there the few times you glance back, watching you depart, one large spill of ink in the desert that slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes from view behind the sandhills.

//Desert rose get!
//Gems +713
//Fatigue +35
//Back to camp
//Three hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared


> [Fuck]
//Tooltip: "Forfeit your life for the ultimate pleasure."

A thought seeps into your mind. The form of this scorpion behemoth, moments ago one of nature's most fearsome predators, but now lying supine and helpless in the sand, lights a sinister, hungry flame deep within you.

You cast away your gear, paying no heed to its condition, nor to the voice inside your head that desperately attempts to halt this madness, to sway you to turn away and leave it be. You ignore it all. No. This is what you want to do, this is what you [i:crave] to do, this is what you [b:will] do.

The massive beast tiredly rattles as you sashay over, its mandibles quivering with the sound. Those beautiful, alien cleavers, sharp and powerful enough to slice through even the thickest armor. They beckon you, call to you. You [if (singleleg) {glide|step}] closer.

The smooth, black chitin feels warm under your touch, radiating a sense of ease to soothe your high-strung nerves and draw forth the irresistible desire to run your hands over it, to press your naked flesh against the arachnid's trembling mouthparts, and to embrace the monstrous animal in full. It's so warm, welcoming, despite its irritated protests. Something about this act feels erotic and sexual on a level you weren't even aware of. It's fulfilling, even, in an almost spiritual sense of the word. But you want more.

//Genital break point

//if hascock:
Your [cock] is [if (silly) [up|down}]right turgid, pressing painfully against the scorpion's armored segments as you hug the gargantuan creature, smearing it in a sheen of precum. Anxiously shifting around, you search for a crevasse, or anything, to alleviate your burning lust.

Finally, you find such relief between two of its mandibles, providing just enough space to force your length into. Careful to not chop your dick off, you start to testingly hump the massive mouthparts, finding the chitin strangely accommodating to your mounting needs, and soon you are thrusting into the oral vice with reckless abandon, giving yourself over to your libido.

Grunts and pants of pleasure and effort join the occasional clattering of the ravaged beast, enveloping your flesh in vibrations while steadily rising in pitch and volume. It feels great, heavenly, exhilarating—to hammer yourself into this titanic predator's maw. A maw that has crushed and swallowed countless others before you, but soon, it will receive your seed, be painted in your virility, and taste the final products of your manhood as your mind hazes over.

A lapse in control. You slip. Your hands find purchase again before you can fall, but something slices deep into your thigh, making you cry out on instinct, but it doesn't matter to you. Not any more. If anything, the suddenly added lubrication is a welcome addition to your depraved lovemaking, only furthering your carnal tempo and lust, and at last, you cum.

Pronouncing your climax to the high heavens, you hilt yourself deep as your vision turns momentarily white, taking over the deep obsidian before your eyes while your [cock] strains with pulse after pulse of thick semen that splatters against the razor-sharp mandibles and oozes inside it's maw. Again and again, you pump out all you can give into its jaws until, panting and sweating, you are left empty and content.

//else if hasvagina:
Your [vagina] drools for more stimulation, making its thirst obvious by the streaks of lubricant you're leaving behind on the scorpion's armored segments. Needily groping for better leverage, you find a good position, then press your throbbing cunt down onto one of the beast's main mandibles, careful to avoid the razor-sharp edge.

The polished chitin glides over your lips almost effortlessly, driving you to go faster, harder, rub yourself against the creature in search of more sweet pleasure. A few rough spots provide just that, and you shiver with rising bliss. You angle your hips just right to let your clit catch those spots on every increasingly desperate slide, then start to grind in earnest, reckless abandon as you let your libido take over your body.

Moans and pants of pleasure and effort join the occasional clattering of the ravaged beast, suffusing your flesh in vibrations while steadily rising in pitch and volume. It feels great, heavenly, exhilarating—to rub yourself against this titanic, savage monster, to lather its maw up with your excitement. A maw that has no doubt crushed and swallowed countless others before you, but right now is being used as a masturbatory aid by someone who has long since lost all mind and reason and is hell-bent on letting it taste [his] womanly juices as [his] mind hazes over.

A lapse in control. You slip. Your hands find purchase again before you can fall, but something slices deep into your thigh, making you cry out on instinct, but it doesn't matter to you. Not any more. If anything, the sudden rush of liquid warmth over your grinding folds is a welcome addition to your depraved lovemaking, only furthering your carnal tempo and lust, and at last, you cum.

Pronouncing your peaking pleasure to the high heavens, you press and grind against the quivering maw as hard as you can as your vision momentarily turns to white, taking over the deep obsidian before your eyes while your [vagina] spasms and coats the scorpion's mandibles in the proof of your shuddering climax. Again and again, you rock against it, drawing out your orgasm ever further until it all crests and plummets, leaving you a panting and sweating mess, but a content one.

//Both:
'Content'? No, you hunger for yet more. But before you can decide what else to do, something grabs your [leg], drawing your tired eyes downwards.

Blood. That's a lot of blood. That explains your light-headedness. You should do something—about that, and the two mandibles that are digging deep into your flesh. The scorpion, even prone and on its back as it is, must have developed a taste for you. It's strong, stronger than you are, right now. You try to pull, but all you achieve is another flood of blood oozing forth.

Ah, forget it all. This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what its lecherous maw lured you in with: the ultimate pleasure.

A chuckle dribbles out of you. How much did you lose already? You can hardly feel anything. It should hurt, but it doesn't. There's just that strange, numb sensation, a faint tingle in your lower half that's slowly spreading outwards. You sink back into the creature's grasp, returning its fatal embrace as you let yourself be reeled in deeper.

More mandibles—some smaller, some larger—scratch and impale your flesh and muscle as they lift you up, drawing forth more of your sweet ichor, and you find yourself panting in lustful need once more, a tremble of both dread and bliss coursing through you. Unable to look away, you watch yourself be enveloped by those arachnid teeth from your belly downwards. Something nudges your [if (hascock) {dick|folds}]. The shiver suddenly spikes up. Is it doing that on purpose? You moan when it presses again, caressing you almost like a lover would while you are pulled further in bit by marvellous bit.

A loud crack echoes through the arena, and you howl out in ecstasy. Bolts of sizzling lightning ripple through your entire being, forcing you to surrender the last vestiges of your mind and body over to this primordial, erotic creature. You bask in the sexual magnificence that is its hungry, ravaging maw as it pulverizes bone after bone in nigh-orgasmic shattering snaps, each one twisting you ever closer to the brink.

Finally, it all culminates into one grand finale as fiery, unspeakable rapture rips your mind and flesh apart in an explosion of pure glory, and you throw your head back to let the world know it—even if your body is no longer capable of either movement or sensation, and even if you are all alone here at the bottom of this sandy pit, writhing in absolute elation while you draw the very last breaths of your life with utter delight etched into your face.

Above your head, the gigantic scorpion's mandibles draw closed at last, and so does your journey.

//BAD END


> [Special Victory]
//Achieved by waiting/teasing/fantasising/distancing 9/8? times in a row without attacking or dying, or 5 times if PC race is naga. Having chosen to [Talk] before the fight subtracts 2 from that number
//Waiting while being grappled does not count
//Does not yield XP or gems

Its massive pincers close, and the gigantic scorpion hesitantly settles to the ground. It seems to be scrutinizing you, regarding you with what you think is more than just rudimentary intelligence in its tiny, obsidian eyes. [if (last action was tease) {You just wanted to seduce it, but this is fine by you, too.|Does it understand you mean it no harm?}]

Lowering your [weapon], you take a tentative step forward. Its legs shift and you hear a dull rattle, but it stays in place. Slowly, you inch your way closer to the massive beast, keeping a vigilant watch for any signs of aggression. But none come[if (talked) { this time}]. Even when you're close enough to stretch out your hand towards its pincer.

It's smooth, and surprisingly warm. Almost velvety, though the thick chitin can no doubt withstand the tremendous pressure of literal mountains of sand as it digs deep through the desert on the hunt for whatever this thing eats. [if (last action was fantasise) {You don't think you can actually fuck it, but you still ask if it's down for a tumble.|You call out to it.}] A clacking response is what you get, and you try your luck once more, going through different tones and questions in an attempt to find out if it understands you at all. But just as the creature seems to make little of your words, you also cannot decipher the little clicking and rattling sounds it makes.[if (isnaga) { You were hoping your naga physiology would help with that, but it evidently does not.}] A little dejected, you keep talking to it while you run your hands along the armored plates—it does answer, after all, even if its utterances seem random and unintelligible. While not understanding speech, it must recognize it as such.

Your somewhat one-sided 'conversation' dies down after a while, having gotten you nowhere in particular, and you give it one last pat before you let up from the scorpion. Its man-sized mandibles quiver when you take a step back and have a look around the arena.

The five sandstone obelisks bear no engravings down here, and the ground between them is littered with various bits and piles of old bones and equipment. At least one full posse of weathered and sun-bleached demons is spending the rest of eternity down here, although you do turn up the carcasses and probable possessions of some other races, as well as one large carapace-piece once belonging to who-knows-what. Crushed, broken, ground to dust by their sheer age and the creature who you hear is following you close by—no merchant would ever buy any of this, unless you find one that deals in rust and rubbish.

A sigh leaves your lips as you let yet another skeleton you were inspecting fall to the ground, where it collapses with a wooden thump. Wooden? You pause, then peek down. The corner of what could be a chest peeks out beneath, filling you with the hope of a treasure hunter smelling gold as you start digging. The thing is buried deep, however, and the ground is packed hard enough to be almost rock, quickly frustrating your efforts and demanding a pause for thought.

The sound of grinding chitin directly behind you draws you out of that, and you pivot around into a terrifying array of thick, jittering blades far too close to your face for comfort. You jerk away, though the scorpion keeps clicking in what may be an insistent fashion. Not entirely convinced it won't chomp down on you, you warily move aside, away from your find. More clicking, and you're still not sure at first what it wants as it taps the earth with a single foreleg, until it then jams the tip of its claw right into the sandstone to upheave the chest in a single twist that seemed more like a simple flick of the finger for the great arachnid. That certainly works.

Voicing your thanks, to which you get another rattle, you promptly pry the wooden box open.

Nothing exciting, but a whole lot of gems, stuffed into the sand that seeped through the cracks. You grab them by the handfuls, their light clanking against each other like music to your ears while you put them safely away. In your movements, you bump against something else. It's the small tumbleweed from earlier, the one that you arguably have to thank for this whole mess.

Whatever it was that fascinated you initially, it's gone now. The withered clump of dried branches in your palm is entirely mundane, though still pretty in its own way. You decide to pocket it along with the gems; maybe there is something to it, maybe not.

That's all there probably is for treasure; now you only need to find a way back up and home. However, getting out of this pit could be a whole challenge of its own. The walls are steep, the sand treacherous[if (haswings) {, and your [wings] are still sore and crusted with dirt}]. A climb seems possible, but potentially dangerous and quite strenuous, though you suppose you don't really have any other choices.

When you test your grip in search for a good spot, you hear the scorpion again, lightly snapping its pincers until you give it your attention. It's crouched low, front pressed to the ground, very much like it's waiting for something. Is it suggesting for you to... hop on? This beast is picking up awfully quickly on behavioral cues, if that is the case, making you wonder just how large of a brain resides beneath those thick head plates.

 [Mount] [Climb Alone]


> [Mount]
//Tooltip: "Try it to ride the scorpion."

You don't suppose this colossus would have any ill intentions, at this point.

The dark, chitinous plates feel smooth and surprisingly warm under your touch as you climb up the towering creature's lowered pincer joints and onto its back. It's easy to slip, but you locate a nice foothold and push yourself up. The upper carapace is relatively flat, not too difficult to stand on, but there's little to grab onto, and most of it looks fairly dodgy. Though eventually, a grove between the armor segments proves to be what you were looking for, provided it won't chop your fingers off once it moves.

Your scorpion-mount sounds a series of clacking noises after you've settled in, one that you liberally interpret as a question by their tone, so you pat its plated back and hold on tight.

A strange, pressing feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach when the gargantuan creature rises from the sands, but disappears again as quickly as it came, leaving you with an odd lightness to your gut. [if (canfly) {Riding something like this definitely feels different than flying.|Riding this thing will definitely take some getting used to.}] It gives you no time to contemplate further though, as it turns its body to the pit's wall and pokes the sandstone with its forelegs before it begins to ascend.

Holding on turns out to be far easier than you anticipated—its motions are astoundingly smooth and fluid, barely rocking you atop your perch, even as you're tipped back into an unnatural angle on this vertical climb. With it, the pressure returns once more, and you elect to press yourself flat against the carapace to [if (isnaga) {try and coil as much of your tail as you can over its bulk|let your [feet] find additional purchase on another plate}] while the ground grows ever more distant, the scorpion scaling the sandy walls in a sure-footed, perfectly rhythmic crawl very much akin to its normal-sized brethren. For a moment, you crane your neck as far as you dare and take a peek around you.

There's not much to see. A good bit out of reach, the stone of the nearest pillar is growing progressively more rugged, and far below, earth and darkness are melding together into a single amorphous mass. And as your ride approaches the overhanging mouth of this trap-like pit, you'd rather fight the gluttonous pull of gravity than enjoy the view.

Soon after, the arachnid crests the dunes above like a mighty man-of-war, having carried you—its captain—out of its lair and onto Mareth's surface swiftly and safely. The scorpion skitters down on the other side, where it tapers to a halt and snakes itself flat into the sand before remaining still. The next clatter vibrates its entire body, emanating from somewhere underneath your fingers. You suppose it means for you to get off. It feels good to unclasp your sore hands, and a light wind caresses your face as you take the couple meters of a slide to dismount.[if (ischild) { You resist the impulse to climb right back up and do that again.}]

" + (time.hours >= 19 && time.hours < 21 ? "Night has fallen, and in the moon's light" : (time.hours >= 21 || time.hours < 4 ? "In the moonlight" : "In the sunlight")) + ", the black carapace has taken on a marvellous, regal shimmer, quite like real, polished obsidian. You observe the light be both scattered and absorbed by ebony armor, accentuating each bulking curvature and making the creature appear even more majestic here, under the clear sky. By sheer power of presence, one could well call this a 'deity', even.

Though enthralling as it may be, you cut yourself from the soft reflections. You're pretty sure it knows what comes next, and a light rattle to your goodbye is a fitting reply, you think. One last time, you run your [hand] over the length of its pincer as you [if (singleleg) {slide|step}] away, ending it with a pat upon the very tip.

The scorpion doesn't follow you. Instead, it just sits there the few times you glance back, watching you depart, one massive blot of onyx in the desert that slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes from view behind the sandhills.

//Desert rose get!
//Gems +713
//Back to camp
//Two hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared


> [Climb Alone]
//Tooltip: "Better not. You'll climb that wall on your own."

As helpful and docile as it has been over the past hour or so, you're not quite ready to trust it with your life like that. No, you'd rather make the climb on your own. The scorpion's clicks take on an astoundingly dejected tone as it becomes apparent you're not going to take its invitation. Again, you puzzle about the extent of its mental capacity.

But anyway, you have a wall to scale.

The way up is an arduous one, and more than a few times, your heart is forced to skip a beat as you threaten to slip up. You're not sure what the enormous arachnid, following so close beneath you, would do if you ever fell, but you're not eager to find out. And you don't. With your goal set firm in your mind, you finally arrive on Mareth's surface once again—panting, sweating, and aching, but glad to be back.

A small tide of sand comes rushing down as the creature crests the dune right behind. It settles against the slope, facing you, its tail crowning the pit that is its home with a segmented half-ring of onyx. Under the [if (hour >= 18) {dark[if (isday) {ened}]|bright}] sky, the [if (hour >= 18) {moon|sun}]'s light is more absorbed than reflected by the thick chitin of its armor, lacquering it in a marvellous, muted shimmer akin to real obsidian. It does lend the goliath a rather regal, almost deific presence.

You're pretty sure it knows what comes next, and a light rattle to your goodbye is the scorpion's way of returning it, you think. And indeed, it makes no moves to come after you; it just sits there the few times you glance back, watching you depart, one massive blot of onyx in the desert that slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes from view behind the sandhills.

//Desert Rose get!
//Gems +713
//Fatigue +35
//Back to camp
//Three hours consumed
//Sandstone Obelisks cleared





> Bog Temple > Marielle > [Give Rose]
//Should be invisible until you have actually acquired the rose and are carrying it in your inventory
//Tooltip: "Give her the desert rose you found."

Thinking that you may have found the strange plant her father was so fond of, you reach into your [inv] and tell Marielle that you have something for her.

\"<i>Hmm? A present? Oh, I pray you, 'tis quite unneedful for you to...</i>\" Her demurral fizzles out when her eyes fall upon the withered flower you've pulled out. Gradually widening, they stare transfixed at it, her pale lips cracking open but producing no sound as she hesitantly rises from her seat and steps closer, as if unable to believe what she sees.

\"<i>...Flower of stone,</i>\" she whispers, barely above her breath. \"<i>It... It is forsooth, the very one.</i>\" Finally, she starts blinking again. Rapidly. \"<i>Where— What— Why— Is that... me?</i>\" That didn't make sense, but you gather she's asking if it's for her, and you answer that by placing the plant into her hands, which she hastily outstretches.

As the gnarled ball touches her, the undead girl's mind appears to stop in its tracks altogether, and she stands gazing at the thing like she's balancing an irreplaceable heirloom on her fingertips. That comparison might not be too far off. Closing her lips, she swallows.

\"<i>Is this... fine?</i>\" she asks in a small voice, and you assure her it is. You realize she's visibly trying not to quiver. Another swallow, another tentative step, and then she all but barrels into you, sweeping you [if (tallness < 53) {up }]into a crushing, three-armed embrace, the fourth holding the plant aloft and out of immediate harm's way.

Marielle says nothing as she soundlessly buries her face in your [if (tallness > 71) {[chest]|[neck]}] and squeezes you, trembling, but clutching you tight. She does have quite some strength in those bony limbs of hers, you get to experience first-hand as she presses [if (tallness < 57) {you against her cold body|her cold body against yours}]. You stroke her back in turn, enjoying the long, unexpected, and conifer-scented hug from the usually so reserved and guarded seamstress. You'll take this as your 'thank you'.

\"<i>Water!</i>\" she cries all of a sudden, surfacing from you. In a whirlwind, she [if (tallness < 53) {sets you down|unclasps herself}], spins around, and strides towards a collection of boxes. \"<i>Where left I it... Ah!</i>\" Rummaging through a heavy chest yields her a wooden dish bowl which she hurries into the temple to fill up with puddle-water. She's practically brimming with glee when she returns and places it onto her desk together with the dried desert rose, letting the latter float and soak. You decide to join the seamstress at the edge in keenly watching the flower work its miracle.

Within the first minute, you can already spot hints of green appear inside the greyish-brown labyrinth. Slowly, they spread out and multiply while the Anastatica uncurls bit by little bit, languidly stretching its branches like a fern until they spill over the bowl's lip and down onto the table as layer after greening layer sprouts from the previously tightly packed ball. What was moments ago an unassuming tumbleweed soon has opened up into a blooming seedbed of deep emerald, tiny white blossoms dotting its now-vivid leaves. It really does live up to all its names.

\"<i>That is...</i>\" Marielle whispers besides you, looking on in awe, \"<i>remarkable.</i>\" You've never seen a regular, non-corrupted plant grow so quickly before, you comment. \"<i>Well, uhm, 'tis not... supposed to. Not quite like so.</i>\" She takes off her old-fashioned spectacles, tasking one set of hands with cleaning them while she leans forwards. You don't note anything weird with it when she lifts the flower up on one branch, and apparently, neither does she.

\"<i>...The water, mayhap?</i>\" the girl speculates in a murmur. Glasses back on her nose, she straightens up and throws a peek into the temple. \"<i>It does possess some... unusual properties. Yet still, this...</i>\"

You ask if it's really the right kind of plant.

\"<i>Not a thing certainer,</i>\" she says with a light nod. \"<i>The leaves, the bloom, the tinct... it all falls just right. I... Hmm.</i>\" Marielle gives it a testing prod and runs a few fingers through the thick-packed layers. They have by now near-fully unfurled, permitting her a thorough inspection of their intricacies.

\"<i>Well, perchance another riddle for another time. Although, ah...</i>\" Her head tilts to you. \"<i>Where came you by it?</i>\"

 [Tell Story] [Make Short]

> [Tell Story]
//Tooltip: "Tell the full story of how you came across it."

You plunged into quite an encounter there, one which you'll gladly tell Marielle about. She listens, leaning against the table as you recount your initial findings, her attention then undivided when you reveal and detail the true nature of that monolith-marked basin in the desert, your battle with its resident scorpion, " + (saveContent.scorpion == 1 ? "and how you vanquished that monstrous colossus" : (saveContent.scorpion == 2 ? "and your eventual victory over that colossus" : (saveContent.scorpion == 3 ? "and your eventual conciliation with that colossus" : (saveContent.scorpion == 4 ? "your eventual conciliation with that colossus, and how you rode atop its back to freedom" : "")))) + ". The seamstress delves into thought as you come towards the end of your story, folding her lower arms. " + (saveContent.scorpion == 4 ? "It does maybe sound like a tall tale, and you don't know whether she even believes all of it" : "You can't read her mind") + ", but whatever is going through her head, she concludes with a soft hum.

\"<i>Remarkable indeed,</i>\" you hear her say. \"<i>Right most remarkable, in all its oddlings and occurrents.</i>\" Her eyes have wandered to the plant again, where they rest for a bit before suddenly snapping back to you.

\"<i>Ah, I have erenow thanked you not, have I?</i>\" You did get a hug, though that doesn't deter her from bending down into a deep bow, her long hair close to getting itself dirty on the ground. \"<i>Thank you, [name],</i>\" she says, slowly rising up, \"<i>for a gift so much beyond all wonder that 'twould fain proclaim itself but my, ah, brain's invention.</i>\" A sigh pours out of her at those words, but it doesn't even manage to put the slightest stain onto the brilliance of her smile.

It does illustrate however that you should probably take your leave and see to your camp, to let the girl marvel at her new treasure undisturbed.

\"<i>Certainly,</i>\" Marielle says when you announce your intention, \"<i>not a moment longer shall I you from your venture hold.</i>\" She dips you a flourished curtsy, the flowing skirt of her dress fanning out with a soft flutter. \"<i>Best graces of [if (hour >= 20) {the night|all things divine}] envelop and beguide you, and... and once more, I thank you.</i>\"

Two small birds dart up when you depart. They must have been sitting right within reach of you, having somehow gone unnoticed, but now they quarrel briefly over a perch on a sconce that looks very much like a favourite spot for this temple's feathered population. You leave both them and Marielle to their respective devices, the seamstress's cheerful eyes following you all the way to the exit before she engrosses herself in the resurrected flower again.

//Back to camp
//Two hours consumed
//Desert rose lost
//Changes [Talk] > [Father] and parts of other talk options

> [Make Short]
//Tooltip: "Just give a short and general answer."

You just tell her you found it in the desert, excluding any details of your encounter there. Marielle bobs her head with an acknowledging \"<i>Hm</i>\". She then peers back at the plant, her curiosity still plain to see, but having taken a back seat to sheer delight and excitement.

\"<i>What happy chance it is to have met a venturer like you. I... Oh, I have not yet thanked you, have I?</i>\" You did get a hug, but that doesn't deter the girl from turning and bending down into a deep bow. That long hair nearly gets itself dirty on the ground. \"<i>Thank you, [name],</i>\" she says, slowly rising up, \"<i>truly.</i>\" It feels as if nothing could ever put a dent into that wonderful smile on her face.

With your present delivered and the day progressed, you decide to let the exuberant seamstress marvel at her new treasure undisturbed, by her own. She's already doing that anyway, her eyes glued to the desert rose again like it's crafted of gold and jewels.

\"<i>...Hmm?</i>\" utters she, interrupted in her study, when you make your farewell. She must have heard what you said, though, as she almost without missing a beat dips you an elaborate curtsy. \"<i>Aye, much likewise, [name]. Best graces of [if (!isday) {the night|all things divine}] envelop and beguide you, and, uhm... and once more, I thank you.</i>\"

A small bird flutters up when you depart. It must have been sitting right within reach of you, having somehow gone unnoticed, but now it makes its perch further away on a sconce that looks very much like a favourite spot for this temple's feathered population. You leave both it and Marielle to their respective devices, the girl's cheerful beam following you all the way to the exit before she renews her engrossment in the resurrected flower.

//Back to camp
//One hour consumed
//Desert rose lost
//Changes [Talk] > [Father] and parts of other talk options




> Desert Rose

Button: Desert Rose
Short name: desert rose
Long name: a desert rose
Type: Material
Base value: 1
Description:
Being a balled-up tumbleweed roughly the size of a fist, this is only a rose in name. Its branches are withered and dry, though these plants are known to miraculously spring back to false life when watered, giving the illusion of immortality.

When clicked on:
//if is in camp or cabin:
You inspect the dried-up plant. Its branches are curled up and into themselves in beautiful, labyrinthine constellations, forming a tight ball that serves to abide in this state of protection until they may be unravelled once again.

To test its supposed properties, you [walk] over to the stream and let it float in the shallows, wedging it between two stones. And curiously enough, after a few minutes of watching, you do notice a hint of green returning to the dead plant, a few of its leaves and branches slowly peeling away from the shrivelled orb to fan out as it soaks in the water. It really is like the plant is being resurrected, defying death itself.

//Else:
You look at the dried-up ball and the labyrinthine ways the plant has curled up on itself. There appears to be nothing else to it other than its strange beauty. Perhaps if you had water nearby, you could try placing the thing in it.

 [Next]
//Back to inventory
//Doesn't consume it, of course




> Onyx Scorpion Stats, Texts & Attacks


>> Stats
//Tough fight, thanks to high HP and resistances, decent to high damage, and having your speed reduced the whole time. As a unique boss monster, it should be well above generic encounters, and I'm perfectly fine with most PCs getting outright shredded here. That's kinda the point.
//Magic should be all right against it, but not an auto-win. Despite being an arthropod, fire should be ineffective.
//Firearms should do pretty high damage, but it does have a chance of blocking them. Bows are terrible, but if the stars align after a virgin sacrifice, you may still do it.
//Entirely immune to lust.
//Immune to bite attacks, like spider/naga bite.
//PC speed reduced by a third until defeated. Or maybe a half?
//Unescapable.


Name plate: Onyx Scorpion

[b:You are fighting the onyx scorpion:]
You are fighting a colossal scorpion, clad in a carapace of ebony chitin and towering before you like a dark mountain. Its shovel-shaped claws are probably used to pulverize and dig through rocks and sand alike, but they are no doubt powerful enough to crush you—and most other living things in Mareth—as well. Eight sturdy legs ending in sharp tips equip the creature with excellent balance and mobility, and a long, segmented tail curved high over its thick, armored body poses yet another deadly threat, the stinger poised and ready to dispense its venomous load into anything unfortunate or slow enough.

The arena at the bottom of this sandy pit is quite spacious, but the sheer size and speed of your opponent make it feel right claustrophobic. To complicate matters, the shifting sands underneath you give only dubious support, slowing down your movement.

[if (been poisoned) {You feel the scorpion's poison coursing through your veins, your breathing ragged and the world around you pulsing between a watery blur and a frightening clarity at erratic intervals.}]


//I'm no DM, make the level and stats whatever they need to be

Level: 30
Strength: 95
Toughness: 120
Speed: 100
Intelligence: 35
Libido: 0
Sensitivity: 0
Corruption: 35

HP: 6000
Attack: Giant Chelae, 25
Defence: Onyx Cephalothorax, 35
Lust: 100 (starts with 0)
Fatigue: 100
Lust resistance: 100%


>> Attacks
//All claw attacks (regular attacks) are lunges and will put the scorpion back into melee range if used from a distance. Doesn't matter if hit or miss, and that will be its way of closing distance
//Should only ever actively distance itself when Scorpion is low on HP
//Entirely unparryable


>Regulars

   Variant 1:
The scorpion lunges forwards,
//hit: jabbing you dead-on with one of its massive pincers, momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs.
//dodge: and you narrowly evade a jab aimed at your chest, the massive pincer furrowing the hard-packed sand before being yanked out again.
//block: but you raise your [shield] just in time to block a pincer that would have otherwise hurt a good bit.

   Variant 2:
The scorpion launches its claw at you in a quick, wide-sweeping arc,
//hit: catching you like a fly. You're scooped up and flung away, skidding painfully over the rough sand.
//dodge: but you're just far away enough to dodge it with a vigorous lunge backwards. A follow-up pounce you evade as well, and you weave yourself away from its snapping pincers.
//block: and you grip your [shield] tight to absorb a massive impact that sends you across the sand, but you remain standing.

   Variant 3:
//hit: The scorpion's quick lunge into a strike catches you off-guard, and you cry out in pain as the titanic arachnid pummels you to the ground with its onyx claw.
//dodge: The scorpion lunges and launches its claw at you, but your reflexes save you the pain of being pounded to the ground, the strike shaking only the earth.
//block: The scorpion lunges, and you swiftly raise your [shield] above your head to deflect a strike that shakes the sand around you.

   Variant 4:
The scorpion slams its pincers into the sand and surges towards you,
//hit: sweeping you up and flipping you into the air, where a swift smack delivers you right back to the ground.
//dodge: but you react quickly and sprint to the side, out of the way as the plated beast tries to bury you.
//block: and you ready your [shield] to weather the storm as it bowls into you, but nothing cracks your iron defense.

   Variant 5:
The scorpion skitters sideways and jabs at you,
//hit: which feels like an entire brick wall slamming into you as the strike connects with your body.
//dodge: but you nimbly [if (singleleg) {slide|step}] to the side, a great gust of wind following in the wake of the strike.
//block: but you catch the strike on your [shield] to deflect it away from you, leaving you unscathed.


>Grab:
//Shouldn't be used too frequently, but escape should be fairly tough
//Shouldn't be used on waiting turns
//Can't be blocked, needs to be dodged
//Continuous damage, unsure about the amount -should it be affected by Juggernaut?

  >Grabbing:
An alarming rattle comes from the scorpion as it takes a few scuttling steps, then swipes at you with a lightning-fast opened claw,
//hit: snapping it shut around you and wrenching your body high into the air. You fail to escape as the world turns over—the titanic beast waves you from side to side, its chitin grip clamping down like an enormous, ever-tightening vice. You have to get out of this, fast!
//dodge: but you're already leaping to the side, and a mighty billow of sand rises up behind you. Having snapped its pincer into nothing but empty air, the gargantuan beast drags it back, clacking at you in indignation.

  >Being held:
    Variant 1:
The claw agonizingly tightens around you, holding you fast and secure in place as the scorpion rattles at you.
    Variant 2:
It feels like you've being mangled by an enormous vice, the onyx pincer digging into your flesh with merciless strength.
    Variant 3:
The gargantuan scorpion presses down on you, making you cry out in acute agony. It's going to crush you!
    Variant 4:
The massive beast shakes you in its grasp, introducing a sickening sensation of vertigo to the pressing pain.
    Variant 5:
Suddenly slamming you into the ground, the obsidian behemoth drags you across the sand, making you helplessly cry out and sputter as the myriad grains grate against you.
    Variant 6:
The scorpion suddenly decides to take you on a round across the pit's wall, sweeping you about like a toy. You feel your insides churning in protest.
    Variant 7:
You're lifted high, far above the vicious beast as it squeezes you, the scorpion regarding you with black, unblinking eyes.

  >Escape, failure:
    Variant 1:
You wiggle and turn in the scorpion's grasp, but all you achieve is digging the pincer's edges deeper into you flesh.
    Variant 2:
Violently struggling, you attempt to escape, but there is nothing you can do to move this mighty claw.
    Variant 3:
You try to pry yourself out of the scorpion's vice-like claw, but your attempts seem to achieve nothing against its overpowering strength.
    Variant 4:
The goliath's power seems frustratingly insurmountable as you struggle and fight against it, making no progress in freeing yourself.
    Variant 5:
You punch and kick at the massive claw trapping you, but it continues to hold you tight.

  >Escape, success:
As you fight this titanic pincer with all you have, something suddenly seems to give way. Seizing your chance, you push as hard as you can and wriggle, which eventually grants you enough leverage to pry yourself free with a mighty heave. Your enjoyment of the sand returning underneath your [if (singleleg) {[legs]|[feet]}] is short-lived however, as a sharp clicking announces another grab that you only dodge by a hair's breadth before you scramble away from the irritated beast. Once more, you turn and ready your [weapon].


>Specials:
//The lower the scorpion's HP, the higher the probability of using specials

  >Stinger
//Initial damage half of a regular attack when hit
//Adds poison blurb to main fight scene
//Poison does lowish damage, but reduces regular accuracy while making magic near-impossible to cast, like a 90% chance of failing
//Lasts 6 turns, can be cleansed
//While poison is active, won't be attempted again

In one great pounce, the mountainous arachnid is upon you, shattering your balance with a swift strike and pinning you to the ground, its tail looming over you. You only have a few split-seconds to struggle free and roll away before the plunging stinger
//hit: catches you, tearing your flesh while you try to distance yourself as far as you can. Agony jolts through you with every motion, and a sinking, sapping sensation joins the warm blood running down your body, your mind and vision quickly descending into a roiling mess. [b:You must have been poisoned!]
//dodge: impales itself into the ground. You got out in the nick of time, but a second strike is right on the heels of the first, not allowing you a single heartbeat of inattention until you're out of the beast's effective skewering range.
//block: impacts a [shield] that you managed to raise at just the last moment. Another venomous strike plummets into your guard, but you hold on and safely back out of the tail's effective thrusting range.

    Failing a spell this way:
You try to cast the spell, but everything around you reels and swims like you've been plunged repeatedly into icy water, driving you to the edge of vomiting, and a flaring pain in your gut shatters what little concentration you still had. Your magic sizzles in its inception as you double over.


  >Tail Slam
//High damage, slightly lower accuracy
//Always ends the turn distanced

The beast skitters up the wall, and a slight turn of its colossal body as its pincers anchor themselves is all the warning you get before the entire length of the its tail comes whipping down in a howling arc of black obsidian.
//hit: It slams right into you, maiming you with a force that tears the ground you're being flattened against. You thank whatever compels the scorpion to drag its appendage back like a snake and give you the time you need to gather yourself again. It's simply circling you from afar, watching.
//dodge: The slam tears into the ground, sand spewing up like a volcano around it, but you remain unharmed. It missed, thankfully, and the scorpion quickly realizes that fact, withdrawing the appendage like a snake while sounding a slow, snapping rattle. It then circles you from afar, keeping its eyes on you.
//block: The slam connects with your [shield], its sheer momentum so great that you're still forced to get out of there, or be maimed under who knows how many tonnes of chitin. You're thankfully granted a few moments to treat your stinging eyes and muscles while the scorpion retracts its appendage like a snake. It then circles you from afar, watching.


  >Pocket Sand
//Only used when distanced
//Low damage
//Next PC attack/spell has halved accuracy, even when dodged. Blocking prevents the debuff, though

Ramming its pincers down, the towering behemoth unearths a deep shovelful of sand and hurls it towards you.
//hit: The billowing wave engulfs you, but before you can even think to shield your eyes, a large boulder of something barrels you down, knocking you right [if (singleleg) {to the ground|off your feet}]. It shatters from the impact, only to bury you under broken rocks and suffocating sand. You fight yourself free, sputtering and barely able to see anything.
//dodge: The billowing wave engulfs you, stinging your eyes, getting into [if (!isnaked) {your [armor]|places it really shouldn't be}], and robbing you of your orientation, but you do manage to dodge the worst: a large chunk, more a like boulder, rumbles past to shatter against one of the sandstone pillars.
//block: You cover yourself with your [shield], feeling a large chunk of something barrel into you that shatters upon impact but leaves you unscathed.

   Missing an attack afterwards:
You're too preoccupied with getting the sand out of your eyes, missing your opportunity to do anything other than that.


  >Trample
//Multi-hit attack (6x: pincer, four legs, tail)
//Fairly high damage if entirely unavoided, pincer and tail do lower damage than legs
//Always ends the turn distanced
//Unblockable

Its claws linked in front of itself like an impenetrable shield, the titanic arachnid comes charging at you with the might of a great tide. You have neither time nor space to get away,
//1: and the pincers catch you right-on to pummel you to the ground. | but you do manage to duck under the pincers, prostrating yourself low to the ground.
//New lines for each
//2: The first leg steps right on top of you and squeezes the air out of your lungs. | You roll away to avoid its first leg squashing you.
//3: Its second leg painfully pins your shoulder, its colossal weight stabbing into you. | You jerk your arm out of harm's way before it gets mutilated by another leg.
//4: A tortured cry escapes you when its third leg digs into your hips and threatens to crush them. | You escape the third leg crushing your hips by mere luck.
//5: The fourth leg gores you in the gut as you try to get out, compressing your organs in ways they aren't supposed to be. | You predict where the fourth leg will hit, staying safe where you are.
//6: Its massive tail, dragging behind, clobbers your head as it draws over you, pressing you right back into the sand for a few humiliating moments longer before you can pull yourself upright again and face the beast. | You successfully shield yourself from its massive, dragging tail and wait for a few moments longer until it has fully passed over you before you rise again, shake yourself off, and face the beast.
//All: It half-hangs from the far obelisk, observing you while it clicks its pincers.


  >Hammer
//Good amount of armour penetration
//One round of stun on hit -ignoring Resolute?

A low rattle flows right into a rapid double pincer-strike at the ground that upsets your [if (singleleg) {stability|footing}] and whirls up a gust of sand. For a moment, you can't see anything.
//hit: And when you do see it, it's already too late; the onyx claw smashes down upon you like a titan-sized sledge hammer. It has the effect of one, too. Dazed, devoid of strength, and hoping you didn't break anything important, you struggle to stand up at all, let alone [if (!hasweapon) {raise|grab for}] your [weapon].
//dodge: You dodge away on instinct, and fortunately so. Through the cloud, a claw immediately smashes down like a titan's sledge hammer, obliterating everything where you just stood.
//block: You grunt when, through the cloud, a claw immediately smashes down into your [shield] raised high, making you buckle under its titanic, earth-rumbling impact. But you hold steadfast.


>> Blocks

>Blocking bow shot:
//Fairly high chance, making bows pretty shit

   Variant 1:
The arrow glances off with a pitiful, wooden clank as it connects with the beast's carapace.
   Variant 2:
Your shot hits one of the arachnid's enormous obsidian plates, simply ricocheting off its natural armor.
   Variant 3:
You hit an armor plate, your shot bouncing off without doing even the slightest harm.
   Variant 4:
Raising a massive claw, the scorpion swiftly shields itself from your arrow, rendering your shot useless.
   Variant 5:
The scorpion jerks aside in a frightening, almost prophetic reflex. Your arrow impales itself into the sand behind it.


>Blocking firearms:
//Somewhat low chance to block

   Variant 1:
Your shot glances off one of the scorpion's thick, chitinous plates, embedding itself into the sand.
   Variant 2:
You miss its squishier parts by a hair, the bullet ricocheting off the onyx arachnid's natural armor. It's hissing, but uninjured.
   Variant 3:
The gargantuan scorpion suddenly jerks downwards, angling its armor against you, and your bullet deflects off its back-carapace. It left nothing more than a smudge.
   Variant 4:
With impressive speed, the arachnid raises one of its pincers to its face, just in time to deflect your bullet. An irritated rattling sound suggests it definitely felt the impact.
   Variant 5:
The enormous beast tries to dodge to the side, but your shot still catches a rounded obsidian plate, whizzing off into the unknown. The scorpion seems agitated, but unhurt.


>Blocking physical attacks:
//Lowish chance to block, but should happen every now and then

   Variant 1:
Your strike is met with nigh-impenetrable onyx armor, glancing off the thick plate without doing any harm.
   Variant 2:
Your attack is just slightly off, and you connect with the mighty beast's carapace, leaving nothing more than a scratch on the heavy chitin.
   Variant 3:
As you lunge forwards, the titan kicks up a billow of sand with its forelegs, throwing your aim off enough to make you miss your mark and skid off its heavy chitinous armor.
   Variant 4:
The massive goliath skitters backwards, raising its claws in a hurried block. The formidable pincers prove too thick to be damaged, and you bounce off its guard.
   Variant 5:
The beast suddenly strikes the ground before you, disrupting your attack with a titanic pincer in your way, your balance and momentum ruined.


>> Miscellaneous

>PC using any bite attack against it:
//5 self-damage for your idiocy

You lunge forwards, fangs bared, and bite the enormous juggernaut with all your might. A piercing pain shoots up your skull as soon as you connect, your teeth unable to produce even the slightest dent. You might as well have chomped on a rock!


>React to tease:
//Tease always fails

   Variant 1:
The gargantuan scorpion seems entirely unaffected by your display.
   Variant 2:
The towering arachnid shows no interest in your sexual advances.
   Variant 3:
It appears you have no effect whatsoever on the mighty onyx beast.
   Variant 4:
Your teasing seems ineffective, the scorpion not reacting to any of it.
   Variant 5:
The arachnid observes you with its tiny, black eyes, but nothing hints at you having affected it in the slightest.
   Variant 6:
You observe no visible effects that your teasing could have had.
   Variant 7:
By the looks of it, the scorpion doesn't even understand what you're trying to do.


>PC trying to run:
//Always fails
//Take ~50 damage for trying

   If PC can fly:
You beat your wings, trying to take off and escape this scorpion-pit, but they're sore and heavy with sand. Before you can even gain any significant height, the massive creature whips its tail and slams it into you, swatting you out of the air like a mere pesky [if (silly) {moth|fly}]. You crash hard onto the ground and skid several paces before you're stopped by one of the sandstone obelisks.

Perhaps you shouldn't have tried that.

   If PC cannot fly:
You try to put some distance between you and the scorpion and hastily attempt to climb up the wall of this pit, hands grasping for purchase wherever they can. Before you can get far however, the massive creature is upon you. It rakes one of its claws across the sand to pick you off and toss you against an obelisk, where you slide down in a pained heap, cursing your own decisions.

Perhaps you shouldn't have tried that.


>Distancing:
//Should only be used when scorpion is low HP, but not be spammed
//Closing distance is done by way of attacking. It does not have a dedicated approach-action, and it will never try to chase you

Rattling at you in aggravation, the scorpion scurries backwards and partially along the hole's high wall, putting some considerable distance between you as it circles the arena with raised claws.


>Idle action:
//Should rarely ever use it, but has a high chance (~50% or higher) of doing so if you choose to wait/tease/fantasise/distance that turn
//Scorpion's block/dodge chance increased for that round, if used. Is that possible? You're acting before your enemy, after all

   Variant 1:
The creature decides to simply regard you, keeping its tiny eyes on you as it skitters from side to side.
   Variant 2:
Slowly circling sideways, the massive beast keeps its pincers and tail-end pointed at you, but makes no move to attack.
   Variant 3:
The obsidian behemoth shuffles in place, clacking its claws in warning, but nothing more.
   Variant 4:
The massive pincers open wide, and you [if (hasshield) {lift your shield|get ready to dodge}], but they simply remain like that, in an obvious threat directed at you.
   Variant 5:
The titanic beast's many feet scrape across the ground, throwing up small clouds of sand as the scorpion skitters around a pillar.
   Variant 6:
In a sudden flurry of movement that jerks you to full alert, the gargantuan arachnid scurries across the wall of the pit, making a near-full circle around you before settling down again and continuing to stare at you.
   Variant 7:
Sitting perfectly still, the dark colossus seems content with not attacking, instead merely staring at you.
   Variant 8:
The great, obsidian titan swipes its claws across the ground, just out of your range, gathering a heap of sand for apparently no reason.
   Variant 9:
Rhythmically thumping the ground with its enormous pincers, the scorpion bares its mandibles and rattles them at you, though doesn't do anything further.


>PC Fantasising:
//Perhaps restricted to silly mode, though anyone fantasising here probably wouldn't mind these anyway

   Variant 1:
You imagine the massive onyx beast lying on its back for you, spreading its segmented legs in lustful invitation.
   Variant 2:
You try to think of all the ways you could use that long, thick tail to sate your lust. There are too many to choose.
   Variant 3:
Looking at those gigantic, pitch-black pincers really gets your juices flowing, your hands and groin itching to get a good feel of them.
   Variant 4:
You heard somewhere that scorpions 'dance' with one another as they mate. The sheer thought of you being this titanic obsidian beast's dancing partner fills you with a gentle warmth and lust for more.
   Variant 5:
You try to imagine what a wedding night with a scorpion would be like. The perverted possibilities and positions you come up with would even make a succubus blush" + (player.isFeminine() && player.race == "demon-morph" ? ", and that's exactly what's happening" : "") + ".
   Variant 6:
That [if (silly) {thicc|thick}], onyx carapace looks too arousing for your dirty mind—you just have to imagine rubbing yourself all over it, naked, like the arachnophiliac slut you are.