It was during my most recent patrols of the Lake of Bass'ken that the oddest of events occurred. A whistle blared through the air from Old Man Logan's hut, and over a loudspeaker system he announced the entry of a particular Animated. He declared it to be dangerous, but pertinent in that it must be dealt with. Seeing nothing better to do, I took to the scene. Several Gaians rallied to the spot of the contraptions as the location revealed itself to our PDAs.
It was breathtaking, to say the least. The massive drill spun upon the soft earth, dislodging mounds of earth as if it were nothing, diving with its pointed knuckle down into the bellies of downed Gaians. It was mad with rage, red-eyed -- and forever encircling it lay massive blades, twirling on the beast's rimmed carapace.
The air was filled with the sound of rings activating -- swords came from oblivion, piercing the thing, attempting to find purchase on its metallic shell; with heat boiling from beneath and above, attempting to warp the thing from its frenzied assault; with green flashes of disembodied health flying hither and thither; of electricity righting the fallen. It was a mass of orgiastic magnitudes -- Gaians for one cause.
The battle continued, with my present body easily being battered and bruised by the devil; it was in the waning moments that I found it to be jittery, bearing the weight of its wounds as it spun like a top in place, wary of our fleshy presence. That was when I flung myself to it, with abandon -- my focus flowed reflexively through my rings, and I manifested what I may. I remember acutely throwing myself upon its body, grasping the manifested blade I summoned through my ring, and attempting to scrape away the last flaps of life the thing held; begging for my last strike to land and fell the beast before my injuries caused me to succumb, for my blade to strike true. My Slash fell -- but the beast did not. It bucked me from its cold shell, and downed me quickly. I remember nothing else, but a succumbing blackness.
When I awoke, I was awarded for my efforts with an object -- something had found its way into my hand, my grasp, as I lay turbulent in the throes of unwaking life. A screw, of odd proportions -- heavy, green, lengthy, spiraled. I feel honored, but a bit baffled.
I shall add this to my inventory, and study it at a later date. I hope my messages to the G.U. student find their way to and back... perhaps he would know what to make of this thing.
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Danse de la Terreur
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