Concerning the [mwcard=MW1C12]Emerald Tegu[/mwcard],
A published letter from The Wanderings of Amadseer the Cursed[/size]
The Emerald Tegu can be found on the outskirts of the Darkfenne, living in and around the stagnant bog waters that are a traveler's first indication that a darker, harsher world has arrived. There are a few scattered villages in the area -- mostly outposts manned by poor wood elves, eking out a existence on fish and bog oil.
During my visit to one such outpost -- a rundown palisade with the auspicious name of Woegate -- I had opportunity to see the cunning of the [mwcard=MW1C12]Emerald Tegu [/mwcard] firsthand.
I was huddled near the palisade's central firepit (there being no inn in the vicinity), when I heard a soft scrabbling and a sound that was reminiscent of bullfrogs or the white singing crickets found in the deep caves near the coast of Sortilege. Apparently, I was not the first to hear the sounds -- the villagers (who were apparently used to such incursions) had already grabbed spears and rushed to the edge of the clearing around the palisade. There were other cries within the camp to rouse those who were sleeping.
One thing I will say about the Tegu -- it was not the sort of creature to fear the site of a man (or men). It continued its approach toward the encampment, as if it expected a warm reception. (I was told later that it did -- that this was its way of hunting, of drawing out villagers.) It was a large, mottled creature, with a curious pattern of raised lumps along its neck, back and legs, that reminded me of heirloom cucumbers or unsavory gourds. The creature's skin was a mottle of dirty blue and yellow, but had a curiously beautiful green sheen when it caught the light of moon and torches.
It rushed the guards who had run out to engage it with their spears, lashing out with its heavy tail and snapping with short, black teeth. I noted how the villagers avoided its maw at all costs, yelling at their fellows to beware its venom. One such guard was unlucky and was knocked to the ground and pinned momentarily by the Tegu’s tail — just long enough to find himself the object of the bite.
I had heard of the Tegu’s rotting venom, but to see it work was something else altogether. Only moments after the beast had mauled the villager’s arm, pustules formed around the bloody bite, black and quivering, pulsating and rippling outward across the poor man’s arm and chest as if a stone of pestilence had been thrown in a pond. In their wake, the skin broke and bled, rivulets of emerald green venom running in rivulets between the ruined masses of skin and muscle. [It is from this that the Emerald Tegu gets its name, as the creatures flesh varies in color from locale to locale, rather than because of its hide. That said, tegu leather is valued by tanneries in Ivarium, and is often used for archery bracers and the like.)
I am no Priestess of Asyra. The man’s fate was sealed the second the venom touched his skin. Still, there are things that a Wizard of the White Spires can do in such situations — like saving everyone else.
I yelled at the villagers to back away (which they were only too glad to do), and then I called down a rain of boulders, burying the beast under their weight. I moved closer to make certain the beast was dead, only to hear a scream in the back of the palisade. I found myself running alongside the villagers past the central fire pit and out past the main shelters where we found another Tegu lumbering back into the wooded clearing, a young girl wood elf girl of 3 or 4 limp and covered in pustules in its maw.
The scream had come from the mother apparently. The beasts had worked in tandem, one drawing us out toward the front of the encampment, while its mate had snuck around from behind to grab dinner for them both. Sadly, without a Purfiy spell or the like, there was no help for the girl. The villagers knew it too, though it did not quiet the sobs from the mother.
Chasing the creature in the darkness of the night was out of the question. We set about our task of preparing the body of the fallen villager for burial. This was a task I would leave to the inhabitants of Woegate. On the morrow, I would set out into the heart of the Darkfenne, looking for the Necromancer Dor-Ghulset. Perhaps, in his ranging the depths of the swamp and its ancient barrows, he would be able to shed some light on how my curse could be lifted. At least, there was that chance.
Which is to say, that there are many diverse and interesting things in the world, none of which are comparable to the might and power of the Arraxian Crown. Those who would trifle with the power of Warlocks must forever learn this fundamental truth.
--Amadseer the Cursed, Wizard of Sortilege
Amadseer is a Wizard of Sortilege, driven by Dark-compulsion to wander the land, following a string of highly humiliating Seeking Dispels (and accompanying jeers) that he successfully cast in a public duel with the Warlock Telas Vane. Now, unable to help himself, he writes of his travels wherever he goes, the creatures he encounters, and the lore with which he comes into contact. Such is the nature of his compulsion that he must publish all of his missives, and end each work with a short paragraph singing praises to the Arraxian Crown, and warning all about the follies of underestimating a Warlock.
