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You foundered and collapsed, but not by your own will. With sudden and immense power, a solid wreck struck into your feet and, as you fell, pulled you down into the mushy ground. You caught the whiff, and the burning scent, of the beast’s bloodcurdling—in more ways than one—stomach spew as it flew inches away from your face. You opened your eyes, and, as you feared, the many drops continued to sink through the air towards you. As you curled yourself, a mantle of thick lichen slithered over your face and the rest of its body: the opposite side of it was of a heavy stone.
Like insect mouths, thousands of them moved and chattered, softly biting and tickling the outlines of your face.
“We can move? Can’t you hear? We can talk. We can chat-debate-and-tittle-tattle. We don’t want to listen to you. We don’t tittle-tattle. Do we have to carry this heavy stone around, now? We grew around it, it protected us for so long. Our filaments feel sticky, we don’t think we should let go of it. It’s like our shell. More like our home. We will roll it with us, now it’ll be easy. We are attached to this stone. Child, we are grateful. -We- aren’t. We love to be sentient!”
> Express gratitude to the sentient-moss-on-stone for protecting you. Ask if it can drag you away from the beast.
> Ask the sentient-moss-on-stone if they’ll allow you to throw at the beast’s head or shoulders to crawl beneath its scales and gnaw on its skin and flesh. You are not sure how much damage that is going to make to it.
> Pick up the sentient-moss-on-stone and throw it at the reptile’s head, no time for questions. Buy yourself enough time to stand up and then run away back to where Veronica is standing.
> Cry out for the Black Horn’s help, even though it looks as if it is the one losing the battle one. If it doesn't fight any better, Vermin -will- be hurt.
> If the axe is going to be sentient as well, then it’s only a matter of time. Request a deed of it. [What?]
> [Write In]
