Considering Symon wasn't interested in seeing how his Constitution held up to getting hit by a half-tonne humanoid crocodile, he had to come up with something fast. He doubted he could outrun it over open ground, so he wouldn't even try, but that didn't leave him with many options.
Charging at it with his sword... he'd leave that for plan B. With Swords guiding his weapon and his magic to sustain him, he'd be able to put up a good fight, but he wasn't going to try something that risky unless he had to. A capable beginner like him would have his work cut out for him against something so physically superior. Symon didn't have any more time to plan, the long strides of his opponent rapidly eating up the distance between them, so he had to do something before it was too late. After all, perfect is the enemy of good.
With that in mind, he made a break for another one of the small sheds, one that was positioned between them and off to the side. Neglecting following the cleared pathways, Symon ran through the roses, heedless of those he crushed underfoot.
His opponent let out a deep roar, but even despite its rage, it didn't stray from the cleared footpaths in its circuitous pursuit of Symon.
He huffed out deep breaths as he sprinted for cover. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the flowers followed him like sunflowers tracking the sun. They didn't seem to be doing anything else, so he just filed it away for later. The heavy footfalls behind him — dangerously close — spurred him into increasing his own pace and ignoring any oddities.
The inhuman snarling was only getting louder, but Symon refused to slow himself down by looking over his shoulder. Physically, the roses weren't a barrier. Their small thorns scored little lines in his shoes as he trampled over and through them, but they inflicted no injury and didn't slow him down. Even if they had scratched him, such minor wounds would vanish in only a few seconds, while the vitality from the roses could power his healing indefinitely.
That wouldn't be the case if he got into claw or fang range of his pursuer, so he once more picked up the pace. His legs drove into the ground like pistons, slamming down as fast as he could force them to as he launched his body across the grounds. His Running adjusted his posture, keeping him upright and mostly balanced as he practically flew over the uneven terrain.
The growling and snapping behind him hadn't gotten any closer by the time he arrived at one of the freestanding sheds, but he hadn't gained any distance either. He didn't have a proper plan for how he was going to use the building, so he'd have to come up with something fast. Either way, it sure beat running away on flat ground and getting caught — the waist-high wall encircling the grounds wouldn't have slowed either of them down much.
Without any time to plan, all Symon could manage was the need to get away. He crouched down before launching himself up in a move that would have made a kangaroo proud. He wasn't about to be leaping over skyscrapers in a single bound anytime soon, but even his comparatively meagre Strength was enough to send him a good distance up.
While the building appeared well made, the passage of time had still worn it down. Several of the formerly neatly packed bricks were loose or even missing entirely, giving him ample footholds and handholds as he scampered up the wall. The roses had further contributed to the damage, the flowers sprouting from the roof and sides, their roots pushing through the mortar.
To his surprise, the charging lizard man didn't plough into the wall directly behind him. Risking a glance down, he saw it standing in one place, its massive form completely still as it stared up at him from the cleared pathway. He'd expected it to be heaving for breath, at least.
It was difficult for Symon to climb the wall with a sword in one hand, but he managed it. The whole time, his opponent still hadn't made any move to continue the attack. It was only a single-story building — with a low roof at that — but it made no attempt to jump up after Symon, something it could surely accomplish. The roof was slightly sloped, but Symon wasn't in any danger of falling off. He used the sudden break in the conflict to get a better look at his opponent, now that he wasn't running for his life.
It was less of a half-crocodile, half-human and more of a bipedal crocodile with clothes. There wasn't any humanity in its face, although the eyes were intelligent, even clouded by anger as they were.
The first thing Symon noticed was the smell. The roses were completely odourless, but now he was picking out the sickly sweet scent of rot. A cursory examination made it clear the lizard was the source. It was covered in old wounds, seemingly from a variety of sources. He recognised large slashes from a sword, smaller and deeper wounds from an axe, and little punctures the size of arrowheads.
"Yeah, you're telling me. All the wounds are clearly old, but none of them have even begun to heal," he thought back. It felt very strange to calmly observe the being that just seconds ago was chasing him down, but it made no move to do anything beyond growl and glare.
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It was barely in range of his draining, so he shifted the thread from one of the many roses to his hulking opponent. He left it unempowered, hoping to steal as much vitality as he could stealthily. To his surprise, the moment the thread made contact, it reacted. Its smaller upper arms — not on the same level as a t-rex, but still noticeable — pounded against its chest like an ape before slowly stepping back. Once the thread was forced to snap off, it stopped its slow retreat.
The hell? It can feel the threads work?
Symon probably shouldn't be thinking of the gharzoth as an 'it'. He could admit that he had difficulty empathising with something — someone — that looked so completely inhuman.
But they had spoken to him. They even had a silly little apron on, although any quaint effect was ruined by the rust-coloured bloodstains on it. And in a way, Symon had invaded their home.
"Hello," Symon tried. "My name is Symon. What's yours?" He wasn't seriously expecting diplomacy to work, but he saw no reason not to try. Worst case scenario, it tries to kill him, which was just where they'd left off before.
The hulking lizard let out a wordless snarl in response. This gave Symon an uncomfortably detailed view of the inside of the gharzoth's mouth. He shuddered involuntarily when he saw rosebuds growing on the tongue and cheeks. When the being shifted slightly, he spotted a large, gaping wound on the back of its neck. It didn't go all the way through to the other side, but it was close. Like with all the other injuries, it was clearly old and without any bleeding, but distinctly unhealed.
"Are you seeing that shit?" he asked his only companion.
"Dead, right?" Symon added. If it could walk around with mortal injuries like that, it probably wasn't so mortal. Keelgrave's very nature had shown Symon the undead existed.
"Do you understand me?" Symon spoke aloud, doing his best to enunciate his words. He'd been told he had an odd, unplaceable accent. As it turns out, having a native language from another world and then being taught a new one by someone born almost a hundred years ago in a relatively small country that had since had its culture absorbed into the Empire...
Yeah, I must sound a little strange.
He knew the gharzoth could understand him, what with it being able to speak a few words of Common, but he doubted it was interested in talking things out.
"Intruder..." it growled simply while staring up at him.
For whatever reason, it didn't want to climb up to get Symon, while he wasn't interested in climbing down to get it. They were at an impasse.
"Yes, I'm an intruder, but I didn't know someone still lived here. I'm just looking for information on the dungeon, then I'll stop bothering you."
"No... escape..." it ground out. It was difficult to ascribe human emotions to it, but the anger came through easily enough. Some things were universal.
Creepy bastard, Symon thought. It was clear to him he wouldn't be getting out peacefully, but he could at least try and get some information from it.
"How long have you been living here? Did you know Lady Renske?" he asked.
Another slow groan emerged from its gaping maw, this one containing something other than just anger. "I... protect..."
Symon frowned. It protects the grounds and manor, or the Lady? If it was the latter, is she a revenant like the gharzoth?
"Maybe I can help the Lady," Symon offered. "I'm a healer, and a good one at that." It sounded like it was far too late for any healing, but it could be the in he needed.
The gharzoth took a half-step forward, obviously struggling with something. "No... I protect flowers... kill intruder..."
Really? He's mad over me stepping on some flowers? Looking at the roof he'd been standing on, most of the flowers that had been growing on it and the supporting walls had been drained to death. Only a few remained. The building was small enough that his central location gave him enough range to reach all of it with his threads.
It seemed more likely that the Lady Renske was long out of the picture, and this guy was just going through the motions. He wasn't sure if gharzoths were just simple beings or if it was the undead nature. Even on Earth, spirits were known for haunting the place they died, not that Symon had believed in ghosts until recently. It was feasible that something about being undead simplified their mind and made it stick to one place. Although...
Despite being a disembodied spirit, Keelgrave had the personality of a normal guy. Well, that wasn't exactly right, but it was mostly the same as when he was alive and normal for Keelgrave. He seemed a little harsher, but that edge had always been there, judging by the memory dreams. Growing a little jaded during life wasn't necessarily caused by magic.
His simplistic interlocutor wasn't a spirit, though. Revenants could easily just be the equivalent of a brainless zombie.
The hulking lizard man took another slow step forward, growling all the while as if responding to his thought. Another step, and he would be in the range of Symon's draining.
Symon stared at it nervously. He figured his best course of action was simply to wait. It seemed to be working itself up to climb onto the shed, its head thrashing side to side as it struggled with something, but he could still use it to his advantage. It didn't seem to care for the pain the wounds would have inflicted on a living person, but he was sure that damaging the muscles enough could still prevent it from using them. Of course, magic was involved, but he didn't know to what extent it aided movement. For all he knew, the flesh was just for decoration and it was really just a walking skeleton propelled entirely by magic.
He didn't think so, though. Anatomy was helping, showing him the way the foreign musculature shifted and pulled to allow movement. Symon silently observed as its low growl slowly ascended in pitch, turning into a keening whine. Its arms wrapped around its own body in a hug, the large claws leaving bloodless furrows as it drew them across its torso. Tearing away his gaze, he looked back at the overgrown, partially ruined manor, then at the field of carefully manicured roses and impeccably maintained pathways.
"It looks like you've been taking care of this garden for a while, bud. Maybe it's time you rest."
He didn't feel scared of the big lizardman anymore. He only felt pity.