His face still looked semi-human, although huge curved tusks of a wild boar were grafted on his face, contorting his mouth into a perpetual snarl. His long, dark, thick, wavy hair flowed down his back, turning into a mane at his shoulders, which continued well down the middle of his back.
His own arms remained, having the hands replaced with pincers like a crab. Three other sets of appendages had been grafted onto his elongated torso. He had the hairy legs of a giant spider directly under his own arms. These were tipped in vicious talons. Below them, he had a set of spindly, brittle legs like an ant. The final set of appendages could be called neither arms nor legs, but were more like tentacles from a squid. The final touch was a giant scorpion tale. (Description from Shakazhan)
Surau was hungry and tired of eating his kills raw. The Blue Devils were easy to catch and kill, but tasted far better fried or roasted. His patience neared its end.
Since leaving his prison, he had roamed around the underbelly of Shakazhan, hiding from possible pursuit. It became apparent, fairly early on, that he wasn’t being chased. He was offended because it meant they didn’t consider him important enough to search for.
The truth of it was, they had forgotten about him in the avalanche of events following his escape. The disappearance of Matilda, and Wil’s obsession with finding her, had shoved all thought of Surau from everyone’s minds.
Grumbling, he dressed and prepared his daily meal. He allowed himself one meal a day. It saved time and energy on his part. Although he had both in abundance, he felt more like a fugitive this way, and that pleased him.
His meal complete, Surau cleaned himself as well as he could in his crude surroundings. He had found a place to camp which had water and power. These spots on Shakazhan were rare indeed and he intended to stay here until something better presented itself. Since he had been here several months, the likelihood of his moving on was quite negligible.
The only drawback to his camp was the lack of anything to cook in. He had no fuel for a fire either, so he was reduced to raw meat. It was another reason he had taken to eating only once a day. Facing raw blue meat for three meals held little appeal. He found himself thinking about moving on and had taken to scouting raids, looking for somewhere to go which was better. So far, he had found nothing.
His plan for the day was to examine a set of passages a few kilometers to the east of his position. Having traveled under ground for several decades, he knew to blaze a trail as he went, so that he could find his way back later on. Surau was many things, but he wasn’t a fool.
Picking up the bones from his meal, he detoured long enough to drop them at the head of a passage leading to the Blue Devil territory. What they might do with the bones he didn’t know or care, but they were always gone when he came back. They had given up attacking him several weeks ago when it became apparent that the more raids they sent, the more of them died. Not wishing to make hunting easier for Surau, they had come to the conclusion that hiding was prudent.
After some deliberation on their parts, the Blue Devils decided for the betterment of the clan, they’d allow Surau to catch one of them a day. This individual died bravely, for the benefit of all. Generally, an older person, one who found the burden of life great, would volunteer.
Eventually, they hoped, the monster would tire of his campsite and move on. He had been there many months and still he stayed. The time had come for more overt action and so they Blue Devils, or Chimarria, as they called themselves, prayed to the Goddess of Light for help and guidance. If the Silver Lady couldn’t help them, they feared they’d soon be extinct.
© Dellani Oakes 2015