The forest swallowed me whole that night, the damn trees closin' in like they had a grudge. My claws scraped bark, tail thrashin' through the undergrowth, and every breath came out in a steamy growl. That fire back at my hut roared like a beast itself, lightin' up the sky, and I knew the villagers'd be on my tail soon—pitchforks high, fear in their eyes. I was no monster, not in my gut, but this curse—this lizard thing—had turned me into somethin' they'd never understand. The amulet burned hot against my chest, its hum poundin' like a war drum, and that whisper—"The throne awaits"—kept rattlin' in my skull. Throne? Hell if I knew what it meant, but it felt like a hook sinkin' deep.
I pushed deeper, muscles bulkin' under them scales, the cold night air bitin' at my hide. My amber eyes cut through the dark, seein' shapes no man should—twisted roots glowin' faintly, shadows movin' like they had minds of their own.
The beast in me wanted to fight, to tear into whatever came, but the man—damn him—clung to reason, tellin' me to hide, to think. I dropped behind a fallen log, chest heavin', scales glintin' in the moonlight. The transformation was ebbing, thank the gods, leavin' patches of skin where the lizard pulled back. But that hunger—that raw, gut-twistin' urge—stayed, makin' my blood boil.
Then I heard it—a voice, soft but sharp, cuttin' through the mist like a blade. "Who's there?" it called, elven by the lilt, and my hackles rose. I peered over the log, claws diggin' into the wood, and there she was—a figure steppin' out of the fog, all silver hair and leather armor etched with glowin' runes. She moved like a damn panther, bow in hand, arrow nocked but not drawn. Her eyes—emerald green, sharp as a hawk's—locked on me, and for a second, I froze. She wasn't human, that much was clear, and the way she stood, ready to fight or flee, told me she'd seen trouble before."Show yourself," she snapped, voice steady but with an edge. I growled low, the beast stirrin' again, and stood slow, scales catchin' the light. Her eyes widened, but she didn't flinch—tougher than she looked. "What are you?" she asked, lowerin' the bow just a fraction.
"Name's Job," I grunted, voice rougher than I meant, still half-lizard. "Herbalist 'til tonight. Now… hell, I don't know. What's it to you?
"She studied me, head tilted, them runes on her armor flickerin' like they were alive. "I'm Elara, ranger of the Crystal Spires. I've tracked a power here—wild, ancient. You reek of it." Her nose wrinkled, but her gaze didn't waver. Suspense hung thick, my gut tellin' me she could put an arrow through my eye if I moved wrong. I shifted, tail brushin' the ground, and she tensed.
"I didn't ask for this," I said, holdin' up clawed hands. "Some sorceress dumped this curse on me—amulet and all." I tapped the thing, its heat searin' my fingers. She stepped closer, mist swirl in' around her boots, and I caught a whiff of pine and magic—damn intoxicatin'. Her eyes narrowed at the amulet, and she muttered somethin' in elven, too fast to catch.
"That's no trinket," she said, voice low. "It's a key—a call to the Scaled Throne. I've seen it in visions—ruins deep in the Forbidden Jungle, power enough to rule beasts or break worlds. And you…" She trailed off, sizin' me up like a prize bull. "You're tied to it."
I barked a laugh, bitter and rough. "Me? Just a man who brews potions. Ain't no king." But the whisper in my head mocked me, and my scales prickled. She didn't buy it either—her hand rested on her quiver, ready.
"Power don't care what you were," she shot back. "It's what you are now. That roar—heard it miles off. Drew me here. If you're not the threat, then somethin' worse is comin'." Her words hit like a punch, and I felt the truth in 'em. The forest rustled, shadows shiftin' again, and my gut tightened. Was it the villagers? Or somethin' older, somethin' the amulet woke?
"Follow me," she said, turnin' sharp. "We ain't safe here." I hesitated, but the fire's glow was creepin' closer, voices yellin' now—"Over there!"—and I had no choice. I lumbered after her, tail dragin', scales clackin' soft. She moved silent, a ghost in the mist, and I felt like a damn ox crashin' through. The amulet pulsed harder, and that whisper grew—images flashin'—a throne of scales, a dark figure laughin', claws rippin' flesh. I shook my head, but it clung like damp rot.
We reached a hollow, moss-covered rocks hidin' us from view. She knelt, drawin' a rune in the dirt with her dagger, and the air shimmered—some kinda ward, I figured. "Rest," she ordered, glancin' at me. "You look like hell." I slumped, scales scrapin' stone, and watched her. She was lean, muscled, them elven curves hintin' under that armor. The beast stirred again, that hunger twistin' lower, and I cursed under my breath—crossed it out, damn it. Ain't the time.
"Who's after that throne?" I asked, keepin' my voice steady.
"Valthor," she said, spit almost comin' with the name. "Necromancer. Wants to raise an army of the dead, use the throne to command 'em. My people sent me to stop him—or find someone who can." Her eyes met mine, and I felt the weight. Me? A potion-makin' fool turned lizard?
Before I could argue, a scream ripped through the mist—villagers, close. Elara's bow was up, arrow flyin', and a shadow crumpled—some scout, I reckoned. "Move!" she barked, and we ran, my claws tearin' earth, her agility keepin' pace. The forest turned hostile—vines snakin' out, roots trippin' me, shadows formin' claws. Was it magic? The amulet? Or the throne's call gone wrong?
We ducked into a cave, the entrance narrow, hidin' us from the hunt. My breath rasped, scales glintin' in the dark, and she lit a torch, revealin' walls etched with scales—old, ancient. "This ain't coincidence," she muttered, tracein' a carving. The amulet burned, and that whisper roared—"The throne awaits"—clear as day. My heart pounded, suspense coilin' tight. Was she ally or trap? The villagers' torches flickered outside, and somethin' else—deeper, darker—stirred in the cave's depths.
I gripped my claws, ready for a fight, and met her gaze. This was no turnin' back. The adventure'd begun, and damn if I wasn't dragged into it.