Tyra was wandering around the desert, tracking whatever had gone through her traps and gotten out - a draskell she expected. Following what looked like the trail of a hanging tail - they flew low when injured or hunting. She was so intent on her task she tripped on a sand covered rock and landed on the scalding sands.
Clearing herself of the sand and rubbing herself clear of the burning sand. The sun was still shining straight above, and she found what had tripped her up. Not a rock, but a helmet, perhaps. Clearing the sand off the top revealed a reflective, if not roughed up surface. Looking around herself she sighed - the trail had mostly been blown over and she likely wouldn't be able to find it again after that. Turning back to the rock, she considered her choices and gave into her curiosity.
The Burned Desert is a strange place. Strange beasts and ruins dot the landscape, unexplored for centuries, surrounded by dead sand and deadly heat. Truly a place beyond human hands and interests - many kingdoms would put up token claims to the desert and it's land, but they never strayed beyond the edge of the desert every couple years.
Pulling out her sword, Tyra awkwardly dug around what she had guessed to be a helmet only to realize that is was the head of a robot, on a pair of shoulders. Bracing herself, she dug her hands into the sand which was mercifully cooler than the surface, and started to heave, but it was slow going. Resigned, she got on her hands and knees and started clawing at the sand around the old robots waist. Maybe she could sell it for scrap to Rufus, or use it to make a good spear, metal that lasted this long probably had some worth.
And yet, there were towns underground beyond the borders of kings and knights - nobody was foolish enough to stay aboveground of course, with such deadly beasts and no real shelter above ground to run to, without the time to build a shelter capable of standing up to the draskell that hunted in the desert.
She heard it before she saw it - a sound like a slithering snake across the sand, if not for the fact that she could feel the massive wingbeats and the sand that came up with them lapping against her legs. As it came up behind her, she slowly pulled her sword out of the dirt, feigning ignorance, waiting for the draskell's move.
Claws almost as big as a pickaxe on both arms, and a tale that could curl around you and crush you in an instant. They were often the first creature of the desert that adventurers would see, the last for many, and the only one ever documented by those who came from outside.
A pause in the wingbeats, the animal had stopped and was likely slowly gliding down to catch her in it's claw. Looking down she watched it's shadow approached and waited for it to get close enough. For a moment the desert was quiet as the draskell slowly hovered over her, stock still as a statue with sword in hand, tip pointed down.
And within a flash, the fight started - the draskell grabbed at her shoulders, she ducked down as it's shadow touched hers and turned, sword in right hand as her left hand grabbed the draskell's claw before it could take off, and hooked her leg around it's neck.
The Draskell reacted by bucking wildly, then trying to scratch with it's massive claws, but before it could Tyra had flipped herself up and and got her legs mounted on it's wings and hand on grabbing one of it's spine spurs. Finally taking a breath, she realized they had already gone near 30 feet up and were ascending rapidly as the draskell was trying to go vertical.
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"Well shite"
The desert for all it's hardships, raised a strong and tough people. The weakest of those born within the wastes would be a hardened warrior to the kingdoms surrounding it. Still, the people of the wastes knew their place in it's hierarchy, and enjoyed wild lives. Death was an inevitability most desert people welcomed - better to die with a story for friends to the deserts beasts, rather than the desert itself.
Though Tyra had no intent of dying today - for one, there was no one to tell the story of her ascent with the draskell. secondly, she'd rather die to something bigger, and third, she still had a sword in the crook of her arm. Gripping the bone spur with her right hand, she pressed the sword into the gap in the scales in the top of the draskells head with her left, and watched as it tipped down to rid itself of the blade. Slowly, Tyra got the draskell to descend, until eventually they were only 4 or 5 feet in the air. Concentrated as she was on not getting bucked off by the unruly draskell she had mounted, she hadn't seen the second one coming till it was too late.
As the claw pierced her left arm's armor and left a massive gash, she let go of the sword with her left hand, grabbed with her right and pushed, twisted, and pulled it out, letting the other draskells blow send her flying into the sand. Rolling with the momentum, she landed on all fours (2 feet, a hand and a bleeding elbow), and watched as the draskell's swipe missed her by a hair and as it did, she grabbed her sword and thrust up, praying that her hunch had worked. Instead of bouncing off the usual scales, her sword pieced through the freshly molted draskell's skin.
Panting and sore, Tyra nearly tripped over the robot she had been digging up. Looking at it, she sighed, bending down to dig it up with one hand. After a few minutes of digging and angry tugs, she considered the time and decided to head home, kicking the robot head in frustration. Walking off annoyed that she was injured and had nothing to show for it (Draskell corpses were heavy), she stalked off.
Only for her to feel the robot bump into her. Turning around, she looked at it in amazement - a working robot from the broken era. Before she could say something, it tugged on her arm, and she let it lead her.
By the time they arrived, it was nearing dark, though she had kept her bearings and remembered the the straight line they took from the draskell, tired as she was. She was practically being dragged along by the robot at this point, just looking down and trying not to fall asleep, until the robot stopped and she banged her head on it - then she had no trouble waking up. Looking ahead of her, she saw a large house - not the tents they took on longer trips to meet with other villages, but a full house of metal and wood. A push on the door did nothing, and after Tyra tried knocking she kicked in the door and immediately collapsed in bed near the doorway.
The next morning, she she awoke with a sore body and to the robot looking her dead in the face.
"Hello?" The robot tilted it's head, and pointed at her arm. Looking over, she realized the blood had covered most of her arm. Sighing, she struggled with the armor, before the robot started assisting. As she prepared to start bandaging it up, the robot put a hand above her arm, and pulled a needle and thread off a shelf.
"You can sew up wounds?" Tyra asked, incredulous. The robot simply nodded, and reached for a bottle off one of the shelves and twisting the cap off, and handed it to her. taking a whiff, she took a tentative taste and exclaimed at the flavors in the drink, happily chugging as the robot worked on her wounds.
And thus, Tyra ended the day in a strange home with a robot mending her wounds while she drank likely century old alcohol after slaying 2 draskells - an interesting story to tell when she got home for sure.