{We're now basically out of combat, just to let you know - go ahead and do the rest descriptively}<br/><br/>The Blackscale groaned and staggered under the flurry of cuts and blows. Its blood pours from a variety of slashed wounds, and its flavor can be tasted on the steaming jungle air - the cool, clear sweetness of a cold consomme. Alizome, equally insensiate, slips from its jaws, yet it swallows on air as if she were still in its mouth. The Blackscale lizardman is clearly dazed and confused, an easy meal for a hungry centaur<span style="font-style: italic">or</span>naga.<br/><br/>Behind you, accompanied by flapping and squawking, Gwaihir drags a Poison Dusk only a little larger than he is out onto the path. The beleaguered lizardman's struggles would tempt any hungry predator...