Reaching into the grubby, weatherworn pocket of his oilskin jacket, Jonah found within moments what he was looking for; several potions. Quickly he popped the cap off of both of them and drank the yellow, and then the white. Feeling more engergized than before, he rushed to his feet, and in one fluid moment drew his dagger from his boot. As he leaped onto the creature, he buried the shorter blade into it's blood red eye. The serpent shrieked, this time in pain as it recoiled back from the vessel, giving Jonah plenty of room to fling himself back on the deck with the enhanced strength of the potion.
His foe writhed and threw itself about in the water, too occupied in it's own demise to notice Jonah slowly, but determinedly walking to restrieve his kryss, picking it up, he strided back to the edge of the deck, waiting for the reptile to come into striking distance, his weapon poised to make the final blow. Surprised, he watched on as it began to fall, splashing down into the water in a heap beside the boat as the poison completed it's gruesome task. he jumped onto the corpse to retrieve his dagger, removing the horned hides and scales with it to sell in town.
On his way back into Britain, Jonah began to feel like a new person. No longer was he just a fisherman in a forgotten line of many. He was now a warrior, and he was eafer to travel to Minoc and tell his cousin of his encounter. Perhaps Jieret woudl teach him of mace fighting....
