FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sand blows hard and thick against the tightly woven silk of the tent, the tough wooden rods supporting the sheets of material refusing to bend against the fury of the storm and providing shelter to its two occupants: Fekkri and Cricket. The desert night is cold, and without a fire, the two men share a large bedroll within the confines of their shelter. Despite being taller of the two, Cricket is the little spoon and sleeps deeply within the arms of his companion. Fekkri, on the other hand, has not yet let unconsciousness take him.

There is this small but constant paranoia, a stress that he might have forgotten a subject to brush up on, failed to plan ahead, missed a small detail about the environment and some of its dangerous wildlife – something that could get them both hurt. They are a far cry from defenseless, but this land was abandoned for good reason, leaving the city of a now nameless empire to weather away beneath the furious blaze of a daytime sun and cloying frost of a dark moon. That is, what parts that are not buried.

Such is the Baleful Sands, though to Fekkri it's become more the Bastard Sands with how much hot grit and dust has gotten down his shirt and pants thus far. However, no amount of chafing discomfort would prevent him from following the lead Cricket managed to cajole out of an archeology archivist. Nor let them spend the next eternity reminding him of how he could have gone temple delving.

One moment there's darkness, whistling wind, and solitude, and the next Fekkri blinks against sunlight as Cricket opens the tent flap and steps outside to stretch out. Grabbing his white cloak, Fekkri hauls himself up and into the daylight as he dons it. The dunes have shifted somewhat from the sandstorm, half burying their tent and leaving any tracks they left behind completely dispersed.

After ten seconds of being outside the tent, Cricket realizes he made a huge mistake and begins to dance about.

“Ah! Ah! Hot s-and! VERY hot s-and!" He cries, diving back into the tent for his footwraps.

“Lightningbug, you dork," Fekkri chuckles, “Shall I bring my flute next time to play a song to match those moves?"

“If you practic-ed whis-tling half as much as you did as-leep," Cricket snorts, sitting within the entrance of the tent as he wraps his toasted paws. “You'd need no flute."

“What I'm hearing is someone doesn't want their water for the day."

“Hey, if I pass out, you have to carry me."

“Carry you? Oh, absolutely not! I'm dragging you by your tail, facefirst in the sand."

“Hah, only if you want to be ridden down the s-ide of a dune!"

“Oh, really? Remind me what happened last time you tried to do that?"

“Ah, pound s-and!"

“That's a weird way of saying you fell and ate shit!" Fekkri laughs, Cricket promptly swatting him with his feathered cloak. “Hand me my armor while you're in there, would you."

“Depends. Do I get a water bubble?"

“Sure…," Fekkri says playfully. “You can have your widdle water wubble."

As Cricket grabs their gear, Fekkri crouches down and delves a hand into the sand, holding it there for a few moments before water follows his fingers out of the ground and pours itself into his canteen. Cricket holds his outstretched for a filling as well and then is handed a ball of water holding itself together like a giant drop of morning dew.

While he plays with it, tossing it back and forth in his hands and in the air until it inevitably breaks and splashes them both, Fekkri dons his leather armor. Standing 5'1'', he's the shorter and older of the two with a few graying hairs, aquamarine eyes, large, rounded ears, a wide feline muzzle, long whiskers around his pink button nose and eyebrows, and a short coat of light brown fur with a cream color along his underbelly, shot throughout with dots both dark and light. His legs are digitigrade, ending in soft paws, and his rump is graced with a wiggly bobtail.

Cricket is very similar in appearance, 5'4'', with lighter fur along the frontside of the torso and darker down the back with a myriad of distinctive markings. The thing that really sets them apart is two long, tufted whiskers sprouting from his brow in addition to the smaller ones, appearing as antenna, and one eye is a green-ish blue while the other is a soft honey hue. Once more, another obvious detail is Fekkri wears a feather earring in his left ear along with two gold rings and a distinctive brand whereas Cricket opts for a turquoise bead pierced along the inside edge of each lobe.

Pausing to shake a few chafing grains of sand from his legging, Cricket dons his goggles and sunhat before helping Fekkri take down the tent and pack away the rest of their belongings, sharing the weight of it between their packed rucksacks. The scant reservoirs of liquid in the ground Fekkri can feel out are too scarce to satiate a mount, so the two had to pack only the essentials and trek on foot, crossing over endless sand with rare instances of solid, gritty dirt and the occasional half-buried rocks to break up the monotony of the landscape.

“S-upposedly, this land was curs-ed," Cricket says as the trudge along, Fekkri letting out a short bark of laughter.

“I need no convincing!"

“Oh, for s-ure!" Cricket nods. “The s-tory goes that the c-ity worshipped a myriad of gods and had temples on every s-treet, but a drout that led to a drop in prayers and offerings angered their deities."

“Is this the part where a mountain range sized bucket of sand was dropped on them?"

“Not all at onc-e, but yes! S-ands-torm after s-ands-torm des-troyed crops, filled wells in, and became s-o thick it was in every bite of their food. Ins-tead of taking the hint, the people abandoned their gods entirely out of s-pite, or s-o the hieroglyphics s-ay, and fled to neighboring areas."

“Waking up a long dead god would certainly fit into my track record…"

“We'd have to s-tart a religion. What would the tenants be?"

“Mmm, things like give food to the poor, help the sick, fund education, mandatory sex with friends, drugs are expected, regular feasts –"

“Oh, and would caging your hus-band be a part of it?"

“How do you know about that!?" Fekkri demands.

“Okay… s-o I might have gotten up late one night and the door was left jus-t a biiit ajar."

“You cheeky pervert!" Fekkri exclaims, a little horrified but mostly amused. “Next you'll tell me you went through my silk lingerie and tried it on!"

“…"

“Cricket."

“It made me need to buy some of my own…"

Fekkri lets out a deep sigh before saying, “The nail in the coffin was the blue dancer outfit, wasn't it?"

“… Yes."

“I impulse bought that so hard, you have no idea."

“I mayyy have borrowed it."

“Is that why the leggings are stretched out?!" Fekkri gasps. “Those were tailor made! I was practically robbed for the price of those, Cricket!"

“I'm s-orry! It's jus-t that… who I wore them for really liked them on me."

“You got split in half, didn't you?"

“I couldn't s-it right for two days. Zero foreplay, all face in the pillow."

Fekkri begins to laugh and then ugly shriek laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, get it all out!" Cricket scoffs.

“N-no, you don't understand," Fekkri manages to say, calming down for just a moment long enough to add, “That's what Arvie first did to me in them!"

Cricket's flushed facial expression sets Fekkri's chortling off again, the younger man suddenly and desperately wanting him to shut up.

“Were you also scruffed and pinned head down, ass up?"

“Stop talking!" Cricket cracks under his teasing, leaping at him and sending them both tumbling into the sand.

“I bet you screamed their name into the pillow too!" Fekkri wheezes, still giggling as Cricket climbs on top of him.

“So help me, I will tell Arvie you accidently burned his first love poem to you!"

This immediately shuts Fekkri up.

“You wouldn't dare!" He breathes.

“I'll also tell him you fumbled and dropped his icon down a sewer drain and spent three days telling him it was lost while you had me get it out!"

“I came to you in confidence about that! You know what, fine! I'll tell him you've been consistently forgetting about his birthday for the last four years and I've had to bail you out every time!"

"I'll tell Rikken who introduced his wife to erotic dream magic!"

“You're pushing your luck, Cricket!"

“And that the first thing she did was give you a wet dream about him!"

“How in the actual fuck do you know about that!?"

“And you asked for it!"

“Do you have some kind of weekly sin confession with her or something!?"

“The first time you and Rikken got drunk together, you both –"

“Oh-ho-ho! Your ass is grass, kid!"

Magic comes into play and sand billows out between the two of with clashing winds, sparks of energy, and loud pops. A mixture of winces, involuntary gasps, and yelps issuing out as the two playfight roughly until they start rolling down the dune and come heavily to a stop against a cool, rock wall. Fekkri ends out on top, one hand keeping Cricket's mouth clamped shut and roughly rubbing his sensitive nose with a thumb while the the other tickles his belly with malicous intent.

The overwhelming mixture of stimuli leaves Cricket whining for mercy as he gives up, raising his hands out straight in surrender.

“Yeah, that's what I thought," Fekkri smirks and ceases the torment before leaning in next to his ear to softly murmur, “I also know the first guy you hooked up with had you roleplay as me."

“Actually… that one I figured you were aware of," Cricket sighs, rubbing sand off his poor noise. “I wasn't very quiet."

“You mean very loud."

“I didn't know –"

“You were going to find out that night dick is incredible?"

“Can you get off me no–!?" Cricket begins to yell before stopping mid-sentence. “Wait, where did this wall come from?"

“Oh. I… I have no idea," Fekkri admits before realizing something. “You were speaking without your lisp for a moment there!"

“You're right!" Cricket beams. “Give me a tongue twis-ter – daw! S-hit. Never mind."

Grinning, Fekkri gives him a hand up as he stands, and they both examine the structure.

“This conversation is not over, by the way," Fekkri promises. “A night we're really bored and drinking, we're picking this back up where we left off."

“Alone behind clos-ed doors, right?"

“Of course. I'm famous! I can't just go giving people blackmail in public."

“Pfft!" Cricket sputters before letting out a deep, resigned breath. “S-o, anyways! S-udden temple is s-udden!"

“Indeed," Fekkri agrees, winding back down.

The structure, like anything in this geography, is mostly buried in the sand and the overhanging corridor stuck out far enough to be uncovered by the sandstorm from the day before. The stone is black in color, glittering in the sunlight and composed of very careful, immaculate brickwork.

Looking at each other, the two begin to wordlessly dig out the corridor, magic making it easier to move the loose material with their hands but it's still grueling work in the midday sun. They're both panting and sweating by the time they've cleared away enough they can stand in the shade of it. Breaking for lunch, water and dried beef strips are on the menu, the two swapping different flavor combinations they're able to conjure upon the otherwise blend food.

“Blah-ha!" Fekkri sputters, nearly spitting out a mouthful of meat. “Why do you know how to make liver and peanut butter?"

“I get bored s-ometimes and… this is one of the ways I occas-ionally use my time."

“It took me weeks to learn just salt and pepper."

“I still s-truggle with pepper; it's really hard to make s-omething that both burns and tingles!"

“The most difficult one for me was red curry."

“S-how me! S-how me right now!"

“Give me an actually nice one and I'll consider it…"

“Fine!" Cricket huffs in good nature, a small glow wicking off his fingers and onto Fekkri's food before he takes a bite.

“Banana cream pie…" He sighs and takes a moment to savor it. “What I wouldn't do for a real one now."

Returning the favor to his companion, Cricket's eyes practically glow as he takes an experimental chomp, the flavors complex and spices distinct. It is a combination of years of returning to a little pet project every other week until finally reaching about as perfect as it could be. And then it turns spicy. So spicy. That! That is way too hot! At least, that is what Cricket would say if he wasn't involuntarily panting and reaching for his water before Fekkri ceases the minor enchantment with a small chuckle.

“Now that, s-ir, was cruel," Cricket frowns.

“And liver off the cuff wasn't?"

“I didn't make you feel like your tongue was about to s-tart on fire!"

“Very true, I only wanted to cut it out," Fekkri replies wryly. “Do you know any other good flavors besides smoky and one desert?"

“I… have always been s-urrounded by enjoyable food and never had t–"

“Uh-huh!"

“What? What's the point in meat pie flavoring when I can just go get one?"

“Keep telling yourself that, bud."

“What are you implying, hmm?"

“Nothing, nothing at all! At least you're doing more productive things at this age than I was."

“Bah! What were you doing so unimportant you had time to come up with so many tastes then?"

“Traveling, mostly! Lots and lots of downtime. Need something to keep me busy or I get antsy."

“Is that why you've been whispering druidic under your breath the whole time?"

“Partially!"

“What have you been doing?"

“Feeling out for water, the presence of distant life, playing around with ways to ward off blowing sand without using too much energy, a whole bunch of stuff, really! What have you been doing?"

“Erm," Cricket fidgets with his hands for a moment. “Keeping an eye out for hidden temples? It got us s-omewhere eventually."

“I see."

“The heat gets to me, okay?"

“Sure it does."

Letting out a defeated sigh, Cricket finishes his meal in one last mouthful and returns to clearing sand. Amused, Fekkri does the same and stands to join him when the sand begins to roil and form into a corkscrew pattern, shifting and moving before it suddenly streams forward and slams into his chest. It spills outside, fueled by Cricket's spell, until all the debris is removed from the entryway, revealing the warrior is standing exactly where he was with a thin mirage of a gleaming shield.

“Wha-? Hey now, it was jus-t a joke, I didn't hit you that hard with it!" Cricket says as Fekkri strides over and grabs him by the shoulders, leaving the younger man cringing, prepared for revenge.

He opens his eyes when nothing comes, Fekkri reaching up to scratch behind his ears affectionally before moving past, remarking, “Good work on clearing the door!"

It's large and made of heavily lacquered wood, a relative rarity in a desert nation, and lovingly carved with all manner of unknown runes and ornamentation that have begun to glow a rosé hue despite many, many years of being dormant. Upon Fekkri's approach, it clicks and swings outward, ceasing the flow of magic with only a whiff of flower petals to mark its passing; it happened so fast neither had time to process it.

“Wha– what did you do?" Cricket queries.

“Oh, you know, just one more spell from tinkering in my off time," Fekkri says tauntingly.

“Ah, s-o you're an expert enough on ancient doors to do that too?"

“Heh, alright, you got me. I honestly have no idea," He admits. “C'mon, let's go!"

Inside it is sandy and dusty, but the air is breathable and far cooler, a refreshing escape from outside. Creating a ball of light, Fekkri leads them both deeper inside, their entrance appearing to be a side door into a hallway. Most furnishings have long since moldered away to scraps, tatters of what's left of tapestries and banners remaining on rusted pitons hammered into the stone wall. Many of them appear slashed, damaged many years ago, and rusted remains of armor and weapons mark the spot warriors met their end. The same goes for priests and acolytes, moldered robes and the clothes of commoners alike hanging to scraps of bone.

Wordlessly, they continue and pass into a wide chamber likely used for worshipping, given the high ceiling, dusty prayer mats that will turn to dust if touched, and large plinths that statues once stood upon and have since been smashed, except one. Standing tall and nearly pristine, it is the likeness of a tall, broad-shouldered and gorgeous cheetah woman with lovingly engraved details to her fur and a warm, inviting smile.

A mane grows along her head and neck, decorated with braids and jewelry, and she wears no clothes, revealing every detail on her body as she appears to be standing in a calm, confident pose gazing down on where her worshippers would be. There are a lot of small details in the way her tail is curled around their left calf, the careful posing of the fingers, the way one heel is raised a little more than the other; there was an incredible amount of work put into this statue to make it seem alive.

Cricket pulls off his rucksack and reaches deep inside for a notebook, flipping through it before coming to a page and nodding.

“This is likely Hatthae, a goddess of love and fertility from the time period," He articulates, illuminating the situation somewhat. “This city was either very advanced in metal working for the time, or artis-ans went at this project for a very long time."

“Was Hatthae a popular god?" Fekkri asks, taking a moment to walk closer and examine that, yes, indeed, it is an anatomically correct depiction.

“Arguably the most s-o. She ecompass-ed fertility, s-exual and agricultural, in addition to love and possibly playing guardian of hearth and home."

“I take it the archivist gave you a crash course in the history of this area?"

“About as much as I could write down, yes!"

“How long ago did this city exist?"

“Two millennia, give or take a century."

“It's amazing this place is still standing!"

“Of all the things built to las-t, it s-hould probably be the temple to the god who s-upplies your food."

“I suppose so. I wonder what it looked like in its prime; you've noticed the signs of attack too, right?"

“Hard not to when there's metal rus-ted into a tetanus risk every ten steps I take."

“I'm still shocked we found this place at all. Was this what your lead pointed to, again?"

“To s-um up what I know: a temple of s-ome s-ort with poss-ibly hidden pass-ageways referenced in a manus-cript recently trans-lated. It was too damaged to glean much els-e in terms of info."

“Hah. We could outright be in the wrong place and still found something, then! Was it within the city bounds?"

“Most ass-uredly. There's likely much more around here buried beneath the s-and."

“Fascinating. Not enough for me to want to grab a shovel, but interesting to think about nonetheless."

“S-hall we keep going, s-ee what we find?"

“I didn't come all this way not to! I'm going to leave most of my gear here, though. No sense in carrying a tent indoors."

“That's s-ens-ible," Cricket agrees, setting down his rucksack to unload their cookware and spare clothes.

Lighter now, they return down the hallways, exploring the immediate area and then branching out once there's no obvious traps or danger. What they find is more evidence of a long-ago raid in the form of smashed quarters, a burned refectory with a connected collapsed kitchen, and a few supply closets and or larders with naught in them but dust, save for one with a brittle skeleton. It gets more interesting when they come across a library, but it too has been burned. The scraps of paper left crumble to the touch, leaving both quite frustrated at the destruction that leaves them with more questions than answers.

There's not much left notable other than a few side doors blocked by sand and a large entranceway leading to another prayer hall set with shrines to a variety of other deities. Judging by the fact a temple of Hatthae would accommodate any other gods within its walls means it may have been the main temple of the city. What those may have been is unknown, the statues simply not present on the plinths like they were stolen. All except for a stone likeness of Hatthae who was toppled and smashed into the floor.

Returning to the worship chamber, Fekkri could swear the expression on the statue changed ever so slightly from welcoming to somber. Cricket didn't study it as close and shrugs when he brings it up, not seeing a difference.

“Well," Cricket says as he pulls out the bedroll to sit down on with literally every chair in the temple already smashed. “I s-uppose we can still hold out for that s-ecret pass-age. We've got…"

Cricket trails off as he looks through the rucksack, “Let's see here… s-ix more days of food before we need to head back."

“Sounds like we've got some time, then," Fekkri murmurs absent mindedly as he examines the statue again.

It's made of what appears to be solid bronze, and the strange thing is there's no markings at the base of the feet, along the plinth, nothing but a little tarnish here and there. It's like no attempt was made at all to deface her despite being so thorough with the rest of the temple. Oddly, there are little brow flecks around the long, clawed fingers. It's eerily close to dried blood but also so old it could be a myriad of other things, and it is strange the statue's surface wasn't stained green with time as well.

The metal is certainly cold to the touch where Fekkri gingerly places a hand on her calf, but not as much as he feels like it should.

“That des-perate from just a few weeks of travel already?" Cricket comments.

Fekkri shoots him a look, snorting, “What am I going to do, lick the dust off?"

“I don't know everything you're into."

“You're well on your way, apparently!"

Cricket cackles in response as Fekkri sits down beside him on the bedroll with a weary sigh.

“Want to make a friendly wager?" Cricket hums.

“I'm not much of a betting man, but what have you in mind?"

“First to find the secret tunnel gets the pick of the loot."

“I dunno. You seem awfully confident you know where it is. Like you've been thinking of spell ideas this whole time to find hidden objects."

“Oh, will you drop that already!"

“Quit making fun of me having far more fun in life than you are, and I just might."

“Tch! Alright. Take away my one bit of entertainment, why don't you."

“Thank you," Fekkri smiles, patting his head. “As for the bet, that means we split up, then?"

“Naturally. It's not dangerous here, as we've seen."

“Eh. There's still time for vengeful skeletons and spirits to start rising up."

“Unlikely."

“And how might you know?" Fekkri challenges.

“Any skeleton here that tries to get up would fall apart, if it even has enough bones!"

“If you think the living can be overly spiteful, you've never met the dead."

“I thought 'dead men tell no tales'."

“Speak for yourself, revenant."

“Bah, that's different!"

“You're awfully giddy for someone creeping around in an impromptu tomb. Are you sure there isn't a bit of ghoul or somethin' in ya? You do awfully like dragging men away into the night…"

“And you don't?"

“Touché."

“Heh. I'm going to get to it, then."

“You do that. I need a nap."

“Oh… you're not going to try as well?"

“Later. I'm old. I need rest."

“Before we left, you outdrank an orc and then outdanced the entire tavern."

“Good times! Now hop off and let me crawl in this thing."

“If you're going to, I might as well join you…"

“Suddenly spooked to explore on your own?"

“It's less fun to rub it in if you're too busy snoring your tail off!"

“Of course, of course. How could I possibly not consider that?" Fekkri chuckles as Cricket climbs into the bedroll and joins him afterwards.

For once, they're cold during midday. This far below the desert, the shared warmth is not unwelcome.

“I'm glad you came though. I appreciate your company," Cricket sighs as he relaxes against Fekkri.

“I couldn't miss out on this, Lightningbug. It had been far too long since I spent some time with you."

Cricket's breathing quickly evens out into slow, deep breaths, but something pushes Fekkri to open his eyes after a few minutes, nearly hollering in surprise at the realization he's staring at a bronze leg directly in front of him before a flash of pink makes his world go black.

With a gasp, Nemeon sits bolt upright, reaching for a necklace that's no longer there and then a sword that is also gone. Tumbling to the floor in surprise, Kier let's out a yelp, shooting him a concerned look.

He speaks in a language Nemeon cannot understand whatsoever, crawling over to rub his shoulder affectionately.

A small, svelte civet-esk man, his eyes are a deep amber with a mane of fur held in check by tight braids adorned with small silver rings, and his left tufted ear pierced. He's completely naked, as is Nemeon, looking down at his huge, clawed hands that belong to a lion and realizing that Kier, unsure of how he even knows that name, is not small: he himself is just very large.

He runs a hand through his long, golden-red mane and across his chest, standing suddenly and whirling around to look at this unfamiliar, bulky body. Having been knocked over once, Kier is aware enough to back up to avoid a second incident and watches his lover seem both confused and alarmed.

Nemeon stops as he feels Kier tap his arm, saying something once more but registering none of it.

“I cannot understand you," Nemeon replies, surprised by how deep and bassy his voice is and cracking it halfway through the sentence.

Narrowing his eyes, Kier steps forward and places a hand on his chest, tilting his chin down to bring his gaze to his. Nemeon is aware he loves this man, though he's not sure why, and lifts him as he's done a thousand times before into a kiss. There's a strong, comforting scent of a forgotten companion's and a rosy spark as Nemeon opens his eyes, Kier smiling up at him.

“You're scaring me, big guy. Are you alright?" He asks.

Nemeon can understand him, not at fluent level, but infers his meaning automatically like magic only can do. At least, that's what he thought, and then like crashing into a cold lake, his memories come flooding back, dashing away thoughts of alarm and the odd foreign language he was thinking in a moment ago.

“I… I must have had a bad dream. Enough I forgot myself for a moment!" Nemeon answers with a small smile. “I didn't hurt you, did I?"

“Hah! You just blew my back out against these holy bricks. What makes you think another brush with them would hurt?"

“I couldn't forgive myself if I so much as ruffled your coat the wrong way, my dear," Nemeon purrs, picking him up and sitting back down against the prayer mat.

“Then you best start combing it back for me."

With a chuckle, Nemeon tenderly pets his head, claws gently passing through his fur and down his shoulders, circling around the sensitive area on the small of his back and watching him melt into purrs against his chest. Looking up, Nemeon does a double take when he realizes all the statues in the room are in one piece, the center one of Hatthae made only of stone. Actually, they're all of the divine goddess and her many forms, from a soldier wielding a spear and shield with a valorant gaze to stern scholar to hardworking farmer.

“Why are they back together?" Nemeon wonders aloud.

“Why is what together?" Kier asks, cocking his head quizzically.

Why does this place look strange to be well lit and not coated with dust? He's been here thousands of times before, worshipped Hatthae in his favorite way with Kier time and time again, yet there is this insistent itch of wrongness that won't leave.

“I'm having the strangest sense of déjà vu right now," Nemeon replies.

“Déjà vu? What's that?"

“It's…," Nemeon realizes he doesn't have an answer. “It's a phrase from another language."

“Oh yeah?"

“I…"

“Nem?" Kier murmurs, holding his chin again. “Are you feeling okay? Do we need to rouse the healer?"

Wake a healer? It's past midnight, that's right; those of the healing vocation are sleeping by now. The two of them had come here to have peace and quiet and make love under the goddess's gaze. The priests are perfectly accepting of it, so long as the mess is cleaned up afterwards. Wait, why did that feel like such a taboo thought to have?

“I feel a lot of conflicting feelings right now. Like I am in the wrong place. Wrong time, even," Nemeon sighs, “I know I love and care for only you. Yet… there's someone else someplace I can't quite remember."

Kier is quiet for a moment before asking, “Can you describe them?"

“Scales. Some green. Others not. Horns. Eyes like a sunrise. He was taller than me. But not now. Not like this. He was a paladin to another god…"

“Another god? Who else is possibly worth devotion?"

“It was himself, sort of?"

“You've lost me."

“I've lost myself too!" Nemeon replies with a strained chuckle.

“He once used a trick on me using kind of trinket," Nemeon frowns to himself, placing Kier down to walk up to the center statue where both offerings and small tokens of Hatthae are left for worshippers to take as needed. “Or was it him using it to focus his intent?"

Picking one up, Kier watches with a dubious expression as he makes a few hand movements and utters words that sound like nonsense before vanishing.

“Nem!?" Kier cries, scrabbling up to run to the spot he was in before slamming straight into his fluffy chest. “Nem? What did you do?"

“I have no idea!"

“This must be magic. Have you been cursed!?" Kier exclaims, sighing with relief as Nemeon reappears beneath his touch and hugging him close before firmly directing, “We're seeing sister Geah right now!"

Disturbed in his slumber, Irrae opens his eyes to the smell of cooking meat and foggily rouses to walk himself down the stairs of the sandstone house to find Rarrae making a late night meal. Resembling a cheetah, she has bright, soft fur and a cheerful demeanor at any time of day, dressed in a red sash and thin shirt. As her twin, Irrae is identical right down to a shared love of women, though he prefers blue.

“You must be hungry," He remarks upon seeing she's cooking a whole slab of red meat with cactus flesh and a variety of spices.

“I impulse bought before realizing it only keeps for so long in the desert. Would you like some, sleepyhead?" She snickers.

“I think that would make an apt apology for rousing me, dear sister."

“But of course! My mistake, your highness."

Sitting on a cushion by the raised, flat rock face that comprises their dining table, Irrae feels a sudden deep, biting cold that makes his hair stand on end. He doesn't even notice Rarrae crouch down next to him after noticing his unusual silence and realizing he's been staring at the far wall for the past minute and a half with a terrified expression on his face. Normally, she'd think this is some kind of trick, but even his nose has gone pale with the blood draining from his face.

Irrae can't feel her calling his name over the sound of a young girl screaming, feeling himself fall to the ground before the sound is cut off swiftly after the rough scraping of metal leaving its sheath. The cold feeling is what it felt like to die, every color, every sound, every feeling sucked away before it all came roaring back. With it comes a sharp pain in his left palm.

“Ah!" He recoils from Irrae biting his hand.

“You had the thousand yard gaze of blisssyrup addict in the middle of a bad trip. You're not experimenting again, are you?"

He turns to her, tears in his eyes before he abruptly hugs her closely.

“I don't know who you are, though I know we shared a life. I know you're family, but not one that belongs to me. I lost them long ago, in a place you don't know, and now I need to go before I lose the ones left."

He leaves her utterly baffled after he promptly hops over the table, small glowing sparks of Hatthae's grace only commanded by the priesthood issuing with each pawstep as he tears through the doorframe at a dead sprint. She stops only to take the meat off the stove, lest it start a fire, and runs after him, but even though she beat him in a footrace only a week before, he outpaces her by a longstride.

He restrains the urge to yell the name Fekkri at the top of his lungs, though he knows not where it comes from and only that he needs to find them. Irrae has no idea where he himself is, yet at the same time grew up in this city, two world views crashing together in his head with such intensity it results in a migraine that only makes his unease and erratic mood worsen. Which memories are real and are not quickly lose tangibility and leave him grasping at smoke, unsure of which way to go but adrenaline demanding action nonetheless.

The first thing Irrae decides to do is affirm the city he is in is Hatthaien, which results in him circumnavigating the inside of its outer walls and leaving more than a few late-night partiers pouring out the rest of their drink upon seeing a man pass them at the blur only a fully galloping horse could match. The sandstone huts of the standard folk turn to dark stone and wood as he passes through the merchant quarter of the city, the architecture squatter and issuing smoke as early rising blacksmiths tend their forges in the trade quarter, swapping to multilevel brick homes with ostentatious carvings and fine silk awnings in the rich quarter of the city. Unfortunately, none of it affirms anything but his known sense that feels foreign, like the sand itself buried it all in the life that is trying to claw its way into his.

He inevitably slows down, growing too tired to keep running at the same speed, and Rarrae cuts him off at a turn and tackles him in the middle of the street.

“Are you crazy? We are fortunate you chose the night sky to search for yourself under or the guards would be throwing you in a cell!" She gasps, just as exhausted yet still able to pin him down despite his resistance. “What in the blazing wrath of the wretched sun has possessed you?"

“I have to find Fekkri!"

“Who is that?"

“I don't know!"

“Shhh! You're waking people up. Come home and we'll talk this out."

With no other choice, Irrae lets himself be led back to their abode, both exotic and unfamiliar in its construction and design and also maddeningly recognizable. Ordered upstairs and to sit down on a bed, she promptly sits behind him on it and wraps her arms and tail around his torso, hugging him close so he can't hop up and blitz into the distance in her again. It's a tender but very firm hold, and despite the alienness of her and the situation, Irrae draws some comfort from it.

“Is there any way I can get you to sleep this off?" She asks, well aware of what the answer will be.

“No. Not for a moment," Irrae replies softly.

“Alright. Let's… let's start with the basics then. What's your name?"

“I know it's supposed to be Irrae but it's not. I'm… I'm–"

“Oh, sweet stars, we're going to be at this for a while…" She sighs before resolving herself to help her brother get through this bad high. “This name, give me a letter it starts with."

“I'm not sure, but… I think it was something that chirped?"

“Chirped? Like birds?"

“No. More annoying."

“Annoying chirping? I know you certainly hate sand crickets."

“Cricket! Yes, that was it!"

“Why in the name of the four winds billowing hot sand would your name be Cricket?"

“I had these two long feathery whiskers above my eyes," He replies, showing her with fingers against his brow what they looked like.

“O-kay…" She says quietly, trying her best to keep a straight face. “And who is Fekkri?"

“I can't remember!"

“Easy, easy," She murmurs in his ear, stroking his head. “Please, stop yelling. I'm here. I will do what I can to help. But I can't do that if the neighbors grab the guards."

“Sorry," He murmurs, “My head is killing me and I can't think straight. But this situation, I know it's dangerous and he could be in danger an–"

“Can you help him like this?"

“I could use my blades and magic just fi–"

“What blades? What magic?"

“I don't have them or my focus but–"

“No, you do not have your focus, so let's–"

“Spell focus, it's something different entirely."

“My point is you're not making any sense, shaking like a beaten dog, and swaying despite the fact I'm holding you up right now. Please, take a deep breath and accept whatever this is going on, you're not able to solve it in this state."

Holding his hand level with his eyes, Irrae realizes she's right when he can't keep it steady and lets out a defeated sigh before saying, “Fine."

Letting her lean him down into a laying position, he stiffens up at first when strokes behind his ear but slowly relaxes at her touch, giving into the comfort Irrae's familiarity with her gives him. Her thoughts are racing at what she's going to do for him if he wakes up like this, but Hatthae's sparks glitter along her fingers and all at once the tension in him leaves as his shallow, quick breaths turn deep and smooth.

She's never prayed since childhood, but Rarrae grudgingly offers a quick thank you to the goddess.

Tired, she joins her brother in sleep.

“As far as I can tell," Sister Geah reports as she does another slow circle around Nemeon just to be sure, “He is in perfect health in both body and spirit. Were there a curse, believe me, I would have sensed it by now."

In stark contrast to the priests Nemeon recalls himself being familiar with in the phantom life deluding him, Geah is a battlescarred, heavily built warrior standing nearly as tall as him and completely comfortable with the sight of his nude body within the confines of her own quarters. With piercing sapphire blue eyes and a short-kept mane of black fur, she resembles a panther in appearance and is dressed in nothing but a leather loincloth, much like the cloth one Kier is currently holding onto for Nemeon.

“I am doubly certain this is so because he did it while holding a symbol of Hatthae," She adds.

“That's a relief," Kier purrs happily, handing Nemeon back his loincloth to don.

“As for the sudden memory shift, I am not sure, nor have I heard of it before. I would like to speak with you at length about it but unfortunately both myself and the entire priesthood are up to our ears hearing out seemingly the entirety of Hatthaien. Since this is no longer a question of life or death, I will have to ask you to wait another week, and if I'm not done hearing fears about the uniting tribes launching an assault on our city by then, I will tell a few repeat visitors to pound sand."

“Is it possible grandpriest Lethi has head of this before?"

“I say this because I know you both do not rabble rouse: I believe I read much more deeply into our library than she does. However, if it will put your mind at ease, I can make time to speak with her on the matter."

“That would be of great comfort, yes."

“Very well. Have you both any other matters of immediate concern?"

“This was all. Thank you so much, sister Geah."

“Of course. Your concern was validated to me when Nemeon was able to repeat the spell. On a related note, I apologize for my initial… testiness."

“I completely understand! It would seem ridiculous at first from your point of view."

“Indeed. Now then, I must sleep before my labors in the morning. Off with you two! And Nemeon, in return, I will call upon you for another night I do find challenge in finding rest."

“I'll be sure to keep a bottle of arak on hand," Nemeon grins as she ushers them out the door.

“Heh. That would be appreciated," She says with a ghost of a smile before closing the door.

“Do you still feel connected to this green scaled man?" Kier asks quietly as they begin to walk down the halls and out of the main entrance of the temple.

“I do. But," Nemeon says as he sweeps Kier off his feet and cradles him against his chest, descending the steps, “Nothing can possibly blot you from my mind either."

Kier giggles as wiry whiskers tickle his face while Nemeon nuzzles his cheek, taking him home where they both lay down to rest. Glowing sparks dance in his dreams yet his prayer to Hatthae for guidance remains unanswered, though for a moment and only a moment, he can sense someone else in the city channeling her grace outside the temple.

The city rises with the sun, all manner of bookish jobs and merchants beginning their work for the day while those who work in the heat, such as bakers and laborers, opt to wait until the noonday sun has descended lest they be cooked like Rarrae's steak. It sizzles on the hot stovetop, having kept fresh throughout the night, and she fries it up to share with Irrae. He's still sleeping, but it's not long before once more he descends the stairs, rubbing his head.

“Still feeling like a Cricket?" She asks, hoping his answer will be a comment about how he does not snore.

“Well, that is my name," He replies sheepishly, dashing her hopes this could all be swept under the rug. “Do you want any help with that?"

“You helping with cooking is the day the sun falls out of the sky and crushes the temple," She chuckles before realizing he's serious. “No need. I can handle this just fine."

“Alright. So. It's clear to me I had a panic attack yesterday."

“You don't say? Any grand visions from the gods?"

“I relived the murder of my sister and I."

“As you can see, I'm still alive and we–"

“No, no. Cricket's sister."

“But you're alive. How could you have died?"

“That… is a long explanation."

“And you don't remember all of it, right?"

“Well. Yeah, kinda."

“At least you chose the day after a good score to have an identity crisis," She murmurs to herself, setting two plates and offering him one at the table.

Getting up, he grabs a set of utensils and offers her a set, of which she declines and watches him sit down and begin to cut his food with a knife and fork in a style she's never seen before. His body language was off, mannerisms different, but to see him eat in any manner besides with his claws has her floored for a solid minute.

“What?" He queries as he takes a bite, commenting, “Is this camel? You did a great job making it tender."

“You're not kidding me. Maybe yourself, but not me," She breathes.

“I'm very glad to hear that," Cricket nods. “What was the tipping point?"

“Irrae hated forks so much we had a fight when I bought some a few years ago."

“I detest cleaning grease from under my claws, so I consider them a necessity."

“We should see the priesthood."

“Ehhh," Cricket frowns. “I'd rather see a wizard. Have you any in this city?"

“What's a wizard?"

“A magic practitioner. Any sorcerers, artificers, scholars of the arcane?"

“I understand you're saying words, but their meaning eludes me. Only the priesthood uses magic here. Do you not remember that?"

“Oh. I… I do not. I think I'm losing connection with Irrae as I remember myself."

“Then what happens to Irrae?"

“I'm not sure… but the last thing I want to do is take him from you."

“Then for my sake, let's act fast and see one of the priests."

“I'm not so sure a priest can be of any help here."

“I don't know what society you live in, but here they are warriors, scholars, healers, and much more! They are chosen by Hatthae to serve the city. If anyone can help, it's them!"

“Alright, alright. I did not realize. Let's go see one of these clergy then."

Finishing their meal, the two quickly walk to the temple and up the many steps, the eyes of the guards posted at the door eyeing them suspiciously as they enter.

“They seem to be bothered by me," Cricket notes.

“Well, Irrae is a known thief and trickster."

“Is that what you meant by making a score earlier?"

“What else would it be? Tossing a shudderball through the targetring?"

“A what in the what now?"

“Never mind, come on!" Grabbing his hand, she leads him to the general chamber where the statues of other gods sit, a depiction of Hatthae in the middle.

Though Hatthae is the patron goddess of the city, the temple still wanted to accommodate other beliefs and the spiritual needs of travelers as well, showing surprising tolerance in the face of their neighbors finding exclusive worship of her to be repugnant. There is no attending priest at the moment and instead Kier the shrine tender is present, though it would appear the few who came to pray this afternoon are not interested in his council.

While Cricket only faintly recognizes him, Kier puffs up at his approach, Rarrae quickly putting herself between the two.

“You have a lot of nerve coming back after taking a chisel to the work of our artisans!" Krie fumes, standing on par in height with Cricket but his claws easily twice the length of his. “To make nipples on her, no less!"

“Kier, I need you to forget about that right now, we have a much bigger problem," She urges him.

“Let me guess, hiding him from the guards now? If they come through the door, I am point at him first!" He scoffs, turning to leave. “Better yet, I'll cut to the chase and get one now!

“Kier, please, let me explain!"

“Explain what? You brought this sneakthief back to steal more offerings?"

Rarrae's patience boiling over, she grabs him by the scruff and forcibly yanks him back to face her, snarling, “Irrae's losing his memories! It's like he woke up someone else and I don't know what to do! Drop the grudge for ten damn seconds and, please, get one of the priests!"

Her words find purchase in him, his eyes widening, saying, “Him too?"

“This is happening to other people?"

“To my Nemeon, yes. He skipped training with the temple guards today to go read in the library! The library! The only thing he read before today was a battle manual, and he hated even that!"

“Can I talk to him?" Cricket asks. “Has he s-aid anything about his name being Fekkri?"

“No, just something about a green lizard in another life."

“Arvie?"

“Is that their name?" He questions, his attitude quickly changing from annoyed to desperate. “Come with me, now!"

“I was about to ask you to take me to him!"

The attendant hurries them further into the temple, walking so fast he's nearly jogging and brings them to Nemeon currently surrounded by several stacks of books. As he furiously devours the words on every page, his fingers move in front of him, glowing lines tracing his fingertips and flickering but unable to reach a desired effect, much to his frustration.

“Nemeon, love, I brought someone to talk with you. They say they're having similar memory troubles," Kier calls out as they reach his table.

“Huh. S-o, this is what this place looks like in one piece," Cricked muses to himself, Rarrae shooting him a quizzical look but dropping it for the moment.

“Really?" Nemeon exclaims, standing up quickly and putting the book down to stand in front of the two twins. “Which of you two might it be?"

“That would be me. Does the name Arvie or Fekkri mean anything to you?" Cricket implores, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

“Arvie…" Nemeon repeats to himself before his eyes go wide, “That's his name! And I'm Fekkri!"

Memories of another life come crashing back, and with it, Nemeon grabs the smaller man by the shoulders.

“Cricket, is that you?" He gasps. “Say something only he would!"

“I can't believe we got s-ucked back in time and you are s-till fiddling with s-pells even now!"

With a laugh, Fekkri sweeps him up in a hug, nuzzling his head vigorously.

“For the two other people concerned with what just happened to our loved ones, some context would be great," Rarrae scowls. “And why are you now lisping, Cricket?"

“I always did that. And now I wis-h I could s-top doing it again," He replies from within the depths of Fekkri's mane.

“To answer your question…" Fekkri trails off as he looks to her, having no name to refer to her by.

“Rarrae," She answers his wordless query.

“To answer your question, Rarrae, we were… Cricket, do you remember what we were doing that got us into this mess?"

“I was hoping you would," He answers as Fekkri sets him down.

“Then about all I can say is we did something that caused our lives to cross with that on these two men."

“The bes-t I can come up with right now is none of this was here. As in, it was all destroyed."

“Destroyed?" Kier cries.

“This library was burned. All the s-tatues were destroyed as we – the s-tatues, Fekkri, we need to smash them! Maybe if we recreat–"

“No, nonono!" Fekkri asserts, picking him up by the shoulders before he can run off. “Absolutely not."

“But that's how–"

“I know that's how they looked, but the last thing I'm doing is bringing the wrath down upon us of the god that put us here to begin with!"

“What are you two talking about?" Rarrae questions, increasingly alarmed.

“We must have explored this temple when," Cricket gestures from himself to Fekkri, “This happened, and it was all but razed to the ground. The city itself was buried in sand."

“Do you mean to tell me someone sacked the temple?" Kier whines. “That can only mean then–"

His sentence is cut off by a horn in the distance, quiet within the halls of the library but enough to silence him in horror. Rarrae looks equally distraught, Fekkri and Nemeon following as they run from the room to the entrance of the temple. The horn continues to sound, the warning alarm of the city before a dragon physically rips it from the watchtower and drops it on the people below. Figures stream over the sand, heading towards the two main gates of the city, chanting loud enough its rhythm, if not the words, can be heard from the temple.

“Those gates are supposed to close when the horn sounds!" Kier recoils. “And they are not!"

Priests come running to the door, weapons drawn and pushing the group out of the way as they hurl themselves down the steps and run headlong towards the sudden attackers, desperately hoping to contain them at the gates. The dragon is quickly enveloped by a pink glow, shuddering in the air before letting out a groan and hurtling face first into the city walls.

“What just happened to it?" Fekkri gasps, shocked such a powerful creature was brought down so quickly.

“It climaxed," Sister Geah says from behind them, dressed in leather armor with plates of metal over the vitals and a bronze longsword strapped to her back.

“Is that in the way I think you mean?" Fekkri asks, unsure if he understood that right.

“It orgasmed, yes! Hatthae's magic affects many things but she herself is first and foremost the goddess of love and fertility, and therein, lust. Now arm yourselves if you can and get to the inner sanctum immediately! I fear that… no, I fear nothing! GO!" She commands.

Running down the steps towards the foray, she doesn't look back, her thoughts with her people instead.

“By the abyss, there's thous-ands of them. Why s-end so many s-oldiers for one city?" Cricket says aloud.

“Holy war," Kier answers. “Hatthaien is one out of many city states worshipping patron gods not among the pantheon the Ghet'hir observe. I heard their new king was very zealous and quick to spark inquisitions, but I did not realize he would wage war for it."

“Can Hatthae not stop them somehow?" Rarrae questions.

“No! She is a minor god, and her light is overshadowed by the Ghet'hir pantheon; there are simply too many of them for her to match."

“I… I can't s-ay I've heard a pries-t be so candid. Is that not blas-phemous?" Cricket probes.

“No. Hatthae is among the weaker gods, but her ability to bring comfort and bountiful harvest are unmatched; this is why we worship her."

“The theological chat is marvelous, truly," Rarrae hisses, distressed citizens streaming into the temple and pushing them to the side. “But we need to get into the inner sanctum before they close the doors in a panic!"

“She's right!" Kier agrees. “We need to go now!"

Getting there is no easy feat when the sea of bodies they have to wade through is ready to trample them, Fekkri and Rarrae both pulling up individuals who tripped and are unable to get back up as the crowd began running over them. Getting into the inner sanctum, it is beginning to get uncomfortably cramped, and the sounds of fighting can be heard from outside as the priesthood does their best to hold back the Ghet'hir. However, their own war priests wield magic, as both Cricket and Fekkri can sense, and the fight is vastly against the city's defenders.

“My citizens!" Grandpriest Lethi calls out from the center, a substantially rotund hare-like woman. “Please, stay calm and make room. We have only so much and every life counts. Those who are of able body, you must –"

“I have news!" One of the priest initiates announces, pushing and shoving their way quickly to face Lethi. “The Ghet'hir are invading but they are not killing the common folk! They are demanding conversion to their pantheon and destroying articles of Hatthae but that is all. If we leave now and surrender, we are more likely to survive than being slaughtered here!"

“What? And abandon our goddess who has watched over us for centuries?" Lethi shouts, aghast.

All eyes go on her as she takes a moment to think. All the while the sounds of fighting are at the temple gates with half the room going agitated, shouts raising to close the door while others do so in opposition. Fists are raising, patience thinning, and brawls about to begin.

“ENOUGH!" Lethi bellows with a surprising ferocity, silencing them all. “Our goddess would want us to live another day above all. Go. Carry her in your heart, and… one day Hatthaien may rise again."

Distressed believers do not make for loyal ones, and they quickly begin to leave, caught at the gates, and quickly arrested but not killed. The confusion at the sudden influx of people allows the priests a moment to slip into the temple from the side entrances, many nursing wounds and or exhausted from fighting as they stagger into the inner sanctum.

“Whatever any of you are about to say, I'm not leaving!" Kier declares. “My place is with my goddess."

“You can have a little shrine in secret!" Rarrae spits. “You heard her, it's even endorsed! We must leave or we will die here."

“I agree with her Fekkri, we need to go," Cricket urges him, but the man stands firm.

“We may be then stuck living the rest of our lives in a dream, then. Hatthae put us here and her priesthood is now gathered all in one spot. This is our one and only chance for answers."

“True," Cricket sighs. “But that's putting everything into one hand of cards. Are you sure?"

“I'd rather die here than live a life of regret."

“Well, I'd rather fuckin' not!" Rarrae snarls, grabbing Cricket's arm. “And you're NOT taking my brother with you! Cricket, you told me yourself you would not Irrae from me. Can I still trust you to fulfill that?"

“Rarrae," He begins to slowly speak, resisting her attempts to pull him away. “I've seen this city already dead. And I have so much more I need to do in my own life…"

“And you can do all of that without getting my brother killed! I'm sure you'll just magically poof back out as quick as you came and leave us both in peace!"

“What is all of this about? Such infighting has no place in this temple," Lethi implores as she confronts the group. “Oh, Nemeon, you are the one Geah told me about. I heard small talk that a similar man was found. That would be you then, Irrae?"

“Well, yes, but actually no," Cricket replies.

“I would like to discuss this further but we have more urgent matters. I take it you mean to stay? We are closing the doors now, if so."

“I am staying," Krie stands firm.

“As are we," Fekkri states, putting his hand on Cricket's shoulder. “Will you as well, Rarrae? We will do everything we can to protect Irrae, we promise."

Her response is to push the priest out of the way holding the doors half open and slam them closed herself before forcing the rusted hinges on the doorbar to squeal as she wrenches it down into place.

“If you get him killed," She points at Cricket. “I will rise up in your life and take someone you hold dear in recompense."

“Pleas-e don't. I don't have very many left…" Cricket cringes.

“Must be nice to have more than one," She fumes, striding away to focus her efforts on helping the wounded priests tend to their injuries.

Krie does the same, leaving the two with the grandpriest.

“Well then. It seems we may have some time before nightfall. Can I help you both sort out your confusion before we flee?" Lethi asks.

“Let's put a pin in that for a moment," Fekkri states, confused. “Flee? How?"

“Without so many of our followers here, it is possible for us to use the hidden exit and escape during nightfall without being spotted. I was prepared to die here in service to Hatthae with them, but that appears to be an unnecessary fate as of yet."

“That's a relief. Returning to the previous subject, Cricket," Fekkri says, gesturing to him and then himself, “And myself, Fekkri, have been cast back in time, it would appear, into the bodies of these men: Irrae and Nemeon. We don't know what for or why, for that matter, and we want to go home. Have you ever heard of such a thing happening?"

“Hmm," She thinks for a moment before promptly stating, “I haven't the faintest idea!"

“Wh-what?" Fekkri stammers, caught off guard.

“Geah was the best of our scholars and could figure this out given enough time, but I'm afraid she was also our most valiant warrior. It is the foremost duty of the grandpriest to be both counsel and lover to our devoted, and I'm afraid I shirked the other aspects of being a priest of Hatthae in doing so. I never would have believed even a few hours ago an attack would strike our city without warning, so I have neither studied the martial or academic arts."

“S-o, you've been a…" Cricket begins to form a sentence, unsure of how to find a respectful version of the word he wants to say.

“A willing pleasure toy to the whims of our believers since I was appointed grandpriest? Why yes, I was. How astute of you!" She finishes for him with a chuckle.

“Wait. You. And all thos-e people?" Cricket begins to question.

“Mhm! Almost every day for decades."

“Erm," He groans. “H-how?"

“Is this really what you're focused on right now?" Fekkri chides him.

“Hah! No, no, I have heard much worse from candid travelers over the years, trust me. Do you want to know my secret, Irra – sorry, Cricket?" Lethi offers.

“Yes!" He answers earnestly.

“I'm just that good. Not even two years ago, I converted a minotaur."

“Holy s-hit…"

“Would you like an example?" She grins, displaying a crooked smile.

“That… will not be necessary."

“Aw, what a shame, but alright. Back to the matter at hand, I cannot tell you what Hatthae has done, but I might be able to discern her intentions. What did you both do that caused this?"

Fekkri fills her in on what they know, the three of them sitting down on prayer mats and doing their best to ignore the attackers hammering uselessly at the blessed gate. The short and thick of it is they went into the temple of Hatthae, long since dilapidated, and he cannot think of any reason they would be there other than to gather relics and log their discovery. Though, he does recall being dissatisfied at the lack of information to be gleaned due to the extent of damage inflicted on it, more than likely by Ghet'hir.

As he speaks, Lethi requests him to repeat himself more and more, each memory dredged up only further adding to the disconnect until she finally holds a hand up for him to stop and says something he cannot understand. He recognizes the words, but no longer do they hold meaning to him.

“Uh. Cricket. Am I speaking in the common tongue?" He asks his companion.

Cricket nods, but the words he says back have no meaning.

“I cannot understand them anymore. You'll need to finish for me Cricket?"

“S-ure, I can do thaaa-," He begins to say before his sentence turns to one of frustration. “-aahhh, dammit. We didn't explain the part where the more we remember ours-elves, we forget the lives of our hos-t bodies, did we?"

“I'm afraid so."

“Bugger me," Cricket swears.

“Only if you ask nicely…"

“Humorous, truly."

“Hey, when in Hatthaien, do as the Hatthaiens do."

Lethi motions for them to wait and comes back with a wax tablet of written prayers from the alter, smudging it flat for writing again before handing it to Cricket and motioning him to draw. About half an hour later of pictograms and back and forth charades, the duo is about seventy five percent sure she understands the situation now, and after she confers with the other priests for a while, her final response is only a shrug.

With nothing left to do, they all are able to rest until night now that the banging on the door has ceased from the attackers. That is, until it begins anew hours later, knocking dust free from the recesses of the door with each furious strike. It would appear the attackers either found a battering ram or are simply scrapping the door with magic, cracks starting to appear in the doorbar. The priests quickly rouse and scooch the center statue's base over, revealing a hidden set of stairs they are ushered down.

Fekkri carries two of the wounded priests over his shoulders with his bulk, everyone else supporting another as they descend into the darkness. With a snap of Lethi's fingers, small gemstones set into the stone floor begin to glow pink and cast enough light to make their way through. At a split path, Lethi diverts from the rest of the group and into a closed room. They can hear her shout a chant and there is a sudden bang as a tall bronze statue smashes through the door, crouching and shoving anyone out of its path as it heads back the way they came. Any light from the inner sanctum is cut off as it hauls the heavy cover of the stairs back into place. And then there's silence. Then the muffled sounds of a surprised collective yell followed by fighting.

The group watches Lethi return, unharmed, with a large bag of clinking coins, and behind her, Cricket can see into the room and realizes it's a treasury. Not only is there gold and silver aplenty, but also a distinctive set of polished armor set against the wall. Noticing his gaze, Lethi tilts his chin to look her in the eyes. Getting the message, both Cricket and Fekkri drop the matter and follow her once more until they face a trap door. When opened, sand spills thickly into the corridor, but the dusky sky can be seen with the sun just having dropped under the horizon.

They wait half an hour for darkness to set in and then carefully make their way out, one of the priests holding up the rear carefully erasing their tracks with a cloak. The door itself was closed and covered back up with sand to keep it hidden.

“I guess you kept your word, Cricket," Rarrae says softly as she travels beside him.

Irrae gives her a confused look. “Cricket? Don't start calling me that; you know I hate those things."

Fekkri and Cricket wake with a start, both sweating profusely and feeling exhausted to the bone. They clutch each other close when they realize it's over, taking deep breaths to calm their racing hearts. Resummoning a light, the two men feel their blood go cold as they observe the statue sitting nonchalantly beside them. With a smile, she gives them a small wave, settling the hair that puffed up on their scruffs somewhat.

“Hiiii…" Cricket trails off. “Was everything we just s-aw real?"

“More or less. Your actions never happened in the past. But the outcome was still very similar," She replies, her voice rough and quiet.

“Are you Hatthae?"

“What is left, yes."

“I'm… sorry, for what happened to you. Your people seemed to really love you," Cricket offers, pulling himself wearily out of the bedroll.

“It is…" She trails off, looking at the stuttering, grinding movement of her fingers that barely respond to her will. “It is all history now. History you now know. Will you both tell it for me?"

“Of course!" Fekkri agrees quickly, pushing himself into a sitting position. “We'd be happy to hear more as well."

“I'm afraid I haven't the time to give much detail. The last part I wish to tell you is the one I couldn't show: I am the one who reduced this land to sand and dust. The Ghet'hir may have conquered my city, but I would not let them keep it… and it cost me everything. Lethi was right that it might all one day be rebuilt, but I gave into my anger, into the petty spite of being abandoned by the followers I cared for so dearly. I suppose it is my own fault for not even sensing such an army on the horizon."

“I understand that feeling perfectly well," Fekkri expresses quietly. “It was satisfying in the moment, but leaves a void of regret in passing."

“Indeed. I have taken much from you two. I will pay it back now," She strains, rising up to take staggering steps towards the stone base she previously stood on and, with great difficulty, shoves it out of the way.

In the same movement, she collapses, trying for a moment to stand but quickly giving up when her limbs do little more than quiver. The two rush to her and crouch down by the fallen god. Their expression is one of content, eyes closed and accepting of her end, when it suddenly shifts.

“You're not alone here," She creaks. “They've brought… a flying machine. Stinks of greed. The armor. Below. Use. I can h-h-h-h…"

Her voice tremors before falling silent, the statue becoming still once more. Looking at each other wordlessly, the two decide to head her warning urgently and quickly move down to the treasury, finding it still filled with everything they saw through the past lives of Nemeon and Irrae. Their focus is immediately drawn to the armor, the stand it sat upon having long decayed and broken but the equipment itself pristine.

Beside it is a small circular shield of polished bronze with inlaid ivory around the boss and a sheathed khopesh bearing a matching handle.

“You wear it," Cricket suggests. “You're better at me in melee and I can us-e my gun."

“I was about to suggest that," Fekkri nods. “But my body feels like lead; I don't know if I can fight, let alone cast magic."

The sound of scratching suddenly gets their attention, and both see the trap door start to shudder.

“Fuck me running," Fekkri sighs, moving to pull on the armor.

“Only if you as-k nicely…"

“Less sass, more hauling ass, Cricket!"

First order of business is stripping Fekkri out of his clothing quickly, his leathers and cloak having been left by the side of the bedroll before they slept. Second order of business is getting him into the new armor. It is composed of pauldrons with a short crimson cape that can be pulled on easily enough along with leggings made of some kind of black silk, the bronze plates affixed to them held sturdily in place by meticulous, tough stitching, and a set of gauntlets with soft leather lining the inside. Lastly is a cuirass of metal plates and an overhanging loincloth of crimson fabric, matching the cape.

Grabbing the shield and khopesh, the two run back up the stairs as the trap door bursts open, sand and two white, draconic men tumbling into the corridor. Fekkri assumes they are wearing no clothing to reduce drag from burrowing into the sand whereas Cricket is just confused, the two leaving before they can get up and swiftly making their way back into the sanctum. As Cricket goes for his rifle on his rucksack, several clicks around the room of pistols cocking make him slowly back up, hands raised.

From the doorway, several figures slink forward, appearing as a painted dog, a jackal, a hyena, and another dragon, this one red. They're dressed in heavy cotton cloaks and breathable clothes, save for the first two dragonborn that come up from the secret stairwell.

“Well, well, yous both found the treasure for us already and started playing costume. Tracking you lot through a sandstorm wasn't easy, but nothing ever worth it is!" The hyena chortles. “We's not the sharing type, let alone letting word of a score slip, but I tells you what: we've been pretty damn bored, what with flying around in our airship all day! Entertain us, and I might let you leave with your hides still attached."

“Alright Cricket, upon further examination of the situation, you may proceed with more sass," Fekkri says dryly.

“Where s-hould I s-tart? With the fact that armor makes your butt look big or it would look better on me?"

“You told me to put it on!"

“I've got to give you s-ome edge, old timer."

“I look barely a decade older than you!"

“You're certainly good looking for your age…"

“I'm not taking this from a dork that wears sand goggles like religious garb."

“That's rich coming from a guy wearing a literal bird skull around his neck!"

“If you think this is a bird skull, you should start wearing glasses instead!"

The two shouting back and forth at each other gets a chuckle out of the pirates, lowering their guns and relaxing. At that moment, Fekkri unsheathes the khopesh and prepares to charge at the nearest one when it suddenly disappears in his hand, along with the shield on his arm, and the entire cuirass keeping him decent.

“You Have Got To Be Kidding Me," Fekkri groans as the pirates guffaw, laughing so hard one of them accidentally shoots the floor. “Cricket."

“Yeah?" He replies, moving closer to Fekkri while the pirates are distracted and doubling over.

“Plan B: Hatthae's magic is created by shows of affection. Have you noticed that too?"

“I have. And I think what the act is decides how s-trong it is. Wait, you're not suggesting…"

“Cricket. I'm not saying I want to–"

“No! Abs-olutely not!"

“Do you honestly think they'll let us live?"

“Not really, no!" He admits grudgingly.

“Then I need you to–"

“I really don't want to hear you say it!"

“Cricket, I need you to fuck me!"

“…are you getting off from the situation?"

“Yes! You are too!"

“No, I'm n-" Cricket begins to deny before he looks down and sees a bulge in his pants, mirroring Fekkri's growing erection. “… When in Hatthaien, I guess!"

“How do you wan–"

“Face down, preferably mouth shut."

Stripping off the groin pouch that is his first and only line of defence to keep him covered, he's left modest in all the useless ways in the rest of his clothing, pushing Fekkri to the floor where he lifts his tail and gets to licking.

One of the pirates whistles in response, the hyena chucking in disbelief, “You both know how to follow an order, I'll give you that!"

“Gaaah! Barbed tongue, Cricket, barbed tongue!" Fekkri whines, the pirates themselves shivering sympathetically.

“You want me to s-hove it in dry?"

“Use the underside, you dork!"

“Oh. That's not a bad idea."

That works much better as Cricket liberally laps and pushes against Fekkri's backdoor, getting enough worked up he pops in a finger just to test him and is surprised by how easily his digit is swallowed. It only takes a moment to find his prostate and caress it with a beckoning motion of his finger, one of the pirates moaning in time with Fekkri and then looking startled.

Cricket notices that this time and does it again a bit harder, another man catching his breath. How very interesting and useful! Fekkri is definitely playing up his pleasured groans, but Cricket can tell from how he clamps down that he's needy, and with him prepped, all that's left is to mount. Tired as he is, Cricket can only lie down on top of Fekkri and thrust inside, but that is enough to strike his prostate like a gong, making the pirates sigh in unison and lose balance, either falling over or having to lean against the wall.

He starts in slow thrusts, seeing dim pink sparks dance around him that begin to glow brighter, pushing him to go harder.

“Dammit, why did you have to be s-o tight?" Cricket hisses, his libido starting to override the distaste of being inside his friend.

“Am I allowed to speak now?" Fekkri giggles, gasping as Cricket gives him a balls deep hump in response.

“That didn't stop you before, ya brat!"

“Oh, I'm the brat?"

“Right now, yeah!"

“So, you're not denying you've been one?"

“Do you want me to split you in half?" Cricket demands.

“I've been wanting to get broken in half for the past three weeks and words cannot begin to describe just how much you're leaving me wanting!"

“I was trying to be gentle, but fine, have it your way!" Cricket snaps, bracing himself on Fekkri's shoulders as he skips the chivalry and begins to thrust hard and fast into his depths, aiming right for his prostate to crash against with the head of his penis before grinding past.

The effect is instantaneous as the pirates are floored, pre from their throbbing shafts wetting through their clothes as it feels like they're receiving the same assault on their own backdoors.

“Wha-what kind of magic is this?" One of the white dragons shivers.

“The kind that's distracting us while they're up to something! Stop them!" The painted dog calls out.

“C'mon, Cricket, harder!" Fekkri urges him.

“I know, I'm trying!"

“No, I meant I can barely feel it!"

“I'm aware you're trying to piss me off. And I hate. That. It's. Fucking. Working!" Cricket snarls, each pause being followed by a harder push into Fekkri's ass with enough force their hips meet with a dull slap despite their fur coats dampening it.

Shuddering and moaning loudly, the pirates struggle to so much as crawl forward an inch, save for the red dragon which speaks to which position he usually prefers.

“Nrrmf! Is tHAAt all yOu gooooOOT!" Fekkri stammers, suddenly flipped onto his side and leg raised into the air as Cricket hammers into him with a second wind.

The pirates are now starting to even feel the soft impact of Cricket's plush testicles against Fekkri's toned butt, the invading weight and force of each stab from his cock firing through their nerves and bringing this warm, fuzzy pressure raging through their loins. A dual yowl from Cricket and Fekkri marks the entire group's shared climax, the pirates' loads being drained into their pants as Cricket fires rope after rope inside with Fekkri milking him for all he's worth.

The older cat's seed is hot and wet against his belly fur from where his erection is trapped between his abdomen and the ground, legs shaking and rump partially numb. Having noticed the effects of the armor, partially numb is suddenly not a good thing to him. If they're going to get out of this, his legs need to be entirely unstable, and ass so sore walking would be out of the question entirely! The pink sparks begin to sink into his fur, and with it, Fekkri feels a small burst of power.

Cricket is breathing heavily, trying to recollect his thoughts from the heady climax, as are the rest of the pirates, when Fekkri suddenly pushes him onto his back and hops on his dick.

“Agh! H-ah, fuck!" Cricket stammers, overstimulated when Fekkri's lips lock over his in a deep kiss.

A few words are mumbled into his mouth and a jolt of magic goes through him, heat forming in his loins and face that are fanned into a raging flame. Grabbing Fekkri's hips, Cricket pushes into each of Fekkri's pumps along his length, moaning feverishly around his tongue as he's ridden hard. The pirates receive no such aid and instead yelp and bark as they feel their own sensitive spot being hammered into silly puddy.

Having just came, they regain some mobility, but when the red dragon gets close enough to lay a hand on Cricket's leg, they roll away into the missionary position, dodging the white dragons and following into doggy. Warmth paints their insides again as Cricket climaxes a second time, but this time he doesn't stop, pistoning again and again mercilessly. Sparks radiate around the two like they're a bonfire, only growing in fervor as Cricket's stroking grasp along Fekkri's neglected cock causes him to paint the floor a second time.

“F-fuck this!" The hyena trembles, pulling his gun. “I d-didn't c-c-cOME–"

His thought is interrupted as his traitorous body burns with desire again and the contents of his balls are wasted upon the stone floor yet once more.

“C-come here to get fucked…" He finishes, raising the gun before it is promptly plucked from his grasp by a semi-transparent hand that then holds it by the flint and shakes until it pops free, the flintlock falling to the ground with its ignition device disabled.

Besides questioning his sexuality, this leaves the hyena annoyed and he yells for the rest of the crew to shoot, only for them to all find out their flint was also yoinked, the powder wetted, or their gun outright flung to the other side of the room. The white dragons have since given up trying to fight it and lie against one another, lapping each other's shafts.

Then the painted dog's eyes begin to glow, and he hops onto the jackal, of whom resists at first but quickly breaks down in both mental and physical faculties at the feeling of being railed by two cocks at the same time. Fekkri's whispers turn to chanting and whatever spell he cast upon the painted dog hits the red dragon as well, eyes locking onto the hyena.

“No, no, no, nonono!" He seethes, nipping and struggling ineffectually, but his body is so shaky he can't stop the dragon from pulling down his pants and mounting him from behind, arms curling under his armpits to grasp his shoulders in a hold he cannot shake off. “I-I am so going to kill you for this!"

“Worth it!" The red dragon breathes, tongue lolling out. “I love the feeling of being sandwiched."

The display of wanton lust creates only more sparks the armor absorbs until it begins to hum and lets out a lambent pulse. With it, the statue's eyes snap to attention, planting a hand into the floor with a heavy thud that alerts the pirates before she rises.

“You needed only channel a portion of this much power into my form," She frowns. “It seems I'm damned for another century to endure these sands."

The blackguards are in no condition to fight, let alone run, but it would appear she's feeling merciful, given that their lust helped revive her. Instead of making a sad reenactment of her first waking in the statue, she merely waves a hand. Pink suffuses their eyes, and they redouble their efforts to fuck one another's brains out, only this time the hyena's pride has been put on mute and he begins yelping and moaning so loud with each mating thrust of the dragonhood inside him another ghost hand clamps around his muzzle.

“To be honest, I had no idea we could bring you back at all," Fekkri clarifies while he lets Cricket's battered shaft slip free and then collapses on top of him, seed leaking out of his gaped hole and down his taint.

“Evidently. I suppose you would now like me to aid you in commandeering their flying machine and hauling my temple's treasure onto it."

“Given I can't stand right now," Fekkri says with a half grin as he looks at the delirious expression plastered across Cricket's face. “And he cannot either, we would greatly appreciate that."

“Very well," She smirks. “But no promises I won't accidently break it trying to do so."

“On second thought, they're not leaving without their buddies… probably. Give us a, uh, ten to twenty minute breather."

“I jest. These men will prove far more submissive to orders for the next couple of days; have them do it. I imagine they can even talk those left onboard into letting you on. And after you are ready to depart, seal the temple behind you. Leave me to my peace."

“Is that really what you want?"

“There is nothing out there for me."

“What if I said I have an entire clan that would be thrilled to have you?"

“… I can tell from your actions in Nemeon's life you are honorable, thus I shall entertain your invitation. What does this clan primarily do? What are its ideals?"

“What we try to do is different from what we end up doing most of the time: hunting pirates, bandits, and raiders."

“I'm listening…"

“So," Cricket hums, leaning over the railing next to the helm as Fekkri guides the airship towards the port they came in on.

“So," Fekkri echoes conversationally.

It's been about two days since they 'commandeered' the airship with Hatthae's help making the matter trivial, the fallen goddess having sat down on the main deck and not moved since boarding. How they're going to get her back to the clan is still a challenge they have yet to find a solution for, given this ramshackle airship would not survive the full trip. Fekkri has also changed back to his normal clothing, cloak billowing in the streaming air.

“Are we going to talk about it," Cricket sighs, gesturing vaguely and showing just how conflicted his feelings are. “Or jus-t pretend this never happened?"

“I think we're both adults and can speak plainly, if you need to get something off your chest."

“Yeah, the entire weight of your fluffy butt!"

“Heh. Can I ask one unhinged question first?"

“S-ure, why not at this point."

“Was I your best?"

“Bes-t what?"

“You know, best lay," He winks.

Cricket furrows his brow, having not even considered that until now, and Fekkri has to bite his tongue to avoid snickering as the stages of grief flash across his face, nose turning red by the realization that turns him speechless, merely nodding before burying his head in his arms.

“Damn, I'm good," Fekkri states with no small amount of satisfaction. “What was it you want to talk about, by the way?"

“Mos-tly," Cricket begins, his voice muffled by his arms. “I wanted to make s-ure nothing was weird between us. But I realize now I forgot who I'm talking to."

“You can wear the armor next if you'd like to…"

“Wha-?" Cricket yelps, unfurling his head to look incredulously at Fekkri where his corny grin makes it plain he's just yanking his chain. “Pfff. Buy me dinner firs-t."

“Hey, it's not bad practice for me to take you out for a night in the city, have a bit of wine, maybe some foreplay…," Fekkri purrs, wiggling his eyebrows. “Then you can keep up appearances for the next lover having you roleplay as me!"

“Oh, for fucks sake…"

“I can tell you which tailor I ordered the silk outfits from if you'd like," Fekkri adds in a sing song voice.

“…"

“Out of smarm?"

“Sure am…"

“What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

“You certainly did!" Cricket mocks, sticking his tongue out at him brattishly. “I bet you liked it too!"

“It's a far cry from the worst thing I've done…"

“Next you'll be wanting to compare how both of us fit in the armor to s-ee if I was actually right about your butt being bigger in it."

“… Did you want to?"

“N-no!"

“Not even a tiny bit curious?"

“I saw more than enough to know the answer!"

“Good to know it was memorable, then!"

“Gaaah! Is this the level of frustration I've been giving you for the past decade?"

“Absolutely! Though, I suppose now that we have the armor, every time you're a pain in the ass, I can have Arvie plow me and give you one too!"

“Do NOT introduce him to that. He'll want to use it every night!"

“I don't see a problem with this."

“You will when you're getting vicarious-ly sh-agged in the middle of address-ing the clan!"

“Ohhh~ Don't give me a warning when you do it; I want it to be a surprise."

“I'm calling your bluff."

“Really now? Go on then. Go grab that armor and prove it!"

“Maybe I will!"

“Good! Just make sure not to stretch the fit on those leggings too!"

“Will you let that go already!?"