Zion: Light of the New Moon, Milestone 2c
Zion: Light of the New Moon Part 2 Milestone 2c
Of Dragons Intro
There is an ancient tome hidden away inside the vaults of the High Keeper's Library within Zion. Penned simply and without flourish, the tome is slowly separating from its worm-eaten binding. This forgotten book, entitled simply "Of Dragons" is, in truth, the only written history of dragon-kind and explains truer than any other source the tale of the keepers of creation. This is what the tome tells us.
The dragons were first birthed from the swirling, shifting chaos of creation. The original offspring of Tah'aveen and Tah'enar, the dragons were also, by far, the greatest. They were born into a new world, full of possibility and promise. It was an existence unfettered by the limits of true mortality, as they were of the purest essence of the gods. It is not that they came into being because of creation, no... in truth, they were the powers of creation incarnate.
Knowing that the world would need shepherds, Tah'aveen and Tah'enar granted to the dragons the task of guiding the new creatures, aiding them in understanding their new existence, and creating a bridge between the divine and the mortal. Immune to the ravages of time, the dragons were powerful, and eternal... or, nearly so. Although not truly immortal, the first dragons were capable of living indefinitely until or unless wounds stole the life from their bodies. With the calm love of the new creation all around them, this taste of the mortal condition was unknown to the dragons... until that peace was shattered.
To the dragons, the resulting chaos of the gods was an armageddon. A peaceful utopia of a world suddenly became a hell of new feelings and emotions that had, before that moment, never existed. Some creatures were made predator, and some prey. New descriptions of places and things-- bad... dangerous... fearworthy... unsafe... these had not been reality, but suddenly became the laws of the world. The dragons watched the world change around them and, suddenly, they lost much of their understanding of what they once thought was real.
During this time, the dragons changed as well. Though the twenty four true dragons were once of a single roost, a single family, and a single mindset, they found themselves as fractured as the rest of creation. Their scales had been of the purest diamond blue-- homage to the land and the sea but, as they each began to see the world differently their very forms changed with their new perceived purposes.
The six dragons who sought to restore the divine's love of their creation fled from their weyr. They founded a new nest far away, surrounded by the purest essence of all that had once been. Their scales lost their blue sheen, glossing over opaque and as pale as snow. The white dragons sought to restore creation to its original form. By devoting themselves to the gods, they wished to show the divine how much the mortal realm required their love and begged of the creators to forgive and forget their differences for the sake of their creation. Although the White Dragons' nest grew as the dragons birthed more of their kind, their way survived scarcely a millenia before passing into oblivion.
Unable to sit idly by and watch as the whole of creation destroyed itself, six dragons took it upon themselves to help impose order and understanding to the chaos. These half-dozen guardians lost the vibrant, diamond-hue to their scales. Given over to mourning for all that could not be saved, the Black Dragons' scales were ever-more shaded as if all day were a funeral. Indeed... to the guardian dragons, every death that took place was a sign of their ever-lasting failure. Unlike the other dragons, the Black Dragons did not find a communal roost, rather, they spread themselves out upon the world that each could protect as much as possible. This was to be their undoing, however, as the last of the True Black Dragons had passed from the world before the end of the great wars that fractured the Empire of the Moon.
Jealous of the creatures of the land who had never known the perfection of what once was, six dragons could not abide the new world and remain sane amidst the turmoil and chaos. Giving over to their spite, the True Green Dragons created a swath of destruction, obliterating anything and everything they could. Considering themselves the incarnation of divine wrath, they believed that they would be able to help the gods start anew if only they could cleanse the imperfection from the tainted creation. Although, ultimately all of the six were destroyed (leaving no dragon progeny behind), it is thought that, on occasion, the dragons sought solace among creatures other than their own kind, which is why drakes and dragon-kin are green hued more often than not.
Uncertain and afraid, the dragons that remained in the near-abandoned Weyr were the philosophers among their kind. The new world was strange to them, and they knew there would be no way to act upon anything until or unless they had a course of action. These dragons, ashamed and rebuked by their brethren, wore their scarlet hue as if it were a flag, identifying them as those who would not act until they found the right path to follow. The Red Dragons were thought to have perished with the unforeseen destruction of the dragon weyr, but their contemplative nature had granted them the insight of preparation and they had spread their progeny far from home to ensure the survival of their line. Though the offspring of their sedentary and monastic lifestyle grew numerous, said dragons were not TRUE Dragons, they remain the most numerous to this day.
The Last De'aveen Josh (& Anor-Roc), Sebastian, Tolen, & Thera
It took Anor-Roc some time to calm Josh down to a point where they could share a discussion. The coy-wolf strolled casually along the sewer trail which had been swept clean by the massive wave of water. Josh, on the other hand, half-stumbled every other step, an occasional cough still coming unbidden to his breath. The tunnels were damp and, as such, the air was laiden with moisture; after over an hour of searching the lion's fur was still soaking wet, and he trudged along, tail dragging miserably.
"I need to find a warm fire or something." Josh lamented, "I'm FREEZING."
"It's not that cold." the coy-wolf offered absently, glancing down a side tunnel. A white ball of light shone from the palm of his right paw. The glow was muted and shuttered, providing a soft beam in a forward direction. It was not bright, but it provided him enough light by which to see... barely. "It could be worse, anyway."
"Easy for you to say," the cub scowled, "you don't look like you're wet at all."
Anor-Roc paused and glanced back at the shivering lion, and snapped himself free from his thoughts to focus more clearly on Josh. "You're right," he acknowledged, "I'm sorry..." he took a breath, then, thanks to the still-present ambient stench of the sewers suddenly wished he hadn't. "Listen..." he offered once he got his gag-reflex under control, "We need to see if we can find anyone else... if we sit down and start a fire it might attract attention, and if it's just the two of us the wrong kind of attention could be deadly."
"I used to hear stories at the temple about people dying from cold too." Josh mumbled, shivering as he pulled his soaked robe tighter around him, "at least a sword would be faster."
"First of all," Anor-Roc paused, turning to regard the cub, "You're not going to die here-- I won't let that happen." the promise, the coy-wolf knew, was essentially a hollow one; he had no way to guarantee the lion's safety, "and second, your robe is not going to help you stay warm... if anything, the fact that it's soaked is only making you colder." he reached out and gave the wet raiment a squeeze, "Take it off."
"But..." Josh paused, squeezing the cloth closer, "My spare clothes are back at the--"
The coy-wolf sighed and spoke harshly, "The temple didn't teach you much about preparing for unforeseen circumstances, did it?"
The cub only shrugged in response, "How are you supposed to prepare for something you don't know is coming?"
Anor-Roc rolled his eyes and let out a breath to help stay focused; he knew the poor lion cub wasn't trying to be difficult on purpose, "Listen..." he spoke in a much calmer, reassuring voice, "Strip down to your loincloth-- you lose more heat to wet clothes than you do to the air."
"But..." Josh objected, aghast at the suggestion, "I don't want to leave my robe here!"
The coy-wolf couldn't help but smile just a little at the inane concern, "I'll carry it." With the objection out of the way, the cub loosened the silk belt that held his robe to him and doffed it. Josh folded it carefully with near-reverence and then, still shaking, offered it to Anor-Roc. The coy-wolf accepted it with a nod and tucked it under his arm; he could feel the cold water seeping from it, but, as he expected, his semi-real body didn't recoil from it. Though his senses were intact there was no urgency to it; if Anor-Roc had entertained any ideas of his new body being a resurrection they left him by that point.
Standing with his tail tucked between his legs and his arms clasped across his damp chest, Josh continued to shiver, his teeth clicking audibly together, but, to Anor-Roc, the cub's frantic attempts to stay warm were much more related to comfort then rather than survival. "Better?" the coy-wolf asked calmly.
The chattering of Josh's teeth finally passed, "Um..." and his ears slowly rose, "Yea... a little." and he even managed to summon a slight smile, "But I'm not gonna take off my sandals." he gazed down at the mostly-clean sewer floor and made a disgusted face, "Yeach." and stuck out his tongue.
"Alright." Anor-Roc smiled, "It's not that bad, but, sure, you can keep your sandals on." He offered a soft chuckle, and motioned ahead down the corridor, "Come on... we need to see if we can get back to the others."
The two walked for what felt like forever. Every few minutes Josh would stop to catch his breath, running his paws over his still-wet fur. Anor-Roc could tell that the young lion was still cold, but the cub's shivering wasn't nearly as bad. Still, he realized, they would not be able to travel endlessly; not only would Josh eventually need to stop, but so too would the summoning effect allowing the coy-wolf to remain active.
"I'm tired..." the cub murmured not long after the thought went through Anor-Roc's mind, "...and cold."
The coy-wolf opened his muzzle to respond, but, as he spoke, Anor-Roc realized he couldn't hear his own voice. Pausing, the summoner tried again, and, again, he said nothing. Only at that point did the coy-wolf realize that the robe he had carried had fallen through his arm. Anor-Roc reached down and picked it up. A moment of fear lanced through him when he saw his paw completely disappear and the robe cascaded back to the floor once again.
"Roc?" Josh asked, turning to look at him. The cub's eyes widened, reflecting green in the light Anor-Roc held.
The coy-wolf tried speaking several more times; he managed to clearly speak perhaps a half dozen words, but it was getting harder to be understood as he continued blinking out of existence for longer and longer spans of time, and it was becoming more common. A thought suddenly came to mind, ~My time is running out and you're too tired to upkeep my presence.~ he kenned as hard as he could to Josh.
The cub jumped in response, "I... I heard you... in my MIND!" his eyes were even wider, if at all possible.
~Keep going.~ Anor-Roc told him, ~I'll still be with you even if you can't see me.~
The lion turned to continue on at a slower pace, "Maybe... maybe I could try summoning you again?"
~You need your strength.~ the coy-wolf kenned, ~I'll try to keep kenning with you, but I don't know if it'll work after I~
Josh froze in place, turning back over his shoulder as the kenning suddenly ended, "Roc?" he called softly, and then quivered in fear as Anor-Roc's summoned, disembodied glowing ball of light faded into nothing. "Roc?" he whimpered softly. "ROC!" he cried, his voice echoing around him through the sewer tunnels. Josh began to cry, but fell silent the moment he heard a scuff along the stone floor not far behind him.
"There could still be cultists down here, you know." Sebastian's voice broke the silence.
"Oh GODDESS!" Josh rasped in relief. He spun around throwing his arms wide in the dark and leaning forward to give the gryphon a huge hug-- he failed, however, as he impacted chest-first into Sebastian's beak, "OW!
Sebastian let out an indignant squawk and clacked his beak together a few times, "What was THAT supposed to be, exactly?" he demanded.
"Um..." Josh blushed in the darkness, "A hug?"
"Well you almost made me hug my tongue with my beak." the gryphon stated, "THAT would have been bad... I like my tongue."
"Sorry." the cub noted, and slowly reached out toward the origin of Sebastian's voice, "Where--" and he froze the moment one of his finger tips poked into something soft and spongy.
"OW MY EYE!" Sebastian squawked. Josh recoiled immediately, but Sebastian began laughing a moment later, "Just kidding."
"I can't see a thing." the cub lamented.
"You had light a minute ago." the gryphon spoke up, "Why not now?"
"It was Anor-Roc doing it..." the young lion breathed, "HE summoned the light."
"Well... you're a summoner too, right?" Sebastian questioned, "So YOU do it now."
"I'm not really sure I--"
"Summon the light or I swear to the Goddess I'm gonna start biting you." the gryphon spoke calmly and evenly with the hint that it was a promise. Josh managed to create a glow in two tries. "Good cub." Sebastian acknowledged, then took a step closer and unfurled a wing, folding it back over the lion, pulling Josh to his side with the appendage.
"That's a lot warmer." Josh noted immediately, "That's a lot better..." he purred softly.
"Duh." Sebastian countered, "You're walking around a sewer almost naked... almost anything's better than that."
"Not wearing a wet robe." the cub volunteered, "That's actually worse."
"I'll take your word for it." the gryphon stated, "Climb up-- we can move faster if you're not slowing me down." He reached down to latch onto Josh's discarded, still-wet robe and carried it in one of his talons.
Josh didn't bother objecting; the moment Sebastian crouched down the cub was astride him, laying his entire body out along the gryphon's back. He snuggled into Sebastian's fur, "mmm..." he noted, each breath coming out as a purr, which only intensified as the gryphon folded his wings down across him like a feathery blanket. Josh was asleep in seconds.
Sebastian walked along the tunnel quietly, the light summoned by Josh continuing to linger over them even as the cub slept. The gryphon's keen eyesight allowed him to see past the immediate aura of light, which is why he managed to find the tunnel he sought. He came to a stop when the sewer passage terminated, spilling out into an enormous chasm.
Gazing across the distance, Sebastian eyed the far side of the hole several hundred yards away. His eyes followed the fault line of the break off in the distance as well as the approximate portion of earth that separated the sewer tunnel and ground level. Sebastian paused, taking the time to gauge his ability to maneuver in the opening if he were to try to ascend to the streets-- he realized it would not be possible weighed down by josh. In that moment, however, his attention was called elsewhere as he heard the scrambling of paws against loose rocks and desperate panting below him. Moving to the edge, Sebastian gaze down.
"Ugh..." breathed a thin, white fox. He grunted and strained, fighting to hold onto the lip of an opening just below the sewer tunnel, "Goddess help me..." the robed fox whispered.
"I'm not Tah'aveen," Sebastian offered, startling the fox enough that he almost lost his grip. Sebastian dangled a talon over the edge, lowering Josh's wet robe down as an ad-hoc rope, "But I could stand-in if that's alright with you."
"Thank you... thank you, Sir." the fox replied, his soft voice raised with desperate gratitude. He latched onto the end of the robe with one paw, using the other to help him scramble up the sheer stone face of the chasm. The fox was so busy paying attention to his safety that it wasn't until he was in the sewer that he realized who his savior was, "NO!" he suddenly gasped, muzzle-to-beak with the gryphon.
"Relax." Sebastian stated, sour expression taking up his face, "I'm not hungry."
"You..." the fox paused in his false-start. It only took a moment before he regained his voice, "You talk!"
"Better than you, apparently." the gryphon flicked a feathery ear-tuft.
"Ughn..." Josh murmured from beneath Sebastian's feathers, "What is it?"
"I just saved a fox." the gryphon answered, eyes still focused on the rescued climber.
The lion cub emerged from beneath the wings and blinked a few times, "Hi." he offered simply.
"You're..." the arctic fox murmured, "riding a gryphon..."
"My name's Josh..." the cub acknowledged, "his name is Sebastian."
"Sebastian..." the fox gaped, looking at Josh.
"No... MY name is Sebastian." the gryphon repeated slowly and purposefully, as if speaking to someone slow of wit, "THAT's Josh."
"Tolen..." the fox murmured.
"No... Josh." Sebastian corrected.
"No--" the fox began, but the gryphon cut him short.
"No-- really... it is." Sebastian's face quirked with a beaky grin, "His name really IS Josh."
"MY name." the fox gave the gryphon an appraising look.
"Your name is Josh too?" Sebastian questioned mirthfully.
"No... Tolen." the fox elaborated.
"My name is Sebastian, not Tolen, Josh." Sebastian countered.
"Stop it." the cub gave the gryphon a light slap on the back, then addressed the fox, "Hi, Tolen... don't mind Sebastian, he does stuff like that all the time."
"Not ALL the time." Sebastian countered.
Josh grinned in response, "Often enough that Roarg tells you to shut up all the time."
"Roarg?" Tolen asked, suddenly focusing on the cub, "Roarg Stoneclan?"
Both the gryphon and the lion looked at the fox in unison, "You know Roarg?" Josh asked.
"I've lived with Roarg for YEARS," Sebastian noted indignantly, "How do you know him if I don't know you?"
"Roarg Stoneclan saved my family years ago when we lived in Bannihar--"
"So..." Josh paused, "You're with the Bannihar caravan?"
"No..." Tolen shook his head, "I came here from Shrad."
"You just said you're from Bannihar." Sebastian countered.
"I am... originally." Tolen acknowledged, "But most recently I lived in Shrad, and--" he paused, "Did you say Roarg Stoneclan is here in Zion?"
The chaotic questions and answers would have continued for some time if they hadn't been interrupted by a rope dangling into view where the tunnel opened up into the chasm. "Master?" a voice called questioningly.
"Allin?" Tolen hailed, moving to the edge of the sewer.
"I have found aid, Master." the voice called from above.
"Master?" Josh questioned, his forehead wrinkling slightly, "You're a slaver?"
"No!" Tolen quickly spoke up emphatically, "I--"
"Master..." the voice called, "We will pull you up."
"I'm pretty sure he just called you 'master'." Sebastian stated flatly.
Tolen fidgeted, taking hold of the rope and securing it around his waist, "That's because he's a Blade Slave, and they--"
"And you're his Master..." Josh scowled, "So you ARE a slaver."
"No." Tolen shook his head, "I told you, I'm not--"
"Hey!" a firm, female voice called from above, "You can have your argument later."
Tolen's ears raised at that, and he looked up then immediately disappeared as he was pulled out of view. A moment later the rope dangled back down, "Grab hold!" the female voice called.
Josh looked to Sebastian, who glanced back. The cub shrugged and dismounted, then went to the rope and reached tentatively for it. Once it was in his grasp, Josh carefully secured it around himself, "A-alright..." he called hesitantly, then let out a spitting hiss of surprise as he was yanked upward.
Sebastian sighed, shaking his head, and didn't bother waiting for the rope, rather, he launched out into the chasm and, with a quick double-beat of his wings he was sailing across the enormous hole. Reaching the opposite side, the gryphon slammed into the wall and launched himself back into the air in the other direction. Leaping from wall to wall, Sebastian quickly made his way up to street level and landed gracefully amidst a small group: Josh, Tolen, and two others, a female mouse and a male Tamaskan.
The newcomers were surprised by Sebastian's appearance but Josh managed to get them quickly under control by explaining that the gryphon was a friend. "Yea... so no spears or anything." Sebastian added for good measure.
"So it IS true..." the female spoke softly. Sebastian paused, a little disconcerted by the tone in her voice, as if his sudden presence were the last clue she needed to solve some riddle. "You... you DO speak." she acknowledged.
Without hesitance, the gryphon had his response ready, "Better than y--"
"Thera De'aveen." the mouse curtsied before the gryphon.
Despite Sebastian's surprise at who addressed him, the gryphon still managed to provide a casual answer, "No, my name is Sebastian."
Seeking the Past Taggart, Tollie, & Zachary
"You've awakened too early." Tollie spoke calmly to the decomposing bison that stumbled toward him, "Too early..." The Corpse did not understand his words, not that the hyena expected it to, but he said them more for his own benefit regardless.
The sounds of combat rang all around him as the combined caravans of Myrh and Shrad fought for their lives. Tollie heard the shouts of warning and exclamations of concern from both directions but the seer knew that, no matter how hard the group attempted to remain together, the Corpses would eventually overrun them; he continued to lead the bison Corpse away from everyone else, not bothering to stay close-- he had seen himself as responsible for a number of deaths were he to try. There was one thing he could do, however, to save as many as possible.
"Flee!" he shouted. The hyena knew several members of the party would have a hard time letting such a suggestion get past their pride, but he had no qualms about inserting a hint of magical compulsion into the order. Tollie fell back down a side tunnel only once he knew that nobody would be able to track his path; they had brought him to Zion and he could do no more for them... not yet.
Tollie continued backing his way down the corridor, one paw held against the stone wall to his left; dozens of bodies, protected for centuries by the aura of Zion had once more become open to the predation of dark energies and he knew there was nothing he could do to keep them from being animated, but that did not mean he was helpless. As he retreated from the bison in front of him, the hyena could not help but smirk at the muted thuds from within the wall; he had reinforced the structure of the stone-- they would animate, but they would not escape their confines.
"That leaves you." the hyena spoke to the bison limping toward him. "and you." Tollie added, stopping at the sound of shuffling behind him. He closed his eyes, willing his other senses to aid him in his time of need. The Corpse behind him lunged forward, but the seer had expected it; the overbalanced, rotting zebra fell to the ground as Tollie's staff caught up in its legs. The hyena stepped past it, driving the butt of his cane into the back of its decomposing head, splattering its clumpy, half-solid brains all across the floor.
The bison lumbered forward in the instant that Tollie slowed, but the hyena was not exactly caught unaware. Raising a single paw palm out toward the charging Corpse, the hyena called to the dark energy animating it. Like an unattended sack of potatoes, the bison fell to the ground, once again unmoving. Gritting his teeth, Tollie held the black force within his paw, recoiling from the wrongness of it... but he was not about to let it go. Taking a deep breath, the hyena slowly closed his fingers; he could not let it escape.
The foul essence resisted his movement, pushing back against his digits as if it were alive. Clenching his jaw, Tollie would not be denied and the power finally withered into a single faint whisp of smoke. "You take your turn too early... far too early." the seer spoke to nobody in particular, shaking his head, "Everything is out of order." he mumbled to himself. The hyena continued down the corridor and counted the side tunnels, stopping immediately to take the fourth left turn when he encountered it.
Tollie continued down the new corridor and took the third right. Even though the hyena continued to grant attention to his direction he had to fight to keep the path at the forefront of his mind. Everything was finally coming to fruition-- for him, the path to Zion had been much longer than just the journey from Shrad. The confusing web of prophecy and foresight was slowly coming together and, for once, he actually had difficulty deciphering everything. He took the sixth right and then veered slightly left.
The hyena found himself chasing after threads that should have already been woven together, only to find out that more of the pattern had formed while his back had been turned. It was one thing to see the future, but to try and connect it to the present was something he had never experienced. Tollie could do little more than hold his chaotic thoughts at bay; despite the importance of everything else he had somewhere he had to be and less time to get there than he'd have liked. Running at that point, Tollie made one more left and then came to a stop at a break in the stone catacombs.
Taking three steps back, the hyena calmly took a seat and crossed his legs; despite his concern, Tollie had made it in time. He took three breaths, then closed his eyes. Somewhere, far in the distance, the hyena could hear it beginning. In a matter of seconds, the entire catacomb system was shaking and rumbling at the incredible power that wracked the earth. Seated as he was, Tollie had no trouble with the heaving of the ground; he was also unmoved when the tunnel split wide open, torn apart as the stones were sundered by the violent upheaval.
All around him the seer witnessed for real what he had only ever before seen in visions and dreams. Almost as if in slow motion, Tollie watched the earth fall away, descending into a great chasm opening in the middle of Zion. It was Tah'enar's Berth; unlike most, Tollie knew the stories well. He also knew why it was that Salieisiev felt it so important to enact such destruction. The hyena paused for a moment of self-reproach; he hadn't told the caravan about Salieisiev the Red.
There was much he hadn't told them and, as he had said several times, there were reasons for his silence. But why had he kept silent about the Voice of Tah'alia? He could have said something without altering the future. Was it embarrassment, or perhaps insecurity? Tollie let a sigh escape him; he had spent so many years being silent it came as second nature. He didn't say anything, not because of any great rhyme or reason... no... he remained silent because he had learned long ago that his place was in the background-- he wanted no stories to be told of Tollie; such stories should have other heroes.
"Hold on!" the shout came from the enormous opening created by the cataclysmic earthquake. Somewhere further up toward ground level someone was scrambling against the cliff face. Tollie stood once again, aware that the quake had subsided. His feet moved with purpose as he returned to the crack in the rock, now little more than the starting point for the enormous abyss. "Quick! Grab my paw!" the voice shouted.
"Taggart!" Tollie spoke up. It wasn't a shout, but it was loud enough to carry his voice up to the scrambling figures at the lip of the chasm, "Behind you!" The hyena didn't need to see the activities at ground level to know that the wild dog in his vision had turned just in time to parry a sword thrust from a cultist that had been chasing him. He was also ready when the rabbit hanging onto the loose stones lost his grip.
"I have you." Tollie spoke calmly, grabbing the rabbit's outstretched arm with one paw as he fell past the open portion of the catacombs where the hyena stood, "You are in no danger, Brother Zachary." he offered comfortingly. They were of the same build but, though Tollie was perhaps no more than five or ten pounds heavier, the seer had no trouble keeping hold of the rabbit. The hyena rotated, moving the priest to the safety of solid stone.
Blood dripped from Zachary's muzzle; without even trying, Tollie immediately knew all about it. The blood came from a young boar who had been paid good coin as a mercenary for the Legion of the Sun. The pig had walked peacefully into Zion late in the occupation. He did as he was told by those who hired him, and sought to keep the peace... in word, but not deed. During his week in Zion the boar had engaged in two fist fights, drawn his blade on a merchant, and raped two women; the mercenary would not be missed. "How do you know me?" the rabbit demanded, pulling Tollie from his reverie.
"I know both of you." the hyena responded, motioning casually to the fur cloak the rabbit wore, "you, and the Enaral."
Brother Zachary pressed a paw to the hide, appearing uncertain for a moment, but the uncertainty passed quickly, "What do you want?" he challenged.
"My hopes for the future are not entirely different from your own." Tollie responded calmly, "We each, in our own way, wish to make things right." he blinked once, watching the confusion flow across the rabbit's face, "You wish to help heal the past, and I desire to usher in the correct future."
"Are you a priest?" Zachary demanded; Tollie could tell that the rabbit was conflicted over wanting to hear a yes or a no, and the seer understood why.
"As you are from Doen, I would say I am not a priest as you would think of one." the hyena offered with a calming smile; as he had expected, it was the best answer.
"What are you doing here?" the rabbit pressed, returning his sword to its sheath, "Who are you?" he added.
"My name is Tollie." the hyena offered calmly, "I am a seer, and I traveled here for more reasons than I can easily explain."
"Zachary!" the voice from above was much closer by that point, and, as Tollie turned to regard a side-passage in the catacombs, a wild dog came sprinting into view, "Oh, Zachary, thank the Goddess!"
"Hello, Taggart." Tollie offered the pleasant greeting as the dog embraced the rabbit.
Taggart slowly withdrew from Zachary to look at the hyena, "How do you know my name?"
"This is Tollie." Zachary explained, motioning to the seer, "He is a prophet."
"Are you Zionese?" Taggart asked, guarded. Tollie didn't miss the fact that the dog's paw remained close to the grip of his sword.
"I am not, no." the hyena admitted, "You need not fear; I am here to help."
"He doesn't mean us any harm." Zachary added to the dog.
"Are you sure?" Taggart glanced between the two.
"Yes." the rabbit nodded, "And he already saved my life."
"Twice." Tollie noted. Both the rabbit and the dog gave him questioning glances, "The Enaral you defeated..." the hyena addressed Zachary, "You know of me through him, do you not?"
The rabbit was quiet for a moment, "Your sister..."
Tollie's smile was faint at the recognition, "Majh Blackpaw." he spoke in unison with Zachary.
"What do you want from us?" Taggart asked, still standing between Tollie and the rabbit.
The seer shook his head in response, "I want nothing from you," he answered, "save that you each play your part in the events here as they unfold."
"You know what's going on?" Taggart questioned.
"Not everything, no." Tollie answered truthfully, "But enough to know what part I play and how I must help make certain that everything is correctly woven together."
"Woven together?" Zachary tensed up at the words, "One of my brothers used say things like that."
"Within all things there is a thread of fate and never do we know where it leads-" Tollie spoke, reciting words he knew by heart.
"--nor how it connects to our own existence." Zachary finished for him.
"Then you know why I am here." Tollie answered with a smile, and began tracing his steps back through the catacombs.
Behind him, Taggart looked to Zachary, who simply offered a knowing smile in response and the rabbit moved to catch up and added the final words of the ancient quote, "Everything happens for a reason."
Fruition Loric & Anya (who he will kill) and Artemisia & Sten
Loric fancied himself skilled in the ways of the mind, so he was well aware of the magical suggestion imposed upon him in the midst of the combat with the Corpses. He toyed mentally with the fact that he was, in actuality, listening to the command rather than resisting it. The fox reasoned that heading after Guardsman Sten and the huge dragon woman down a side tunnel was tactically sound, but he couldn't fight the feeling that his decision was also partly due to the effects of the spell. Tollie had cast it, that much Loric was sure of, so, if the seer felt it was best to fall back, why should the fox second-guess someone who knew the future.
"Now I KNOW that was the spell talking." he mumbled quietly, fitting himself into an alcove in the wall long enough to spread a generous amount of oil onto his short sword. He whistled pleasantly to himself, an old habit from days passed when he would treat items with a painful concoction that would be used during an interrogation. Very few men in Loric's business would trust poison to work on the undead, but Loric was one of those few men... the ones who knew the most about their craft.
Further down the passage Loric heard Sten shouting out tactics to the armored dragon. Not to be outdone, she had plenty of advice for him in return, many of them involving four letter words often followed-up by "Now shut up and fight.". Loric smiled and he had to admit it: he liked her spirit. Stepping back into the open hallway, the smile left the fox's face; a decomposing hare gazed at him with empty eye-sockets, filthy drool pouring out of its muzzle upon spying him.
Rolling his eyes, Loric stepped forward, "Goddess damn you for making me waste this so soon." he noted, and, as the Corpse charged, the fox casually sliced his blade at the hare. The weapon grazed the thing's left bicep. Injury completely ignored, the Corpse continued its charge... for all of three more steps before collapsing. Loric walked past it without giving it a second thought. Most poisons were useless against the undead, but a combinations of paralytic concoctions affected dead bodies as easily as the living.
"You get the weasel and the ocelot," Loric heard the dragoness speak casually, "I'll handle the elephant."
"I can take the elephant." Guardsman Sten objected, "Speed beats lumbering strength.... besides, you can probably just chop both those two in half with one strike."
"You have a shield." the dragoness countered, "I have no doubt that neither of us wants to be clawed by something already rotting." The argument was cut short as the sounds of combat replaced discussion. It took Loric less than a minute to catch up with the two but, by the time he did, their skirmish was already over. They were in an open area of the tunnel with bones built up on all sides of the room. Guardsman Sten stood atop an enormous fallen Corpse while Artemisia wiped off the blade of her two handed sword, standing over two decapitated undead.
"I told you I could handle the elephant." the otter stated simply.
"Too bad your shield couldn't." the dragoness countered wryly.
In response, Sten tossed the sundered heater to the ground, "Just means more offense." he noted, drawing a second sword.
"If you two 'warlords' are done measuring kill tallies," Loric spoke up, "I'd really like to find a way out of this death trap." Artemisia and Sten exchanged glances and then nodded to him. There were three different tunnels leading out of the ossuary in which they fought; the dragoness chose the middle one, and everyone fell into line.
They proceeded through the tunnels with Artemisia in the lead. Loric made a mental note to marvel later at the strange metal torches within the crypt; an eerie bluish-white flame burst into existence at the end of each metal bar as they approached and then winked out after they passed. Left with no want for light, the group made excellent time though the fox reminded himself often, nobody really knew where they were going.
"Do you know where we're going?" Guardsman Sten finally voiced Loric's own concerns aloud.
"Yes." Artemisia acknowledged, and then pointed down the tunnel, "This way." and she offered nothing further, nor did she bother answering any more of the otter's questions about why that path, where it led, or how she knew. To the last question, Loric realized the answer was obvious: Artemisia didn't know which way to go, so, like any good soldier, she decided keeping mobile was the same as making progress. The thought both amused and frustrated Loric at the same time.
For all the fox knew, it was possible for them to wander the catacombs until the end of their days... which would come quickly, he mused, considering the number of undead in the tunnels. Ultimately, however, their adventure came to an abrupt end when the ground roared out in rage and the entire tunnel ahead of them came crashing down amidst a cataclysmic earthquake. The rumbling continued for what felt like forever to Loric but, finally, it came to an end.
"Is everyone alright?" Sten called. Though the fox could hear him clearly the huge amount of dust in the air made it impossible to see.
"Fine." Artemisia called.
"What in the Eternal Flame was that?" Loric demanded. He got slowly to his feet and began dusting himself off... not that it helped much considering the huge cloud of it in the air.
"Be careful where you walk," the otter spoke, "I think the floor is cracked open in spots."
"Just gather up." Loric scowled, "We need to get out of here." He turned back from where they had come and began walking away from the dust cloud, "Knowing our luck we--" but the rest of the thought left him immediately, replaced by a surprised yelp as his foot failed to meet ground. He flailed his paws, reaching out to try and grab anything that would halt his descent, but he fell without aid. Retaining clarity of thought, the fox shouted the single word that came to mind, "HOLE!"
Loric had no idea how far he was going to fall, or if he was going to survive, but the fox hurled his blade away from him; if the fall didn't kill him he certainly didn't want his own sword to finish the job. No sooner had the thought come to mind and the action completed than he landed with a fleshy *thump*. The fox grunted, not willing to give the ground the satisfaction of making him yelp again. He sat up slowly, moving each limb independently to take stock of any injuries. "A Demon's own luck." he chuckled to himself, unharmed save for some nasty bruises.
"Lord Kriabnish?" Sten called from the hole in the ceiling. The fall had been less than twenty feet and, Loric realized, he emerged from it relatively unharmed. The greater problem he suddenly faced was getting back up to the crypt above and meeting up with the rest of his party.
"I'm fine." the fox stated, glancing left and right down corridors that appeared identical to the ones he'd been traveling, "It looks like this is a lower level of the catacombs."
"Do you think it connects anywhere?" Sten asked, "Can you see anything?"
"Nothing past the light from these strange torches here." he noted, glancing to the metal bars, "Hmm..." he remarked when he noticed the different color of the flame, "they're yellow here." he snorted, "Do either of you have rope?"
Artemisia spoke to Sten in the hallway up above but Loric didn't manage to hear what she said. Sten relayed it, "No." he answered, "But the dragoness said she saw stairs leading down in a side passage back the way we came..." he reached a paw down into the opening and pointed, "That way."
"How far?" Loric asked, "She's sure they'll connect to these tunnels?"
Artemisia said something when Sten relayed the words to her and Sten spoke up again, "She says it's the best option at this point." Begrudgingly, Loric realized he couldn't argue with that.
"Alright... it is." he admitted, "Fine." he grit his teeth, "Head to the stairs and wait for me..."
"How long?" Artemisia called in a voice loud enough for Loric to hear it.
Loric felt his hackles raise, "As long as it bloody well takes!" he managed to avoid his words coming out as a shout. He gnashed his teeth as he thought about her obvious lack of respect, "Just wait for me and I'll be up as soon as I find them."
"Lord Kriabnish," Guardsman Sten spoke curtly but diplomatically, "I believe she means how long should we wait before we decide that the stairs don't meet up with your tunnel? We should plan on meeting back at this hole if the stairs turn out to be a dead end."
Loric let out a sigh; it WAS a good point, "If you don't see me in an hour, make sure you're back here." With nothing more to be said, the fox proceeded down the hall, stopping only long enough to reapply a fresh line of oil on his boot knife, "Damn Corpses." he grumbled.
He kept a geberak idea of the passage of time by the pace he set for himself. The fox proceeded down the catacomb tunnel in what he figured was roughly the same direction from which they had traveled overhead. Loric had no idea how far back Artemisia had seen the stairs but he hoped that they connected and that he wouldn't be wandering around by himself in the underground for much longer. Though the first did not come to pass immediately, surprisingly, the second did. Loric paused as he saw a section of yellow light flicker into existence further ahead of him.
Unwilling to expose himself to possible hostility, the fox remained where he was, choosing half-cover behind a stylized, decorative pillar. Peeking out from behind the cover, Loric watched the other figure, a jackal as she approached; it was the Myrhenese priestess.
"You can come out, Lord Kriabnish." the priestess spoke, "I am not undead."
"Priestess Fanewatcher, is it?" Loric emerged, smiling warmly; he couldn't believe his luck.
"Yes." she acknowledged flatly, "You appear unharmed... this is good."
"As are you." the fox nodded calmly. He gazed passed her, "How did you end up down here?" he asked even as he looked.
"I fought Corpses, tracing them back to the source of their animation." she explained, softly stroking the grip of her scythe, "I was about to attempt an exorcism when a great earthquake brought the tunnel above us down into this one."
"Hmm..." the fox acknowledged absentmindedly, "pity." he continued to watch past her.
"Indeed." Anya acknowledged, eying him critically, "What are you looking at?" she questioned, and turned back over her shoulder to look at where he was gazing.
"Just a distraction." he responded, but not until his knife found itself hilt-deep in the priestess' ribs. One of her paws gripped her scythe and the other latched onto Loric's tunic.
Anya slowly turned back to look at the fox, eyes wide. She made as if to speak, but nothing came out of her muzzle, not even breath. Loric caught her before her paralyzed body fell and he lowered her slowly to the ground, "This was not personal, my dear." he spoke softly, "If I had expected you I would have chosen something much faster..." he systematically pried his tunic free from her muscle-locked grip, "Of course," he acknowledged, "I also very well couldn't pass up a target of opportunity." Loric couldn't stop smiling, but he certainly didn't mind; he had to get it out of his system before finding everyone else.
"It's a shame, really." he acknowledged, putting a foot down on her wrist as he pried the scythe from her clenched paw, "We lose a valuable ally in you, but I KNOW everyone will be up in arms when they find out you were killed by a Banniharian in service to the Sun Cult." Loric pulled a silk hankerchief out of his tunic pocket and wiped his fingers clean, "That IS a Banniharian boot knife that killed you, by the way." he spoke down to the paralyzed priestess.
"Oh, but you're still alive, aren't you?" he chuckled, kneeling down to pat her on the head, "Don't worry... you'll suffocate soon enough." and he stood back up, putting away his handkerchief, "And you needen't fear that your death was in vain-- after everyone finds out that the Banniharians have been supporting the Sun Cultists you'll be famous as the one who uncovered the plot... after all, no one would think to question my eye-witness account of your selfless act of heroism."
With that, the fox returned to his search for the stairs, "Farewell, Priestess Anya Fanewatcher... may the Goddess blah blah blah and what-not." and, as the torches around the fallen priestess extinguished themselves he left her body to the darkness. Once he found the stairs leading up, Loric realized that his night was turning out better than he had expected.
Bloodlines Yearl, Kell, & Haldyn
Combat with the Corpses had been a long and drawn out process, but the sudden interruption of battle by a sweeping tidal wave of water bursting into the catacombs from overhead put a quick end to that. Most of Yearl's party had gone down different tunnels and, as he fought for his life, he hoped that they might have been able to avoid the catastrophe that swept him up like a rag doll.
The swirling mass of water threatened to take Yearl under again and again but, unwilling to surrender to the flow, the lion fought with all his might to keep his head above the surface... he even succeeded more often than not. Yearl had always been accomplished physically but, as the water continued to flow with no sign of stopping, he slowly began to realize that his age had begun to take its toll; his stamina was not what it once was.
"Hey!" the shout was just barely audible above the roar of the water. Chancing a glance toward the middle of the tunnel, Yearl could barely make out a figure amidst the crashing surf. It wasn't someone the lion recognized, but with a quick glance he could tell that the figure was dressed for travel, not unlike a scout. Unlike Yearl, whomever ti was had been caught up in a faster moving, more disrupted section of the flow and was obviously having trouble staying afloat.
"Here!" Yearl shouted back, fighting across the current in an attempt to get to the scout, "Here!"
The other victim of the flood began splashing wildly but did manage to make some headway closer to him; it was an uneven flailing, as if the scout were unaccustomed to swimming in a moving current. Yearl realized that it was probably the case; very few people from the inland Empire bothered learning how to swim. It was little relief to the lion that there appeared to be no more Corpses-- perhaps, he considered, they sank.
"Take my paw!" he shouted, reaching for the scout as much as he was able. The distressed figure lashed out twice-- the second time their fingers brushed but, suddenly, the surging water changed its flow and the two were hurtled apart. Yearl watched in slow-motion as the flow carried the scout across the tunnel... and into a torn section of grating. If the lion could have closed his ears to the resounding echo of twisted metal entering flesh he would have, but not even the crashing surf could muffle it, and it was all Yearl could to do roar out the feeling of helplessness that filled him without being submerged again.
The Captain fought with all his might to try and keep himself out of the most chaotic section of water, trying in vain more than once to latch onto a statue or pillar as he surged passed it. On one occasion, Yearl had almost managed to grab hold of a corner of marker stone as he was carried along by the flow of water, but the cross-current coming from the side passage spun him into the most violent portion of the tide and he was sucked under for almost a whole minute. When he clawed his way back to the surface he sputtered and wheezed, beyond exhausted.
If the swirling mass of water was loud, the newest roaring cascade to fill the Captain's ears was nothing that could be described in a single word. Making a quick catalog of possibilities, the lion needed no more than three guesses to understand what he would soon face: a waterfall. Yearl remembered hearing that a sections sewers opened up to a long drop; was it possible that he had somehow been washed through the catacombs and into some drainage for the sewers? He didn't know, but what he was aware of was that he would die, either from the fall, or from being unable to climb out.
Fighting his way again to the side of the tunnel, Yearl used a reserve of energy he didn't know he had. The lion was so focused with the thoughts of his own survival he almost missed the strangled, coughing shout from nearby. The call caught just enough of Yearl's attention that he was able to spin around once in the surf and see Kell some thirty feet behind him. "GET TO THE SIDE!" Yearl tried shouting, though he had very little breath left. The lion didn't have the stamina to watch the assassin any longer; he had to worry about himself.
All throughout the rumbling, churning flow of the surf Yearl hadn't bothered to wonder how he managed to see until he realized that the water in which he was carried had an otherworldly glow all its own. The thing that brought it to his attention was the way the soft illumination reflected on the sewer walls and, how some few hundred feet ahead of him, those walls disappeared as they gave way to the drop that Yearl knew would be coming. Though his eyes wanted to fixate on the method of his demise, he forced them away and bade them latch onto the one, sole chance of his salvation: a ladder.
The lion twisted his body in the water, trying to force his feet out in front of himself to provide as much control over his direction as possible. He managed to wriggle out of his boots and pull his sword belt free from his hips. Dropping as much weight as he could manage in the short time, Yearl did all within his power to aim for the ladder. It was drawing closer much faster than he had hoped and he was too far from the wall.
He was fifty feet from it and he was not close enough to the wall. He was thirty feet from it and he was not close enough to the wall. He was ten feet from it and he was not close enough to the wall. With a roar of desperation and fear, the lion lashed out at the metal ladder with everything he had.... and his fingers clamped down tightly.
The lion grunted the moment his body stopped moving with the surf, suddenly buffeted by the water as it hurtled by him, but he did not relent his grip. Yearl was exhausted but he was not about to let that kill him. Captain Rakken put all of his attention to the feel of his claws biting deep into his paw pads, willing them to dig even deeper rather than give up their grip. As an afterthought, the lion surrendered his simple-minded focus on his paw just long enough to see Kell swept past him in the surging tide.
With the last of his energy, Yearl snapped his other paw out in hopeless optimism that he would somehow be able to grab hold of the leopard-wolf. He felt the solid, wet snap of two paws clasping the others' wrist and then, suddenly, everything changed as the water ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Despite Yearl's grip on the ladder, the sudden change from horizontal force to vertical gravity was too much for the exhausted lion; he and Kell fell several feet to the floor. The lion finally gave into his exhaustion and passed out.
When he next came to, Yearl felt pain all over. He was cold and exhausted, but alive... and, as his wandering mind had guessed during his trip through the tunnel, he was in some kind of overflow tunnel of the sewers. Sitting up, the lion groaned, but was caught off guard when a warm ceramic mug was pressed into his paws, "Drink." Kell spoke softly.
Yearl was surprised by many things, but not the least of which being the sight of the assassin without his hood, "Kell...?" he wrapped his paws around the heat from the mug, but his attention was still on the leopard-wolf.
"Everything's drying." Kell looked away, turning his scar-crossed, battered face away from the lion's view. Only then did Yearl realize that he was dressed in nothing more than a loincloth; Kell was likewise attired. The assassin moved over to a sheltered fire so well hidden that it scarcely provided any light. Yearl did a double-take; if there was so little light from the fire then how could he see? The answer made him gasp.
Scarcely fifty feet from where he lay, Yearl saw an enormous opening in the earth, both above and below the sewers. A gigantic fissure had somehow interrupted the ground, revealing a star filled sky overhead and creating a drop to which the lion had no interest in gaging the depth. "What in the Goddess' name...?" he whispered. The light came from the night's sky; even though it held no moon the stars were still sufficient for the lion's vision.
"I don't know." Kell admitted, returning to Yearl fully dressed. He held a paw out, presenting the lion with his own clothes. The Captain dressed quickly and reequipped what he had not lost to the water; though most of his leather armor was still with him he had lost his boots and had lost one of his swords, but he still had the paw-and-a-half sword he had 'inherited' from Chase. Yearl's expression soured at the memory.
"Up?" suggested Kell, motioning to the ladder.
Yearl nodded at length, muscles groaning as he extended his arms toward the climb, "up."
The two took their time, each biting back groans as they forced themselves up the ladder. Yearl managed to open the metal cover up and off the hole leading onto the city streets and then helped Kell climb out. The lion had wanted nothing but to rest anew once he was above ground but the echo of metal-on-metal was all he needed to hear to gain his second wind, "Battle." he whispered to Kell, who was about to put the metal lid back into place. "Hurry." the Captain directed, "take cover."
With no objection, the assassin slipped the cover back into place the blended into the shadows between two buildings. Yearl's strategic mind picked up the fact that there would not have normally been shadows present there, but, somehow, one of the moonstone street lights was not glowing. He spared enough attention to realize that more lights were dark than not, and the thought sent a shiver up his spine, but he had no more time to consider it as the fight spilled out onto the street from a side alley.
The Captain took only a second to assess the situation: four Sun Cultists were facing off against a single warrior. The lone lion fought them back with wide, sweeping cuts, fending them off as he fell away from the group. It was not a bad tactic for the alley where none of his enemies would have been able to flank him, but, Yearl realized, it would not serve the swordsman well in the open street. Just then, the five combatants moved beneath a working street light, and Yearl was struck dumb. "Haldyn?" he whispered to himself.
Despite his exhaustion and the poorly-chosen battle site, Yearl rushed into the fray. Waiting only long enough for the four cultists to emerge from the alley, the Captain slipped around them and attacked from behind, killing one of the three cultists before they realized he was there. Suddenly three on two, the cultists had lost the four on one advantage. Numbers were on their side, but Yearl hardly considered that so great a difference. When Kell dropped down onto one from the adjacent roof the situation was suddenly two on three and the remaining cultists were not in a good position to win.
Combat ended with just as many sword strokes and Yearl finally sank down to the ground, breathing heavily as he let his sword lay beside him. Kell, likewise, leaned back against a building and sank down to his rump. The young lion they had saved carefully sheathed his sword and took several seconds to steady his breath. He slowly turned around to face Yearl and the recognition in his face struck immediately, "Yearl?!?"
Captain Rakken had no idea how he managed to get to his feet, but, somehow, he did. "Hello, Haldyn." he offered a hesitant smile, "Sorry to interrupt your fight."
"What are you DOING here?" the younger lion asked flatly.
"Trying to salvage some peace in the empire." Yearl explained, "Goddess, I'm glad you're here."
"I was hoping I'd see you again." Haldyn acknowledged. Yearl smiled, taking a step closer... and received a full on punch to his muzzle.
The impact almost caused the Captain to fall over, but he managed to keep his balance. Yearl tasted the metallic tinge of blood in his muzzle and spat it out, "You got better with your fists." he remarked with a half-smile, the split in his lip hurting with the expression.
Haldyn glared at him, "How can I hate you so much and still be so glad to see you?" he demanded with a husky growl bordering on tears.
Yearl shrugged, brushing a trickle of blood away from his nose then held his arms out wide. His son accepted the invitation; they embraced.
Paragon Roarg & Cymbeline
Roarg had never been much of a fan of water over his head, and, as he was thrown around like a leaf in a river, that dislike only grew. The badger saw the group around him thinning out as some of his party were carried down a "side tunnel here" or a "branch off that way". Silently, Roarg wished them well, but knew he could do precious little about saving them when he was having so much trouble saving himself. As everyone above him tried desperately to reach the surface of the water, Roarg instead fought tooth-and-nail to sink himself down to the floor of the sewers.
The darkness was complete beneath the surging flow and Roarg had no doubt that little light had survived the first wave, but what he sought didn't require eyesight. Finally, just as Roarg felt the burning in his lungs become unbearable, his claws brushed the stones on the floor of the sewers. With nothing more than that faint touch, Roarg's rescue plan began. The stone spiraled out and latched onto his claws, spreading to his fingers, then paw, then forearm, anchoring him in place as more and more of the stone fled beneath him. In a matter of seconds Roarg fell through the floor and was brought by the water down into the catacombs beneath the city.
Coughing to clear his lungs from the sewage water, Roarg retched twice before he managed to regain control of himself. All around him, metal moon rods burst into vibrant bluish flame, invigorated by his existence. He realized as he stood that the makers of the tunnel had placed them there to serve as torches activated by the mere presence of a traveler; he was relieved that light was again his to behold.
The badger gazed back up at the hole he had created; the water had already ceased and nothing more than a few droplets followed. For several moments, Roarg thought of his fellow party members... Sebastian... Elias... Kayte... Raes... "Be safe." he whispered softly. He hadn't known what he was in for when he started the journey and least expected to create such ties... it would make what he had to do all the more difficult.
"An amazing escape, my Lord." a calm voice spoke in a strange accent that Roarg found vaguely reminiscent of a Doenian dialect, "Truly you must be a master Elementalist."
"How so?" Roarg inquired defensively, turning to regard a pure-white furred shepherd; the badger did not miss the fact that he was a true Moon Pelt and not just an albino.
"I have seen few magi capable of shifting rock without so much as a second thought." the shepherd offered, moving to take a seat on a still-damp rock. Roarg also didn't miss the fact that the stranger didn't appear to be wet in the least.
"I'm Roarg." the badger introduced himself, "Roarg Stoneclan... from Bannihar."
"Cornelius Cymbeline." the shepherd bowed, "At your service, my Lord."
Roarg scowled at the honorific title provided by the dog but said nothing about it, "You're from Zion, are you?"
"No, My Lord... I am from many places." he smiled pleasantly but, to Roarg, he felt that there was something wrong about the expression-- different, as if it were an imitation of the real thing... yet, for all its staged appearance, it still somehow felt genuine, "But, most recently, I have traveled with a caravan from Myre."
"How recently?" Roarg questioned, slowly standing up.
"Until we were separated by a combination of Corpses and..." he pointed at the hole in the ceiling, "your entrance."
"A peace delegation?" the badger inquired.
"Of course, My Lord... just as you were escorted by those from Bannihar." the shepherd acknowledged, motioning forward, "Shall we?"
Roarg walked with the strange dog for several steps until he bothered speaking, "They weren't escorting me, I was working as a guard." he clarified, "I escorted THEM, Cymbeline."
"As you say, My Lord, so it must be." the dog nodded, then paused, turning to regard him, "I am overjoyed that I have finally found you."
Roarg felt his fur start to stand on end, "You know what this tunnel leads to, don't you, Cymbeline?" he asked, though he realized by that point he didn't need to.
The shepherd nodded, "Just as you do, My Lord."
The two walked in silence for several more minutes, many unspoken questions between them. Roarg realized, however, that neither needed to have them answered aloud to know the truth. They each had their secrets, but, to one another, there was nothing hidden. It was Cornelius Cymbeline that broke the silence, "You called me Cymbeline." he noted.
Roarg nodded calmly, "That's the name you use, isn't it?"
Cymbeline chuckled softly, the tone genuine in its mirth, "Indeed, My Lord... I am just so used to mortals not understanding the ways of the Wayfarers.
The badger nodded at that, "I suppose not," he shrugged, "But we both know that you know better."
"Tact, My Lord." Cymbeline acknowledged, and he came to a stop as the two of them reached the end of the tunnel; a gigantic, yawning void appeared before them in the form of an enormous hole opening to the night's sky.
"Which, if I remember right, would be the opposite of calling me 'My Lord', wouldn't it?" Roarg cracked a grin.
"As you say, My Lord, so it must be." Cymbeline bowed, and then turned and knelt before the badger, "I had doubts that I would ever see this moment."
"And what moment would that be?" Roarg asked calmly.
"When the last Paragon of Tah'enar would arrive here... at your Berth." the shepherd acknowledged, "After all these centuries I had almost lost faith."
Roarg grinned into the starlight, "And here I thought your kind were supposed to be the most faithful, Cymbelisiev."