Orsraun Mountains

Remove all ads!

Rahir

Rahir looked at the apple, then let it drop. Ash stuck to the severed fruit.
A pity. He felt like brawling.

Still, if the man wasn't in his way, it hardly concerned him. If he was, well, that was a future problem. He didn't mind speaking openly, it saved a lot of hassle. Being ignored irked him slightly, but that was a good thing, in its own way. People relied too much on their own judgement. On eyes, ears, tongue. He could have chuckled and at the same time, felt like cutting the man's throat.

Ash was starting to grow cold around him. Maybe it was time for the other side.
Later. He could still need the speed and the sting.

He walked past the man, returning to the trail of barely dried blood. Up close, it wasn't as interesting as he'd hoped. Maybe a different course of action was needed. Rahir turned his crumbling eyes to the sky. Had he not seen a man fly by earlier?
Without another word, he re-entered the shadows.

 

Noma

After an hour of walking, the path thinned to a threadbare line, then vanished all together. This was a strange experience for Noma, accustomed to roads that lead somewhere.

The elf however, still walked forward with confidence.

Noma suddenly stopped. An old, rotten tree lay overturned from its roots. A bee hive was splintered to pieces, near its crown, honey gleaming in the sun. The swarm, however, was nowhere to be seen. A bear sat on its hind legs, licking and chewing a honeycomb. It was a young bear, one that still thought ramming trees was a good way to get lunch. A single lost bee buzzed around its ears, but the beast ignored it, aside from a few lazy paw swipes.

"Um... do we have to go that way?" - Noma asked hesitantly.

Beyorial raised his eyebrows.
"That's where the trail leads. It won't hurt you - it has more important things on its mind."

"I'm worried that we'll be the next thought on its mind." - Noma kept looking forward.

"There's plenty of room for us to pass." - elf turned to Justice, expecting support.

Noma kept complaining.
"And that's a ferocious wild beast, that attacks quickly and is quite territorial. They are suicidal, I tell you. More stubborn then anyone I've met and being thick-skulled is a virtue for Sonauli."

"You're being irrational. It's just a bear, nearly a cub."

Noma blinked, surprised.
"Bear? Who said anything about the bear? There's a bee there. That one." She pointed childlishly.

Beyorial laughed.

 

The Winds had picked up slightly now, their long fingers pulling and tugging at the cowled traveler. Vaa'iyl slowed his pace for a moment, eyeing the looming cabin. A soft growl floated past his ear. He glanced back quickly and flashed ivory at his companion, receiving a glimpse of pointed daggers in return. The tail-blades swayed softly in the breeze, their metallic bodies sliding over each other. A gust from the Northern wind turned Vaa'iyl back to look at his destination. He felt Auril caress his cheek. He pulled his cloak tighter.

Placing his leather-bound feet upon the stoney stoop of the cabin, the plane-touched elf cleared his throat quietly. Removing the silken gloves, he rapped thrice upon the oaken door. Chair legs scraped along the floor, and the rustling of papers and quills being hastily collected - then silence. A vibrant blue eye appeared, filling the space between the dusty curtains that clothed the round window to his left. The eye searched and scanned the newcomer, lingering for a moment upon the scars that littered his forehead. Four blinks, and the azure orb vanished.

The copper doorknob turned slowly to reveal the interior of the cabin - only one room, with several detailed portraits of men and women lining the walls. The poses of the subjects were strange, almost as if they were caught or frozen in mid sentence. A dark, wooden table stood to the left with papers and quills remaining a mess upon its surface. To the right he found a small blackened stove, crackling as it consumed the wooden delights inside. And finally, standing in the very centre of the room, was an elderly man clothed in red and orange - a wide-brimmed hat sitting upon his ancient head. An apprehensive grin was painted over his fear, and the man's knuckles whitened as his hands gripped his gnarled staff in front of him.

"Elminster," Vaa'iyl breathed, loosening the scarlet from his neck, "What a pleasure it is to find you here." Again, the ivory flashed, and he stepped over the threshold, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him.

The wizard inhaled slowly and paused for a moment, again eyeing up and down the strange newcomer. A gasp escaped from his cracked lips as he spotted the canid creature - another gasp chasing the other as the bladed tail came into sight. He, too, cleared his throat quietly, and repositioned his stance, his eyes falling to the dusty clay floor.

"You've changed, Elwithral. You're broken. You're diseased." The blue eyes resumed their intent stare, seemingly trying to pierce Vaa'iyl's. His tone of voice did not match the painted smile. "You've gone too far.. I could smell your magic whilst you were traveling Orsraun. The Oèl has.. consumed you, I see."

"You were always one to get right to the point, my old friend." Vaa'iyl's smile vanished, and his tone darkened, "I did not come here to discuss my.. condition, as I am already well aware of how I am feeling, and what I am feeling. Also, referring to me as my former title usually does result in the speaker's death which," An icy chuckle punctuated each word, "Because you are so old and frail and powerless - I am sparing you of." A moment of silence between the two spellcasters. The ivory returned, "Now, I came here to grab a spot of tea, and discuss other issues that have come to my attention. Shall we?" Alessandra's tail curled around her as she settled in for a nap beneath the dark table.

Elminster's eyes widened for a moment as he realized that Vaa'iyl's confidence was no longer pretentious, and decided to submit. He sat at the table and conjured a teapot and cups - "Of course, Vaa'iyl. Red mint or Kara-Tur Grand?"

 

The northern wind brushed the boulder where Malar was perched. It rushed past him on towards the Deepwings to the south, but Malar’s path was east, to the Wetwood. He would catch him on in the foothills; the last thing he wanted was to find the small creature in the marsh and muck of Wetwood. His dark roan skin tingled with familiar uneasiness, he heard the grunt and was moving before it left the giant’s mouth.

The thrown boulder the size of an old feline friend of his rocketed it’s way towards him. The sizeable stone that Malar had made his perch was demolished, but Malar was beyond the range of even the fastest moving shrapnel. Only the gigantic head could be seen cresting a nearby hillock, its large eyes were comically wide as Malar surged towards him.

It was Malar’s turn to be somewhat surprised when the hillock ended with a forty-foot cliff and the giant was standing at the bottom. The mountain giant was immense, but Malar’s pace didn’t falter; it quickened. To give the beast credit it managed a backhanded swipe of its hairy tree trunk of an arm. Malar came in low, ducking certain death and struck out with his small dagger. Its blade was shorter than the thick forearm hide and all it did was stick in like a splinter, exactly what he wanted. The blade held firm as Malar was ripped off his feet, flying behind the log like limb. Another massive hand came crashing down, to swat an annoying fly, but flies are hard to hit. Malar was faster than any fly.

His booted feet found their way up the muscled forearm, the arm swung down forcing Malar to stab a handhold in the giants elbow. Another mighty smash nearly threw him off the arm, only a hand full of arm hair kept him from falling. The giant was now thrashing about, swinging his arms around him like a windmill. Malar’s cloak was caught upon a passing five-foot long finger and was flung out across a yellowed grass field. He landed lightly and rubbed his sore neck, an angry red welt collared his throat.

The giant was wary this time, and picked up a massive log it used as a club. It walked slowly towards him, swinging the club in wide low arcs. Malar sighed and gave his neck another quick rub before he set off running the other way. The giant roared in victory behind him, and stones hopped with its running steps, its huge strides made barely more ground than the fleeing tiefling.

Malar dashed towards a looming hemlock while the giant’s large club soared past not ten feet behind him. The tree had many branches and Malar was among its highest in seconds. The giant’s charge stopped awkwardly as he was in mid swing, putting him off balance. Exactly what Malar intended.

He leapt straight out from the coniferous boughs. His green cloak flew behind him and his arms wide out. His short dagger flashed as it reflected the brilliant Sun. The giant raised its hands but not fast enough. Malar slipped past the massive upraised phalanges and dove into the giant’s surprised face. His dagger sought out the massive orbs time after time, white liquid leaked out from beneath the closed lids. The hands were too slow once more as he dropped to the right shoulder, avoiding the gaping howl.
This time he used the bushy beard as a handhold as the giant flailed about, screaming bloody murder in Jotun. The streams of Jotun gurgled to a stop as Malar’s blade ripped a hole in the exposed throat. Malar gabbed a flapping lip and was glanced by a shield-sized nail, gashing his leg badly. Using nose, eye lashes and eyebrows he scrambled into the greasy black strands of hay thick hair. He struggled his way to the balding crown while the hands were busy clutching the gaping wounds. The pale spot of scalp was freckled and dirty, as he stabbed down it became bloody as well. A gasping roar shattered throughout the peaks and snow, and huge palms swung down to crush the pain. But Malar was already sliding down the back of the skull, using his weight to drag the dagger through bone and brain.

The impact of the falling hands cracked open the wound, sending brains and blood to pour down its back. Malar stood far enough away to keep clean of the mess as it splattered the field like rain. The giant stood stunned and swayed for several seconds before its knees buckled and it crashed to the earth. The impact threw dust and air into the air; a far off snow slide was the only sound that could be heard.

Malar stabbed his blade into the hard ground, cleaning it of blood and gore before he slipped it back into the sheath along his back. His hand slowly caressed his neck, and swallowed painfully. He looked down to his leg where blood was making its steady way to pool in his boot. He wrapped his scarf gently around his damaged throat, and limped over to the giant corpse. Its rough woolen tunic was soaked with blood and matter along the back, but from the sleeve he cut a long strip. He wrapped the heavy fabric around his leg tightly, staunching the flow of blood. He leaned against the body as he gingerly removed his boot, and stuffed it with another strip to collect some of the blood.

About a half an hour later, Malar limped down the slope. He could tell by the many slips and falls on the trail, that he was still better off. He grinned once more and headed down to deal with Farguah.

 

It took Justice awhile to get used to the traces of their quarry. They were quite different from normal mortals, but once he had a good sense of him, they pursued at a good clip. Not long after encountering the bear they came to a larger river, rapidly running down the valley, and Justice lost the trail again for awhile. He waded into the river, plunging his head under the water from time to time.

"He seems to be a tricky one, I would guess that he has transformed himself again and either become or attached himself to an aquatic creature. He could be far downstream by now. Let us be off!"

He came out of the river and started running down its bank.

 

Noma followed the others, thoughtful and silent. Of course the bees meant nothing to them, they haven't seen them carried in staffs and released, humming in the air, carrying their owner's magic.

The river curved left and right, flailing madly, like a discarded whip. The terrain changed, turning rocky and barren, as the lush forests remained behind. The ground itself became angry, torn in plateaus and cracks. It showed teeth, edges and jarred, sharped stones. Wild-land.

The river became trapped in its bed, cut between heightened shores. It entered a ravine.

The waters slammed in a monolith rock, twisted and gnarled, in an attempt to dislodge it. Instead, they split before it, severed in half. A part of the river, defeated, fell rapidly downwards, in a lush streak, abandoning the mountains for the generous plains. It plunged across the edge of the plateau, embracing the sun.
The other half foamed and rumbled defiantly, turning left, flowing inwards, among the jagged teeth of rocks. This part of the river seemed to flow to the mountains, not away from them.

"What is this place?" - Noma asked, and her voice echoed softly through the ravine, lost in the sound of waters.

Beyorial called out the name in elven and the land swallowed it, refusing to be called that. "Tongue of the Serpent." - he said then, looking around for something.
"Where now, Justice?"

Noma watched the monolith. Up high on it, there had to be a better view.
Nimbly, she crossed the defeated, thinned river, seeking Keleida's name and bowing her head to the defiant left stream, that refused the valley.

The monolith rock was easy to scale, for though jarred and slippery, it had almost a stairway etched in itself, across the line of the "back". Noma stood on top of it, some ten feet above ground, facing the water divide. To the left was the sun bathed world far below. To the right, the river vanished in the stone, like it never existed.

A crossroad.

Noma stood on her hands and the world turned around. Now the sky was at her feet and the ground split itself in the sky. It felt better this way.

A slight shiver ran through the stone under her palms. A beating heart. Quickly, she straightened herself again. The monolith was alive.

Noma knelt on one knee and stabbed her needle of bone, before her, lending voice to the stone.

There was an ashen sound of cords long unused, from the belly of the rock.

"Who awakens the Ram? Have you come to aid, or hinder?"

Noma glanced at the rest, having no voice to speak for herself now. She spread her arms, hoping to show that this was not her doing.

 

Justice had flown up to the top of the monolith, wanting to give his wings a little test and exercise. They worked fine, but it was good that he didn't need to fly a long ways yet. He was searching for the trail when a loud voice came out of the rock.

"I am Justice," he answered. "We are pursuing a thief. We did not mean to awaken or discomfort you. We have definitely not come to hinder you, and we might aid you if you tell us of your need. You might be able to aid us, and we could help each other. The one we are tracking came this way, and I can smell him fleeing down both splits of the river. Noma, is it possible for your kind to split themselves in two pieces?"

 

Blue smoke drifted lazily around the warm cabin, illuminated by the setting sun's shafts of orange light. Alessandra was now strewn across the floor, her full length covering the intricate patterns of the Calishmite rug. A gentle smile stained the dry, wrinkled lips of the aged wizard. A tea cup balanced on the knee of his crossed leg, its contents swirling slowly. The Harper's vibrant eyes stared fondly into the cup, seeing shapes and colors that reminded him of days passed. Fear had vanished, and the familiar happiness of old swarmed the duo - their laughs punctuating the low murmur of their voices. The pipe weed was the finest in all of Turmish, and the tea was brewed to perfection.

A happy sigh jumped from Vaa'iyl's lips, "Ah, my old friend, it really has been too long." He paused thoughtfully, his eyes now boring into Elminster's azure pair. "Auril is none too impressed with my deeds regarding the Codicil. Her icy grasp has reached me, even here. I can hear her voice on the wind. I.. I am not what I used to be. Fear has replaced courage and weakness has replaced strength. The Codicil was damaged.. ah, quite badly. It, of course, has been repaired, but my recklessness has cost a certain High Hand of Ice.. one Vierrona Irynlaird.. quite an expense. I suspect that Auril seeks to punish me.

"I've asked Selune to guide and aid me, but she can only do so much - and with my dependance on the Winds.." He looked down, and quietly quipped, "Bahamut was little help - what with justice and all. I.. I just don't know what to do. Anymore. The Oèl is.. taking its toll on me, undoubtedly. I am not.. here? It is difficult to express."

Elminster looked up from his swirling tea and furrowed his white brows, their length casting a considerable shadow upon the weathered face. "I know not how to help, Vaa'iyl. This matter is beyond me.. perhaps, years ago - but now, I am old. We are old. But I may suggest this," The wizard leaned over the table, placing the teacup on its saucer, "Return to Orsraun. As a foolish young halfling once said, 'The closer you are to danger, the farther you are from harm'." The old friends shared a long chuckle, their baritone voices awakening Alessandra. She sent an icy glare their way. Images of her bladed tail whipping their bare buttocks were sent angrily into their minds.

Their demeanor of silence returned, and Alessandra relaxed back into her dreams. "Well," said Elminster finally, "The cold may be hers, but the air is yours. Remain in flight for as long as you can. Return to the mountains where she won't expect you. If she finds you.. I wish you good luck. And if she doesn't.. It will buy you some much needed time."

Silence again ensued, and suddenly the aasimar stood. He smiled at the wizard and clasped him on the shoulder, nodding gravely. He left as quick as a candle being blown out, his feet leaving the ground as soon as he stepped out the door. The cold wind resumed.

Elminster sighed quietly, and noticed that Alessandra was still sleeping beside the hearth. He was still quite frightened of the Astral creature, so he decided that he too needed a nap - hiding his fear of Vaa'iyl had taken a lot out of him. He blinked, and the creature vanished. And there Elminster stood, alone in his cabin. "I do hope he is alright."

 

The crowd huddled in the small basement room, a mother held her sobbing son close to her chest to stifle his cries. The only two men crouched at the bottom of the small ladder, swords ready for the trap door to open. They were survivors of a small settlement known as Killgreen, nestled in the foothills of the Spine of the World. The heavy footsteps of orc and goblin crashed above, some even treaded upon the trapdoor hidden beneath the pelt of a winter wolf.

The attack began when the morning was gray and most were still contently abed. Had the goblins had an ounce of intelligence, the settlement could have been easily overrun and slaughtered. Roars of bloodlust and screams of women alerted every resident of Killgreen; some ran, some fought, some hid but most died. The footsteps above and the roar of burning thatch were relentless. A child’s whimper made the footsteps stop, and guttural shouts could be heard.

The men gripped their swords tighter and some of the women picked up rocks and logs. The pelt was ripped aside and heavy footsteps pounded on the door. The men raised their swords and the women covered the eyes of the children.

The door didn't open, and there was only silence above. An eerie unnatural silence, then loud thumps could be heard crashing down on the planks sending dust sprinkling the humans below. Seconds passed then minutes without a sound except the occasional faint ring of metal. Ten minutes came and went when the trap door was yanked open; the women screamed and the men were unprepared having not heard a single sound of warning. It was no orc or goblin that stood grinning back at them, it was a grinning tawny skinned man.

"Hullo, do not worry any longer, my brave souls. For your previous aggressors are vanquished and will trouble you no longer. Come, come, up we come." He motioned with his animated hands. They did not know what to make of their supposed savior; he wore an immaculate emerald cloak free of blood or dirt. On his head he wore a small red turban, it appeared to have been a scarf wrapped snuggly around his baldhead. Underneath his remarkable cloak, he wore a sky blue jerkin trimmed with fur; knee high winter boots, and spotless white trousers.

The men hesitantly climbed the short ladder, poking their head over the edge. The small cabin held seven bodies, all bleeding profusely from slashes across the neck. The man held no noticeable weapons, and no trace of rosy red freckled his immaculate attire.

"I do apologize about the mess, I'll clean it in no time." The man's russet colored face flashed a warm smile. He held out his hand and easily lifted a woman carrying a child, and laid her down gently. "I regret that I was not here sooner, it pains me that innocents died here today."

"Thank you m'lord, without you we would have surely been goners." Said one of the two men, he had very large white moustaches. "How ever can we repay you for your bravery and kindness?"

He laughed a merry laugh that warmed all their hearts. "Think nothing of it my dear sir, I was only so fortunate to be passing this way. It is a reward to see that some of you still live."

Once all the women and children had exited the hole, he swung open the door. The sun had risen and it glared into their sensitive eyes, but when their eyes adjusted; their jaws fell. The ground outside was littered with dead bodies, bugbears, orcs, goblins and even a troll or two. All had gaping holes in their throats, or were horribly burned if near the trolls.

"Again I must apologize for the mess, I'll have it cleaned up in no time." Said the grinning copper-skinned man. Even as he finished he began muttering worlds and the bodies began to float upwards and slowly drifted between the shacks and cabins. It was a comically grisly scene; the bleeding corpses with horrid expressions of terror etched on their ugly faces, floated silently off towards the mountains. Shocked gasps and a scream came from inside the house, as the seven bodies inside made their way through the door way to join the horde.

"That is amazing sir! You must be an arch mage! From Luskan and the Hotstower?" Said the man without the impressive whiskers.

The man scoffed, and shook his head. "Not so amazing, tis only a simple bit of necromancy. This would never work if they were living. And only a few Agnazzar's Scorchers were used to dispose of the vermin."

"But then how did you manage to kill them all without the use of magic?" Asked the facial hair lacking man.

"Simple rudimentary skills learned at a young age, but I now must be leaving you I am afraid. I am simple too busy to stay, but I will give you this word of warning." He turned and gave them all a grave look before speaking. "Post a sentry for Mystra's sake, or don't live in the foothills of the Spine. That's simply asking for trouble."

With a swift nod he swept off, throwing his dazzling cloak wide. He gave three sharp varying whistles and a huge cat bounded on the roof of a nearby shack. The men drew their swords and the women screamed. The man calmed them with a raised hand and sprung eleven feet in the air to land gently on her broad back. "Do no fear sweet Alora, she'll harm you not. Farewell, dear folk."

"Wait!" Said the older man, "that giant cat is the Dark's cat." The man's face paled in recognition.

Dalamar ginned and patted Alora's head. "You're correct sir, for it is my cat, and I am Dalamar the Dark." With a nod of his head Alora cleared a cabin in one leap and they were gone. Soon after a large fire could be seen in the mountains and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

 

The rock shuddered a bit and Noma lost her footing, slid off and landed in the river, leaving her needle behind. She walked out to the shore, water dripping everywhere.

To Justice's question, she shook her head, then motioned to her throat. No sound came out. She took a stick and wrote on the wet bank. "We do not split, save in spells, but avoid. Less of us, less belief. Uncomfortable. Voice in needle. Need it back to speak."

The monolith seemed to slowly take form. It had gigantic, curved horns, like those of a ram, spreading full ten feet of its height. It had fleece of stone, a cape. It had arms crossed on its chest. Features emerged, one after the other, slowly. On its head, Noma's bone needle stayed firmly in the rock, giving it a rather comical look.

The girl tilted her head, thinking how to retrieve it. She went to one wall, tapped it, then to another, tapped it again, listening. She nodded to some inner thought.

The monolith spoke on, with its borrowed voice.

"I've seen a man pass, and ash from him was washed in the waters, both ways. I am locked in war with this river. It seeks to engulf me. Block one of its splits, and I will tell you where the man had gone. Aid me, and I will aid you. I do not care which end you block, but there must be one, not two."

Beyorial looked over the edge of the plateau.
"This end waters the valley. I am not sure about the other. The river has always been here."

The Ram fell silent, waiting for their decision.

 

Malar limped down the hard rocky slope. The frightened screams of Farguah could be heard up ahead, Malar shuffled as quickly as his damaged leg could support him. The small, injured creature scrambled over stones, tripping often on jagged edges. Malar bent to pick up a small rock, took aim and pumped his arm quickly. The missile flew straight and accurate, smashing the pitiful creature between the shoulder blades; sending him sprawling.

Malar stood over his prone body soon after, he prodded him with a boot and was replied by a pitiful groan. Malar took time to look Farguah over; he noted his bare bleeding feet, his bent toes, his ripped pants and bloody knees. A faint trickle of blood was dripping from his loose lips. Malar booted his ribs, turning him onto his back. Farguah let out a gasp and clutched his ribs, yet he did not look in Malar’s direction.

“Get up.” Malar ordered curtly, nudging him again with his toe. When Farguah didn’t move, he kicked him harder. Farguah scrambled quickly up, grabbing at Malar’s injured leg, or tried to. Malar’s large hand caught him before he even raised his head, clamping firmly on his throat. Without hesitation or strain Malar lifted him out to arms length, Farguah’s feet dangled as he clutched at Malar’s powerful arm and wrist. "Don't." He shook him quickly with a jerk of his arm.

"Know this, you're going to come with me. I would rather that you walked, but if I have to; I will carry you. But first I will break you legs." Malar's grip tightened on his scrawny neck. "So what will it be?"

Farguah wheezed heavily, and was able to croak out a 'walk' through his strangled throat. Malar dropped him quickly and he landed in a pile with a yelp. Malar waited for him to rise, he did not hate the creature nor did he pity it. He was indifferent, merely bored with it. He nudged him again, lighter, for him to stand. Which he did slowly, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped.

"Know this Farguah," Malar crouched down to come face to face. "I was told to relieve you of your head, but I am no assassin." His mouth twitched in a grin, for he used to be the most famous of assassins. "But do not try my patience, for if you push me; your head will be mounted on Lord Temergast's wall. Are we clear?"

Farguah did not reply merely nodded his bleeding head. Malar stood up hesitantly, easing his weight onto his wounded leg. "We will make camp tonight here, gather fire wood." Farguah obediently turned off towards a sparse wood nearby, his feet dragged along the ground in defeat.

"Oh Farguah, if you run. I'll find you," promised Malar with a deadly glint in his Abyssal eyes.

 

Justice flew up to where Noma's needle was and picked it out of the stone, then landed on the bank. "Your request may be something that we can do for you, but it also may not be. Water is essential to many mortal life forms, and stopping the flow either way would likely have dire consequences for those living downstream," he said to the Ram.

"Beyorial, who lives in the valley?" he asked the elf.

"Mostly farmers. They're at the hind end of a duke's territory. They're generally not bad, as far as humans go. They grow their crops and try to keep the goblins and orcs out of their land. We only occasionally have problems with a few of them encroaching or poaching on our realm." the elf responded.

"Hmm, clearly it would be unjust of us to deny them their water for our convenience. I will need to follow the other path of the river, and see if any one would be maligned by its alteration. Beyorial, Noma, are either of you capable of going with me under the rocks and water?" Justice asked as he gave Noma her needle back.

 

Without the bone needle's voice, the monolith gave no answer to Justice. Its face had not yet formed, nor showed any desire to do so. It seemed, like all stone, perfectly content to wait.

Noma took the needle. "Thank you." She looked down, a bit uncomfortable at being helped again.
Maybe she should have shown them right away? They'll think her absolutely useless like this. The angles needed to be thought out, it took time. He had wings. It really wasn't a matter in which she could win. She'd have to walk the skies to win.

A memory tugged softly at the spiderweb lock of her hair.

"I wonder if once I'll find a path that will force you to stay behind." - he had said, jesting. They stood on a sky, or that's what they've been told, for they stood on land and above them, there was also a sky, that was a land. The stars they saw were but fires. Like the one they had. They were a star for the other side.
"Order me away then." - she had smiled. Toying with fire. His words were Laws. Why was Truth always like that? Merciless. Searing.

"In death, I hope to join my Lord. How will you accompany me there? You give Torm a fleeting tolerance, at best."
"I am not worried."
"No?"
"Not a trace. I know they'll let you in, and you'll be bored without me and loosen a floor board for me to sneak in."
A lie. She was to ward off his death, not follow him to it. A failure.
"You'd have to die to sneak in."
"But I wouldn't be the one holding a crowbar when we get found out and expelled from there. In both cases, I still win."
He laughed.
"Would you not wish to be with other Sonauli when you die?"
"That is rare. We don't... congregate much. We'd have to be just ourselves."
Hundreds of pointless entities. Nothings. It was easy to spot a Sonauli that died a wrong Death, especially on the Outside, though Noma never pointed them out to him. Their shades stood motionless. Perfectly still. They'd lost all notion of direction. They didn't know where to go. They didn't know they could go anywhere. There was no tug anymore, no pull.
Belief was meaning. How could one wonder at the parasites? There was fear in being alone.


"I'll follow." - Noma said outloud. It mattered little where the river took them. Purpose was all a thing needed to exist, to thrive. Purpose fueled Sonauli powers. She was the Severed, bondless and hollow, but alive. The downwards-growing tree in her chest still ached for air, heaving the bone cage, resonating - her blood still bled. She could summon enough power to follow. She would always be able to. Memory of him. Etched in the bones. Echoing.
Water would not be a problem.

"Lead the way, Justice. Do not worry, I won't fall behind, water or rocks."

 

"If you don't mind, I think I'll wait here while you scout ahead," Beyorial told Justice.

"We'll try not to be too long then," Justice said, wading into the river. The current took him swiftly away, Noma following him. Soon they went underground in a dark rushing whirl. Justice tried to keep away from boulders and rocks, but as the tunnel twisted and turned, they both got bumped a few times.

Then, they were spewn out in a huge spray, free falling. Justice spread his wings and Noma grabbed his ankles. As they drifted down they saw they were in a rather large limestone cave, a dark lake below them. Bioluminescent lichens and molds glowed dimly, faintly illuminating a mushroom forest where blind cave crickets could be seen grazing.

They landed next to the rocky shore. Justice slowly turned all the way around, Looking and Sensing the environment.

"This is a rather interesting natural formation. The river seems to be the only entrance to this cavern. I would guess that the water slowly seeps out the bottom of the lake and forms several springs at the base of the mountains. It fairly teems with life, in addition to the lichens, mushrooms and cave crickets we can easily see, there are quite a few slimes , jellies and molds here, though there are no signs of lifeforms with higher intelligence. Unfortunately, I also see no signs of our quarry, and going out the way we came in would be quite a vigorous swim, even for me. Do you see any signs of your tribesman, or any other way out, Noma?"

 

Noma rubbed her shoulder, looking in wonder at the mushrooms thriving all around.

"I shall look, though this place might make the echo too dull."

She ran her fingers along the needle of bone and a single tone came out, a soft humming that filled the air, echoing and vibrating of the walls. There was little light and the spores of mushrooms floated freely around, as fine as dust. They vibrated as the sound spread out.
Noma intensified it, sharpened the tone, which now sped out almost as a solid thing. The growth muffled it greatly, but it bounced of the stone.

"Did you know that, without the wind, the spiders would web across the sky?" - Noma smiled to Justice, as another thread of sound echoed back to the needle. Words were living things, tones were not. Tones were tools and blades, elemental as blood, or stone, or wood.

Another thread, and another, splitting, joining. There were now dozens streaking across the caverns, all wrapping up around her needle, as Noma caught their ends. Listening. Learning.
The path of the spores was cut by sound. It gave levers and footholds. A web to hold one who knew where to step.

Noma stepped up, walking the sounds. She climbed the echoes until she was above the forest of mushrooms, near the ceiling, where the rocks resonated purely and sharply. She stayed in the air by the humming alone, the echoes and rustles. It was a matter of faith as much as skill.

High above, she could tell the path. Behind her, the roar of the waterfall shook her scaffold of humming, threatening to dissolve it. One could not walk back in sound.

"I don't know if he was here, but there is, or was another path. There." Noma pointed, to a lump of boulders that stood nearly overgrown with moss, some distance away.
"Sound travels beyond it and above. Far above, there are voices. Arguing, in discord."

Almost crashed over them, Noma thought as she lowered herself back down, releasing the threads until there was just silence.

"I think we might pass through there as well."

She stepped near the boulders. They were strange, up close, not natural rocks, but smashed up parts of a statue or several of them. A hand, an ear, a feather tip, almost devoid of shape under the growth. New life, eager to crumble the old.
Noma climbed the boulders, hoping there'd be a gap on the other side for them to pass through. The rocks unsettled her. They were remnants of belief, but one not entirely dead. Hauntingly vague... dying. It was frighting. She wished to run away.

"Justice, who was the third pillar? The central one? You told me of the Herald and yourself. Did this person follow Law Giver... away?" - to his death, Noma wanted to say, but didn't.

----------------------------------------------------------

Rahir picked for himself a clear, white tooth of stone protruding amongst the pines. It was above the tree line, closer to the sun. He could see a lot of the mountains from there.

The Sonauli exhaled, sending ash crisping through the barren branches of his chest-tree. He was growing tired of movement and change. The pendulum had swung.

Rahir touched his face with his hands, covering it. He moved them off. Now he had no face on his head, just a smooth surface, like an egg-shell. Instead, there were eyes and nose and mouth drawn on the skin of his palms. He wiped the back of his hands off the void, smooth skin, and a face appeared, blinking, a different face. Now there were no drawings on the back of his hands. He blinked, adjusting his blue eyes. Stone was serene, calming. Stone could wait.

Rahir, Sonauli that wore his faces as gloves sat down in the form of Stone, content to wait for things to come to him, instead of chasing. He turned his gaze to the sky, letting it reflect in his eyes.

Ash never had time, it was always dying, running, chasing. Stone had all the time it would ever need.

Needing neither food nor drink, Rahir rooted himself in stone, waiting for the man he'd seen fly away before, though he did not know if he would ever come. Stone did not care.

 

Farguah huddled close to the small fire; his weak body craved forgotten warmth. He whimpered occasionally in his sleep, mumbling alien words. Malar crouched on the other side of the flames; the small crack they took shelter in was minuscule at best. Malar gently eased himself down upon the hard clay floor, his hip still bled unable to heal from constant motion. He lay down with a soft sigh; he knew he had to do something for the wound and quickly. He rummaged through his pack removing various sacs and containers. He placed a small metal bowl beside the embers, and filled it with snow to melt.

When it was liquid he added some herbs and a bit of honey for taste, as he waited for it to steep, he removed his breeches. He wound wasn’t deep but large, his whole hips was bruised or bleeding. The wrap he made from the giant’s jerkin had helped, but it was now wet and dirty. With the tea he poured some onto the wound, barely wincing as the steaming refreshment splashed on his tender flesh. He rest he drank in one swallow, letting it burn the inside of his mouth and throat, that’s how this particular remedy worked, through damaged skin.

As he finished wrapping an old tunic around his hip he glanced back to Farguah. The creature hadn’t moved, the exhaustion of the chase and finally caught up to him. Malar noticed his bleeding feet black with bruises and felt a cringe of sympathy. The creature had made it through the Orsraun Mountains with no shoes, and merely short breeches and a heavy tunic. Farguah’s feline head and ears were wrinkled a gray, void of the fine coat that once covered him head to toe.

As Farguah woke the next morning, he woke underneath Malar’s massive forest green cloak.

 

Behind the boulders was indeed a narrow opening, the beginning of a half clogged cave chimney that led upwards, then twisted, leaning on the more coherent rocks in the back. The air behind the barrier was much colder. Pale daylight came from somewhere above, but it was impossible to see the sky. Instead, the world above was reflected on a patch of ice, some twenty feet away, where the tunnel turned. The outside world was a bit further down.

The climb was a quick, if a messy affair. Lichen, mud and sooth stuck to them, but soon the ground was frozen solid and in a little while, they stood at the opening of the cave. Noma was glad for the light - she felt wobbly and was quite banged up, with a moss stain on her cheek and spore dust all over her clothes.

Before them were the desolate remains of what was once a building of some kind. The roof had collapsed now and it looked as if the walls were recently torn apart. Several oxen carts stood nearby, loaded with stone and a group of men argued angrily. On one side stood the drivers of the carts, plainly dressed folk that frown amongst themselves and shifted feet impatiently. On the other, an old man in a worn out grey robe and a child, barely twelve, hiding behind him.

"We are just taking what belongs to us, for the damage that little devil did." - one of the men said.
"It was Maranien's revenge for your abandoning." - the child replied stubbornly, unafraid.
"Maranien?" - the man grimaced in disgust - "It was you that opened the dam valves and flooded out harvest, you that spoiled the wine, you that took and painted the wrong trees for our woodcutters, so that now the very ground will slide under our feet, when the next storm comes. You and no other, whatever you said. Maranien has long forgotten us and we owe no allegiance to your mangy god. Now step aside, priest. We need that stone to fix what little of the houses is left and repair the dome. Without it, there won't be a village, come spring."
"This is a holy temple..." - the old man spoke, but the villager shook his head.
"This *was* a holy temple, long ago, while you still had the power to cure and your god listened to us. From the time of my father's youth, not one prayer has been answered. This place is nothing to us. Winter comes and we must live through it. Stand aside and move that little rat out of the way.
"Maranien..." - the old priest tried again, but men moved past him and started tearing at the statues and tying the boulders to their carts.
"... is dead. You should come with us, to the village, while the roads are still passable. Bring the little one, too. My aunt will take him in." - a young man said, smashing a pickaxe into a wall and pulling bricks away.
"I know the boy did wrong, but he did not mean..." - the old man tried to reason with the others, but they ignored him.
The little boy just watched, silent.

There was a statue of a man leaning against a tower shield and gazing at the distance, on the side of a pitiful altar with some torn herbs. It was the only statue that still remained standing in the temple, and clearly not representing the deity of the place, but the men glanced at it and motioned, clearly intent to tear it down.

The rocks hid Noma and Justice from the view of the arguing people.

Noma looked at the remains of the temple.

"Justice, is it murder to kill a thing that's already dying?" - she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the temple. "Because this power, Maranien, whose home they are tearing apart... it is still alive, though dying and they are killing it off." - Noma huddled against the wall, suddenly sad.

"See for yourself." She reached for belief, offering once more Sonauli gifts to Justice, hoping that he too would see the dark orange strains of torn threads flying from the shattered stones, the misty substance of long waned belief. The statue with the shield bled dark purple mist from the joining edges of its stone parts.

"That statue has served this place loyally, as guardian, and they would tear it away. A dead thing now, perhaps, but it is a grave of one who died faithfully doing what his Duty was - is this how that service will be repaid?" - Noma whispered sharply and for the first time since they met, a shadow of hatred crept to her voice.

The ache in her chest returned, throbbing. She frowned and staggered, stepping out in the open, where all could see her. Invisible to all but Justice, the mists of belief begun gathering at her feet.

 

"Of course it is wrong," Justice replied to Noma. He stepped out from the boulders and thundered a booming voice at the men, "HOLD!"

Four more large strides brought him within swords reach of the closest men. "I am Justice of the Law Giver. I know I am a stranger here and to you, but what little I've heard of your discourse leads me to believe that the stones you have thus far taken more than compensate for the damages you have suffered at the hands of the child. I strongly suggest that you depart from here posthaste. As for the child, if he decides to take up your kindly offer of hospice, we will escort him safely to you. Now, DEPART!"

Justice didn't even put his hand on his sword, but the men were well on their way before the echoes of his last shout died down.

The child and old man approached Justice and Noma, "Thank you, Justice," the child said.

"You have done a great boon to us," the old man added.

"I must admit, I acted quite rashly. I do not know the details of the case here, and I hope I didn't commit more of an injustice by my actions. But in your Guardian I sense a kindred spirit to me, and the name of Maranien jarred my memory and spurred me to act."

"Noma, you asked me about the other pillar besides me and the herald. You may have wondered why I was silent during our ascent through the mucky passage. I was trying to remember. I knew that I should have known the answer right away, but it just wouldn't come to me. When I heard Maranien, I suddenly couldn't comprehend how I ever could have forgotten about Meleam."

"She was not created with the Herald and me, for the need for her was not yet clear, even to the Law Giver. It was in the reign of Angazer the ninth, he and the Law Giver were away fighting with Grummush and the orcs. The widow of Count Nikezzeth's son was racing his chariot through the city. On a fast turn a wheel fell off and the chariot crashed into the stall of a mellon seller. The melon seller was gravely injured, and the babe in arms she was nursing was killed. The Count's son, Kesseth, had several broken bones. The melon seller's husband demanded Justice. The case was clear to me. The Law stated a life for a life. The Count's widow pleaded with me to be merciful, to have compassion for a widow who only had her son left, that it was an accident with no malicious intent aforethought. But alas, I was not endowed with those qualities, and I enforced the law and executed Kesseth before the sun set."

"When the Law Giver and Angazer returned, the Count's widow demanded Justice of me! Can you imagine, she took me before the altar of the Law Giver and demanded my life. I of course defended my actions, as I was only following the Law. The Law Giver exonerated me, but he did recognize that the Count's widow also had a strong point, and that in many cases, the Law alone was not enough. And so he created Meleam."

"She was so beautiful, so gentle. She gave the people the Milk of Human Kindness. She was endowed with those traits that I lacked, compassion, mercy, and love. How could I have forgotten her? I don't even recall if her pillar was standing when I was last called."

He had noticed the strange mists at Noma's feet, and was somehow greatly comforted by them, yet he felt that she needed something that he was not giving her. He sent a telepathic thought to her, **Noma, I am comforted by your presence. If there is any thing that you would have of me, or need me to do, please ask.**

 

"Meleam?" - Noma gazed at the palm of her right glove, where she kept her tears. One could still trace the outline of some. The word suited the meaning. Lost is the one for whom no tears are shed. - "I am sure her pillar still stands. It is rooted in the world itself."

She startled, hearing Justice's voice in her head, then looked at the celestial and the mist threads at her feet dissipated. She had to will them away, which was not a good sign. Was she already growing desperate enough to leach belief out of the world? Weakened as she was, she was no longer sure. She missed the past. It was simple. There was purpose.

Regrets. Noma suddenly felt relief. This was not her after all. It was the belief of this place, dying, saddened, a silken shroud which she disturbed. The regret was a part of it.
She was almost disappointed. It would have felt good to show the people in the carts some of the belief this place had. It would have been... fitting.

The boy looked at Justice and interrupted.
**That would not be prudent. I advise caution. They are parasites, Justice.**
The boy's thoughts came in an organised, leveled stream of words, his face blank throughout it, like nothing was happening.

The old priest didn't seem to notice anything. He brought some food, preparing a welcome for his unexpected guests.

**I am Maranien.** - the child's thoughts came again. This time, it sent images, memories, explaining its position to Justice. **Being who you are, you will know that I'm telling the truth. I did not plan to reveal myself, but I cannot just watch. You would be making a mistake. A mistake in trusting this creature, a mistake in allying yourself with it. I cannot blame you for choosing to stay alive, ** - there was emotion in that thought, for the first time - ** for I've witnessed Law Giver's passing, but tread carefully. She might be able to offer you belief, but it would not be belief of the Law Giver. To embrace a separate existence, you'd have to abandon the one you held before. Unless you have already done so, by staying behind when your lord and his host faded to Nothing. As I said, I don't judge you.**

Unaware of any of this, Noma smiled in reply to Justice. "You don't have to do anything, but thank you for asking. I am fine. I will do my best to aid you."


The old priest ushered them to some seats, speaking quickly and joyfully, like one who has had little company. He seemed oblivious of the boy's true nature, blinded by faith that taught him powers dwell on the heavens. Maranien seemed content with this.

Maranien's thoughts kept coming, steadily, orderly.

**I am dying. This is or was my final attempt at salvation. They have forgotten me, the Gardener of Salt. No one believes in me, anymore, except this old man, who cannot even see who I am, blindly believing in who I once was. This body I have now was a temporary solution, but it too will perish and it is frightening. I need help. A surge of faith. Someone to listen to me. Someone to see. The people of that village have thrown me away long ago - they will not see unless they have to. Without them, I will die. I do not wish to stop existing, to become a floating mine for the githyanki in the Silver Void. Would you aid me? Could you make that village believe again? I am asking you to lie.**

Maranien was blunt. The boys eyes blinked innocently. There was so little left of him, but the little that was there was resolution. He wished to live, like all things do.


Noma didn't understand the silence, in which the old priest's grateful chatter sounded distant and irrelevant. A background tone.
She didn't understand why Justice and the boy looked at each other, and why the statue of the Guardian still bled duty from the stone cracks.