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The Ancient Hues. (lasciel & CarelessWanderer)

No sound. No smell. No sight, for she kept her eyes dutifully closed. All Morwenth knew was that the textures beneath her feet changed, from the uneven roll of roots and fallen leaves to smooth, featureless stone. She was baffled, as they had only gone a few steps. Surely if there was some platform she would've seen it. Had Valkon transported them again?

As instructed, she opened her eyes. And gasped.

They had gone elsewhere, though there was no vertigo this time to mark their passing. Rather than a strange forest made of jade and crystal, they stood in a palace. Though the word hardly seemed apt. Technically as a member of the nobility. Morwenth had rights to enter the palace in Idolba Elikhanyo, and as a child she had visited on numerous occasions. That place had been wondrous, filled with sumptuous fur rugs, fanciful tapestries, wood oiled and rubbed until it shone like bronze. There had been precious metals, too, statuettes and gilded frames and jewelry worn by the Emperor and Empress.

But nothing had been quite like this.

The wealth of the entire Empire, Morwenth was sure, existed within easy reach of her current position. Marble and gold and thick lush velvet, furnishings fit for royalty, Was this some trick or trap? She had no hope of carrying it all, but even a few of the baubles could finance her until the end of her days. She could buy a manor house, pay for servants, purchase three of the finest bed-warmers from the brothels in Idolba Elikhanyo and eat and drink and fuck until she grew old and gray. A few more and she could hire an army, carve out her own little fiefdom within the Empire. If she took all she could carry, she could finance an army big enough to perhaps even take the throne.

She kept her hands, wisely, to herself.

"What is this place?" Morwenth asked, trying to keep her tone level. Her words came out in a reverent, fearful whisper. "Is this your Hoard?" It wasn't what the rumors had said, but it was closer than she would've guessed. It seemed unlikely that he would've taken someone else here. Maybe had mentioned it to someone. Or perhaps there were others of his kind still roaming the Empire. That thought sent an unpleasant shudder down her spine.

Carefully, she followed as he strode down the grand, opulent hallway. Morwenth had begun to wonder if this was the main chamber, or merely an entryway. If so... her mind failed her in her attempts to envision what was beyond. With this much wealth, hiring every impisri in the Empire would've been trivial. Controlling them, getting them to work together, was of course another matter. She watched as Valkon tasted a random substance from a bottle on a sideboard. Her stomach growled, and her Wolf encouraged her to sniff and taste. But it also encouraged her to be vigilant, and the beast paced and circled within her mind issuing a low growl, as if they were surrounded by unseen enemies. For all she knew, they were.

Morwenth eased one of her swords from her belt. She reached out towards the sideboard, tapping it gently with the curved hook of the blade. Testing if it was solid, if any of this was real. If the action could create sound in this strange, silent place. Another step forward, inspecting, looking for dust or fingerprints or signs that this place could change. She did not like any of it. And while the innumerable baubles and gilding and ornamentations could fund an life of luxury, she suspected there would be awful consequences if she were to just... take it. But gods, did her fingers itch.
 
Valkon rewarded only three things showed by his students.

Patience.

Obedience.

Creativity.

And while others of his kin put heavy emphasis on the second, aspect of their life he did not. It was up to them they desired to study, up to them that they have found him and passed his tests despite knowing how untrustworthy he was of humankind. It was them, those special "Snowflakes" one could say, that have appeared within his onyx tower. Their patience to gain knowledge, fulfill their desires earned them respect and actual trust from Valkon.

Obedience served as a simple factor the dragon perceived as a natural order of things. Some were fit to rule hordes, other nations. And others knowledge. He never said humanity wasn't capable but he knew the chaos that would come with it if they were to be left alone.

Ah, creativity. Be it in magic, be it in normal life. The chance for one to prove themselves was always at hand. Those who knew what to do simply relied on themselves. Their instincts, their knowledge. Everything they had at their disposal to make the best out of the horrible situation.

So far she fulfilled his expectations in a positive manner. It was now that the final test was held, the wolf-bound didn't just rush pillaging the simple hallway. After all he never said what was to be her reward. And with the emptied bottle of refreshing bevarage, he eyed her from head to toe. The urge to explain where they were just to calm her would be truly suitable, but alas. If she were to fail his expectations it was better to keep a Thief terrified of the owner's creations.

Even if undoubtedly, they were drifting in the endless void by now. A place that could crush either of their human bodies if not the vaults created by his kin.

"We're close towards the vault. You'll take only One thing from inside of it."

Alas, whlist he was certain she was worthy of becoming a sentinel it was her mindset that let him assume she would turn back at the first encounter to end their partnership.

After all, it was easy to see how her eyes loomed over the simple hallway. The gilded elements and riches here already fueling her mind with sickening thoughts, a desire to pursue unending paradise. Only to expose yourself to one's dagger. As men envy others for their wealth. And just as they've done it among Valkon and his kind, they would unmistakably do it even among their own. No matter how strong, or worthy they truly were.

Thus. He would spare her the trouble of the burden the riches brought, a single item could bring her fortune as he assumed but would it be enough to let her reach the paradise? Not immediately, and so the offer to serve him would remain, hinted with possibility to be paid more. Crude. But effective until he would find a new suitable sentinel material.

Boots silently padding against the decorated carpet, he could feel as they neared towards the entrance. Not a gate. Not a door. But a mirror, made out of gilded glass. If that itself was even possible. It wasn't true gold. It seemed more as if the mirror had been tinted with gold and polished for centuries to imitate that.

Valkon knew better than that, resting his hand against it, feeling as the construct reacted immediately. Once again, it was a vibrating liquified mass, enclosed within the edges of the mirror, shaping, multiplying. Bearing a different shape of...

A portal.

Looking flatly towards her, he simply offered his hand one more time.

She could take it, she could ignore it. But he rarely did offer any help. And to see that he believed she deserved it?

It was truly rare of Valkon. Perhaps even too human for him.

It was her choice.
 
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She tapped the sideboard, but heard nothing. Even the vibration she should've felt in her hand as her sword tapped the wood felt muted and dull. Well, that certainly wasn't right. She tried not to think too much about it, and reattached her sword to her belt with a suspicious glare at the offending bit of furniture.

While Valkon finished his beverage and regarded her, Morwenth slipped a smaller flask from one of the small pockets of her cloak and took a long swallow. Thankfully, wherever they had gone, her amampor still tasted as it always did: harsh and potently alcoholic. It's effects were invigorating, trailing fire from her mouth down her throat and straight into her belly. Even without tasting it, she judged it better than whatever concoction the god drank. It looked thick and sweet and containing of far too little alcohol, a drink fit for children and women with child. Though it was a little rude to invite her into this place and not offer her anything to drink.

She took another swig, then put the flask away. If he didn't want to share, well, neither would she.

Those bright yellow eyes of hers continued to eye the treasure, and she licked her lips unconsciously.

"One thing. Yeah. Do I get to pick?" It seemed important to clarify. She didn't figure she was in a position to bargain, but it couldn't hurt to ask. If this god wanted to kill her, he could've and would've done so already. The worst he could do was say "no". From the looks of this place, even the smallest item would be worth half a year's haul to her. Though, she supposed, she had no idea how long of a service contract she would be entering into. That seemed more prudent to nail down.

"And what is this payment for? Taking you to Ironwood? I already said I'd do that. So I want to know, what do you expect of me?" She followed him down the hall as she spoke, their words the only sound in this strange place. Even their footsteps made no noise, no matter how hard she stomped. The silence was so thick she could hear her own heart beating in her chest. It beat frantically, belying her discomfort.

They approached what looked to Morwenth like a dead-end. But she knew better than to scoff. Instead, she waited, as Valkon did... whatever he did. More magic that she did not want to know the truth of. The metal pulsed and flowed, like sand on the skin of a beaten drum, and despite herself she took half a step back. Her hands had gone automatically to the hilts of her swords, but a second thought made her realize she had no use for them. Was she going to attack the mirror? Her Wolf urged the idea. But it would do little good, the rational part of her knew, and there was no threat besides. No new threat.

He offered her a hand. She stared at it as if it were a viper, then looked warily once more at the portal.

It took every ounce of her courage to reach out and take it, her massive palm again engulfing his. He could fee this time how cold sweat slicked it's surface. Despite the strong, warrior-like aura she exuded, this impisri was afraid. But despite the quaver to her legs, she followed him as they stepped through.
 
As their mortal vessels traversed the fogged glass. As body broke into the matter, matter into the energy and energy into dust, leaping through the void itself, piercing it's silky layers...

Valkon pondered at her question. Even now as much as he hated to admit it his plan was quite straightforward without the knowledge of this world. Crossing the great seas, back to the Amber plains. The resting grounds of the elders, where the veins themselves feast on the excess of mana, fueling the world, allowing it to live on. Land so distant that no mere human, ancient elf or forgotten dwarf have been allowed to enter. Holy ground he would stain one day with this vessel.

What did he need her for?

The wolf-bound. Warrior. Mercenary. A hound of duty, disposable men and women that cling not to oaths but gold.

The black haired sage emerges onto the other side, a little sluggish, feeling how his stomach suffered the interdimensional travel in the human form. He now understood why humankind tended to avoid such means of transportation back in his time. It left the unpleasant jolt all the way from the temple, going through the whole collar bone. Holding still onto her hand, he waits until she emerges. Curious whether the aid would be needed or if she would even succumb to physical weaknesses of the human body.

As promised though. They were here, the octagon-shaped vault, with each wall serving as a chamber to even greater riches. All appropriate to the human, it was no true Vault. But a mere stash for the sentinels of the jade overlords. Their armors shaped out of green glass and emerald, still in their stands, followed by similarly shaped weaponry which in exchanged gleamed with ancient power. The rune writings on each side spoke of the code such men and women have followed, once assigned as divine protectors of the dragon-kind.

A satisfying reward for her duties. If it wouldn't be locked behind the barrier. Just like other chambers. All shielded, the layer of pure green fire prevented either of them to enter the octagon itself or it's remaining seven chambers. Each full of not only riches but works of art, statues, books, paintings, tools. If they weren't harvesting it years before the collapse Valkon would've assumed their order was preparing for the rebellion and it's consequences while hoping to remain as the only last ones standing. But the absence of those stalwart servants and his green scaled brethren said otherwise.

"No matter how much fortune you would gain, there will be a single mind willing to risk everything to take it from you. Such..."mind" can grow, expand and one day overcome you. What I grant you is a possibility to taste the life of true wealth and suffer it's consequences."


Stepping forth, into the flame, it enfolds all around him. Slithers like a snake underneath the clothing. Only to hiss, as if water has been splashed against it. Wither and suddenly fade. Allowing them to enter the main hall, with access to each of the chambers, while they still remain locked by the exact same flame. Valkon, remains unchanged. No burn marks. No wounds. Just this...Caring? Look in his eyes.

"My kind has fallen because of such thing. It would be a shame to see someone like you fall because of the same reason. You may consider my knowledge unworthy, my words as you humans tend to call it..."Full of shit". But once you chose your desired item, I want you to remain by my side. Not as a mere mercenary. Not as a hound of duty, chasing fortune I can provide you with ease. But as my sentinel."

Such things need time. Trust. That's what his brothers and sisters would say. Remind him of how untrustworthy humans are. How building up a bond is required for such offers to be made.

She could reject the offer. But then the fortune wouldn't be hers. They would walk different paths. That would be her problem. But Valkon...He cannot waste time. Wait. Every hour passing, every day going by. The vein bleeds. And despite his desire to harvest it, there are things he does not understand. And clearly, he won't get the answers on his own, not if...The way he speaks. Behaves...Walks even. Make him stand out so much.

He needs her. He needs someone suitable. She is the only one so far.

"The choice is yours. But if you are to reject my offer. The promised fortune will bring you death sooner than you would've expected it."
 
What was an oath without gold, however? Morwenth was not a sort to forsake deals sworn and signed for, but a bargain had to cut both ways. One didn't simply swear allegiance for the Wolf's sake. Once sworn, she had no plans to betray him, that simply wasn't how she worked, but neither would she act to defend or guide or protect him out of the "goodness" of her own heart. She wouldn't forsake an oath, but loyalty did have a cost.

They moved again with another sickening lurch and Morwenth felt her amampor try to crawl back up her throat. Despite herself she gagged, but stifled the heaving that followed. She had been a little more prepared than the last time, and did nothing so embarrassing as falling to her knees. But there was a difinitive sway to her posture as they emerged on the other side, and she took an additional stride to put more space between herself and that strange mirror. Mirrors were for looking in... Not walking through.

That brought her nearly face-to-face with a towering wall of emerald green flames, and here Morwenth had no compunctions about stumbling backwards. She was careful enough not to back into Valkon, it would've been rather shoddy form to knock her little god to the ground, but she did end up closer to the mirror than she would've liked. Clearly this was some sort of punishment for her failings. A penance for the hubris to think to follow a god back to his own realm. Even if he had pretty much dragged her here.

Seemingly oblivious, Valkon walked into the flames. Which, as she should've expected, did little more but sputter out. For the dozenth time the impisri couldn't be sure if the god was showing off, or if all this was really the easiest or most direct way to find her payment. Couldn't Valkon have kept his wealth in a bank, like a normal person? Going to Idolba Elikhanyo would've taken time, true, but it was also an entirely mundane experience.

Then again, no bank, not even the Emperor's Bank, held splendors like these. Armor carved of jade, swords wrought of the same stone, with hilts wrought of silver and gold. Robes made of silk and velvet, and of a stranger material Morwenth could not place. More jewels, and jewelry, and piles of books likely worth the rest put together for the knowledge within. A lifetime of treasure, with plenty left over to spare.

She entered the chamber and inspected these things. Morwenth did not touch anything directly, but liberally tapped both the weapons and armors with the hook tip of one of her swords, listening intently for the tones and resonances rendered. She inspected each set before coming to stop before one that looked the most likely to fit her. With her blade she gave it another tap, then turned towards Valkon.

"One year." She held out a hand. "You will pay for lodging, food, and any supplies we need. I don't care how. I keep half of what we take, if anything. And in one year, I claim this." She gestured at the suit of armor with one thumb. "We can negotiate new terms if you seek my service after that." Despite their difference in height, Morwenth tilted her chin up, staring down her nose at the god. Daring him to bargain.
 
Time and time again, she has managed to surprise him in ways he never imagined. The cruel mind of a man, lacking tact. The mindset of a beast.

Just look at her.

Valkon thought to himself, eyeing her form from head to toe. Savage. Mercenary. A hound of duty, a pawn in a game of lords and monarchs.

A pawn he was getting attached to dangerously close to. Pawn he had to dismiss once the time was right.

"One year. A single change of seasons it is then? Very well. Once the cycle repeats itself and the summer season will once again descend upon this plain and you'll be still alive the chosen items will be yours. To make it fair, you're allowed to take a part of it with you now. I'd suggest boots unless you prefer walking barefoot everywhere Morwenth."

He ends with a chuckle, approaching the said suit of armor, examining his reflection in the polished jade glass. Not really fitting his style, but that could be understood given his grayscaled form he bore in the past.

She had guts to make demands that put her as an equal. Good. It only meant that the weight of responsibility would soon balance out between them, leaving him to wonder if she could succeed. After all, one year is enough time to make needed preparations.

"Now that it's settled Morweenth do tell me what you know of Ironwood. And any larger towns that could provide us with mercenaries. It's appropriate to share at last a fraction of my plans with you including the one I need your help with when it comes to realizing it. If I were to provide supplies, gold and materials, would you be capable to gather a band of warriors just like you've done in the past? After all, it is obvious the people seem to accept your authority. This, pack mentality you have created when trying to hunt me down. If given enough time...Would it be possible to recreate it?"

One step at a time, he would regain his powers. No matter the price. There in the middle of the vault, he approaches her, peering back into her challenging gaze, unbothered. Lifeless almost.

"How long would it take?"
 
"I do like going barefoot," Morwenth countered, re-holstering her swords so she could cross her arms beneath her well-sized bust. "I have boots back in Ironwood. This can stay here. It is... gaudy." She saw no sense in being dishonest. As far as she could tell, the armor was a flashy show piece, nothing more. Not only did the sleek, jade plates look like they'd shatter if she looked at them wrong, but the whole get up was just begging to be spotted at a thousand paces or more. The stone was both reflective, and bright grass green that would stick out even in the most lush of forests. Even only as boots, the armor posed more trouble than it was worth.

Besides, she liked her boots. They fit. Well-fitting boots were hard to find, even harder when they were armored. Morwenth was practical enough to admit that barefoot wasn't quite appropriate to all situations, but when circumstances forced her into footwear she liked to be choosy. It was a perk of being a rough-and-tumble warrior like herself. She got to call the shots. No foreign god was going to tell her what to put on her feet. Her pride wouldn't allow it.

She regarded him with a level stare as he laid out the skeleton of his plan, giving no ground when he approached. Oh, Morwenth was more than certain that this god could kill her here and now. But he wouldn't. It wouldn't make any sense, to spare her, then bring her here, and only then kill her. Among other issues, it would've made an awful mess, and this... wherever this was, seemed to lack for servants or animals to clean up afterwords. No, if Valkon was trying to intimidate her, he would not succeed. It didn't help that the closer he got, the more she had to stare down at him. Gods, she could probably swing him over her shoulder and spank him if he got too out of hand. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips in response to the thought.

"Ironwood, it's a small town, a few hundred folks I think. A lot of loggers, a few taverns and their staff, a handful of healers, and a fair share of prostitutes." The impisri rattled off the facts as she knew them, describing how it was situated, who came through, the high and low seasons it had, what sort of defenses were available. The overall conclusion was that there was little for them there, beyond a reclaiming of whatever things Morwenth and her Pack had left behind, and stocking up on whatever they needed before continuing their journey.

As an Alpha, Morwenth had an additional duty, to send communication to the great bank in Idolba Elikhanyo letting the bureaucrats know which Pack members had passed beyond. Each of her companions, ideally, would've left word that they were signing on with her company, and to trust her word regarding any statements of demise. That wasn't her business, though. Her responsibility went as far as sending a letter listing which members survived and which perished, and taking honest efforts towards making sure the message was delivered. It would take only an hour or so, and a bird onward to the next nearest town would be far faster than the two of them could hope to manage on foot.

"I could recruit others. It would take time, if you want good talent. My reputation... will not be what it once was, when we return." Losses were to be expected. Losing one's whole Pack, however, was a truly black mark. "If you wish to do this thing, it will take time, and it will take a great deal of wealth. It took me two moons to gather up the Pack I brought to face you. It would likely take four, to do it again." She admitted, a pained look on her face. "They would not be loyal to you. They would be loyal to me." Morewenth added, with a shrug. "That is the way of impisri." Not a bargain, not a question, but a statement of fact.

The vault was twice again too quiet for her tastes. Every little shuffling of her body seemed to produce a sound, and Morwenth was certain she could hear Valkon's heartbeat in the stillness. There was nothing else for her to obtain in this place, except more unease. "Can we leave this place?" Despite the phrasing, her tone made it obvious she wanted to not know just the theory, but the practice. "Unless there is food for us here," she added, a little hopeful.
 
"There should be reserves kept in the lower levels from what I have seen when We stepped through the gate, plus We still need some sort of proof the mighty Morwenth has slain the beast that murdered every one of her pack. And do not worry. I do not wish to control others, nor you directly. After all the comfort of control often leaves one exposed to an unseen blade." His silver-gray eyes gleam within the vault, his gaze lingers over the artifacts and tools of his people. The Haliki, to human eye a simple feather one would use to write on paper, for Valkon a tool required for a magi to operate normally. From the ability to shape words into power, give them meaning and reason, to hiding and revealing the hidden inscriptions within the polished marble or decorative gold.

For what they seen was only a mere outer layer of the true secrets and system of this little multi-dimensional cage fuzed together to exist within the void. Even he didn't have enough power or knowledge to reveal all of the hidden rooms and entrances left by the Jade scales. This place, was merely an invitation, that they have known a human-shaped figure would enter their...Exactly. What was this structure on it's own? What was it's meaning? He has assumed a simple warehouse turned into the safehouse, with jades waiting out the old war but the more he has seen, the longer did his eyes linger over the empty halls and deactivated gates.

He was assured all of it was prepared. Timeless, waiting for the arrival of Something.

Was he that "Something", a possibility, one he wasn't quite happy of. If they truly expected someone's appearance there would certainly be some sort of clue, and even as he desired to pursue his goals words of this wolf-bound human were true.

"Pick anything you consider worthy of serving as the first payment for the newly recruited warriors. We'll keep it for the darker hour. Also, take some of the gold for yourself. As the payment for this Khali."

He forgot to question how did humanity perceive the stars and time now. For him, the cycle of transition was split into six seasons, each consisting of two Khalis, a thirty moon cycles, representing day and night. The system was fairly simple, referring to the magical and non magical reactions of Terra, allowing the Dragons to find the most appropriate seasons to harvest the energy distribute it equally. It could be considered as harvesting season, just without the selfishness of simply taking. Often, with the help of those ancient and buried towers cut from marble, obsidian and granite, his kind has distributed the energy from the gathered pools of pure mana, allowing the world to breathe and repay in the appearance of yet another goods.

It was thanks to the pool of pure mana that Valkon manage to cast such a devastating explosion in the first place. Simply destabilizing the well itself he has created something comparable to a contained supernova, unable to grow past the expected area, before turning everything into ash and rubble. But it still remained a mystery how his body has come to be.

Standing by the mirror, he continued. "Was there a reward promised if you were to "Defeat the beast"? " He needed any "Legitimate" source of income as soon as possible. Relying on the gold and jewels from the different era was the easiest way to draw attention, be it from potential allies, opportunists, or just as feral and unpredictable human mind. He wished to keep his appearance or identity of this vault a secret. As it would seem, magi didn't roam those lands as they did in the past. Giving him a chance to plan freely without worrying for any surprises.

"Now, let us step through the portal again. I'm sure some fresh air and an acceptable meal would suit your needs. Come."

Tapping the mirror, this time, the image didn't seem to shift or even form into a layer of unstable golden liquid, no, this time, it was nothing more than an incredibly short hallway. Made purely out of polished smooth gold. At last that's what he made sure she has seen. It was better to not torment more of her mind, and with the reserves of mana always within the void, he has allowed himself to manipulate her sight, for just a moment, to make this travel. Much more bearable.

There, on the other side, the mentioned meal and surprisingly "Fresh" air awaited them. In a form of the enclosed greenhouse, shaped in a way of an hourglass, bushes, trees, plants. All bearing fruit, while also locked behind the thick layer of green tinted glass while the imitation of sun, a yellowish sphere remained on top of the glass hourglass itself. It was bizarre but not as mind breaking or even hard to comprehend, supported by curved wooden beams and floor, the hourglass's top chamber was filled with four floors and set of stairs in each, the lower chamber beneath them, simply descended in a form of rounded stairs possibly leading to another part of those strangely enclosed gardens.

The flowers and fruits were varying, from common apples to strange pinkish or even color changing fruits that seemed full and juicy simply from looking at them.

"I'd gladly take you to a proper dining hall but I'm afraid the path to it would drain more of my power than I'd wish. And as I assume you'd prefer to get out of here as fast as possible."

But it was clearly a change. A pleasant one as he assumed. With the sound of air rustling through the leaves, the waterfall's with water splashing against various bodies. And even specific for this hourglass, powered machinery that put the whole place in motion, allowing the waterfalls to rotate, watering all of the gardens.
 
"Hmph. You could've just started with that," Morwenth chuckled, taking a last long look at the jade armor she had claimed as "hers", before considering the chambers branching off from the one they were in. Most contains objects whose worth or use was unknown to her, objects and tools of foreign gods she imagined were much like Valkon. An entire pantheon of strangely small deities, scrambling around these chambers like young obutu at a festival market's sweets stand. Someone had to have collected and organized all of these things, placing the armor on stands and dummies, hanging and draping the tapestries, arranging each object 'd art just so on all that polished and gilded furniture they'd passed. How long had he been collecting these things? And why did Valkon seem so disquieted by it all?

The impisri mulled over these questions as she chose the chamber that sparkled the brightest. Though the green flames filling the threshold had sputtered out several minutes ago, she still approached the portal gingerly. But a tentative penetration with her sword revealed no disruptive effects, and the wolf hopped through a moment later. She landed lightly, then swung her pack from her shoulder and set it on the floor. The sorted through the room's riches, primarily jewelry of various forms, and tossed what pieces she deemed suitable into the pack with little care. Morwenth had no eye for beauty, but she could appreciate the differences between a necklace plated with gold leaf and one made of solid bullion. She couldn't appreciate the difference between colored glass and true gemstones, and so avoided pieces that seemed to feature them excessively. Too much of a gamble, to haul it all around.

She didn't fill her pack to the brim; such would've represented a truly absurd amount of gold. The metal was deceptively dense, and the rattle and thunk would give her away if her struggles didn't. They didn't want to make themselves easy victims for would-be criminals. It would've been an embarrassing end, all things considered. She had survived the horrible beast of Ironwoon and it's thousand flickering forms, only to fall to a back-alley knifing? She wouldn't be remembered as A'kwuru, she wouldn't be remembered at all.

"I don't know what a khali is," Morwenth called in reply, cinching her pack closed and swinging it, with substantially more effort, back onto her shoulders. "The reward is prestige. Your hoard was all the promised treasure." She picked her way across the chamber, back over to Valkon's side, hands resting lightly on the hilts of her swords. The warrior still seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and stood closer to the little god than strictly necessary. "This," she wiggled her torso as to make her pack jangle, "should last us through even the most idiotic plan you could need a Pack for. We should melt it down, though. We do not make jewelry this..." Morwenth held back from calling it 'hideously gaudy', but only just. "It'll invite questions. Awkward questions. Melt it and I can tell them the damned 'beast' had gold for blood." It was poetic enough to be believable, and not the stupidest thing the famed monster-hunter had ever encountered.

Eager to be gone, she followed Valkon back down the hall without hesitation. But the sight of the portal-turned-mirror brought her up short. She stared at it suspiciously, looking so normal of a passage if one ignored the metallic sheen, the lack of colors. But her employer (partner?) had entered, and was quickly outpacing her, and it wasn't as if there were better choices. With more of that hesitancy, so befitting of a warrior with the aura Morwenth tried to cultivate, she stepped through. Though she seemed to go nowhere in particular, her stomach still lurched, bile crawling up her throat. There was a second lurch as they exited, and she had to swallow hard to keep herself from retching. That had not been a normal corridor, no matter what her eyes told her.

"Alright. This is even weirder." She muttered, as much to herself as to the god she was traveling with. But food was food, and her stomach growled when her companion mentioned a dining hall. Oh, she would've preferred such, a cozy hall made of thick timbers with a roaring fire, obutu serving tankards of dark and bready beer, or slices of roast lamb with raisins and hot peppers from great pewter platters. The thought was enough to make her mouth water, and she wiped excess saliva away from the corner of her mouth with the back of one sleeve. There was no meat here, but Morwenth was hungry enough to not mind the oversight. Perhaps Valkon was a herbivore? Oh, wouldn't that be hilarious. What sort of god didn't eat meat?

She could only recognize roughly half the fruits, and gave those she couldn't a wide berth. That still left a wide variety to choose from, never mind that most of these species didn't grow anywhere near one another. Nothing else about this place made sense, so why couldn't apples and bananas and citrons and cheramoya grow besides one another, with a vine full of thumb-sized grapes weaving between them for good measure? Morwenth avoided the grapes, as well as a deep green fruit with a leathery exterior whose name she didn't know but whose toxicity she did. Impisri were hard to kill, even via poison, but there were several species present that could make her wish she'd died instead.

Her heavily laden pack made the maneuver a little awkward, but Morwenth withdrew one of her swords and used it's hooked end to bow a branch of an apple-tree towards her, laden with glossy-looking fruit more perfect than any she'd ever seen. She plucked one, then brought it closer to inspect. It looked like an apple... she took a generous bite, and chewed savagely. The fruit disappeared over the course of four more bites, and she let the core drop before plucking another. The wolf made short work of this one as well, and two more, before retrieving another two which she handed straight to Valkon. She then moved on to another tree heavily laden with massive greenish-yellow fruits, with skin like a desert lizard's. Morwenth needed no implements to bow a branch for her this time, as the stone-weight fruits already hung within easy reach. She didn't pluck the head-sized fruit, so much as she twisted it off it's branch until it's thick stalk snapped, then returned again to her little god and sat down on the floor. From her belt she pulled a smaller utility knife, and began to peel and part out the thick yellow flesh from the rough skin and the large white oval seeds.

"So. This isn't your hoard, is it?" Morwenth asked casually, as she flicked thick pith away with her knife. The thought had come to her shortly after arrival in this new space, but had begun to percolate earlier than that. Too many things about the place seemed strange, and Valkon's reactions to them stranger. Not once had he ever referred to the space as his, which was especially troubling. Most of what she cared about was whether this place's original occupants would hold a grudge. But the impisri would also admit, if pressed, that she was genuinely curious.
 
"It's not, nor is it occupied by anyone. The inhabitants, servants, and rulers of this place have perished. Just as I should." He liked satiating her curiosity with riddles, answers where she wouldn't have enough dots to connect and make actual facts. After all, what was the fun in revealing truly what he was if the two would stop their partnership in a matter of days, or even Khalis? Approaching one of the wildly growing bushes, the ancient extended his hand, gripping the leaf, examining it's silky texture, recently watered and supplied with all needed minerals to survive. This hourglass system was self-sufficient thanks to the void energy woven into it, the only source of arcane power even dragons failed to fully understand. With Valkon being one of the few that truly admired its power.

"But what you see here exists partly thanks to me. But I doubt it's interesting, humans tend to favor meat of others over harmless coexistence, and it's understandable. Every animal has such a desire at some point. It's just up to them if they have the strength to truly pursue such a goal." The leaf, curls around his hand, as if in a gesture of a loyal dog, resting it's green organic paw over the master's hand, obediently doing as requested.

"We'll need a body to prove your victory and explain the death of all of your Pack." Even if Valkon was quite new to this world, he picked up on customs and language fairly quickly, even if the details were unclear, or certain places and establishments making no sense, he simply needed time and a source of information he could supply himself on. Connecting the dots, participating in a game of guessing, diplomacy and politics just to get himself the desired answer. Humanity loved participating in that, stepping into the deep water, thinking they could compete, and replace the dynasties of Orokin.

And they did.

It was no longer advised to discuss anything with them if they wanted war they would have it.

And yet they almost won it.

Valkon knew that, his heart, his pride. His pure hatred for the presence of mind and soul belonging to this two-legged abomination. He knew that fighting fire with fire would bring no effect, to truly get rid of them, he had to turn them against one another. Just to slaughter the last one standing. But Morwenth was different, she seemed different. Qualities and traits of man were clearly there, affecting her behavior. But alongside it, there was this "Mutation". An anomaly, a second presence, born of the same blood. Of the similar soul, only to have it tainted with something weaker. He didn't understand what it was, the curiosity he could once have was nowhere to be found. He didn't want to know all of her secrets, her bestial side would become too feral for such forced entry. That. Plus his own powers were nowhere near his old self.

He needed the vein, the one beneath this land. Harvest it. Regain some of his true talents, and then consume more...

Land after land, nation after nation, till he could reach the old world, the resting place of his brethren, the place of those even older than he was. Put to rest, left to watch as their children have been slaughtered by humanity.

"I'll have to leave most of the talking to you at first. Given that even such words as Khali appear to be something your people do not understand." Even the attempt to learn this language cost someone's life, after all, if not the "Mercenary" or whoever that figure was he has slain, Valkon wouldn't communicate with her freely. They were of two different cultures. He needed her help to fit in, at last until he could operate on his own.


Examining the fruits, before packing each to the pockets of his cloak, he extended his hand, in a gesture to help her stand up once she has finished her meal.

"For your stomach's sake, this will be the last transportation. After it We'll reach Ironwood, you'll get some needed rest. I'll make preparations to make the battle much more believable to justify the loss of your whole pack."
 
Dead was dead, even if Morwenth was skeptical about the ability of gods to simply off and die. Still, she wouldn't begrudge using what they'd left behind. Some of the wolf-cults, she knew, believed that you could take your things with you in some fashion to the afterlife. She subscribed to none of them, and found it unlikelier still that if a god died, they went to a place where material wealth was of any importance.

She made a skeptical noise, and otherwise disregarded Valkon's oblique insult. As long as he didn't impose his preferences on her, it was of little consequence besides. Hunting for one was easier than hunting for two, anyway.

But clearly, this foreign god hadn't spent any time in impisri lands. Meat was a necessary part of their diet. They could go without for some time, supplementing with animal products like eggs and milk, and special kinds of fermented vegetables. But so deprived, an impisri would eventually waste away, if their Wolf didn't handle the matter first. Seeing how long one could go without animal flesh was a popular pastime among bored ascetics, or so far as Morwenth could tell anyway. If not for fun, why do it? She had done it once herself, though not voluntarily. When her father had tried to "bring out" her Wolf, she'd been put on a diet of milk and grains. Haspir had given up on the exercise two moons later, when his least daughter had grown too weak to stand on her own. The priest who'd been advising him, a follower of the Summer Wolf, had urged for him to to hold out for another week or two.

"Morwenth's Wolf is stubborn, but she will emerge. Do not let the weakness of the flesh fool you."

Morwenth didn't blame Haspir. Her father had never been a bright man, impressionable and prone to flights of fancy. She had blamed the priest. A decade later, she'd tracked him down and killed him. She hadn't the time, the patience, or the cruelty to slowly starve him the same way he'd done to her, even if impisri culture suggested it as the "proper" course of action.

"I can tell them that after I lobbed your head off, you turned to smoke and ashes. I suppose a few bones would go a long way towards believability." She shrugged, indifferent. With the amount of wealth they were hauling back, people would likely not scrutinize her too hard. Especially if fact followed fiction; with Valkon in her sights, it seemed unlikely the god could wander off and cause further trouble for the locals. It wouldn't be enough to restore her reputation, but if she spun things correctly, she could at least salvage something. "I suppose there are no convenient skeletons of not-deities here, hmmm?" Morwenth added, quirking one gray-brown brow with the hints of a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

Well, he seemed reticent to give her any useful answers to her questions, but that didn't really surprise her. Morewenth wasn't entirely convinced gods could even give straightforward answers. Like it was against their instincts, or something. Her Wolf, mostly quiet since they'd entered this strange place, chuffed in amused agreement.

There was nothing resembling a midden heap, but Morwenth had few qualms leaving the small pile of cores and peels and seeds and other inedible bits on the ground, aside where she'd been sitting. As far as she could tell there were no insects for it to attract, and besides, with the quantity of ripe fruit bowing the branches of the trees around them, she doubted that the ground would remain pristine for too long. Surely, these things had to drop an burst and rot eventually. Or did time only pass in this place when they were people around to observe it? She tried not to think too hard on the implications, ignoring Valkon's offered hand and pushing herself to her feet.

She nodded gruffly, not asking the obvious question of where he was taking her. It would be the last of the sickening jumps, and that was the majority of what Morwenth cared about. As long as he didn't deposit them atop some frozen mountain peak, she could get them to Ironwood. It would be convenient if he could drop them closer, but she would gladly suffer a day's march if it meant a smoother step through whatever place he took them when they moved. The ways of gods were, clearly, not designed to be kind on impisri bodies. Would she grow those strange tumors he'd festered with after their battle? Gods, she'd rather have her entrails pulled out and used to read omens with.
 
Their appearance back in the material realm, was barely noticeable by the old dragon, even in the human form some of his organs worked quite differently to accommodate or at the very least. Let him survive in this stained land. Truly the world seemed bitter through his eyes as if someone put a pair of gray contact lenses, making sure he couldn't see color nor emotion. A place that has festered upon mana, turned it into a mush of rotting energy, one that grew on him like a spore. Whoever. Whatever. Has altered the Terra this way must've possessed power that rivaled knowledge and power of the sages and curators from within the silver spiral. A forgotten gathering of dragons with few among them being Valkon's old tutors.

But they have passed away, a long time ago. With only their children and offspring remaining. Some older, others were younger than Valkon. All, with the purpose of pursuing the ideology and writings left by their ancestors.

One of such laws ensured to let humanity, alongside other races to serve Terra alongside them. But power different soon spread corruption among his brethren, the corruption they should've contained.

He has fulfilled the teachings of the ancient ones, gained students, taught them his arts. And what was he given in return? War. Slaughter. Fight uneven by the foolishness of his brethren. No matter how long it would be, a grudge would remain in his heart. And finally. Shame. Shame for his mind knew that he was one at fault as well. Taking a deep breath of the "Polluted' air, the smile he had on his lips from her last comment, turned from a rather natural one to a weak almost pitiful curl of the corner of his lips.

"It is heartbreaking to know I seem to be the last of my kind. But I truly am glad I finally get to hold a conversation with someone after so much time." Something inside of him told him to even thank her for the fact she hasn't really tried her chances at killing him, the last night was still in his memory, a bad omen. Fear of what has this world become. And yet, despite the bitter, and disappointing state the Terra was in, he felt truly relieved to finally rely on his less bestial mindset, getting into arguments his old self would certainly deem insulting before turning her into a pile of ash.

Truly, gaining a human form was a blessing and a curse in its own right. A double-edged sword, that alters his mindset, changing his opinion on mutated humans like Morwenth. Born of not one, but two souls. Feral, and sentient one. Roaming together, like a spiral of bursting flame. He blinks, pushing the image out of his mind, even if the location of this vein was still unknown from how much those lands have changed, he knew that with someone that has been marked by it, Valkon could eventually locate it, and she would be the key to it.

"There's no time to waste. Lead on, I trust you'll be our eyes and ears. After all you were the first one that successfully managed to sneak up on me with a group this large."

A compliment, although he was wary, rely on one too much and they will soon see you're weak. Valkon was paranoid, afraid that no matter whether it was a student or a partner. Human nature is that one born of betrayal. He couldn't let himself get attached. He cannot.
 
The last of their jaunts was almost too much, even for the wolf's cast-iron stomach. She tasted sour vomit in the back of her throat, and the swallow she made took clear effort. There was a wet, gurgling sound as her stomach sought it's revolt again. A small, pained growl escaped her as she fought the urge to retch. The dark tan of her skin hid just how green she had turned. Thank the gods, they were back where they had started. Her gods, not these strange foreign ones with strange stolen hoards.

She couldn't tell if the god was joking, but it didn't matter. The only reply she could muster was an empathic "Urgh", accompanied by another hard swallow. The waterskin at her belt was hastily retrieved, uncorked, and swallowed from. Slowly, the nausea faded.

"Yeah. Ironwood." Morwenth muttered, turning her eyes towards the sky. This deep in the wood, there were neither roads nor trail markers. The battle ground she and Valkon had unintentionally agreed upon was off the usual logging routes, so they could not even rely on the markers the workers left behind to indicate which company operated where. It didn't matter. The impisri warrior, with her many years of experience in hunting beasts and monsters that rarely set up shop near convenient crossroads, was more than adept at navigating herself with her senses and a robust knowledge of the local geography.

After getting her bearings (which mostly involved waiting for her stomach to settle), Morwenth took them south and east. There was a logging trail in that direction, which was little more than a goat trick but still easier marching than the untouched forest. Valkon had mentioned stealth, but there was little either to hide from or seek. A few birds, the occasional rabbit or squirrel or chipmunk, one amber-eyed fox that watched them with an uncanny intelligence. The only real threat were the thick mounds of leaf litter hiding the occasional rodent-burrow, or the intermittent bit of precarious deadfall. Valkon's guide seemed to have an uncanny awareness of both, guiding them skillfully around it all. The former could likely be attributed to her bare feet, while the latter, to her preternaturally-sharp hearing.

All throughout, Morwenth was content to move in silence. The only words she spoke, coming in the early afternoon, were to halt their march to relieve herself. Otherwise the only sound was the gentle crunch of leaves and brush beneath their boots or feet.

They came upon the boarder of Ironwood just as the sun kissed the tops of the trees to the west. It was a mid-sized settlement that had sprung up to support the needs of the loggers, before taking on a life of it's own. Little attention was paid to two strangers approaching from the edge of town, by way of one of the many logging trails leading out of the settlement.

"My things are at the Burnished Bull. There will be some... explaining, I have to do." Morwenth explained, breaking the silence that had fallen over them for the past several hours. "It is a good inn, and we are paid up through several days." Her voice was unexpectedly tight as she continued. The remark had reminded her, and her Wolf, of her lost Pack. A wave of psychic pain tried to drive her to her knees, but she resisted.

"Do you have enemies here I should be aware of?" Her hands went to the hilts of her blades, as her bright yellow eyes swept over the low skyline that huddled before them. It appeared, for now at least, the impisri intended to take her job seriously.
 
The worlds they have come from were truly different, as Valkon's eyes took in the crude but unmistakably durable and strong architecture of Ironwoods outer walls, followed by identically built houses in the outer area of the said town. He assumed the name ironwood came from the need of loggers and constant supply of wood. But as they moved closer and closer his eyes took note of various tools laying around the sheds or as they were carried in some craftsman's hand. He didn't exchange glances, nor bothered to interact with the gruff, bearded peasantry but the unmistakable tint of iron on every single tool supported the ideology of Ironwood, consisting both iron mines and logging areas that deemed profitable for the said town.

The stained foggy glass seemed to be a rarity even in town such as this, as most of the townsfolk simply relied on wooden window doors and cloth to boar skin curtains, while only the earlier mentioned Inn and what seemed to look like a Town's hall. Were built with windows like this in mind.

He was...Baffled, by how quickly all of it has crumbled, perhaps in the end it is his kind that won? While humanity is left to live in a world lacking the comfort and safety he has seen prosper for centuries.

Shame. His eyes scanned the outer area, to the point where he was making wide eyes. (In his head.) On the lack of order within the "Town" itself. The way majority carried themselves, the amount of filth, being disposed of onto the street to run down the corners. Sickness among the poor. Poor by choice, as he has exchanged look with one of the beggars by the entrance they passed through. He had a wolf inside of him as well, but it was nothing but sly and traitorous as fox rather than the bloodthirsty and noble one that Morwenth was bound with. Well. "Noble" was a controversy, as he hasn't seen their nobility yet.

"As long as my true identity can be hidden you're free to carry the conversation however you please. All I care for is a room, be it one We would share or one I could occupy as my own for the night."

He was reminded of her bold statement when he mentioned burying members of her pack. Finding it almost disrespectful to leave them to rot in the open like this. After all. Manlings believed burying their fallen was a sign of respect. While Terra took in their essence allowing their souls to live on with her. Strange. But given the state this world was in right now it wasn't as surprising.

Another question stops him for a while longer.

"There are always weeping mothers and mourning fathers of the young I have killed. If some of your pack originate from Ironwood these men or women would consider me as an enemy. Human hearth is unpredictable, and it is not surprising for one of them to lose their temper. But. Could they be considered enemies? I wonder."

With the emotionless statement he carried on. Inching closer towards the Inn, examining it's foggy-stained glass. Noticing the weak orange dim light coming from the inside. Stopping in front of the door, he pulled on the large Oak Wooden opening. Choosing to maintain manners, despite the clear height and strength difference between them. "After you."
 
Her laugh this time was more genuine, accompanied by a wide and lecherous grin that showed far too many of her too-sharp teeth. Those captivating yellow eyes of her seemed to blaze in the dwindling light.

"You will take your own room. I do not plan on getting much sleep, tonight." The remark was accompanied by a suggestive wiggle of her brows.

It had been a day and a night since the killing lust had left her, and yet there remained needs she still needed to satiate. Her Wolf was accustomed to a certain sequence of events: hunt, kill, return, celebration. The beast had only begrudgingly tolerated the deviation from routine, and this only because both of them were too intimidated by the god by half to consider him a valid bed-partner. But that didn't change the situation. Though the act conferred pleasure, what Morwenth truly needed was release. She had been denied her kill, and she had been denied the chance to die. Some part of her remained painfully wound-up, and sex was just as potent a means of expelling all that pent-up energy and anticipation as anything else.

They passed through the town's main square, the only area that featured smooth tile instead of cobblestones or hard-packed earth. Someone had even built a fountain, powered by a tiny windmill that stretched high above the rooftops. It was rare for the Empire to get storms of any severity, especially this far southeast, so such craft could be more than merely a curio. Though most of the machinery in the mills was powered by great wooden wheels turning lazily in the relentless current of the Shonile river, a few houses sported similarly awkward-looking rotaries to catch the wind's power for domestic use.

Morwenth noticed that Valkon's steps had ceased. She turned back to look at him, trying to discern what had caused him to pause. Apparently, he had taken this long to finish mulling over what should've been a straightforward question. Thankfully, his own inquiry in return had a laughable answer.

"Ironwood is for wood-cutters and merchants, not warriors." She chuckled, though in a low voice lest they be overheard and someone take offence. Morewenth had no concerns about anyone in this town being able to pose her a physical danger, but it would still be inconvenient to get kicked out for starting fights. "None of my Pack were from here. I think they were glad to see them go," the impisri added, gesturing vaguely at the townsfolk. "We drink up all their amampor." It was true; fifty thirsty warriors had drunk the Brass Bull dry of their hard spirits in a night.

It was only a short walk from there to the inn. It looked much as Morwenth had left it - two stories, built of strong dark wood, the oldest establishment in the city, though it had been rebuilt after a fire about a hundred years back. Two horses were hitched out front, which meant there were obutu inside. Valkon's escort gave them a wide berth, and even then they tossed their heads and rolled their eyes and made skittish movements to put more space between themselves and the thing that smelled of predator. It was not impossible for an impisri to ride, of course, but it required beasts of very specific temperament and breeding. Morwenth had never found them to be worth the money.

Valkon's politeness earned a chuckle. Wasn't she the one escorting him? After all, he was the god, and she was the... what was the word he had used? Sentinel. He had put so much reverence in that word. She wondered what it meant to him.

The inn was neither bustling nor empty, but a pleasant degree of "vaguely occupied" that meant that nobody paid particular attention to their entry, but that they didn't have to squeeze past anyone either. The front door opened into a common area, occupied by a six large round tables that could seat eight or so people, a handful of smaller tables, a mismatched assortment of chairs for both in various states of good and ill repair, and a cheerfully burning hearth at one end with well-worn (and slightly singed) rugs spread out across the surrounding stones to provide patrons a place to sit nearer the fire. A second door let out into the kitchens and in front of it was a bar; and every now and then a young woman passed through the threshold carrying either bowls of steaming stew served with half a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese, or empty bowls which had once held the former.

At one end was a staircase leading up to the second floor, where the rooms were, and just besides it was a desk occupied by a bored-looking impisri in late middle age, with her hair carefully coiffed into a dozen tiny braids woven through with black beads. She looked up when Morwenth came over.

"Back so soon? Where are... ah." A complex series of emotions played across the older woman's face as she realized Morwenth had returned alone. No, not alone. With... he didn't smell like an impisri. Nor did he smell like an obutu. And those gray eyes of his seemed so flat and lifeless and cold.

"The Wurm of Ironwood proved a cannier beast than we had anticipated," Morwenth replied somewhat curtly. "He had a captive." It would give her story some meat, and explain why she seemed to be escorting Valkon around. Easier than explaining the truth of things. And her words were accompanied with a stare that held the force of an Alpha's will. The woman behind the desk, mousy by impisri standards and knowing the reputation of the great A'kwuru besides, had no chance of resisting. Her Wolf submitted easily, and with it, came the woman's will to look too askance at Morwenth's demands.

"I will clear out all but two of the rooms," the warrior explained as the clerk opened a box beneath the desk and began to fetch a series of keys. Soon Morwenth was passed a fat handful of brass. "Whatever has been paid for the others can go towards rooms and meals for myself and my..." Captive was the wrong word, as Valkon certainly wasn't beholden to her. She fumbled for a moment, before settling on, "my ward." It had the right ring to it. Wasn't warding what sentinels did?

The woman nodded, mouth too dry to speak. Her soft brown eyes had gone wide when Morwenth had subdued her Wolf, and the remained that way, watching the warrior with a mix of resentment and worship. Though an Alpha could not directly control the thoughts or actions of their subordinates, a weak enough Wolf could have significant influence asserted over their will if they were the only focus of their leader's attention. Morwenth abused that feature now, keeping the woman's focus firmly on herself and forbidding it from straying towards Valkon. The fewer people who paid him mind, the better. Still, it was a tactic that would earn her few friends.

"Thank you," Morwenth grumbled once she had all the necessary keys, but retained her hold on the other woman's will until she and Valkon had ascended the stairs. Once out of sight her grasp grew tenuous, and she let it slip away entirely a heartbeat later.

She passed one of the heavy keys to Valkon and gestured him at a room. "You'll sleep here. I'll be here." She pointed to the next door down the hall. Morwenth was very intentional in her word choice. "We need to clear out these others. Maybe we'll find you some more clothes." Her mouth quirked upward at the edges, but it stopped short of a proper smile. Her Wolf had begun to pace in her head again, as her sensitive nose began to pick up the smells of her lost Pack mates. Not meeting his gaze, she shoved a handful of keys at Valkon, in the hopes he would start doing as she did: rifling through the possessions of the dead to see what few things could be of use.
 
This discouraging image of squabble-free equality in the manifestation of Ironwood left a sweet&sour taste in Valkon's mouth. Even after their passing and extinction humanity (If they could be called humans that is.) did rise where his kin has failed, once again rekindling the flame of purpose and growth, all the way up to the point where actual Empire and society could form. With all that was left on now belonging to the established monarchy and lesser-known nobility. Leaving people like him or Morwenth as simple pawns.

But Valkon knew an old saying he was proud of sharing with his students.

"If you underestimate the pawn, you've already lost"

Even at the bottom of the food chain, one single life could make a difference, gather and grow stronger. To the point where anything could be achieved. It was just then when Valkon's plans has changed for the first time, he no longer sought comfort in hiring a noisy bundle of drunks and novice fighters that would become a worthy force in months. He wanted an army, an iron gauntlet that would punch through anything he would aim it for.

A force and followers he had once possessed. They all did. If only his strength would've not abandoned him. The old watchers would rise and serve as the bulwark against this new hostile reality...

That once again brought him to square one. Morwenth. Pack. A first step he had to take, and see where it would take him. The old dragon was no longer concerned about the possibility of betrayal, not yet at the very least. Recovered and quite aware magic was nothing more than a "Myth" among them, he had an advantage in any battle that meant he would be fighting a group of fifty or more.

The wolf-bound though posed no threat. She knew the difference while Valkon knew the danger she posed if he were to end up without his powers.

That's why he did not underestimate her as a pawn and turned her into Queen that would soon gain more pieces on his side. Hopefully enough to rival a new player.

The dimly-lit interior of the "Brass Bull", was neither welcoming or filthy in Valkon's gaze. It was simply a place. "Room" that lacked the taste and was crudely prepared to keep the image and style known for these people. He found no joy nor admiration in it's shape, colors or even sound and smell. Keeping his facial expression as blank as possible. Partly to hide the utter disappointment to what has truly become of Inn's in this world.

"The Wurm of Ironwood proved a cannier beast than we had anticipated,"
Click to expand...

Those words...Wurm? Wurm?! For a mere moment, a passing of milliseconds Valkon had an urge to focus on finding the Maggot that had the guts to call him that. Of course, neither of them could notice as the gray-eyed sorcerer, simply shrugged off the thought, urging to keep his mind clear rather than act like a child. The very narcissistic archetype of his kin was even apart of him. And this itself was a good reminder of that, one Valkon felt almost ashamed of.

Only to let it fade just as the tension seemed to grow between Morwenth and the Innkeeper. It was not a battle, but clash of mentalities. Both taking a feral form of wolves, one far more domesticated over the second one. He could easily tell which one belonged to who.

But it was the Morwenth's one that picked up his interest, for the first time able to see the clash of emotions, manifesting themselves in form of mana. Both personalities, souls. Bound and revealed in form of wolves. Noble but quite predatory creatures. Answering questions Valkon has never asked. Weaker, smaller. Younger, older. They all had a wolf in them. Bestial frenzy that turned even the cowards into beasts that could push past their limits to thrive in the hunt.

Now he understood. The beginning of an empire, the fact that they have actually last this long.

If he won't take this nation first. He might as well give up on his future plans.

Just as the match is struck and a blazing star is born, lightning one of the candles to the far right, the argument ceases. Silence is what follows before the great wolf of Morwenth's lunges forth. It takes barely a minute. The span of seconds as the two heads upstairs. An experience that put her in a different perspective. No. All of them. Their wolves. No longer an entity as he first thought. But part of their soul.

One he could hopefully manipulate even easier.

Up until now, he remained quiet. Watching as the keys has been handed over, hard, heavy, lacking the delicate touch of a master craftsman. They felt more like a miniature version of morningstars given how thick and large they were. (Though they certainly fit Morwenth's grip with ease.)

Her wolf, seemed even more bothered than she did. As if the two have been split and torn in the past. Broken, forced to become one only to fail and create a void that dared to consume both. She was different than the woman below. Than the patrons that had their wolves, curled up. Lazing around by the warm fire and hard drinks.

Her's was...Wounded. In a sense.

"If you don't mourn the fallen. How do you extinguish the flames that tug on your very core Morwenth? Allow your regrets and guilt to torment you from the inside? We both know I won't let you avenge them with my life, but if you're planning to let your wolf pace back to them forever you'll never lead a new pack. Isn't that true?"

He didn't try to intimidate her. Pretend as he knew her. No. He knew very little of the traditions. Laws or even customs. But he has seen this emotion around her for far too long. If needed. He would press where it hurt the most. He needed her at full efficiency. A warrior, ready to kill for him. Not one that would sacrifice herself or let the memories of the past pull her to the grave.

"Let the memories of the past, protect you in the present. Otherwise, you'll never become one."

And with those words, he left, through the first door on his right. Eager to get over with the search for new spare clothes. And perhaps souvenirs of the fallen.
 
Morwenth rounded on Valkon and snarled.

It was not the first he had spoken of her Wolf, but it was the first time he'd dared to tell her her business on the matter. Speaking of another person's Wolf was generally considered a taboo subject, broached only between family members or spouses, or with members of the clergy. Valkon was none of these people, and he had no right to tell her such things, divinity or not. He was not one of her gods, after all.

Her hands twitched, pulled up to her chest halfway through the movement of pinning the smaller man against the wall by his throat. No, he was still a god, and doing such would be folly. It didn't lessen her desire to follow through, but she was more than her base impulses. Still, her upper lip curled up and back, revealing those too-sharp teeth that were one of the many signs of her "breeding". Of how close her Wolf came to being more than a mere shadow in her soul.

And yet.

"Do not tell me how to mourn." Her voice was a growl so severe it was hard to discern her words. "Unless you want me to make a go at soothing my soul with your blood."

She turned away from him, towards the door to her rooms. The large key was difficult to insert into the lock, but Morwenth used enough brute force that the metal groaned and gave in to her demands with only a moment's hesitation. She stomped across the threshold and slammed the door behind herself, before she could be tempting into doing something even more unwise.

Thankfully, Valkon seemed as intent on ending the conversation as she was. Dual thuds echoed in the hall as they both took their sudden leave.

---

Morwenth didn't have much to do in her room, besides quickly changing and rinsing herself down with a rag and a bowl of water backed by a polished piece of brass that served as a "mirror". Her armor stank to high heaven and would likely need a thorough scrubbing, but it was unlikely anyone in Ironwood could pose her so much a threat that she would need it. She dressed herself instead in a simple linen shirt that tied shut at the neck, and dark brown breeches that left several inches of ankle bare above her feet. Over the shirt at her waist she re-holstered her belt, which held important belongings like her coin-purse and one of her two hook-bladed swords. It wouldn't do to be under-dressed.

Her hair, whose braid had begun to seriously fray, was let down and combed free of the dust and dirt and dried blood it had acquired, then rubbed with perfumed chalk and brushed end-to-end several dozen times with a boar's hair brush until it shimmered. A few quick swipes of one of her daggers cleaned up the singed ends and brought the tresses to an even length. With a surprising deftness, Morwenth gathered it up behind her head and began to plait it once more, leaving it in a simple but neat braid that hung just above the heart-like curve of her ass.

She did not adorn herself, not as some of the she-wolves in Ironwood did. Her scent was still her own, though subdued for washing and carrying a faint hint of soap. Her skin was her own, scrubbed clean but taking neither varnish nor paints nor charcoal. She wore no jewels or gold, leaving the scar that curled along the left side of her face as her only adornment. It was more precious than any bit of jewelry, as it was proof that she had fought and survived.

Nothing seemed out of place. All of the warrior's things were as she'd left them, neither scent nor scuff to indicate that any unwanted intruders had forced their way in, in her absence. Not that there was much to steal, beyond a pouch of gold and a few spare changes of clothing. Most of her wealth was tied up either in advance payments to her Pack, or left safe in the Royal Bank in Idolba Elikhanyo. There was a signet ring that could be used to verify her identity, but Morwenth knew that the manager of her account would know better than to simply grant access for it alone. Morwenth had threatened the other impisri in no uncertain terms regarding the security of her funds.

Satisfied, Morwenth left her room and began to search the others.

Her Pack did not travel heavily. The story of each departed member was similar: some quantity of gold for the purchase of booze or food or someone to warm their bed, one to three changes of clothing, a few personal effects. Beyond Morwenth's own chambers, each was set up as four wolves to a room, with two to three bedrolls neatly tied up and stacked in the corner of each, depending on who had been comfortable sharing a bed with whom. The other item in abundance were jugs, mostly empty, though the sharp scents indicated they'd once contained amampori. There were a few spare weapons, as well as sharpening stones, strops, blade oil, beeswax (for leather), and other miscellaneous tools of maintenance. A few of Morwenth's pack had kept boots, though none had worn any on their ill-fated march.

Working through her own set of keys, Morwenth began to clear the rooms. For each, she gathered up what items could hope to barter or sell: the bedrolls, the weapons, and most of the maintenance-related tools, and what clothing was in saleable condition. Personal effects were heaped in a pile; she intended to throw them into the fireplace in the inn's common room later, or into the midden heap out back. Gold was carefully counted and put aside. The best of the maintenance kits were kept to replenish her own supplies. If she found an item she thought would fit Valkon, it was put in a separate stack. Couldn't have the god going around naked.

Finishing the last of the rooms she had assigned herself, Morwenth looked up at Valkon, who had (presumably) been at work at a similar task.

"Find anything unexpected?" Her earlier irritation seemed gone, replaced by an amused, if skeptical look that left one of her gray-brown eyebrows half-raised.

The alpha made no habit of learning her pack members' private business, so she had little intimate knowledge of what sort of effects they kept. More than one of the items she'd dug up had left her blinking in surprise, whether they be softly rendered charcoal sketches of obutu lovers, wooden figurines of horses, or idols of strange foreign gods worn smooth from years of contemplation. She'd gained a pair of mostly-decorative daggers with the handles carved of ivory to resemble phallii so thick and veined she'd first mistaken them for tree-trunks. Once realizing their true shape, Morwenth had laughed uproariously.

She did not mourn the death of her Pack, as it was not an impisri thing to do. But she could appreciate the lives they'd lived.
 
Everything holds memory. Everything holds dreams and desires. Some, quite simple. Survival, food, breeding. Others, aim for more. Within societies, they take the form of wealth, status, power. Her wolves were no different but appeared to be unexpected greeted Valkon in the form of carefully written out letters. From one of her wolves. Thanks to the sacrifice of few lives, he held no difficulty in the deciphering of the text, written with charcoal on a small yellowish parchment, hidden in one of the spare cloaks.

Written in the form of a riddle. A code. One Valkon for the first time hasn't cracked but one that entirely connected to Morwenth. That or, it was a poorly written poem of this man's (Or Woman's) desire for their leader. But it could also mean the wolf-bound was truly someone important enough to keep an eye on. That this fallen soldier of hers was not a lover, but a spy, noting her every move. He found it in the belongings of the said "Lover" Parchments upon parchments, all written with the movement of her pack for the last few days. Actions of her pack. Was it an obsession? Or a chore from someone up above?

Only this room had managed to surprise him. Only this room went beyond his expectations. This one single-life, with a purpose. Plan to work behind Morwenths back rather than to listen to her dutifully. All because she didn't get to know her pack entirely. Was it a weakness? No. It was a part of their mentality. Pack mentality. Which explained why she held no actual authority like nobility (Which she was a part of presumably), actually had. Misfortune of genes? The cruelty of life? Possibly both.

The remaining rooms held no value, saved only for few linen and leather parts of wardrobe Valkon has adorned. A simple linen shirt, hiding his long pale arms entirely, with a leather vest on top keeping the whole thing secure. Matching the new green and fur-lined cloak similar to the one he had before but simply not stained and as sweaty. Coming even with a nice sheath for a curved dagger and set of lockpicking tools he found more of a decoration rather than usage. He knew her fighters weren't cowards. Which meant the leather pad that held those iron and steel forged lockpicks was made for pillaging locked chests guarded by beasts.

Children. That's what they were in his eyes. In the body of an adult still thinking of riches that were non-existent in this realm. Almost.

Finally meeting the wolf-bound again, he had an urge to continue and see her anger boiling. It made her wolf actually react. Eager to push past the bounds of human limitation and embrace...Whatever her kind could do. Just to get a taste of his blood. But her human side silenced it. And once again held the leash of her own wolf. That's how he has seen it. Even now.

"I'd like you to ask the Innkeeper if she's sure that no one from your pack has returned before us. And if they did, ask her when."

The tone of his voice wasn't exactly concerned nor grim. He felt no fear of exposure, it would bring him closer to the destination of meeting the people in charge. But it would shorten their time on growing in force. Numbers mattered and if Morwenth were to be exposed to the espionage of opposing group their plans would be futile.

To stop any questions coming from her about what he meant or to explain his sudden request, Valkon handed the gathered notes, giving her comfort of silence to match the facts, or consider her next move. It was clear that whoever was sent to "Observe" her wasn't here to kill her. But in his eyes, it was only to make sure she wouldn't try and grow into power that could actually change the system. They wanted to keep her power in stasis so to speak. And now, that she has gained the support of the supernatural. The tables would turn. And ancients-forbid this spy survived and delivered his or her report. It would make her own life far more interesting and dangerous.

"Were you sure all of your pack has been killed in the battle? I won't lie. I have paid little attention to it. And given We were the only ones that stopped two times on our journey back here...I'm more than certain that someone was bribed in the very end."
 
Morwenth made a surprised sound, eyes immediately narrowing as she quickly worked through the implications of Valkon's suggestion. Had they been robbed? It was always possible, and had happened on a few hunts. Though her preferred prey was beast rather than impisri, the warrior was no stranger to taking lives of her own kind if they crossed her. Perhaps someone had heard rumor that she and her Pack wouldn't live to return. It seemed unlikely, given the remote location of their battle, but not impossible. More likely, though, someone had simply bet on the Wurm of Ironwood being able to best the A'kwuru. They hadn't even been wrong, technically speaking.

She took the notes, read the first, then quickly skimmed the rest. A low snarl bubbled deep in her chest. Her Wolf had begun to pace again, hackles raised, itching to fight. The Need made her bones ache.

There was nobody to fight. The man or woman involved was dead. It was the nature of the Pack bond, in that there could be no miscounting the souls she'd led astray. Forty-nine deaths dragging her down like lodestones. Though she supposed it was possible that if her traitor had an accomplice or a local contact, he or she could've come by to cause trouble whilst she was gone.

"They're dead. This is not the first time this has happened." Though Morwenth had forsaken all her claims to her family's titles, that hadn't stopped the occasional bit of political maneuvering by some enemy of her father or brothers about her person.

Usually such interference took the form of assassination attempts, which were handled easily enough. It helped that none of her family's enemies intended to actually see her killed, so much as to send some message or another that she had no interest in heeding. There had been one attempt, several years ago, to subvert her Pack just as she'd brought them to a cockatrice's cave, with the intent of leaving her to die. Morwenth had squashed that problem by running the traitor through with one sword, and lopping the impisri's head off with the other. There had even been a few attempts at manipulating her via seduction, but whatever poor courtesans were sent in her direction were ridden hard and then abandoned without so much as a fare-thee-well; Morwenth did not have an interest in developing attachments, especially not with political pawns.

"Did you find the bribe? Some extra gold would be nice." It was hard to be glib with the scowl she wore, but the Wolf tried nonetheless. "Still. If you're worried I'll go ask the innkeep when we're done here." There was still the matter of all the stuff they'd evicted from the rooms, now piled in the hall.

What was worth keeping was transferred to Morwenth's quarters, except for the things Valkon himself personally claimed, which he was told to store in his room along with himself. The rest was bundled up and slung over the massive warrior's shoulders, then hauled downstairs, though the stairs creaked in protest. Even then, it took several trips, and by the end Morwenth had worked up a fine sheen of sweat. The task of hauling finished, she decided to leave the god where he was for now and strode back downstairs, to interrogate the hapless innkeep.

"Here." The keys for the rooms she no longer intended to keep were dumped in a pile on the desk, grabbing the other woman's attention. Morwenth did not demand her will just yet, and let the weaker Wolf go about her duties, replacing the keys and counting out the rates for the rooms they were no longer occupying. The coinage she came up with was far short of what they'd paid, but Morwenth did not press the issue. The rooms would still need to be cleaned and reset, and it was possible the presence of fifty surly warriors drinking all the amampor and trying to fuck anything that moved had put a bit of a dent in business. What refund she got was divided into two parcels, one a payment for their own two rooms into the future, the other secured in a smaller coin-purse that hid nestled in her bosom.

Morwenth waited then until the innkeep looked up once more, and pinned the other woman beneath the force of her bright, yellow stare.

"Now. Did anyone else return before me? Has anyone else requested to go through these rooms? Did anyone go upstairs who didn't belong here?" She spoke the words slowly, enunciating each one clearly, as subtleties were often lost on those held by the Alpha stare. She couldn't force the woman to reply, but she could keep her from doing anything else. It was almost as good. Most people submitted out of fear, or out of a desire to please the greater Wolf. Hopefully this impisri felt the same.

When she had her answer, she returned upstairs, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her hooked sword.

"I'm going to go buy some supplies. Paper and ink, and see if there's any amampor left in this shit-hole of a city. I'd suggest you stay here if you want to avoid notice, but you're welcome to come if you're bored."

Even with the possibility of traitors in their midst, Morwenth felt no particular threat for being out and about in Ironwood. She'd meant what she'd said about the people here being miners and loggers without a warrior's bone in their body. It would take a dozen determined men (and women), she suspected, to fell her, out of the stock available here. Unless other warriors lurked in the shadows (or, gods help her, someone was trying to assassinate her again), there simply wasn't any threat worth fearing. But whatever Valkon's game was, perhaps he had greater designs for his visibility (or lack thereof).
 
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