Post by Arrowbid on Aug 22, 2007 19:31:57 GMT -5
A Tricksters game
Temples no longer came in such magnificent and virtuous forms as this one. Half buried by sand and worn with the ages yet smooth and carved as if by the seas tide. The temples walls were a sun baked white and increasingly elaborate, with carvings and symbols. A mosaic coated dome at the top hid a grand cathedral and a spiraling staircase. The dome was partially hidden by a castles renaissance, trestles and spires rose up from its top and flags fell limp from their poles. The flags all held the same symbol, assuring its connection with the South kingdom, a crescent shape with a spear running through it and the carved out piece adjacent the crescent’s opening. It was the symbol of eternity, peace and war together as normality. However it was moreover a trickster’s game, the South Kingdom no longer was a place of respite but one of reprisal. As the great kingdom and city was now one of the major supporters in the war. The temple however was constructed long before the lands uprising, thus the place became forgotten in the desert as the sands spread and the war began. Since then, the desert had become a dangerous place, with thieves and monsters creeping around the dunes, and robbers looking to mug any lone travelers or passerbies.
With the prospect of traversing the desert becoming more perilous every year and the wars increasing interference, worshippers of the gospel had stopped coming. And the temple quickly fell into the possession of the deserts inhabitants and an extended state of disrepair.
Akhlut crept up to the temples decrepit double doors. They were open just a crack, letting a bar of light shine through and cascade across the marble bone floors of the foyer. One might think the wind had blown it open if they weren’t so monumental. The ancient gateway was carved from smooth sandstone and inlaid with gold and a marble base. Two doorknockers, the size of a man’s skull, hung like tapestry across the door frame.
Akhlut snuck through the doors small opening and eyed them with timid fascination. The knockers were carved in the form of snarling dragons, gemstones etched into their sockets served as eyes and a shining warning to any who would intrude the temple. The ruby eyes were carved in a way that made it seem like they followed you throughout the room.
Akhlut padded into the temple along the rows of pillars that lined the walkway. He shook his coat, splashing water everywhere. As the water splashed against the stone, a chain rattled against his soaked fur and the chiming echoed throughout the cathedral. Akhlut had almost forgotten the princesses’ necklace, the golden chain still hung tightly around his neck, buried by his sandy jackal-patterned fur. If he could only get the men to see Traal with it, their problems would be over.
The temple was now the home of Traal’s pack, it was awash with old broken pottery, and the sand and puddles of rainwater that carpeted the marble stone made it evident that humans hadn’t inhabited it for a long time. Rainwater flooded in from outside and washed the sand away from the halls and ruins. The temple, being partially buried by sand, was slanted on its side, letting the water slowly flow down into the cathedral.
Water dripped from cracks in the halls ceiling, splattering the piles of gold sand. Most of the sand in the hall had become mud fairly recently, and as Akhlut padded down the hall he spotted paw prints newly placed in the grime. The trail of muddy paw prints led down the pillar lined hall and into the watery cathedral. Akhlut shook his fur hiding the necklace once more and crept behind the pillars, and down the shadowed hall.
The shadows rippled in the windowed sunlight and changed colors from green to red to blue. Akhlut was puzzled at the strange rainbow of colors as it flowed across the marble floor. His gaze moved from the dancing light to the ceiling. Mosaic painted the upper windows, telling stories through the glass artwork. Akhlut didn’t pretend to understand what these glass pictures meant. For other than what Fenris had told him, Man was a mystery, as well as the story the mosaic told. Unbeknown to him it was actually a very conventional tale. The fable was of a typical lone knight charging on his white stead toward a cave. Where in wait there would lay a monster for him to face, an incarnation of evil, a great black dragoness that would burst forth with flames and fury. Many a legend has repeated this dream of grandeur, with a king’s ransom heaped upon the dragon’s name. And all but this particular fable ended in the same classic way. For this story had no ending; instead, where the slain beast would be, lay a smashed window of shattered mosaic glass. With a few golden bloodied scales sticking to the shards and dripping down with the cold rain.
Akhlut padded along the corridor, becoming enthralled in the brilliant light produced by the mosaic. In such an astounding place it wasn’t difficult for one to find his or herself captivated by the huge architectural monuments. Akhlut became hypnotized, like a moth to the flame, yet his wild instincts made him draw away from the strange human thing, for he was often absorbed in the clutches of such well-known chronic fear. The strange essence of man made him shy away and he skirted along at an uneasy pace, yet his eyes remained glued to the pictures. For he, like so many others, found himself inexplicitly drawn to the unknown. Yet at the same time it left him with a wary and uneasy feeling. As if he feared the characters may come to life and strike out at him with flame and sword.
As he padded along blankly, Akhlut’s gaze was suddenly broken by the travelers. A few shadows flashed above him, passing gargoyles from the belfry he assumed. Akhlut new little of dragons, but what little knowledge he did have consisted from experience. No migrational or nuptial routes existed through the grand desert that he knew of or any council either. Therefore, as it was arranged in the mind of the wolf, it must be a gargoyle. Though still of dragon lineage, not nearly as indispensable of a possibility. Akhlut swerved around to face the fleeting silhouettes, certain, in his vexed state, that they were hunting for him. His fore legs thundered down into the water, but the jolt caused him to slip backwards. There was a splash and before Akhlut knew what had happened he had tripped down a steep incline of rubble. And he suddenly found himself being carried away straight down the steep flooded corridor and into the pew studded cathedral.
Rain water surged all around his pelt, matting his fur into flowing strands as he slipped faster and faster. At last as the rubble evened out he was able to get a foothold in the shallows. The murky water lapped at his muzzle with a cold stinging intensity and the tide of rain threatened to pull him under. When the current swept him further along it quickly became apparent that the temple was turning into less and less of a sanctuary and more into a watery tomb. Its floors and walls were cracked and seeping with rain and the areas where the marble had fallen out were now completely flooded, flowing downhill in cascades of dark murk. Akhlut struggled to keep his footing in the quickening flow of the steep incline. It was as if the whole temple had been tilted on its side, giving way to the deserts sand and storms.
The flooded corridor suddenly opened up to the huge cathedral, but as the water swept Akhlut toward it he saw that instead of where the ground should have been there was a huge gaping chasm. Akhlut howled a desperate cry to anyone who would abide it, for he knew if he fell over that ledge it would be nearly impossible to get out. In fact, the likely hood of it was that he would merely drown in the blackness.
The incline steepened and Akhlut lost whatever grip he had, falling over the cracked edge. A deep growl filled his ears, a scuffling of paws and then a shock came to him, a sharp pain that seared through his neck choking out his breath. Akhlut turned his head to his captor with glazed eyes as he was hauled out and tossed back onto the cold floor. Akhlut growled with hurt pride, and lunged at his rescuer weakly. Yet as soon as his paws left the marble he felt the wolf’s teeth bury themselves in his scruff, just barely breaking the skin. The black wolf shook Akhlut, knocking some sense into him before tossing him aside once more.
“Is that anyway to thank someone who just saved your life?” he crooned, obviously proud at how embarrassed he had made Akhlut.
Akhlut shook the water from his drenched coat and snapped back at the black wolf. It filled him with anger that he had been rescued by the enemy. What was worse for him however, was now his cover was blown. He seethed inward with embarrassment at how Fenris would scold him for this, and no doubt he would receive a beating from Skoll. Punishment was always given in the event a pack member made a mistake, but for the low ranking, it was generally more severe, and Skoll had always loved to bully deckas.
The black wolf growled threateningly at Akhlut’s hesitation, making the frightened wolf cower, despite his spiteful nature. “Akhlut! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here! You’re highler sent you didn’t he? Well where is he now, hmm?”
The black wolf paced around him, obviously agitated at the intruders presence. Red eyes pierced Akhlut as if he was even now searching for any possible motives.
Akhlut hung his tail low in submission, he knew Amarok was often paranoid about these things, and was unpredictable when in such a state of mind. The last thing he wanted was to provoke him, so he thought quickly. “Amarok, I haven’t seen Fenri-“
Amarok barked as if Akhlut had just committed taboo, “Don’t say that name! Your alpha isn’t worthy of such a noble title!”
He circled Akhlut with wild eyes, “Crow food!” he spat, “That’s what your leader should be called!”
Akhlut snorted, “Fine, have it your way. You remember though that I am not the one who chooses what my alphas titles are. Wolf god or not, that is what my leader calls himself.” He knew he should be defending his highler’s title but it was on rare occasions that he had the chance to rebel against Fenris, and he didn’t particularly heed him as much as his other pack members did. Perhaps that was why he was always kept as the decka.
Amarok loosened his sturdy pace at Akhlut’s words and wagged his tail back and forth on edge. Akhlut followed his captor with teasing eyes, “What’s got your fur in a knot anyway? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re worried about something.”
“Only worried about the fact that I have an intruder on my territory” Amarok lied, “Now answer me, what are you doing here? We heard your call, and we knew you wee coming, so what do you want?”
Akhlut was taken aback by this; Traal’s pack was never so paranoid. Even when on the verge of extinction, they had struggled and survived through man and his hardships where his clan had fallen to the weapons force. Not a moon went by without him thinking back to that day, he, still with his father pack, and Traal, still at the head of his. Fenris, to him, was then still only perceived as a wolf god, for the wolf who immortalized himself as their perception of the all powerful, was still unknown to his pack.
For Akhlut, this strange behavior was enough to spark the flames of his curiosity. Being a wolf, and a young one at that, he was always sniffing around and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
He could see it too, in the wild red eyes of Amarok. It was the look of primordial fear, a look that was impossible to hide.
This panic played nicely into Akhluts hands, though one would not initially come to that conclusion. Being that, panic made a soul weary and mistrustful. Yet it also made one eager, impatient… desperate.
This is how the cards played: Long before Akhlut, the jackal wolf had traversed into these sacred halls; he had spawned a simple plan, a game if you will. One that would surely do justice to the name of his coyote ancestors, obtained even through his thinly spread heritage. So he gathered up his curiosity and wits and gave them pleadingly, hoping to luck-out.
Amarok on the other hand was pestered by the intruders’ silence, as though he realized how strange his actions were to the familiar enemy. And he suddenly sulked, feeling crestfallen at the realization he had given a bad impression on his packs welfare.
“I suppose it’s too bad that you are such a coward, or else you wouldn’t be whimpering right now over my anger!” snarled Amarok as he snapped out of his depression. “How do you expect to be greeted when you come waltzing in uninvited? This isn’t paradise you know! We have to fight to keep a claim on what’s ours and your presence is threatening that!”
The black wolf looked Akhlut over, scrutinizing him. A shimmer of light reflected off the pendant Akhlut was wearing, he quickly sulked into a submissive crouch to hide the trinket, thus putting on a false sense of weakness in turn.
“Though it looks like you’re in no condition to fight over anything right now… Did your crow food master finally get rid of you then?” growled Amarok. “I always knew he would! He’s such a fuss!” Amarok barked the last words, almost laughing with his tongue lolling playfully.
Akhlut shrunk back a bit, “Forgive me for the intrusion... But sadly you’re spot on. I was no good to my highler, never was…” muttered Akhlut, he turned his head away as if to recollect.
Amarok stopped his jest and glared at Akhlut discerningly, “Oh, is that so? Well then, there must be quite a story behind it if your highler and highla went to such lengths as to banish you.”
Akhlut almost smirked, he always enjoyed storytelling, “well I suppose I can tell you. I no longer hold allegiance to my former highlers anyway. But here me when I say this, my outcast fate was not brought on by weakness of strength or mind, but by the principals I live by” he barked, Akhlut wanted to make a convincing story but he didn’t want to appear weak either.
“As you know, the pack I was taken in by has a deep inbred hatred for man, and Fenris is always coming up with new schemes to cause trouble for the humans, especially the ones of the south kingdom. One day they came up with something so atrocious I couldn’t bare to carry it out. A caravan was headed toward the main gates that day; the inside was lit, defining those who rode in its belly. A mother and child, and they planned to kill them in the name of Fenris. They set me forth to stall the horses so they could sneak in and flank the cart. When I refused they banished me on accounts of insubordination and carried on without me, it wasn’t the first time I had defied my leaders…”
Amarok stood stiff legged, his ears pulled back with suspicion. “Fine then, so you were banished” he growled with hackles raised, he had obviously taken in all that Akhlut said and the thought of Fenris actually starting to kill humans had disturbed him. His eyes swept back and forth in their sockets burning with mistrust.
“That’s all very well and good but what business do you have here? I am in no mood for strays and I have work to do, so I suggest you hurry and explain yourself.”
Akhlut bore a crooked smile, “All I wanted was to join your pack, but now I’m uncertain. I can scent your fear as well as any other, what is it that has you so on edge?”
Amarok shot a crazed look at Akhlut, making him step back in surprise, “You really want to know?”
“…Yes”
“Monsters” Amarok growled, while advancing toward Akhlut.
Akhlut took another step back, Amarok’s eyes burned with menace and his fur bristled, as if the excitement of something long past had roused itself in his memories.
“What?” snorted Akhlut with skepticism.
Has he gone mad?
“Monsters! With bejeweled, smoking flesh and wings rimmed with pitch black scythes and soulless eyes that turn to piercing slits.” Amarok stood stiff legged with his ears and tail pointed straight in a dominant stance. His rugged features were hidden beneath shaggy black fur and the only expression visible was shone in his wild red eyes, which burned like rubies set in coal. He snarled, “Why do I look so glum you wonder? It’s the monsters that seethe with fire and come forth from the deepest burning pits of the underworld.”
Amarok seemed to boil over with anger, it was if he was remembering something that had happened, an event that filled him with terror and rage and he was only just now letting it out. Akhlut fidgeted uncomfortably with his tail drooped low but his ears perked and alert. He edged away from the flooded chasm that Amarok had saved him from, because at the moment he was unsure if he would be welcomed to the pack or simply tossed back into the pit.
“If you join us you’ll have to put up with them too. They come every quarter moon or so, and they come closer and closer each visit. Burning away the dry forests, what little of them there are… they’ll catch up with Fenris’s pack too. Then you’ll know what I speak of.”
The forests…? Can these monsters really be the cause of the famine?
Akhlut knew that food had been scarce lately, though his pack had never traveled as far as the arid forests that ringed Traal’s territory. He did know however, that this distant wood was where the prey traveled from. Crossing the desert to journey back and forth between the forests shaded water supplies was the reason anything lived here at all. Without those precious woods and the oasis they create, they would have to rely solely on the few fleeting herds of antelope, and those were constantly under the threat of man…
No, it must be man. They are the ones who always do this sort of thing; it’s their strange ways that have nearly destroyed our kind. They are the reason we are forced to live in this- in this god-forsaken desert!
Akhlut looked up at his warden and stifled a growl as he still had to present a good impression. “How can you be so sure that these creatures you speak of are what cause the forests destruction? Has not man always burned away our homes and the homes of our prey to make room for their kind?”
“Because I have seen them myself! If you wish to join us you must put away such thoughts of man. Here we are safe from them; they have never traveled this far into the desert without some sort of provoking.” Amarok growled the last words, as thoughts of what Traal’s pack had done to man came to him. Their constant attacks had caused many problems for them with the humans.
“I won’t put up with your presence here Akhlut, even if you do wish to join us. You can persist and beg all you want over your pathetic state, but if you do join I’m certain you’ll leave us anyway, as soon as you see the monsters for yourself!”
“Amarok! Stop trying to scare off our guest!”
Akhlut turned around in surprise and looked up as a bark from a large red she-wolf filled the cathedral.
“Durga!” barked Amarok, as he spun around to face her. “…Forgive me; I-I thought you were still on patrol with Traal”.
The red female stood atop the dimly lit ridge, growling with dominance at her beta. Like a proud lioness who had spotted corruption in her dominion.
Akhlut looked the red wolf over with a thoughtful stare, he had never seen Traal’s mate before, “So you are Durga?”
The large she-wolf nodded to him warily and padded down the same hallway that Akhlut had fallen down. However her footfall went on unbroken, as her gate was one with a practiced ease. She leapt from boulder to boulder, staying well above the brackish water of the chasm until she came to land before Amarok and Akhlut with a powerful thud.
“Amarok, I’ve told you before, do not make decisions affecting the pack without my or Traal’s say.”
She padded over to Akhlut and sniffed him a couple times, “he is not scared so therefore he must have nothing to worry about by coming here. If this young trespasser wants to join let him. We can always use more members for the hunt.”
The red she-wolf slipped silently over to Amarok, who stepped a couple paces back, fearing punishment was at hand. “Listen” she whispered urgently, “Not all strangers are to be feared, Amarok. And this one, in particular… may be of use to us.”
While the two wolfish gladiators discussed his fate, Akhlut had distanced himself from them. His ears perked as he had become enthralled by something of an entirely different manner.