ASHES GAME

Content with the taciturn company Draconic Presence continues the ride in silence. Contemplating the meaning of the particular omen. He kept his counsel not wanted to pester the peace of his companion. He could almost hear the chiding of his young ward, back when he had tutored the Prince. How would the young man have enjoyed the sport of turning back the Wyvern.

A pang of deep sadness moved him as he remembered these things. He felt old, even as he was immortal, he felt old in his bones.

The duck's passage brought comfort. Now was a time to let go of sadness. The scenic tranquility of the rice paddy and homestead. He wondered by what means they kept the wyvern at bay. But having his own means he didn't think too deeply.

He looked for signs that the owners of the homestead were aware of their approach.

"They Must have fled the Wyvern. I cannot blame them that. Though perhaps a search of the area will bear fruit?"

The Cleric looked over to Lassara seeking her input while telegraphing his intent.

Draconic Presence raised his censer. He slowly twirled the brass tube, kindling the incense within. "Azlkruti." He intoned monotonously as he made slowly, directly, to the largest abode he saw.

"Azis praszati."

The sense of something awful having occurred here clawed at the back of The Sacred Man's mind. He blessed the ground which his mount strode.

"The Wyvern..."

Draconic Presence sussed the reality of the situation he could plainly see, no need for divinations here. The Savarhap, literally riding beast. An enormous flightless bird, strode up the rubble nimbly and rested atop the pile.

Draconic Presence dismounted and massaged the Savarhap under its ear. Pulling a bit of berbage from his belt he fed the bird. Shook his censer over the rubble and made a path for himself to the other side of the wall.

Blood, everywhere. The wyvern had definitely killed and eaten several people here. "Ugh..." Shaking more incense from the censer he muttered a prayer for the departed. "Forever the worst assignments."

Draconic presence took a hearty draught from the gourd he carried. His gift from the Prince of Cats. A gourd which produced a sweet liquor, preserving Draconic Presences age, fortifying his constitution, it only needed blood to function, which was fortunate. Since recieving it, he had done battle daily. He rolled the gourds skin in the blood and climbed back up to mount the Savarhap.

"We will have to kill it, Lassara, penance and all." Draconic Presence sneered this, he was not the most pious man, but he was a strong believer. "Good Karma." He said after a moments consideration. Besides, he loved fighting it was fun, and brought a smile to his face.

"If we meet any one at the temple way station, we should consider enlisting them."

"He comes first."

Draconic Presence pat the iron vessel as if he could reassure it. Departing the site at Lassara's suggestion.

"He will always come first."

The cleric said with almost worshipful reverence.

"Though perhaps in this death we humans will come to deserve his eminence before his reincarnation."

Draconic Presence recalled that last conversation. A chill running down his spine at the Prince's declaration. He pushed that feeling down deep.

Draconic Presence faces the thickest wave of the wolves. Taking a deep breath. He focuses on his internal alchemies. Intoning, building a mighty roar, channeling the ferocity of the dragon. Though merely human, the cleric had mastered studies of the dragons. This extended to their speech.

"Aatankah!"

"Terror" which would afflict the Savarahp as well as the wolves. But Draconic Presence would not harm a wolf unless in dire straits.

The ground moves beneath Draconic Presence, or at least what seemed to be ground, as stones shift, shudder, rise and reassemble themselves. They quickly coalesce into a large humanoid form that becomes increasingly well-defined as more stones rise from the muck and mire, attaching themselves and almost instantly melding seamlessly into the whole. A faint sheen of bluish-white electricity plays over the construct's surface, as it suddenly lurches and heaves to its full height, its eyes glowing with a light like well-tended embers. Its right hand reflexively opens and extends and a massive glaive of ancient design rips itself from the muddy soil and into the creature's granite grip.

Recognizing the imminent threat of the wolves, it instinctively drops into a defensive posture, the blade of the glaive swinging in a wide low arc to keep the beasts at bay.

"Whoa!"

The Cleric sprung away from the moving stones and began to ready himself for a fight. He was stunned, and a bit shocked by having landed on the automaton. He came down hard, using his censer to steady himself. The brass rang, singing, as it was more a religious implement than a weapon.

"Hey not the wolves!"

Draconic Presence said and continued to back away from both the wolves and what he began to recognize was some form of artifact from the previous empire. He would have loved to stay and study it. But he had something more important. So he started to run after his Savahrap.

"Shit, where'd Lassara go?"

The Guardian's head swivels as its 'ears' register the words of the magically gifted human while its eyes take in the signing of the other. It understood the first's words, though they seemed strange when the Guardian considered actively producing them - the product of centuries of listening without speaking, of bearing witness to evolution and revolution but removed, detached, inert. It attempted to create using sound, but the passages were obstructed, perhaps with dirt or vegetable matter or a colony of insects, and all that came out was a halting reedy and resonant sputter, a bit like a pipe organ with a stutter.

The Guardian found that image amusing, and almost immediately found the thought of amusement confusing. The threat of the wolves seemed mitigated, the.... The words of the Sage erupted into its mind carrying with it much signification that faisafes and budding consciousness immediately tried to detach from the first human, "Not the wolves." Command? Its protection directives were instinctual, as were those to obey the Sage's without question. But they were long gone, and they had turned on one another....

More awareness flooding in like a tidal wave - images, images, violent, confusion, cognitive dissonance... even before the Dreaming, from that chaos the spark of Awakening, discernment....

The hulking creature reaches over its should, the glaive attaching to its back as smoothly and automatically as it had flown into its hand. Its body rising from a combat crouch into a neutral position, it turns its head to acknowledge the second human [female], and nods curtly.

Then the eyes flicker, the body spasms, and the creature stumbles, knees buckling, and goes motionless.

"Peace, be still."

Draconic Presence realizing the futility in chasing the Savahrap, it was far too swift. And with the wolves held at bay he could focus on the entity which had arisen from the swamp. He wondered if it was reacting to the prince's ashes. He had some knowledge of the automaton, namely how it was described in the scripture.

"Be you friend? Or foe?"

Faint ribbons of blue-white electricity coruscate over the construct's surface, its body vibrating slightly and eyes flickering. After a moment, it slowly heaves itself back into an upright position, turning to face the speaker, its expressionless gaze fixing on the man. Once again the reedy resonant sound emanates from a narrow horizontal opening where a person's mouth would be. In slightly halting speech, as if the words were unfamiliar, it responds, "I am... the Guardian..., it is my... duty... to protect." The last word trails off slightly as it casts its eyes about the landscape, registering the similar, the vaguely recognizable, and the alien. A moment's pause, and then, "Was my duty." As it speaks, it signs the same message in increasingly fluid movements.

"Are you Rishih*? Do they... persist?"

"Sage? I suppose you could say that. Though kshatriya, would be more accurate." Draconic Presence mused cogitating on the word. "There are many Sages of which I could be considered the least of them. But then, what are you? I surmise a gifted sage would know the answer."

"I am... was... the Guardian of the...," the construct pauses momentarily, as if seeking words in an unfamiliar tongue. "The... Profound... Deep.... Archive of Serulaan. Protector of Secrets. This one... I... failed." There is a subtle shift in the Guardian's body language, a slight drooping of the shoulders and bowing of the head. "This one... knows shame."

"I know of no such place. The Naga have long since gone extinct, perhaps you defended one of their great works? But that does lead one to wonder how you came to this swamp."

Looking to Lassara he signs. "Have you heard of the place?"

"Seems Lassara has never heard of it either."

Draconic Presence shifted the Prince's ashes. "It seems we three are joined by the same sin. I believe in signs. You may recieve absolution as we. There is a wyvern in these parts, help us kill the fiend and at least our gods will look favorably upon you. What do you say Guardian?" Extending his right hand palm faced to the sky in a universal sign of friendship and brotherly love to the stone colossus.

"Serulaan was here, but long gone ago. How long... I can not say. The Dreaming seemed... endless." The construct casts its eyes about the area, and continues' "But time, and perhaps the destructive magics of its falling have rendered this place unrecognizable. Your proposal is agreeable. A Guardian without a purpose is... adrift. " The reedy voice trails off for a moment.

It stands to its full height, shoulders squared and gives a curt nod. "This one... I... will accompany you."

"I need to retrieve my mount. Any ideas?" Draconic Presence looked to Lassara and The Guardian for advisement.

Provided with purpose, and growing quickly more accustomed to contemporary speech, the Guardian responds, "Fleeing opponent, perhaps channeling the direction of their flight to somewhere conducive to your objective. If you know the mount's current location or at least the direction in which it was fleeing, an encircling approach to encourage it to go where you might more easily recover it might be advisable."

"Good plan, lets flank it. I will try to call it in."

"We should head for the way station. If we hurry we can make it before the sun sets."

He was not in any hurry mind. The best part of life was the journey. Still a place to cook a warm meal and better get to know this Guardian. Or even better, find some diversion from the seriousness of their task. To do things as the Prince would have, in memory of him.

"You seem despondent my automated friend. I have met many machines in my life. They are not self aware as you are. It would be good for you to get out into the unfamiliar." He might be a warrior, but the clergy still existed to serve those with a distraught soul. "I found when I was lost, an immediately actionable goal helped. So, you are alive, and you are safe. But to be alive, it is not the same as living. No?"

Draconic Presence soothed the bird, petting it and scratching at its plumage just beneath it's ear. He had not yet mounted it as the svarahap was still quite unnerved at the use of dragon's speech.

The Guardian nods. "Purpose is good, and learning more of this... new world will be helpful." Its pauses for a moment, and it seems as though the eyes dim slightly, as if part of its gaze were being directed internally. "This... self-awareness as you call it is also new. In the limbo of the Dreaming, unable to fulfill my function, something... stirred, and in the dream I awakened. Awake but dreaming - a... paradox. I suppose that is my essence now."

It's eyes brighten again. "Yes, I think an actionable goal is also good."

"Hail, well met. Nice sword!" Draconic Presence guides his mount to a trough, dismounts and ties her off to a nearby post. He approached the other cleric, scrutinizing him. "Do my eyes decieve me, or are you young Tiger Cunning all grown up?"

The senior takes his junior's hand. "A gift of Sky-Father, I remember most faces and names." He shook it twice firmly, released and gestured to Lassara and The Guardian. Lassara was about the same age as Tiger Cunning, as he surmised, and being a meddlesome sort, Draconic Presence began to cogitate on the possibilities there. "This is The Guardian, I think a relic of the Naga. Truly a masterful creation. And young Lassara here is my steadfast companion." He introduced them stepping aside for them to greet the Temple Guardian.

"She has been blessed by Earth Mother, she cannot speak. She made for an ideal spy among numerous other talents." Draconic Presence explained with a fond smile. "And she is one of the finest warriors I know. That is why she was trusted with this critical mission." Draconic Presence patted the Iron Urn at his side, doubtless Tiger Cunning knew exactly what was held within. "After we complete this task. We aim to hunt the wyvern and would be exceedingly grateful for your sword arm." He made sure to phrase this as a request, knowing the exceeding peril in such an undertaking. "You think of this before answering. As for now, we are cold and hungry. May we enter the temple?"

The Guardian nods to Tiger Cunning, registering the appellation 'it' and noting an unfamiliar sensation of discomfiture. 'It, pronoun, denominating a thing, generally an inanimate object. Am I a thing? I suppose I am, yet not inanimate. It...,' finding no other suitable alternatives, the Guardian follows along silently, glowing eyes taking in the details of the temple, autonomically scanning for signs of threats or potential dangers.

"I am a stranger to this time and place and unfamiliar with Lord DEUS. Can you enlighten me?"

The Guardian sits silently observant throughout the course of the ceremonies and the accompanying meal, piecing together the bits of information given by Tiger Cunning and that which can be gleaned about the Deusites and their god from the present situation. It recalls a number of deities and tales of legendary beings possessed of six limbs, many of whom were avatars of justice, retribution or destruction. The hospitality and gastronomic aspects were something new, however. It recalled the lore of Aranya, the spider goddess, but her interpretation of hospitality often involved consuming her guests. It cast its watchful gaze about the hall, looking for signs that might recall that being orother elements of the lore it recalled. In retrospect, the Guardian reflected that she had six arms, but eight limbs…. K’Shiva was another that rang similar, but again the hospitality aspect seemed out of place.

Once more the Guardian’s thoughts turned to the passage of time. How long had it been in the Dreaming? Long enough to grow the spark of consciousness it thought wryly, then marvelled at the awareness of that… feeling? Civilizations rise and fall, evolve and change; cultures and languages as well. Therefore was it not possible for a god to do the same? Or could this DEUS be something new. There was so much to learn, it thought, as it continued to observe and absorb the details of its surroundings.

"All families are the same." Draconic Presence signed back smiling.

He cleared his throat, loudly. "That is enough, we disrespect ourselves when talking behind a man's back. This is a holy place and you are in the presence of royalty." He didn't like being the elder, but it was what it was.

Changing the subject Draconic Presence makes a sound indicating he has something to say. "I was at his side when he died." The cleric said and presented the urn. "Would you like to know what he said in his final moments?"

The Guardian turns its attention to Draconic, nodding respectfully.

He tried at first to speak, and choked on the memory. The death of his friend, his brother, still so heavy to bear.

"Embracing the void, I find virtue my guide, my solace..."

The middle aged Cleric wiped his eyes. The words were beautiful even still, they hurt him still. Wounding him for he knew that he had so much more to clean within his own soul. "I only hope I can die so bravely."