Tales of the Lupines: The Lost Journals of Townsend Loveloxx

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

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Sand. The planet seemed cursed by the plague of endless seas of dunes, dotted only by occasional rivers and graced with only one sea. And even that sea was nothing to boast about. Yes it encompassed quite a bit of the planet, but the rest of Cathar was sand. Dust, sand, and sometimes vicious winds.

However, also dotting the barren landscape were monuments. Temples to gods still worshipped, and palaces magnificient to look upon. Built from the goldstone that was found in abundance among the rocky crags and mountains that littered the otherwise flat land. These natural edifaces of stone and rock, though not prominant features of Cathar, still held enough material and resources to construct the towering monoliths and structures seen by visitors who were lucky enough to happen upon the planet. Those visitors were few and far betweem though, as Cathar itself was an isolated world once devestated by the Sith during The Sith Wars.

The cat-like inhabitants were resiliant though, and rebuilt their world to what it was now - a world that, while still holding onto their spacefaring technologies, had kept the traditions of their gods alive. Myth played heavily with their lives, and it was intertwined with their everyday happenings. It was something they would never relinquish, and their architecture and way of life reflected just that. The Cathar would never forget what had happened to their homeworld, and as such remained isolated from the rest of the galaxy; only venturing forth once in a great while.

Very few actually knew that it had risen from the ashes of destruction, and even fewer had ventured forth to find it.

Those that held this knowledge were often reluctant to mention it, as their experiences on the planet had undoubtedly been scarring in some way - or the revelations they had were life-altering enough that they respected the privacy saught by the Cathar. Those that were not so lucky, had never returned.

Many Cathar are untrustworthy of those not of their race, and tended to either let offworlders brave the elements on their own, or simply let them fall victim to the armies to the Northlands. These armies, brought together under the banner of General Mogadu, were a constant scourge on those that ventured too far from the more inhabited regions of the midlands. And to the south, the Shu'Yon clan traders held dominion over the shores of the Kopec Sea and much of the dune seas. Their tents are a common enough site along the shoreline, as are their caravans bearing silks and the treasures pulled from the oceans. And every so often, slaves have ben seen in these caravans.

While slavery is not accepted in much of the galaxy, the Cathar have fallen back on this taboo form of servitude. And while some may disagree with the concept, many of those in slavery live well and are treated with respect. Of course there is the odd cruel taskmaster, but those are few and far between.

The wilds of Cathar, though barren and seemingly devoid of any sort of life, held a vast amount of creatures, and each one with a place in the new system of life that'd been born from the fire which the Sith had rained down. Born from conflict and the need to survive, terrible beast of prey had emerged to rule the wildlands, giants that were often spoken of in whispers and committed to myth - but very real nonethless.

Cathar was majestic, if not a world full of constant danger and hardship. She was beautiful in her own exotic way, with an appeal only some seemed to possess.

But above all, Cathar was wild; an untamed world of hardened peoples and rich cultural legacies.




* * *



The city of Joffa was small by some standards, but still large enough to house many Cathar who went about their daily lives. Merchants sold their wares in the open-aired market which ran down the center of the walled city, and the people were generally an easy-going, relaxed lot. Even if the occasional off-worlder was seen in the crowds, very few paid any attention or even cast suspicious looks in the direction of a stranger not of their species. And those that did kept their distance.

The woman who now found herself pushing through the mass of bodies crowding the market was short - much shorter than most of those surrounding her. But to her, that was not important. She was on a personal mission of her own, looking for information. Information on the ancestors of her race.

At first, the thought that Cathar even held such information seemed rediculuous, but as time went on, the more it made sense. The planet was old, riddled in its' own mythology and tradition. And so it came first as somewhat of a shock to hear of a lost palace - a Lost Palace of Beasts - as it'd been called, but soon enough the bits and pieces of what she heard of the place; while sketchy at best, sparked such an interest in her that she'd made it her mission to uncover the truth of this lost palace.


- -

"The Lost Palace of Beasts has never been found - not by anyone in my generation," the old Cathar male had said, "the Shu'Yon would tell stories of monsters that were man by day, and beast by night. They worshipped the things, offering gifts of gold and silver, and sometimes even their own children. The beasts were soon seen as gods - sent from the stars to protect the mountains and keep them from sinking into the sands. No one knows where the Lost Palace is, only that it is in the Vercor Mountains to the northwest. Some say it is carved into the Ursano Crags, and others swear on their lives that it is not a palace at all, but a giant cave.

"Even the wild armies of the north stay away from the Vercor Mountains. Some are simply afraid, but many feel that if the beast-gods are disturbed, then they will leave Cathar and allow the mountains to sink. And so no one dares to set foot past the Obelisks."

"Obelisks?"

"Yes. The Obelisks were erected as barriers - and a warning to all that beyond them were the lands of the beast-gods and that any who went forward were subject to the whims of these gods. None that I know will venture past them, and those that do are usually never seen again. Those that are, return as raving lunatics - madmen who had been driven insane by something unseen.

"Only fools go past the Obelisks."


- -

She had to admit, the information she had was at best simple rumors and myths, but she also knew that there was always some truth behind every old story - behind every curse - behind ever ancient tale of the supernatural.

This journey was so unlike any other endeavor she'd pursued, but she was wanting something different. Something besides simply fixing up old speeders and racing them; something besides tempting fate with the Guardians.

She wanted to know more about her race, not to mention what it was that was slowly driving her mad. Oh, she knew that her thought processes were becoming steadily more imbalanced, but for the most part she did not care. It was certainly welcome over her past self; even if she had a tendency towards cannabalism. And even then, she rather enjoyed the taste of humanoid flesh.

Most of all though, she wanted to tempt fate with the gods - no matter what they would be revealed as - and Cathar offered just that chance.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

It was, peculiarly, as a child that Vega Van-Derveld had first heard of the Lost Palace of Beasts. Like much information taken in at such an early age, the fanciful tale of a desert citadel had been lost through time, buried beneath scores of other memories, each arguably far more trivial than the keystone myth of the palace. None the less, it had remained somewhere in the back of his mind for over twenty years, until he had one day chanced upon an unfamiliar book in his study.

The library of the Volfstadt was home to thousands of volumes, which Vega had a mind to one-day chronicle, when he was old and weary of his current life. It had been while searching for a small trivial novel that his fingertips had run across the old, leathery spine of this particular book, which simply begged to be withdrawn and opened. Indulging his curiosity, he removed it from the shelf and saw that the cover, like the spine, bore no title or mark of an author. It had a musky old smell about it and looked as though it might crumble to dust if handled any less than delicately. Carefully, the Lupine open it to the first page, and there saw a hand-written message:


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Aunt Laktani… Yes, he knew that name well. One of the Elders of the clan, who had fallen at his hand. If the original recipient of this book had considered her an aunt, then there was only one person it could have been – Diego. It was no surprise, then, that as Vega turned the pages he began to remember the story told within. Undoubtedly, it was his father who had passed the tale of the palace onto Vega. It was only now that he realized, however, that the book had been hand-written in its entirety…

There was a gleam of excitement in the boys blue eyes as he looked up into the face of his father. While there time spent together was often short, and instances placed few and far between, he knew that it would be well spent. A great raconteur, Diego Van-Derveld weaved images of brilliant far off lands, of empires rising and falling. Comedy or tragedy, horror or romance, he held the mind of his young son Vega with the greatest of ease.

“Tonight,” he began, “I am going to tell you a story that your grandmother first told me when I was a little boy, just like you. It is the story of the Lost Palace of Beasts. Some men say it is fiction, others fact, but all agree on one thing – that it is cursed, and in speaking of it now I risk bringing down upon myself and all our house the wrath of the terrible, wretched gods who dwell there.”

Reading now, Vega found that his father – in the telling – had made rather grievous omissions in details pertaining to the nature of the Palace. Peppered through the book there were annotations or lines crossed out. These alterations were not made by the hand of the books author, but rather another. The purpose of such an act was not implicitly clear, but given the consistently secretive and deceptive nature of the Elders of his family, Vega was not hard pressed to draw his own conclusions. It seemed that while Laktani may have wished to share some ancient secret with the next generation, her peers did not. The note preceding the story suddenly seemed all the more ironic.

Settling down to read the novel, Vega consumed the account in its entirety in a short time, though returned to read it numerous times thereafter, finding the narrative more than a little disjointed and difficult to piece together. The story did not seem to, as would be expected, center predominantly on the Palace itself, but rather on the gods and how it was they had come to be. The details of this, however, were vague. Much was alluded to and, as was the case with many legends, it would be possible to take any number of interpretations, depending on who was reading it.

One thing that could not be misinterpreted, however, were the diagrams drawn throughout the book. In what seemed to be an attempt to recreate some of the paintings within the Palace itself, Laktani had scrawled crude shapes and forms across the margins of the pages, going so far as to devote a whole page to one particular drawing. It showed a humanoid being with chiefly feline features apparently offering sacrifice to a totem. Many of the other smaller illustrations carried this theme. Had it not been for the numerous mentions of sand and wind, and frequency of upright male figures, Vega would have thought these drawings were of the Cizerack. A small amount of research was all that was necessary to determine their true origins.

Cathar. How odd it was, he thought, that a story held in such high regard by the Elders should focus upon the peoples of a feline planet. Though there had never been any real rivalry between the Lupine species and, for instance, the Cizerack, Vega had certainly gotten the impression that the Elders believed themselves superior, as though they were higher in the food chain. The more he thought about the story, the more he became fascinated by it. Though he tried to train and focus his mind on other tasks, the words of his ancestor crept back into his mind time and time again: Let the past not be rewritten.

It was a mere two days following his discovery of the novel that Vega departed for Cathar. He made his preparations in secret, informing the relevant parties of his intentions at the very last minute – and even then he did not specify the destination to which he traveled or the purpose of his journey. Part of him kept all of this secret for fear that his pride would be damaged when he discovered that there was no Palace, or that the myth of the gods was indeed nothing more than myth. Yet the other part, the half which had come to believe in and embrace the Force, had far more selfish motivations. If there was indeed a Lost Palace, Vega certainly did not wish to share it or its secrets with the brainless cretins of Corellia, or the lunatics of Ch’hodos. Such things were clearly meant to be seen by Lupine eyes alone…



*


To say that he was traveling light would have been an understatement. Though the ship on which he had arrived (the Gavourden) was well stocked, Vega carried no more than the barest essentials with him as he stepped out onto the sand-stone of Cathar. On his back he carried a small bag, inside of which was no more than his lightsaber, a chit of credits and the book which had drawn him here. As he looked around him he saw crowds of people like those on the books pages. They looked at him and saw another wayward tourist. Only a handful saw that his eyes were not so unlike theirs.

The Sith Wars had left denizens of Cathar in a paranoid state of mind. While Jedi were not turned away, they were by no means welcome. Logically, then, any use of the Force would have to be discreet. Off-worlders were, like Jedi, neither greeted with opposition or welcome. In the interest of his search, Vega thought it would be best to avoid arousing their suspicions any further and keep as low a profile as possible. This was easier said than done, of course. The planet was vast and as its name suggested, the palace was Lost – it would be nigh-on impossible to find it without some guidance.

Vega had speculated that there might be some kind of tourist scam surrounding the legend of the Palace, but walking through the streets found that he heard no mention of the Lost Palace of Beasts. He moved through bazaars and markets, listening to the chatter of the locals. Without realizing it, he began to tune in to the thoughts of those around him, until the sounds of their voices became nothing more than an incomprehensible buzz of noise. All of this seemed to fade, however, as his eyes fell upon a strikingly familiar shape.

Tucked away in the corner of the bazaar there was a small tent, in front of which there was spread a cloth covered in bric-a-brac, trinkets and other paraphernalia. Kneeling, Vega picked up one such token and began to examine it. It was a small stone carving of a head that bore two faces – one of a man, one of a beast. From the shadows of the tent, an old Cathar peered at the stranger in black. Of all that he sold, the stone head was usually the most over-looked. Tourists saw only the gleaming gold and shimmering silver.

“Where did you find this?” The Cathar did not answer immediately and for a moment the maddening thought that he did not speak Basic crossed Vega’s mind. Thankfully, however, these worries were unfounded. “This is a very old piece. A one of a kind. You will find it nowhere else. A wonderful souvenir from Cathar, to take home to your family.”

Turning the piece over in his hands, Vega met the eyes of the trader with an incredulous stare. “Where did you find this?” he asked again. The Cathar remained impassive, looking as though he had not understood. I should have known that information wouldn’t come for free. Opting to use credits to barter rather than invading the mans mind with the Force, Vega asked his question once more, this time placing a credit chit into the paw of the trader as he did so.

“It is carved from the stone of the Vercor Mountains,” the old man began. “Made by my own hand.” He went on, with prompting, to explain that he had made it some ten years ago, as a souvenir of his own journey into the wilds of the planet. Vega felt that even now, however, he was not being fully forthright, and eventually gave in to using the Force as a means of finding out what he wanted to know.

Since he had returned from the mountains, the Cathar continued, he had been cursed with an inexplicable streak of bad luck. He had brought nothing with him on his return but the hand-made idol and, given the superstitious nature of his society, thought that it must have been the cause of his misfortune. In an attempt to free himself of this burden, he cast the carving into the sand dunes and thought nothing more of it. That is, until he returned home to find it on his pillow. No matter how many times he tried to rid himself of it, it always came back to him. The locals knew of it and the story behind its creation, and so would not buy it from him, while tourists did not think it valuable enough to purchase.

He expressed then his immense relief that Vega had wished to take it off his hands, and explained that he was welcome to take it at no charge, so long as he never had to lay eyes on the wretched thing again. For accepting this burden, the Lupine argued that he should be given payment of some kind. In hushed tones, Vega then made clear his intentions to find the Lost Palace, at the mention of which the trader began to tremble and sweat. The sight of the inscriptions in Laktani’s book only further troubled him, as he turned the pages with quivering hands.

“There,” he hovered a claw over a single picture. It was of a pair of towers, which Vega had all but overlooked, given that small size. Apparently they were of greater importance than Laktani had made them seem. On the other hand, perhaps she had known all along that they were the gate to the Palace, and downplayed their significance, knowing that her contemporaries would seek to stop further generations finding the Palace. At this thought, the hairs on the back of Vega’s neck rose.

“That is where you will find the Palace. Beyond the Obelisks.”

“And how do I find these Obelisks, old man?”

“Travel to the Vercor Mountains. I can give you no more help than that.” His voice wavered now, as he pressed the carving hard into Vega’s palm. With a little clairvoyance, Vega was able to tell that he was indeed telling the truth – the Cathar had travelled only as far as the mountains himself. He had memories of the Obelisks, of glimpsing them against the setting sun, but he had not possessed the courage to approach them. Where he had failed, however, the Lupine would not. Just as quickly as he had arrived in the market he was gone, and the trader found himself not entirely sure of what had just happened, only aware that the cursed stone carving was gone.

“Not for long,” he muttered. “Not for long.”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

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The sheer amount of trading, buying, and selling going on in the Joffa marketplace was certainly something to behold, but as the woman made her way though the thoroughfare, she had only one thing in mind to purchase. She needed a Pakka, and she'd learned very quickly on her last visit to Cathar that Pakkas were the best form of transportation for those not wishing to be noticed.

So, a cloak over her already dusty clothes and a small, single-strap pack slung across her shoulder, she slipped through the buyers and sellers littering the marketplace.


- -

"I need a Pakka."

The elderly, travel-worn Cathar looked at the woman who'd addressed him before letting out a snort of derision. By the looks of him, he was one of the many Shu'Yon traders that had made his way along the Greater Shu'Yon Trading Route to sell his wares in the Joffa market. His selection was mostly beasts of burden, and the woman needed just that. Pakkas were considered the main form of desert travel outside of the normal conventions - speeders. She needed no undo attentions however, and had opted for the more traditional avenue of procuring an animal. After all, who would possibly think she had any intentions of crossing the Great Dune Sea and going past the Obelisks to the Vercor Mountains? To most if not all, she was just another tourist with dreams of "roughing it" down to Delta City; maybe even trekking to Imram'Lien in search of a little spiritual enlightenment.

"A pakka, eh?"

"Yes."

Another snort, and the old Cathar turned his back to her, sweeping an arm out to indicate the Pakkas he had for sale.

Beautiful creatures, Pakka stood tall and radiated a majestic quality that seemed to only be found on Cathar. They'd been tempered through the ages, hardened and powerful beast used to convey their riders over the expansive deserts and wastelands. Much like the Guarlaras of Naboo, Pakkas were of the equine genus, but seemed to have evolved much farther. They were swift beasts, varying in color and size, but always known to be sturdy animals of the most reliable kind.

The woman considered her options before pointing to a Pakka that stood quietly to the far left of the line-up. A rather unassuming dun-colored mare that stood quietly, yet the muscles beneath her skin told of her true strength. "That one."

The Shu'Yon raised a brow at her. "You know your Pakkas, Offworlder."

"I try."

The trader only offered a clipped grunt that could have possibly been interpretted as a laugh, but nonetheless he approached the tethered animal.

"I'll need tack as well. And saddlebags."

The Pakka obediently followed the Cathar forward as he lead her from the line. "Going down to Delta City?"

She only offered a smile before taking the line from the Cathar male. "And a few other places."

The trader gave a hrmph, but set about gathering the extras she'd asked for.

In no time at all the mare was saddled, a bridle fit over her head, and the woman sitting astride her.

"Seven hundred tehks."

Reaching into her cloak, the woman pulled out two onyx coins. She tossed them to the Shu'Yon who caught them with a wide-eyed stare. "There. That's a thousand. Don't bother with change; I don't need it."

The Cathar stuttered for a few seconds, then fell silent. After all, this woman was an offworlder; a tourist. She was probably throwing money around just because she was on some sort of vacation. And if she didn't want change, then all the better for him. That was three hundred extra tehks for him.


--

The Pakka had a smooth gait, her bulk splitting the crowds with much more ease than the woman could have possibly done on her own. Making her way towards the western wall of Joffa, she let the animal quicken the pace as the mass of people, Pakkas, and other creatures became more infrequent.

And soon enough she passed beneath the great western arch, turning due south towards Delta City at a gentle canter.

That's where the map was. The map she'd stolen. The map that would lead her to the Lost Palace of Beasts.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

“Come one, come all! See the holy city of Imram'Lien!”

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowded market, one voice managed to soar above the rest. Although its source was a small, stout figure, his voice carried well, in spite of the swirling winds. No more than five foot tall, he wore white robes and had a long albeit somewhat dishevelled mane. In appearance, there was something almost saintly about him, but from the way the other Cathar avoided him like the plague, Vega could tell that his apparent innocence was little more than a sales pitch. Regardless, he took the bait and approached, provoking a bow from the felinoid.

“Greetings, friend,” he purred, in a thick Catharese accent. “I am Brother Manshara, of the Order of the Sacred Sickle. How may I be of assistance?”

Hard pressed to fight the amused smile tugging at the edges of his lips, Vega matched his bow with all the reverence he could muster. “I’m interested in travelling to the holy city.”

“Ah yes! Yes!” Manshara’s eyes twinkled. As he spoke he swept his hands back and forth in grandiose gestures, full of bravado. “As are many! But it is no easy journey, I assure you. You must walk over burning sands, brave the bitter cold! Many a man has set out for Imram’Lien, but only the most devout reach it! You must have faith, faith and – of course – help! That is where Brother Manshara can be of assistance, you see? I have seen the city many times over.”

“Have you?” Vega feigned awe well. “And how is it that you have managed to accomplish, numerous times, what many men cannot accomplish once?”

“Ah!” the Cathar struck the air with one finger. “Faith, my boy! Faith! Many will travel to the deserts in the hopes of finding wondrous riches! Their minds are filled with greed and their bodies impure. Those of the Order of the Sacred Sickle know that this is folly! We travel to the city to pay homage to our Gods, and so they permit it safe passage through the wilderness.”

Vega had been about to prompt Manshara with another question, but it seemed as though the old man had read his mind. “This is how I can help! You say to me, but Manshara, I am not a Brother of the Sacred Sickle, your Gods will not help me!” At this point, he lurched forwards suddenly. “Wrong! You may not be a Brother yet, but the Gods of the Sickle welcome any who wish to pledge to their cause.”

“How would one go about pledging to their cause, whatever it may be?” the Lupine asked, now unable to hide his smirk. In spite of his incredulous expression, the Cathar retained all of his enthusiasm and fervour.

“Oh, to become a Brother of the Order of the Sacred Sickle is journey in itself! I have travelled from the Delta City to the Ehrekhai Valley, to each of the four corners of Cathar, against all odds, to show my dedication to the Gods. Oh, how I have suffered! Hot coals I have walked upon, scars in the thousands I carry! For twenty years I have lain myself at the mercy of their will, to show that I am truly worthy of this honour! Oh the strife-!“

“Stop.”

Manshara, mouth agape and face still twisted into a look of anguish, did as instructed.

“I don’t have two decades to spare, old man. I need to travel to the holy city soon.”

“But of course! You must let me finish, my friend! As I say, the strife I have endured, it has not been without reason. There is a thing called derrar. Men of every culture have their words for it. It means that you receive what you give. For every good deed you do, so you are indebted a good deed from another. Many of these people around you,” he swept his hands towards the crowds and almost struck a busy, motherly Cathar in the behind. “They have bad derrar. They have no concern for others. Not Brother Manshara! So many I have helped that now, now the Gods shine favour upon me!”

Stony-faced, Vega questioned, “Is there a point to this?”

The Cathar held up a hand, as if to silence the Lupine. Then, immediately, brought his second paw into the air, shaking them emphatically back and forth. “These paws, these old paws… blessed! Many before you have come in search of Brother Manshara’s help, and with these paws he has blessed them, given them the aegis of the Gods! With the Sacred Sickle shielding you, you need not fear – neither man, beast or natural force will harm you!”

Manshara took a deep breath, his hands falling to his sides. On his face, there remained a toothy, sincere smile as he stared up into the stoic face of the man before him. A long silence held between the two, which the old Cathar broke tentatively after a time. “But of course, such things do not come for free. Derrar, one good deed for another,” he keened, wringing his hands together.

Perhaps the anger was evident in Vega’s eyes, as Manshara seemed to shrink away somewhat as the Lupine considering offering to spare the Cathar’s life as his good deed. His jaw tightened as he spoke, in a vexed tone. “You misunderstand, Brother. I need to travel to the holy city. These lands are unfamiliar to me, and without a map or guide I would surely loose myself in the shifting sands. Let us perform a good deed each, shall we? I will pay you more than any gullible tourist would have, and you will take me to the holy city. Agreed?”

Once, twice, the Cathar opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “Ahhhyyeesss… yes, friend. I do not usually travel to the city in this season, but for you- ah-… I will make an exception. C-come with me, we have much to prepare!”

And with those words, there journey was begun. Trembling, and with his ominous guest in tow, Manshara lead the way from stall to stall as the pair said about acquiring all of the necessities for their trip. On more than one occasion they would revisit the same stall, as the old Cathar was torn between the requirement to buy quality goods and the possibility that for each coin spent on equipment, another coin was deducted from his eventual pay. It became clear soon, however, that the foreigner was by no means short on currency, and so such a worry was not needed. Once they had bought food rations, suitable travel clothing and transport – a single Pakka, from a grinning trader – they made their last stop at what Vega could only assume was Manshara’s home.

A modest dwelling, it looked as though it had been hit by one too many sandstorms, both on the outside and inside. It appeared to have only a single room, which was full of blankets and cushions, strewn across the floor. Sweeping aside the many drapes that hung from the ceiling, Manshara huffed and puffed as he struggled to find something in all the chaos. What he was looking for was a chest, which he unearthed after some time and heaved into one of the rare empty spaces on the floor. It was old and didn’t look as though it had been opened in years. Wiping away the dust from the lid with one paw, the Cathar squinted warily as he threw the lid open.

Positioned as he was, with his back to Vega, the contents of the chest were mostly obscured – a fact which he was thankful for. There was, in actual fact, very little inside of the chest. It was inlayed chunks of stone to weight it down, and he had scattered a few pseudo-religious trinkets within to give the appearance that the trunk was full. From within this pitiful collection he withdrew a scrap of parchment and a quill, and set about quickly sketching something.

“Yes, yes I know that I left the map in here somewhere. As I say, I do not travel to the city in this season so have any need to keep it at close hand! You see I am one of the few men who knows the way to the city so keep the map to mys-”

Manshara froze. Vega’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Why are you drawing it now?” he asked, in that same unwavering stern voice.

“I, ah, seem to have misplaced it! But I do not lie, my friend!” he laughed weakly, slamming the trunk lid shut. “I have the map with me always, in my head! This, this is simply to help, or… to… be of assistance should we become parted in our travels!”

“That won’t be happening.”

“No, no, no! No! No, of course not! No, there will be no need… but jussst in case.” Manshara flashed another broad smile. Again, it had little effect and he found himself wondering whether it was entirely wise for him to have agreed to this aliens bargain. Then again, he was not sure that he would have been able to say no to him, even if he had wanted to. There was something about him, his eyes… Snapping out of his brief daze, Manshara stood up to his feet, gathering his few belongings in his arms. “Come! If we are to begin our journey before the night chill sets in, we must leave immediately!”

Out into the evening the stepped, and began their journey proper. Manshara sat ahead of Vega on the not-so-comfortable saddle of their ice-white pakka. The creature gave a gruff snort and shook out its mane as it adjusted to the sudden increase in weight, not only from its new owners but from the travelling packs they had slung on its flank. The Cathar ran a loving hand across its side, but was greeted with no affection in return. Instead the creature reared its head up, threatening to topple its two riders. Vega seized the reigns and, capitalizing on this moment of energy, set the creature off at a canter – to Shu'Yon.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The River Tir was the only noteworthy body of water that traversed the otherwise parched landscape of Cathar. It began somewhere up in the Enrekhai Valley. General Mogadu, who's armies occupied the northern region of the valley, had made their main camps along the river so that they could draw on the resources which sprang up around it. The southern prtion of the valley was littered with the nomadic Shu'Yon who followed their Opahk herds from place to place.

Further south, down through the Kurai Pass, Khai'arbydos had been built along the shores of Tir. While not as known for its' marketplace as Joffa, Khai'Arbydos was still a hive of activity. It was there that the royal house of Anak had been built, and for all intents and purposes Khai'Arbydos was considered by most offworlders as the capital. To the Cathar though, it was simply the seat of the Anak Dynasty. It was the City of the Sun, as some called it; great temples and monuments scattered within the walls, making it the most cultural and magnificient city on all of Cathar. The wealthy made their homes here, and revelled in the royal intrigues that covered the entire city like a blanket. The palace itself could be seen for miles - it's grand pillars, vistas, and towers jutting up from the sands to kiss the sky.

Further down, Joffa rested on the shores of the river, known most for the diverse traders and the wealth of trinkets, odds and ends, and general trading that could be found within its' own protective walls. It was here that the woman had started her journey, and it was the River Tir that she followed down to Delta City.

Unlike most cities on Cathar, Delta City had been built atop the massive delta that fed into the Kopec Sea. There were no walls around it, and bridges connected the different parts of the city while boats of all shapes and sizes could be found in the waterways. Not so much a city of trading or even royal happenings, the people of Delta City were largely fishermen, living off of the bounty from the river and the Kopec Sea. Delta City itself was built from a combination of massive stone carvings and wood. It was an oddly appealing look that the city had, down to earth and very organic. Where Khai'Arbydos might have been the City of the Sun and the jewel of Cathar, and Joffa the much-travelled and dusty trading city, Delta City had taken both elements that the other two had and molded them together to create something wholly different, but comfortable and pleasing to the eyes. Even its' architecture was very much unlike much seen on Cathar. Oh, it held the same basic undertones and meanings, but it was the style that had changed. Yet, it wasn't just the outward appearence of Delta City that held all of its' beauty. The Cathar had dug deep into the rich ground, reinforcing the subterrainean rivers with their own aqueducts and a system of dams that regulated the waterflow. Deep beneath the city itself was perhaps the most majestic display of underground excavation on the entire planet - yawning caverns full of catwalks, huge stone support pillars, ledges, and breathtaking waterfalls. To see such beauty beneath an otherwise seemingly dry world was humbling in its' own right.

Most of the offworlders who made Cathar their home - there were hardly any to really speak of though - could be found in Delta City. They lived peacefully among the native Cathar, going about their daily activities and contributing to society. Some had even wed to Cathar, and it was not an uncommon thing to see halfbreed children playing in the streets or in the water.

But Delta City was home to something very important. Unbeknownst to all save one halfbreed, an old map had been hidden deep in the cavernous underbelly of the city. It's hiding place was known to only two people; one of which was currently making her way to Delta City to retrieve it.


- -

Nightfall was fast in approaching, and s'Il reigned in her Pakka, coming to a gradual stop. With the setting of the sun the desert heat would quickly dissipate, leaving a bitter cold to sweep over the planet surface. She did not wish to be caught up in any sort of severe cold; the nights on Cathar were savage and unforgiving, and her eyes scanned the horizon to her right then the riverside to her left. Her gaze fell on flickering lights a small distance in front of her, and with a faint smile, urged the mare forward at a clipped jog.

The closer she came, the easier it was to discern that these were Shu'Yon traders. The Shu'Yon did not venture southward to the delta very often, and so the Lupine was thankful that she'd happened upon this group.

Two sentries came into view, and almost as soon as she saw them, they spotted her. Their weapons were presented, and one of them shouted out to her.

"You there! Stop now!"

The mare slowed to a stop once more as she pulled back gently on the reigns.

"Who are you and what is your business?"

"Just a traveler on her way to Delta City. I need shelter from the night."

There was a short silence as the two sentries conversed quietly with eachother. Then the one who'd spoken turned to her again. "Dismount and follow me." He saw her hesitate, then added, "Do not worry. Your mount will not be taken from you."

This assuaged her reservations enough for the Lupine to dismount. She handed the reign to the second sentry before following the one who'd addressed her towards the small group of tents a short distance away. She knew the Shu'Yon - or at least the Shu'Yon who normally traveled to Delta City - were honorable. Besides, these Cathar looked to be more nomadically inclined than the regular traders who were constantly seen along the Greater Shu'Yon Trading Route. These people knew the value of a sound Pakka.

The closer they came to the tents, s'Il could smell food cooking and her stomach growled. It'd been a while since she last ate, and her gut was now making itself known. But the tents which eminated the most enticing of smells were passed by, and with a sinking feeling, s'Il trudged on in the Cathar's wake. He stopped then at the very last tent. Reaching out, he pulled the cloth door aside and motioned for her to enter.

s'Il obeyed, stepping inside. The flap fell behind her, closing her off to the outside world. She turned in surprise to stare at the now closed "door".

And before she knew it, the Lupine had been taken up in a massive bearhug.

"Loklorien! So good to see you again!"

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Though the Shu’Yon trading route was passable in comparison to other roads on Cathar, it was by no means an easy journey. It cut across the sands far from the noise of Joffa and the modest marvels of Delta City, making a beeline right through the desert itself. For centuries now traders had used the path and while it first it had been thought treacherous and perhaps even suicidal to take such a route, it was now considered the norm.

The same groups of men and women came and went week by week, following the markers that their ancestors had set in place to guide them. At night, it looked like an immense landing strip – as scores of florescent torch stretched off into the darkness, a great luminous serpent of lights. Along the way, too, the lights of campfires flickered. Although passing through Delta City was a safer method of reaching the Outpost, it was far more time consuming – and to the traders time was money, something they could therefore not afford to waste.

A group of young Cathar sat, encamped, by one of the many torches, finishing the dregs of their evening meal. Some had begun to doze off, while others exchanged stories with one another or played games to while away the time. In spite of their young years, they had travelled the Shu’Yon route as many times as they had eaten hot meals. To them, it was routine. They saw the same places, same faces, and often exchanged the same jokes. It was no surprise, then, that they paused in their hand of cards as they heard the steady approach of a Pakka.

It was not long before the glow of their fire showed the faces of the riders – a tall humanoid and a squat old Cathar. As they passed, the traders called out in Catharese, and Manshara gave a nervous laugh. Not long after they were out of hearing distance of the party, the pale rider spoke. “What did they say?”

“Ohh, ah ha… good luck,” the Cathar replied, not needing to look over his shoulder to see the frown etched onto Vega’s face. He did not speak again, though. Those were the only words that the Lupine had spoken this far, and Manshara welcomed the silence. Even when they dismounted to set up their own camp, not a word was said. The Cathar erected their tents, while Vega made suspiciously quick work of creating a fire out of little more than a few twigs. Manshara did not protest, of course, and curled up in his blanket by the flames. Though his mind was filled with worry, he knew that he needed to sleep, and finally managed to slip into a light slumber in the early hours of the morning…

“Ey! Ey Manshara!”

Something sharp was prodding into the Cathar’s side, as a voice rasped in his ear. He stirred in his sleep, grumbling and muttering, before becoming painfully aware that he was not alone. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he found himself looking up into a horribly familiar face. The face, horrible as it was, grinned back down at him, baring razor-sharp teeth capped with gold. “Ello Manshara.”

The Cathar made a noise something like eek and squirmed as a hand was planted firmly over his mouth, muffling his cries. Lank tresses of hair hung down into his face, as the face of Feeth Gnar moved close to his own, still beaming. “Shhh, old man. Don’t want to wake pretty boy here, now, do we?” His heart skipped a beat and eyes went wide. Straining to look, Manshara saw that Van-Derveld lay with his back to the pair of Cathar, still sleeping. Apparently happy that the old feline would keep quiet, Gnar sat up and removed the hand that had silenced the old Cathar.

Whilst trying to untangle himself from his makeshift bed Manshara motioned frantically that they should move further away. Once they were a sufficient distance from the sleeping Lupine, Manshara got a better look at the lanky figure stood before him. Feeth Gnar was a sinewy thing, all flesh and bones. He had a raggedy mane and had lost one paw in a mysterious accident, leaving him with an unyielding and unnatural looking replacement hand. Something of a local luminary, Feeth had earned his fame in Joffa for travelling the Shu’Yon run in record time, if a little recklessly.

“A little off the beaten track, aren’t we, old man?” the trader laughed. “Don’t tell me someone actually bought your speeches and let you lead them out here? To the holy city, yes?”

Again waving his hands up and down to try and quiet Feeth, Manshara looked more pained than ever. “Yes, yes, to the holy city.”

Feeth, stood akimbo, lofted one brow and smirked. “I’d be surprised if you make it to Shu’Yon, Manshara. You’re no trader, or are you beginning to believe your own hype? You’ve never seen the holy city, old man! Not even once!”

“That,” the Cathar started, stopping immediately to adjust his voice to a more suitable volume. “That… is merely… a technicality! I know the location of the city, I have it here!” he professed, pushing the tip of one finger against his forehead.

“I think that’s about all you’ve got up there, then,” Gnar quipped in return.

“Mock all you want, but you will be sorry when I return! This man, this off worlder- verrrry rich. For my help, he has promised me wealth beyond the measly sums you take for your trade! With what he pays me, I will be able to build my own holy city, should I wish it.”

“Is that so,” Feeth pondered aloud, his demeanour changing ever so slightly as he looked beyond Manshara to the sleeping form of his benefactor. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes. “If money is all you want out of this, then why don’t you take it? You have a pakka there, saddle it up, take whatever loot you want from him, and ride as fast as you can.”

“Yesssss… well,” Manshara one again wrung his hands together, in the way that he did so often when he was nervous. “My failure is not for lack of trying, but he keeps his interests very close to his heart. Once already he has awoken and almost caught me in the very act of which you speak. This man, he has a fiery temper about him, and- and there is something else… something I cannot say what.”

Rolling his eyes, Feeth yawned, “Don’t get all philosophical on me now. It’s really quite simple. You-…”

Some colour drained from Mansharas cheeks. Gnar’s eyes had moved from his own to something behind him, and he did not need to turn to see what. Clapping his hands together, he spun on his heels and beamed an insincere smile. “My apologies, friend! Did we wake you?”

Vega was sat upright. The fire obscured him slightly, the heat casting a haze around his body. Predictably, he did not speak, but the anger that radiated from his being was far hotter than the lick of the flames. “This, this is an old friend of mine! Feeth Gnar. He was in the encampment we passed earlier, but was sleeping at the time.”

“Yes, the Brother and I go back a long time.” Feeth clapped Manshara on the back, causing the old man to stumble forward a step or two. Both Cathar were smiling, though for entirely different reasons. “He was just telling me that you plan on visiting the holy city. Fascinating! And quite coincidental, in fact, given that I am also travelling to Imram'Lien.”

“Is that so,” Vega replied, in a tone not too dissimilar to that which Gnar had spoken the very same words in minutes ago. His eyes narrowed very slightly, as he sensed the deception and lies in this new arrival. The old man may not have had entirely noble intentions, but he was too cowardly to act out of turn. This one, on the other hand, Vega thought might have been bold enough to do something stupid.

“Yes, and so I thought, what’s the point in burning two bundles of good firewood a night,” he said, motioning to the shiftily small bundle burning in front of Vega, “when we could burn only one, by travelling together! That is, of course, if you do not object. I am sure that my company and I could be of some use to you.”

As Feeth spoke, the look on Manshara’s face grew more and more pained. A sense of dread filled him, the feeling that he was getting even deeper into something far beyond his control. It was bad enough that he’d conned himself into coming onto this trek, without the added prospect that he could be an accomplice to robbery, or – gods forbid – murder! Feeth Gnar was hardly the most honest Cathar in Joffa, and the chances of him divvying the money at all, let alone evenly, were slim at best.

“Yessss,” he mewed, finding himself unable to disagree. It didn’t seem like there was a way out of this situation. He was not quite ready to consign himself to fate however, and held onto the hope that there might yet be a way for him to at least survive, if not escape, this whole ordeal with his life and limbs intact.

“Why not.” All of a sudden, Vega seemed infinitely more genial. He smiled like a snake. “The more the merrier. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, I’m Vega. Vega Van-Derveld. Well, now that we’re all friends,” the Lupine joked, “I think it would be best if we get some rest before what’s left of the night is gone. We’ll be setting off early in the morning, Feeth, so if you’d like to tell the rest of your party to be ready sharpish, that would be excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

With that, the Lupine rolled back over onto his side, smiling to himself. Feeth, too, flashed a broad grin at Manshara, who grimaced as Gnar mouthed something along the lines of ‘what a sucker’. Chuckling to himself, the wiry Cathar slinked off into the night, heading back to wherever it was he’d come from, no doubt to inform his cohorts of the easy pickings he’d found. Though Feeth did, for the most part, partake in legal practices he certainly was not adverse to a little crime now and then, as long as he wasn’t caught.

Brother Manshara, on the other hand, was not quite so partial. He slumped down into his own blanket, and listened anxiously to the sound of Van-Dervelds breathing. He was not the most honest of men, truth be told, but he drew the line at small things, such as fleecing ignorant tourists out of a few coins. With the thoughts of this and his future in mind, he lay his head down against his pillow. Worries and fears abound, there would be no sleep for him that night.

[Samadhi Najhai]

The massive Cathar brought the diminutive offworlder up into the air, seemingly crushing the life out of her with powerful arms. Standing tall, he whirled her around in the embrace, his robes and tassels rising in the air as he went. The leader of the Menouthis Clan pulled his lips back in a wide smile, his white teeth catching some of the light from the fire that burned in the small hearth towards the middle of the tent.

At her frantic tap to his shoulder though, he finally set her down for some much needed air.

Samadhi Najhai towered over most Cathar, and especially over Loklorien s'Ilancy. A jovial, good-natured man, Samadhi led one of the more warrior-like Shu'Yon clans. His people still traded goods and services, but they were also not above arming and defending themselves when the need arose. Too many brushes with General Mogadu's armies had taught them the value of a sharp blade and a swift pakka. Samadhi himself had once been a slave in Mogadu's camps, and a great deal of those who had pledged to the Menouthis Clan banner had been as well.

He and his people traveled to Delta City often, but were also known to venture through the Dune Sea to the Obelisks. His were the only Shu'Yon who still gave offerings of gold, silver, and sometimes even opahk to the beast-gods. There were rumors that Samadhi himself had been to Uruk'Lien, The Buried City. Young ones clamored to his tent, and even some of the older Cathar had inquired as to the validity of such claims. He had neither confirmed nor denied anything, but he did enjoy sitting all of the youngsters down and telling them grand stories of his adventures with two offworlders - both with hair like the sun, and of how they had set out on a journey to lift the beast-god's curse. He told them of great battles waged against General Mogadu, of harrowing treks across the Great Dune Sea, and of terrible sand storms that had been braved. Most of the older Cathar brushed off the rumors, thinking that they had simply been started by small children who did not know of the difference between fact and fiction. But the younglings loved Samadhi and his stories. They would sit around him and listen, enraptured by his words and his wild descriptions. And everytime he and his clan visited Delta City - or any city for that matter, it was not uncommon to see him riding his pakka through the streets, followed by youngsters acting out the adventures he regailed them with. Even the children at the Shu'Yon outpost waited in anticipation when they knew Menouthis Clan was supposed to be arriving.

Samadhi Najhai was a kind man, well respected by his peers and fellow clan leaders. He had amassed a fortune for his clan, and his followers seemed to always grow in number daily. Even when he had first met Loklorien, he was a prominant individual among the Shu'Yon clans. And even if the adventures he'd had with her and her 'Imheti' were considered to be rumors by many in Khai'Arbydos, others knew them to be true. Samadhi was quickly becoming a legend among the desert inhabitants, as were Loklorien and the man she had traveled with.

The Cathar smiled when he thought of their initial introduction - Loklorien calling him her Imheti - her mate - of course she had told him the truth after escaping from Mogadu's armies, but it still made Samadhi chuckle to himself when looking at the two.

That very same chuckle once again issued from his lips then.

"Loklorien, it is most good to be seeing you again... " He looked behind her, as if expecting to see someone else. "But where is your Imheti?" He winked at her then.

A tick of her brow and Samadhi waived her answer away. "Ah, nevermind, nevermind. We will discuss him at a later time, yes? Come now, I'm sure you are hungry, and we have much to catch up on."

With a hefty slap to her shoulder, Samadhi led her deeper into the tent. It was a comfortable dwelling, warm from the fire and adorned with beautiful silks and luxurious pillows. Multicolored blankets had been laid down over the sand to act as a carpet, and makeshift wooden tables were set up with gold and silver trinkets laid out over their dark surfaces. Stone carvings also littered the small pockets of the tent corners - items which were to be sold or traded in Delta City.

And then there was the smell of food. Laid out on a long, low table towards the back of the tent, succulent fruits, crisp vegetables, and fire roasted meats all gave off an aroma that filled the air. A rack of opahk ribs sat on a platter surrounding by slices of striped banat flank, and around it were smaller dishes of various fruits - kimran berries, jankhs, and even dried lolopee grapes. Cushions of every color surrounded the table, and Samadhi bade his guest to join him as he sat, leaning to the side and resting an elbow on one of the pillows.

"Eat up, girl. Your pakka is enjoying only the finest grains, and you should enjoy only the finest foods as well."

With a weathered, three fingered hand, Samadhi reached out and brought a handful of dried lolopee grapes to his bowl. These he deposited atop the meal he had been eating before word came of a stranger approaching the camp. But now that the stranger had made herself known, he was ready to continue his meal in her company.

"I kept the book for you," he started, popping a lolopee in his mouth, "No one has laid a hand on it, and the clasps still remain sealed from the last time you were here."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Having been summarily crushed in Samadhi's embrace, s'Il had to tap his shoulder to be released, and the moment he set her back down she pulled in as much air into her lungs as she could. At his beckon, she followed him deeper into the tent, taking in its' interior with a quick glance. Old Samadhi sure hadn't changed since she saw him last; he was still the boisterous smiling Cathar from her last visit. She ticked a brow though at his question about her 'Imheti', rolling her eyes before giving a clipped laugh.

With his motion for her to sit though, the Lupine lowered herself to sit cross-legged. She followed his suit, reaching out to fill her bowl with opahk meat and Kimran berries, lolopees, and even a few strips of banat. Samadhi filled her cup to the brim with ale, then pushed a shared bowl of water between them. She sipped first at the ale - a Shu'Yon brew that was some of the best she'd ever wet her lips with - before taking the water bowl with both hands and washing down the ale. She ate while the Cathar talked, listening with interest about the book she'd left in his care.

Chewing on a piece of banat, she swallowed. "Good to hear you still have the book, and thanks for taking care of it."

Samadhi nodded.

"I'm not sure who the second offworlder it talks about is supposed to be though. Someone with "hair like the sun" is the only description it gives; and that could mean anyone. It doesn't even say where the two offworlders will meet - just that they will." s'Il bit into a kimran berry. "You have it with you now?"

The Cathar nodded, rising to his feet before making his way to his bedroll. Pulling a clothwrapped bundle from beneath the pillow, Samadhi returned to the table, handing it to the woman as he sat once more.

The Lupine scooted herself closer to where he sat, and clearing off a section of the table, set the bundle down. Reverently almost, she unwrapped the linen cloth to uncover an age old, leather bound book. Gold clsps held it sealed, and with a practiced motion she pressed her middle and index finger into the almost imperceptable groove along the top of the gold clasp, she let the now unlocked back hook come away with a light tak against the wood surface of the table.

The pages were old, and as she opened the book s'Il was careful not to tear the paper. Written entirely by hand, the book had been a part of Cathar lore since the coming of the beast-gods. Some said it was the key to lifting the curse, and others said it was a book never meant to be read.

Within its' pages were writings of past Lupines - this s'Il knew from simple deduction. Just the way it'd been penned said as much. The author had even signed his name at the end of the very brief opening words...


http://s93860457.onlinehome.us/TotL/LALintro.jpg

The wax seal was something that was found throughout the book itself, and s'Il suspected it to be the house symbol of the author's grandfather. Loveloxx was the only name she had to go by in terms of who wrote the book, and it seemed that whoever this Loveloxx's grandfather was, he was an influential person - at least to his family. And Losstarot? s'Il still hadn't been able to garner much from that one either. Only that apparently these two sects of sorts had been at odds. But the question of who these people were hopefully rested in teh Lost Palace of Beasts. And this was the book that would help her find the lost palace. She'd already been able to get the map - found in Uruk'Lien - and hide it in Delta City. The map itself had been torn from the book eons ago; probably by someone who didn't want the lost palace found. A follower of Losstarot perhaps? She would never know. But at least she'd found it once again.

Turning to the back of the book, she thumbed through the weathered pages before stopping at one in particular.

"See that?" she said pointing, her finger hovering over a diagram of two people - a man and a woman, "That's all it really says.

" 'Two offworlders with hair like the sun will find the resting place of my grandfather's life work. They will release the Guardian left behind, and take the vials of true life back to the stars.'

"Also, whoever wrote this doesn't call it the Lost Palace of Beasts - apparently it's a citadel; or at least that's what he refers to the lost palace as being."

She turned back towards the beginning, stopping at a page that held diagrams of the lost palace. "Apparently it's very open to the elements; alot of walkways, balconies, pillars, and stained glass."

The diagrams did indeed show all those, crude drawings of whatever ancient splendor sat waiting in the Vercor Mountains.

Samadhi soaked everything in, his eyes wandering over the foreign writing and rough drawings. He even reached a hand out to run his fingertips over one of the depictions of what must have been a magnificient upper walkway - of course the drawing more than likely did no justice to what had really been constructed, but his imagination did more than enough to fill in the gaps.

He pulled his hand back when she turned the page.

This time, the drawings showed a man with a sun over his head, and right beside him a giant vornskr with a moon atop it. "He says a 'Guardian' was left behind, but all that I can gather is that he left one of his own men to make sure these 'followers of Losstarot' didn't get in. Either way, by now this 'Guardian' is dead."

It was then that Samadhi shook his head. "The Guardian is not dead."

s'Il looked to the Cathar, skeptical. She knew Samadhi was superstitious, and still made offerings at the Obelisks, but a Lupine still alive after all those years? "Samadhi, that's impossible. The Guardian would never have been able to live this long - it's not biologically feasable."

"No, the Guardian is very much alive. Else our offerings would continue to pile up everytime we go to the Obelisks. But that is not the case.

"Every time we go back, our gifts are gone...

"As well as the alters we prepared them on."

[Vega Van-Derveld]

The sun barely reached above the top of the dunes when Vega was awoken by the sound of voices. Feeth Gnar and his merry men, a rag tag bunch who barely passed as traders, advanced with salacious grins on their faces. Some short, some tall, some fat, some thin – whatever their differences (to which Vega paid little mind), they all had an air of roguish mischief about them. Clearly, Gnar had told them all the tale of the mad priest and his filthy rich tourist. Now they were all too happy to act as escorts.

Manshara too clearly saw the impish gleams in their eyes, the glances they shared and the way they looked at Van-Derveld like some as yet uncooked piece of meat. Unable to suppress yet another insipid, whining laugh, he sat about gathering his belongings as Gnar’s company brought their pakka’s to a halt. To his dismay, they had only enough mounts for their party, and thus he was once again forced to suffer sitting in front of Vega.

“Come then,” Feeth called, gathering the reigns of his pakka as they others stepped in line. Riding at the center of the group, the others ringed Feeth, Manshara and Vega in a loose circle.

Looking out at the group, Vega wondered how many dealings Manshara had previously had with the Cathar present. Though he had no doubts in his mind that they had traveled this particular route many times, for they were decisively confident about their every step, he did not for one second believe that it had been for the purpose of trafficking goods – unless those goods had been illegal. No, he suspected that they were bandits, who made their living pouncing on new and unsuspecting faces. This thought in mind, he found himself grinning.

“Share the joke,” said a voice. The Lupine turned to look at its source – a squat Cathar with an eye patch, which Vega would later come to realize switched eyes quite regularly. He had a ragged mane that had been woven into lots of tight braids, and looked as though he might have been toeing forty years old. He had noticed the man riding beside them at first, but this could easily be forgiven, given that he was vertically challenged.

“Oh nothing,” Vega smiled warmly. “Just enjoying the sun.” The truth could be farther from this, of course. The heat on Cathar was far greater than what Vega would preferred. Used to the snow and evergreen of Fascinataru, he much preferred the bitter nights of Cathar to its sweltering days.

“You, ah, seem different to the other tourists,” the Cathar observed, and rightly so.

“Where you from?”

Ordinarily, such probing questions would have been answered with more than a pinch of sarcasm from Vega, but today he was feeling honest. After all, he was surrounded by thieves whom he suspected he would kill in the very near future, so there seemed little harm in humoring a few questions regarding himself and his particular interest in the planet.

“Where I’m from is a little backwater moon, that I doubt you’ll of heard of. The natives call it the Schwartzweld, but most other people call it Figaro Favoura IV.”

For a moment, the Cathar said nothing. He continued to look at Vega, and shifted his gaze only when his pakka gave a grunt. Watching this reaction, the Lupine considered the possibility that these men had heard of his home world. It seemed unlikely that that was the case, given the remote location and lack of anything particularly unique about the planet… then again, it had been – and perhaps still was – a bastion of Lupine strength, widely known in the surrounding systems for housing some kinds of genetically mutated monstrosities.

“Oh, you have heard of it?” he enquired, Manshara grimacing at the hint of something dark in Vega’s voice.

“You know your history of Cathar well,” the old man laughed weakly. “But you would do wisely not to joke about such things.” This said, he pulled the reigns of his mount and widened the distance between their two mounts. At the sight of this, the other Cathar began to mutter and Vega did not have to pry or probe into their minds to sense the air of discontent among them. Clearly, he had struck a nerve.

“Oh, senor Van-Derveld,” Feeth had turned on his mount, riding side-saddle. “Such things you say. But you must understand, that the peoples of Cathar, we are very respectful of our traditions. Some things simply are not discussed, because they are ill omens. The place of which you speak is one of them, as I am sure you well know.” Gnar attempted a raffish smile, though it came off looking as they he was snarling.

“Of course, I apologize.” Speaking with his head bowed allowed Vega to hide a smile. This reaction was most unexpected, but far from unpleasant. Like a child in a toyshop, the Lupine’s mind had just been opened up to a plethora of new possibilities. If nothing else, then the fact that these men seemed to fear even the name of his home world was a clear sign that he was sure to find something connected to his heritage here. Exactly what that would be, he did not know. He did however think, based on the Cathar’s fear, that it was safe to say that whatever he did find would be very much to his liking.

[Samadhi Najhai]

With the coming of the sun, the camp had already been making its’ morning preparations for travel. Tents were being taken down, goods were packed, and the general air of the clan was one of expectation – they were near enough to Delta City that they would arrive by nightfall. Pakkas were saddled, and the more squat, stout jinnas were loaded down with the normal living necessities as well as merchandise for trade.

Breakfast consisted of dried opahk meat strips and flat breads, prepared the night before and tucked into travel packs for consumption during the trip southward.

Samadhi stood beside one of the jinna-pulled wagons, his own pakka already saddled and waiting patiently for him. Unlike the night before, the tall Cathar wore a gleaming chestplate and hip guards, with a brightly colored cloak thrown over his shoulders to cover his armor. A long, draping half-skirt extended from below the hip guards to fall elegantly to his shins, and a shorter kilt was wrapped around his waist - over which was another, somewhat longer and slimmer cloth that fell to his knees. Armbands adorned his upper arms, and leather bracers with accents in gold covered his forearms. He looked every bit the leader of his people, and he carried himself as such.

Mounting his pakka, he bade s’Il to ride alongside him as the caravan began moving. And as the hours passed, the jovial Cathar regaled her with all that had happened to him and the clan in the time between her two visits. Even some of the youngsters had run up to hop alongside the two pakkas and their riders, listening to Samadhi tell the offworlder of their travels since the last time she’d been to Cathar.

It was a peaceful ride, with the River Tir to their left and the desert sun driving away the cold of the early morning. Heavy cloaks were soon rolled up and secured to the back of saddles as riders shirked the thick fur-lined coverings. The weather, while certainly not as cold as it once was, was also not warm enough for bare chests and light shirts, as a stiff breeze could still be felt; however it didn’t warrant the need for such heavy clothes.

Samadhi rode in silence then, enjoying the morning as the caravan drove relentlessly on towards Delta City, and reaching into the smaller front saddlepack, he pulled a flatbread out. With a grin at the woman riding alongside him, he took a bite from the food, chewing dutifully as they rode. He watched as s’Il followed suit, only instead of the flatbread he watched her pull out a meat strip, only to virtually inhale the thing. The Cathar laughed then, his arm extending as he gave the Lupine a hearty pat to her shoulder.

“Come Loklorien, it is almost midday.” He pointed up ahead of them, at a small cluster of senahp trees which were growing along the riverbank. “We will stop there for rest and to water the animals.”

As they drew nearer to the spot he’d deemed their resting area, one of the sentries pulled up alongside him. Leaning over, Samadhi let the other Cathar whisper whatever message he was supposed to deliver, and with uplifted brows, gave the sentry a somewhat surprised stare.

“You are sure? He said that?

The other merely nodded an affirmation before reigning in his pakka to rejoin his comrades who’d taken up posts further back.

Samadhi gave a strange look; first to the expanse ahead of him, then to the woman beside him. “Old Bron wishes for you to ride with him.”

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The Lupine gave Samadhi a curious look. “He does?”

“Aye. He rides more towards the back of the caravan, so you will find him there.” The Cathar gave s’Il an uncharacteristic shrug, and urged his pakka ahead of her, catching up to one of the forward sentry riders to give the Lupine time to hang back.

s’Il slowed her beast, allowing it to sidestep out of the way of those behind her as she turned it around, heading for the tail end of the group at an easy canter. She caught sight of Old Bron easily, the old Cathar native atop his pale pakka. Though his body was withered from many years of life, he still held himself tall. The rare striped markings covering his body also helped to make him stand out from most other of his species, and the scars he bore marked a life of hardship and adventure. His coat was a dark brown, spotted in some areas with a salt and pepper pattern of grey in his dominantly brown fur, but the hair ringing his head was solid grey.

Unlike Samadhi, who wore bright colored robes over his gold chestplate and hip guards, Old Bron seemed content to wear simple black and dusty brown layers, covering his body and protecting him from the harsh Cathar sun. His left hand lost long ago during some undisclosed battle, he chose to wear a steel grey arm guard that covered most of his forearm and ended in a flat surface just above where his wrist joint would have been. The index finger on his other hand was also missing, leaving him with only a thumb and two remaining digits – no one ever asked how the old Cathar had become so scarred, and he never spoke a word of what had happened. His gnarled walking stick had been secured across his bedroll which had been rolled tightly and expertly tied to the back of his saddle with leather lashes.

As s’Il approached, she saw his one good eye track towards her, and the bright orange orb seemingly grew luminescent. His expression remained stoic however, and as she grew nearer he gave her a nod.

With a returning nod in greeting, s’Il let her pakka fall into step beside him, and allowing a small silence descend upon the two, she gave herself a few moments to collect her thoughts. Old Bron had never spoken but a few words to her in the few times she had traveled with the Menouthis Clan, and even then the things he told her had seemed the mumbled ravings of some crackpot old man. But, Samadhi held the old Cathar in high respect, and so s’Il afforded him the same.

Finally, she spoke.

“Samadhi said you wished for me to ride with you.”

[Old Bron]

Old Bron. That was what everyone called him. The name didn’t bother him – it had a ring to it anyways, and it had rather grown on him. When he’d earned it he couldn’t remember, just that eventually ‘Old’ had been added to his name. Yes, he was scarred; he had lost limbs and extremities, and even his right eye; but he was still alive and still making the journeys across the Great Dune Sea to give his offerings to the Beast-gods. No one knew just how old he was, and he had no intentions of shedding any light on that particular mystery, either. Instead, he was content to let everyone simply guess as to how long he had been roaming the surface of Cathar.

The aged Cathar spent his days writing mostly – countless books and journals were known to fill his home back at the Shu’Yon Outpost, and even when he traveled it was not an uncommon sight to see him carrying leatherbound journals and two or three writing quills. Some he let people read; these were the stories of his travels between Joffa and the outpost, and even a few stories of his escapades through Khai'Arbydos when he was in his prime. But there were others that he allowed no one to lay their eyes upon. These were his most treasured, and due to his careful guard of what was written on the pages of those books, rumors and stories had begun to run rampant – that he had written of travels to such long buried cities like Uruk’Lien, and even detailed descriptions of Imram’Lien. Few had been to the Holy City, and even less to the Buried City; let alone lived to recount their adventures and mishaps. Some of the Shu’Yon even ventured to say that Old Bron had been past the Obelisks and trespassed into the Lost Palace of Beasts; the old Cathar had neither confirmed nor denied these allegations, offering only a simple grunt in answer to the questions posed to him.

In the privacy of his home however, he allowed himself the satisfaction of knowing that while yes, some of the rumors about his younger days were woefully inaccurate, there were some that had a bit of truth to them. He had been to Imram’Lien, and he had been to Uruk’Lien. He had not however, ever been past the Obelisks. No, that honor had been bestowed upon another unfortunate soul - his grandsire.

It was his grandsire, Arrahn’n, who had brought the book that Loklorien now possessed back from the Lost Palace of Beasts. He had been the one to bravely set foot past the giant stone barrier points, and it had been he that had stolen into the Lost Palace. Bron had been given the long dead Cathar’s writings that had detailed the journey, as well as the book he’d brought back with him. It was the book that he sent away from Cathar in the hopes that one of the Beast-gods would find it and return to lift their curse. It had taken almost half a century, but finally one had come bearing the ancient text – the diminutive woman who had come back a second time now. He did not call her by her name; in fact, he had made it a point to hardly interact with her. He knew, even if others did not, that she had the blood of the Beast-gods, and therefore remained what he felt to be a safe distance away from her.

But now he had called for her, and despite his usual aversion to her, Bron nodded respectfully as she sidled her mount up next to his. He nodded at her eventual words about his wish for her to ride with him, and resting his metal stump upon the pommel of his saddle, he spoke.

“You have the Book again.” His voice was like gravel, hardly ever used. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I know you have it again; you would not be here, on Cathar, if you did not.”

As he spoke, he stared ahead, refusing to look at her. His voice became low then, as his head bowed. “I know what you are, even if those around us do not. The Book tells of two offworlders coming, but the last time you were here, the man you were with was not the right one, was he.

“No, he wasn’t. I know he wasn’t. For the Obelisks still stand and the curse still remains.” It was at this point that He looked at her, his orange eye boring into her.

“No. Everything is as it was before, for the two offworlders must be Beast-gods themselves.”