The cavern was the first spark of hove he’d had in days. He’d been wondering how far and wide he would have to travel in search of the relic – if there even was a relic. He’d learned enough in his slumbers to know that word of mouth often grew twisted and tangled with age – rumors could spread like wildfire, but like wildfire they would start from the smallest, most insignificant spark. But yet, with so many speaking the words, and seemingly the whole world on the hunt, he’d decided that it was better to have security then to watch from the sidelines as others took the prize that was rightfully his.
He had not discovered the cavern alone. This time, he had chosen to embrace companionship other than rebel against it – as much as the fellow mortals seeking the relic proved to be a nuisance, they were also guidelights to the next possible locations. If they would intrude in his quest, he’d decided, then he would let them do the work. They refused to step back, after all – but they only had their mortal determination to egg them forward. He had the willpower of a god.
He’d followed the path of the Veneror Peaks, his hooves shaking and unsteady upon rocky paths far above trenches and crevasses that could prove to be his second tomb. Mortals love to name things, he mused as he strode onwards, Mountains, rivers, meadows….it is as if they think they own it. But you cannot own a mountain, he remarked, glancing up the treacherous stonework fortress, its turrets lost high in the clouds. The thought gave him a sense of amused irony – he had observed many a battle fought over lands and mountains and ownership. Mortals would die for feigned tenure, a rightless habitation of lands that could not enter into contract and agree to their demands.
He cursed, his hooves finding a way to slip off the narrow mountainside. They sent stones rattling into the canyon below, their scrambling fall echoing up the craggy pathways. He glanced upward in alarm, hoping that his delicate cover would not be betrayed by his disgustingly clumsy mortal body. When no reply came, he righted himself, panting heavily, and continued on, pressing his flank to the cool mountainside.
Up ahead was his lead – the iron-clad mare with the cold eyes that he recalled from his previous encounters. She seemed to have an affinity for mountains – he mused. The last time they had met, it had been during a howling gale that had nearly swept the two of them and the Pegasus boy to their early graves. He could not recall her name – he had decidedly not found it important. But she had sure footing and seemed to be familiar with the area – thus Kaldin had elected to track her footsteps as she went. Her determination in this quest was commendable – if futile. He’d decided that once his collar was shattered and former glory restored, he would perhaps allow some of these mortals to remain on his newly-cleansed earth. They were decidedly to interesting to kill.
But what if the relic does not work? his mind whispered. He slowed in his steps, mind reeling from the realization. Even if he managed to claim the prize, what then? Not all relics, surely, were meant for breaking spells and curses. His heart hammered. What if you remain stuck this way, forever?
”No, no. No.” his own voice in the still air was enough, if barely, to hold him away from worry. With the mare now far ahead, he picked up his pace, clambering with as much quiet as he could muster over the treacherous passes. His eyes glimmering in the high sun, he observed as the woman changed course and disappeared into what appeared to be a deep cave. He approached, cautiously treading in the direction whence the mare had disappeared. He was no master stealthsman, but he managed to still his breath enough to hear the voices coming within. From the way they echoed, he could guess that the cavern as deeper then it appeared – and that indeed it was a likely place for a relic to be found.
Taking a deep breath, he willed his feet into movement, muscles tense with apprehension of interaction with mortals and their petty games. He would stay out of sight as long as possible, he decided – right until he could step in and claim his prize, or was forced out of hiding. One way or another, it would not be long – if there was anything these travels had taught him, it was that soon, they would have more company.
He had not discovered the cavern alone. This time, he had chosen to embrace companionship other than rebel against it – as much as the fellow mortals seeking the relic proved to be a nuisance, they were also guidelights to the next possible locations. If they would intrude in his quest, he’d decided, then he would let them do the work. They refused to step back, after all – but they only had their mortal determination to egg them forward. He had the willpower of a god.
He’d followed the path of the Veneror Peaks, his hooves shaking and unsteady upon rocky paths far above trenches and crevasses that could prove to be his second tomb. Mortals love to name things, he mused as he strode onwards, Mountains, rivers, meadows….it is as if they think they own it. But you cannot own a mountain, he remarked, glancing up the treacherous stonework fortress, its turrets lost high in the clouds. The thought gave him a sense of amused irony – he had observed many a battle fought over lands and mountains and ownership. Mortals would die for feigned tenure, a rightless habitation of lands that could not enter into contract and agree to their demands.
He cursed, his hooves finding a way to slip off the narrow mountainside. They sent stones rattling into the canyon below, their scrambling fall echoing up the craggy pathways. He glanced upward in alarm, hoping that his delicate cover would not be betrayed by his disgustingly clumsy mortal body. When no reply came, he righted himself, panting heavily, and continued on, pressing his flank to the cool mountainside.
Up ahead was his lead – the iron-clad mare with the cold eyes that he recalled from his previous encounters. She seemed to have an affinity for mountains – he mused. The last time they had met, it had been during a howling gale that had nearly swept the two of them and the Pegasus boy to their early graves. He could not recall her name – he had decidedly not found it important. But she had sure footing and seemed to be familiar with the area – thus Kaldin had elected to track her footsteps as she went. Her determination in this quest was commendable – if futile. He’d decided that once his collar was shattered and former glory restored, he would perhaps allow some of these mortals to remain on his newly-cleansed earth. They were decidedly to interesting to kill.
But what if the relic does not work? his mind whispered. He slowed in his steps, mind reeling from the realization. Even if he managed to claim the prize, what then? Not all relics, surely, were meant for breaking spells and curses. His heart hammered. What if you remain stuck this way, forever?
”No, no. No.” his own voice in the still air was enough, if barely, to hold him away from worry. With the mare now far ahead, he picked up his pace, clambering with as much quiet as he could muster over the treacherous passes. His eyes glimmering in the high sun, he observed as the woman changed course and disappeared into what appeared to be a deep cave. He approached, cautiously treading in the direction whence the mare had disappeared. He was no master stealthsman, but he managed to still his breath enough to hear the voices coming within. From the way they echoed, he could guess that the cavern as deeper then it appeared – and that indeed it was a likely place for a relic to be found.
Taking a deep breath, he willed his feet into movement, muscles tense with apprehension of interaction with mortals and their petty games. He would stay out of sight as long as possible, he decided – right until he could step in and claim his prize, or was forced out of hiding. One way or another, it would not be long – if there was anything these travels had taught him, it was that soon, they would have more company.
