A wellspring of wonder

[odium.]

Off topic:
Continued from Nevermore.

He firmly sook Arthur's hand, now knowing the man's name.

"Of course. I'm merely referring to his vindictive streaks, or the way he treats people at any given time. Though I'm sure you probably know more about him than I do."

Though he was not beyond it, he preferred cigarettes over any other sort of smoke. Unfortunately, all he had was a sleek black pipe, which he procured from the depths of an inner lining pocket. A quick strike, like a magic trick, and a match was lit and put to kindle. Obviously, he used this distraction to absorb the information they shared, and to plan his future steps.

"No. It's very mundane, plenty of boredom, wasted daylight and lamp oil. Not much else.

"Now."

He took another puff from the long reed pipe before tamping the tobacco. A casual gesture, either of the pipe or tobacco—should Arthur have his own piece—was made before Corwin continued.

"...

"This probably isn't going to be a sort of question you're expecting, but—"

He chuckled to himself, looking down at the sleeping squires before squaring his steely eyes upon Arthur once more.

"May I accompany you?"

[supernal]

"Yes. I probably do know more about Gavin than you do."

Or so Arthur liked to think. That was until he met this man and heard the way that Corwin talked about Gavin. All men had their demons, some riding them like horses or cheap suits, others buried deep inside underneath momentous layers of affected virtues. But, at least the way that Corwin painted the scene, it did not appear as if Gavin was battling demons, whether winning or losing.

It seemed as if Gavin was the demon.

Corwin's offer of tobacco brought the knight back to the cave, away from distant thoughts of his brother, of his brother's honor and loyalty, of the many-faced Legion demon that seemed to be lurking behind every shadow that stretched from here to the horizon. Arthur waved Corwin's genial gesture with an equally cordial dismissal. Not only did Arthur not smoke, save for the occasional cigarette of marihuana when he felt like an extended phase of introspective meditation, but habit and custom had conditioned the man to take no food or drink from a stranger. No matter how amiable he may be.

"It isn't really," Arthur responded to Corwin's tentative inquiry with a blithe, pleasant smile. "But you find my favor nonetheless. Good sir," Arthur struck Corwin with a quick ,questioning glance, asking him wordlessly whether he preferred that name or another. "Nothing would delight me more than your accompaniment on my quest."

Arthur rose to his feet in a single motion, at once easy and indicative of grace, and tossed the finished statuette at Corwin. It was a figurine of the man himself, a coarse duplication of Corwin lacking all of the finesse and finer detail of a true replica but standing true to the man's image. Arthur scooped up the shining stone, quenching its light with a touch, and then located a comfortable spot to rest in.

"We move four hours after dawn, when the sun has had enough time to warm the air to a degree above insufferable."

Arthur never slept. Instead he closed his eyes and spent the next handful of hours meditating silently on his brother, on the interstice that all the momentum of the Resistance and all the resistance of Renovatio would mount and erupt. On the fate of his two squires, the enigmatic nature of the dark stranger just a few feet away and, turning his eyes to a point in the wall that if bored through would aim to the peaks of Shawnee, Arthur contemplated the man he had come here to find.

[odium.]

He managed to put flame to the pipe several more times, savoring the exotic flavors and aromas of the herb as it smoked, before Arthur replied. It was... half what he expected, or rather that's to say he wasn't even sure what reply, if any, he expected. There was a curious black spot in the back of his brain, it scratched at his skull and he wasn't certain exactly what to make of it.

At first, when Arthur tossed him the statuette, he swiped it from midair with a blinding sweep of his hand. It wasn't something he'd even taken the time to think of before performing the action, it happened, and with astute efficency. It wasn't until he realized the error of his actions that it fumbled through his fingers and hopped in his hand several times like a hot potato. Its features were crude, but the highborn brows, nose, and even the shape of the hair was surprisingly spot on. It even retained his half smirk, the very one he wore now as he glanced this thing over.

"Right."

Arthur dispatched the stone's light before putting it, and himself, to rest.

There was a time, he vaguely recalled, when he also slept out of necessity. A thing now so strange to him, even to wrap his mind around, for how simple the concept was. Corwin tamped his pipe one more time before returning it to his pocket, where he was now left merely staring at the palm of his empty hand. Silly man. Exist alone for quite some time in a barren wilderness and all is well; spend one night in the company of others and feel more alone than ever before...

[supernal]

The sun rose from its nightly slumber and cast all about a blanket of finely spun gold, stretching it across the desolation that was the Shawnee. It's merry shine failed to bring cheer to the endless, featureless fields of ivory encompassing every inch of setting available to the eye, broken infrequently by the presence of a crooked tree or sparse patch of brush.

Arthur stood at the cave's mouth when the sun rose, not only awake and alert, but ready for travel. Furs surround him, sword and shield relieved from his squires and at the ready. He reflected on last night's events. On the sinister trek across the tundra, his sour meeting with the jomsvikings, the sudden appearance of the stranger and his enigmatic past, and the night spent in the cave.

He pursed his lips in thought and squinted his eyes in scrutiny. With no storms or flurries of snow to obstruct his vision it felt that he could see for miles, and even for miles all there was to see was more snow and ice. With the exception, of course, of Shawnee's peak. Which his where Arthur intended to go.

Returning to the cave for a mere moment's respite Arthur roused the children from their slumber. He told them that he and the stranger were to forge ahead alone. That they, the children, were to make a proper camp within the cave and if they did not hear back from Arthur in five days' time then they were to head back to Rosinder and report on his untimely death.

Then he and Corwin left them.

Only a few feet beyond the cave of the mouth the warm air turned on them; invisible daggers of cold, bitter air sliced against any exposed sliver of skin any time a puff of wind scurried by. Corwin had already proven immune to the cold and if Arthur felt any discomfort he was an adept at not tipping his hand. The caves became spots in the distance, but Shawnee's peak seemed as far away as ever.

"The oracles tell me he is in the mountains, but they cannot tell me if he lives or if he has expired, and they cannot tell me why he has left. I wonder if I will find a coward hiding from his fears, or a hero waiting to return."

[odium.]

Not that it was unnecessary to him, he didn't sleep before the sun rose and those hopeful rays crept through the mouth of their temporary sanctuary from the blistering cold. His mind was busy, too busy, if a worried person's mind was running a thousand miles a minute, his was rounding lightspeed. The silence he experienced while the others slept was a double edged sword, given the time to sort things out, yet stoke the fire with more potential worries of an uncertain future.

Arthur woke first, and aside from their good morrow's, not much conversation was exchanged between them. He appeared more determined than a few hours prior and Corwin could understand the situation perhaps better than he alluded to Arthur. The children woke a short time later, as their Rosinderian leader procured his belongings from either of their rough-packs. They looked out of sorts, and Corwin could have guessed that neither of them experienced a winter half as cold as this particular day in Terrenus.

Arthur stepped from the mouth of the cave, in full military uniform, and Corwin appeared at his wing. He was wearing a matte black suit with leather gloves and dress shoes, offset by a surreal looking blood red scarf whose endtrails draped over either of his shoulders. Not even a plume of steam escaped his lips as his cold and lifeless eyes perused an equally bleak landscape. With his thumb, he rubbed the crown of the wooden statuette that remained hidden in his pocket before simply stating with an accompanying nod—

"The way out is through..."

[supernal]

For most of their journey, taciturn was a trait Arthur and Corwin shared. They had little to say when waking and breaking fast, less than that when the sound of crunching snow softened the silence, and when exposing your mouth to the elements had a direct consequence of pain.

They press on, tireless. They do not slow even when the snow climbs as high as their upper thighs. They take turns, one walking in front of the other and switching, powerful strides persuading by pure obstinacy that the snow bifurcate and pile on either side.

Atmosphere, originating perhaps higher than the barren tundra of the Shawnee can climb or perhaps some lush oasis within the desolation of the Wastelands or even from the distant oceans, found its way to the Shawnee. Formed into pregnant clouds that ruptured before long and birthed a somber shower. Long-tail drops of water freeze before they touch the ground; an endless ocean of daggers nettle their skin, gifted impetus by the wind. The only saving grace being that frozen rain could not freeze the ground.

It didn't even slow them down.

"The sound the rain makes as it breaks against the ground." Arthur called out to Corwin through a wide smile and cracking lips. "It sounds like music."

Spoken like a true Rosinderite, what some call the most musical place on the face of the planet.

The sun crests and falls in a trilogy and the two men don't so much as falter a single step. Their feats and exploits are unnatural; their persistence and endurance inhuman. Out alone in this naked land, with no eyes to watch and judge you but those of God and of the man next to you, Arthur did not have to hide his strength in a cloak of humanity and did not permit Corwin to do the same.

They soon reach the base of one of the peaks of the Shawnee and Arthur commences to scale it with his bare hands.

"Look for any traces of life as we climb, any at all."

[odium.]

They made short work of treacherous terrain and long strode nature's most hazardous of elements. Either of them, at any given time, were working with kinetics at an exemplary rate when compared to the likes of even a superior human's performance. Leagues of land, be it valley or forest, were but footnotes overlooked after the fact as opposed to endured with exacting patience and stamina. Were they in a less perilous area of Terrenus, the pair could have crossed from coast to coast in a single day.

If there were even a soul to witness their exploits from a distance, disbelief would shroud their experience of it in silence for all time.

Arthur heard the breaking of glass as symphonic notes that carried through the air like an instrumental piece at an orchestra, while Corwin witnessed these sounds as a multitude of varying colored starbursts; lilac and tangerine, cobalt faded to white, a lemondrop sun stained blood red that remained in his vision for quite some time.

They reach the rigid edifice, and Corwin begins to scale it in leaping bounds with no small effort. Not to his surprise, Arthur is right by his side all-the-while. When the going got tough, his scarf became a makeshift rope for either companion to provide assistance. The climb became practically vertical, and at times canopies of rock threatened to slow their pace, and yet neither man would have any part of such nonsense. The impossible was not only probable to them, but seamless, like some mundane everyday life activity.

"The only indigenous life we'll encounter are stubborn iceborn shrubs, they're not much in the way of nutrition, either."

[supernal]

So tenacious and diligent were the two men in pressing on, they spoke not a word of complaint or even of recognition when it came that they had to cross a gap through the brief interior of a mountain farther across than either could jump, and so gripped the tips of stalactites and swung themselves like nimble apes.

"Shawnee is a magical place, and particularly inhospitable. We will not run into much life, on that note I am sure we agree, but I think that life awaits us yet, and what life we might find thriving in such conditions is not liable to be soft or amiable."

Arthur landed on the other end of the divide with a soft thud that sent into the air a briefly drifting puff of white powder. When Corwin landed he sent up the same. Arthur brought his hand as a plane against his forehead, casting shadow over his eyes, and his sight struggled against the celestial sphere's incandescence in striving up the mountain.

They were nearing the top. Arthur did not know what to expect, and so where his features might have unwittingly divulged anticipation or tipped his hand in excitement or even gloom, it was now and throughout the course of their journey an impassive countenance of stone. He did not have to struggle to contain himself; he lacked too much data to even make a beast worth restraining.

"I have heard it said before that heavy is the head which wears the crown." Out of subconscious instinct and fancy, out of an echo of habit beaten into his nerves from his days at the academy, Arthur brushed the tips of his fingers against the scabbard, handle, or pommel of his weapon. To confirm it still remained at his side. He did so now but Corwin, scrutinizer that he was, would note that he did so out of step with his natural rhythm.

"If it's so heavy, then take the damn thing off. Heavy crowns were not made for weak necks."

Their destination was never the top of the mountain, where the fabled elixirs of the mystical Shawnee glaciers awaited the men that had braved a journey with relative ease that had met with expiration so many other enthusiastic adventurers. The destination was only near the top, the oracles were very clear about that. And so as they neared the top and Arthur spotted the sign of the Weird Sisters, culpable to his eyes alone, Arthur veered them both to one side.

Whether it was a mirage born of inclement weather or a purported illusion did not matter much. It only mattered that at a point where once there was nothing but indistinct rock face there was now a gaping wound.

"There. We begin."

[odium.]

He chose not to reply as Arthur spoke of crowns and their possibly necessary removal. There was an air of death, or some other ill reputed repreive, it didn't settle well within Corwin's stomach. It wasn't his place to step in to extra-regional affairs, but murder, if at all preventable, was something he'd resigned himself to stop Arthur from commiting. Not necessarily his sole reason for following in the Rosinderite's footsteps, it was still an integral part of their current and possible future relationship.

His powder-coated feet came to a halt as Arthur called out the sign of the Weird Sisters, a standard of which Corwin could neither see, nor looked for. The guidance of this knight was all that was necessary, and when his words rang true, this was their way. They approached a frost bitten cave mouth surrounded by half deteriorated statues that one would easily mistake for snow covered stones. Further inspection revealed time-worn sculptures that were, at least at one time, tapestries of beauty and prayer.

"... through."

He repeats his first sentiments at the start of their voyage, without trepidation, but perhaps an uneasiness that is not allocated so closely to fear as one would think. Their "way out" was a complex maze proportionate to the dimensions of time and space that were slightly more complicated than the typical linear module. Corwin felt the swelling knot in his stomach, standing at the foyer of this damned underground contraption.

Their inversed Jacob's Ladder. Corwin took to the rungs first.

When he stepped through into the darkness, his clothes boiled, bubbled, and burst; motes of shadow trailed his frame in the wake of his passage only to reveal a man now emblazoned almost entirely in alabaster. No jacket, only a lavish dress shirt and black tie, accompanied by an intricately woven vest that, even in the dim light, carried an eerie sheen of its own. The costume change would doubtless catch Arthur's eye, but rouse little else in him, for to be suspicious of a man now, after all they'd been through, would the least of sense.

[supernal]

Arthur took a moment near the mouth of the cave to study the nearby statues in more detail. He clapped the snow away from the shoulders and faces of the statue, and used the pad of his gloved thumb for the finer detail. Arthur took careful note of their attire, what weapons they carried and kept an eye out for any inscriptions, though there weren't any to be found.

"They're both men. This could mean that their men are warriors as much as it could mean they are slaves. Each one is wearing a diadem with a rhombus shape at the center. Swords, but not shields."

Upon laying his observations out bare for Giraud to pick through, Arthur offered no more. He had plenty of speculations, but most were wild and unfounded, and he had no intention of unintentionally misleading Giraud in assumption. They stepped into the cavern and Giraud's clothing immediately transformed. Arthur cocked a bemused brow. Precisely what manner of magic Giraud used told Arthur of the man's specialty; how he used it told Arthur of the man's style.

Not too long after breaking new ground on the cave, the hallway sloped downwards and around a corner, effectively cutting them off from the interminable conditions of the Shawnee tundra. The cold, in characteristic tenacity, did not leave them completely but its bite had been dulled plenty by their isolated surroundings.

And as they ventured deeper into the cave it grew warmer, just as well as it grew darker. Arthur demanded the presence of his rock, modified back at the cave, and with a whisper bade it to birth light. Thus, with stone shining in hand and with Giraud having absolutely no necessity of it, Arthur led the way.

Down and still further down they went; higher and higher climbed the temperature. Before long Arthur did away completely with his mask, hood, and the outermost layer of his clothing; this he strung about his pack and carried on his back.

In the stillness of their solitude, Arthur's voice elicited a remarkably clear and coherent statement; "Stick we fast along this path, and might not we find the very center of the earth waiting for us? How much higher will the degrees climb before man must melt?"

But Arthur was wrong. Though it did become unreasonably warm, after a time the temperature stayed level. The cavern's winding tract, however, showed no end; no resolution. After a time the gentle inclination became a sharp drop with a sudden lip that Arthur almost sent himself reeling over with special thanks to carelessness. He caught himself against the side of the cave's mouth, the rock in his hand spilling shine that crept up the walls, and Arthur's observant eyes there alighted upon a singular detail.

"Claw marks. Whatever made these is big."

[odium.]

"It doesn't mean anything. They could have gotten a good deal on human statues at some junk sale. Let's not read anything in to it, since we don't really have the time to speculate."

He let Arthur stew for a moment before kicking one of the stubby human-looking things over into a pile of snow just as white as the statues dilapidated features.

He followed behind Arthur, in his new duds, through the foyer that wound seamlessly down to an impressive atrium of sorts. The walls were sloped and, to his surprise, without murals or writing. He'd been in his fair share of neolithic temples, all with their fair share of caligraphy or stick-figures, or whatever the f-- either way, it struck a cord somewhere deep inside him.

Where Arthur found the heat to be slightly intrusive on his comfort level, Corwin was metaphorically sweating buckets. Though not a drop of perspiration could be seen, this sort of sweltering heat, and surviving it, felt like some sort of eternal ordeal. The thought swept from his mind when the Rosinderian Knight made mention of cave markings.

"Not too marks?"

Though gloved, he placed a hand to the illongated markings, and could very well feel them. They were not intricate, let alone very old. It felt as though they were layered, as if this was a recurring theme. This wall had been marked, and Corwin looked to the other side to affirm, at either end of this hall. He then looked back over at Arthur, and the light he brandished from the heart of that stone.

"Not tool marks.

"Best to keep the light at my back as we advance, for now. You've got the sword, but we can't take the chance of being found from a distance. Who knows what foul beast, or beasts, lurk in this temple."

He shot a quick glance from the end of their hall, out into what appeared to be a den. He saw pillars, at least twelve, perhaps more. The area was massive and perhaps its ceiling reached higher than the entrance they found their way down here stood. What's worse is that each pillar's base was etched with these same markings along with the remnants of... well, blood.

"This... is becoming far more perilous than I think the children would have been ready for. Either way, 'ready your sword' seems like a mind-numbingly obvious statement."

When Corwin stepped into the den, his right hand became immersed in motes of shadow, to the tune of a sizzling hiss. His fingers seamlessly illongated into sharp sable talons, and the seemingly draconic protrusions continued along his forearm like a gauntlet to the tip of his elbow. This black thing carried with it an eerily surreal glow, not unlike moonshine that penetrated the darkest stormclouds.

[supernal]

As Giraud encouraged the little hamster in his head to turn the wheel, Arthur continued to investigate. Moving perpendicular to the path brought him to the nearest wall. He removed his gloves, stowed them away in his pack and pressed the naked flesh of his bare hand against the wall. Cool to the touch. He looked up and noted that the stalactites nearer the wall were longer.

The knight positioned himself behind Giraud, clapping the man on the shoulder just once and then letting his hand fall to the wayside. With that Arthur casually invited his blade from its lacquered home; the sword sang some to be liberated but did so softly.

"There's a river running through here. It's massive. I don't know how thick the walls but some spots of it are at least six inches deep. Whatever beast made those claw marks might be able to drown us all, if it focused its energy on one spot or did enough all-around damage to weak the tunnel's infrastructure."

Like before Arthur merely presented information; unlike before, he outlined the unfolding of a particularly disastrous scenario that he wished to avoid. Other than that, he provided no speculation. Merely waited for Giraud to take point again and followed close behind.

As they breached the lip of the cave, passing onto what was a marvelously crafted descending stairway, Arthur noted some odd activity from the periphery of his vision. Shadow danced around Giraud's arm like ribbon caught in a breeze, caressed itself into a cocoon around its lover's limb, and made of his simple limb a weapon.

"Neat trick. You do parties?"

Even though the man was quickly becoming a trusted companion, and even though Arthur himself dabbled in the more nefarious aspects of the arcane, he could not help but find Giraud's display somewhat tacky. Like a gimmick. Though he appreciated Giraud's skill in conjuring what was no doubt a lethal artifice, Arthur made no motion to hide his friendly contempt.

Powerful strides propelled him down the steps, sword in one hand and shield strapped to the arm opposite. The usual austerity that Arthur was accustomed to carrying himself with was melting away, and a joyous fire kindled in his eyes. In the heart of adventure, even during such dire circumstances as would take him to such a place, the child in him took delight.

Arthur stopped near the base of one pillar after shooting a quick look at the broad area around him. He noticed a few things. There was some writing in a language Arthur did not understand and for the most part fragmented by the slash marks. That the slash marks were present only on the base of the pillars and not at all higher up; same with the blood. And that there was no longer any need for him to carry his rock. This room had its own light-source.

A whisper defused his spell and the rock found a home within his pack. Arthur looked all about, eyes traveling along the ceiling and walls.

"Sonoluminescence. The sound of the river is being absorbed by crystal in the walls; they vibrate and give off light. It'll get darker as we go along unless the river runs all the way through, and it's dim enough near the ceiling that I can't see the tops of these pillars. You can see better in the dark than I can, do you see anything up there?"

[odium.]

"Perhaps the freezing cold vein that runs through is the only thing keeping the temperature balanced down here."

While Arthur saddled himself up on his high horse to look down on Corwin's preferred weapon of choice, a likewise feeling was never returned for his far less than elegant approach. He appreciated the common swordsman, in his devotion to the blade, as it were not unlike his own. Tacky as sticking someone with something pointy could be viewed, it may very well end up being a Godsend. When Arthur finished being silly, they would continue further down the rabbit hole.

"I don't like crowds."

Naturally, parties weren't an option. Of course, the sarcasm of his companion wasn't wasted on him, it was merely returned in kind, with a helpful portion of stoic brevity.

"This place is far older than I'd originally thought."

Arthur lifted the stone nearest the wall, it revealed the writings that were etched into the wall. Neither man could read them, but they were certainly antediluvian. There was a possiblity that the first intelligent life on Valucre had authored these very glyphs, predating Gaianism was a likelyhood, but neither man was privy to such things.

"I can't make any of it out... it's all Siren to me."

When they finally stepped into the subterrenian ante-court, Corwin felt a definite chill. Not as a difference in temperature, but the preternatural awareness of something. When Arthur spoke of the walls, crusted in glowing gems, Corwin was already gleaning what he could from the perimeter of their surroundings. When Arthur inquired about the ceiling, the musicman merely knocked against Arthur's chest with sable knuckles.

"Better to look with your heart than your eyes, you'll always see more.

"Vampire bats, probably a hundred or more, and-- hnn!"

He was suddenly electrified into an alerted position. The air was ominous at that exact moment, his eyes once more foiled over, gilded of silver rings, and the atmosphere surrounding him continued to darken. He nudged Arthur, something a bit more than persuasive, before increasing the immediate distance between them to a few meters.

"Incoming!"

[supernal]

Arthur, the man, dissolved; like a snail's eye unceremoniously prodded, that aspect of his psyche retreated into itself, into the depths and the dark, until it was nothing more than a pinpoint of significance. Arthur the soldier rushed to the surface and broke through the wall with a wretched gasp, as if he'd been starved for air and was on the brink of death when this life-giving opportunity happened to slide his way.

When Corwin poked Arthur in the chest, he was persuaded. Corwin had given him impetus, knocking him off balance with enough show of force to make him stumble a step or two, but the massive shadow flitting in and out of the corner of his vision galvanized him. His legs bent, uncoiled, and threw him across the ground, a man-sized coin sent skipping over a lake of stone. He crashed into a pillar and sent a web of fissures up along its length; superficial, but its perilous condition underlined itself in his mind.

He tossed a glance to the thing interceding the straight line between himself and Corwin. It was a ghastly beast, grotesquely adapted to its dismal surroundings. At the spot of its roughly shaped and bulbous head where one might have expected eyes was nothing more than a flat, wrinkled expanse of skin. From its mouth hung thick ropes of drool, viscous enough to stay connected even when they came nearly to touching the ground. Following a rough model of evolution, Arthur suspected the beast's saliva to either be poison or a paralytic; a trait like that did not stick around for no reason.

Its fur was jet black, cropped short, and thick to the sight even in the gentle glow of the crystal walls.

A faintly quizzical look came into his incisive stare before Arthur pivoted on his left foot with enough torque to crack the ground and planted his right with enough force to crater it. Under the cover of his furs Arthur's physique was only roughly defined. But without the furs, and with his shirt sticking to his body thanks to the slight sheen of sweat the cavern's elevated temperatures gifted, it took no effort at all to see the tooled muscles in his arm bulging as he swung his sword with both hands.

The blade passed through the pillar like the monolith was made of smoke and mirrors; so clean a cut, in fact, that the pillar didn't shift or tremble until Arthur slapped it towards Corwin and the beast. In those few precious moments it took Arthur to cleave the pillar the bat was already mid-flight, level to Corwin's chest, and zipping to him with all the fervor of a gibbering thing possessed.

The mighty obelisk teetered and fell towards Corwin and his demon as they were to meet. Arthur climbed atop it and ran its length, each impact of his foot against the hewed stone resounding in the cavern, lighting it up briefly and by a small degree, and driving the pillar further down.

Upon reaching the upper fourth of the pillar's total length Arthur rocketed up, up, up into the interminable darkness and vanished there without a word.

[supernal]

[Placing on indefinite hold. Ie, gtfo'ing until a later time when all parties involved can dedicate more time to this venture]