Primordium ((Pretty Poison & Shan))

[Pretty Poison]

In some ways, the universe – in simplistic terms, at least – can be likened to a vast balancing scale. The equilibrium is so perfect and so delicate that the slightest twitch can send the balance yawing back and forth, plunging the causal nexus into dangerous flux. Remove something big enough on one side, and something on the other will fall. That's just common sense. The universe can repair itself, of course, for the most part, given time. If it couldn't, none of us would still be here to tell the tale. But the bigger the twitch, the harder it is to repair the damage, and longer it takes. And sometimes... sometimes, the things that fall can be lost forever.

The Doctor should have known that.

He really, really should have known....

---

The landscape was utterly dead. A wasteland, stretching as far as the eye could see, under a dull, low-hanging sky the colour of old blood. There was no vegetation to brighten the view, no colour or movement, no discernible life at all. Just jagged outcroppings of rusty rock, surrounded by a sea of endlessly sifting grey sand.

High up on a flat-topped mesa, Pretty Poison surveyed the terrain laid out before her with an expression of disgust. She turned her head to glance at her companion. She had no idea who he was or how he had come to this place. In fact, she had no idea how she had gotten here herself. But she knew where they were. And although that knowledge did not bode well, it was a start.

“Do not make the mistake of believing that this is a place, fleshling. Because it is not. Not as you know it, anyway.  We are no longer inside the matter universe.” Her attention drifted away from him, towards the far horizon. A great castle loomed there, a building hewn from enormous stones that were impossibly large, black against the wine-tinted sky. From even further beyond, came the whispering of the sea, sighing against the tall cliffs on which the castle stood. “This is... or was once... known to my people as the Primordium. The fabled source of all untold stories. And that...” She nodded towards the majestic structure in the distance. “Is the city of Ghûlheim. If we want answers, that is where we need to go.”

[Shan]

The "world" moved about in an undead, empty void all around them, rustling as if under a heavy wind even though there was none. Seething over them in angry, roiling waves, the sky bled out into the horizon, diffusing light in an unnatural blanket of discontent. There was no sun, no clouds, no life to be seen in any direction. Just... nothingness. Empty. As if some god had seen existence and become enraged and returned the canvas to bare.

Standing before Shan, peering out across the distance to nothing, a woman clad in darkness to match her clothes shifted in consternation at the landscape, evidently dissatisfied with the world before her. Her eyes burned an intensity that could have seared away the stars in the sky, had there been any. Through the ground, shifting through it was, Shan could feel the pulse of two hearts, reminding him of a friend he'd met before on Earth. Similar though it felt, there were distinct differences between them, though what those differences were could have been sought for as easily as answers to why he had found himself in this world, with her. He may as well have tried to pocket sunlight.

“Do not make the mistake of believing that this is a place, fleshling. Because it is not. Not as you know it, anyway. We are no longer inside the matter universe.”

Shan was not sure if he should feel uncomfortable with the manner in which she said "fleshling," but he paid it no mind. He had no clue to their current whereabouts, but Shan always knew when he was hearing a truth or a lie. Beyond the woman's words, he could feel it, deep in his bones, that something terrible and strange had happened. His people's natural affinity for nature had given him that sense since he'd first opened his eyes and looked out across the vast, empty slate of this "world."

“This is... or was once... known to my people as the Primordium. The fabled source of all untold stories. And that...” She nodded towards the majestic structure in the distance. “Is the city of Ghûlheim. If we want answers, that is where we need to go.”

Even as she spoke, Shan noticed the city in the distance, stretching towering fingers into the crimson sky in search of... something. And nothing. It emanated a sense of answers to questions that had not yet been asked, promising endings to stories that had not yet begun. The monk knew he had seen nothing as far as the horizon but grey sand, but even as he thought of it, the words of the stranger echoing in his head, he knew the city had been there all along, waiting to be spoken of.

Everything about this place left strange, uncertain feelings in his stomach. Had he a heart, it would have beaten out of his chest; and yet, here was this woman with two, as calm as the center of a storm. There was a balance here, he could see, but it warred with itself as if needing to be tossed away. Thoughts needing to be free, wind held in a chamber yearning to blow away into the sky, waiting on a whim, a passing phrase.

"Perhaps the questions are more pertinent here," Shan said beneath his breath. "Lead the way, friend. Maybe your city holds the answers to why there is a need for answers in the first place."

[Pretty Poison]

"Perhaps the questions are more pertinent here," Shan said beneath his breath. "Lead the way, friend. Maybe your city holds the answers to why there is a need for answers in the first place."

Pretty turned and looked at him properly for the first time. Up until now, she had been more interested in investigating her surroundings, rather than assessing her companion. He was tall – taller than her own avatar, which required her to look up to see his face – and very thin. Not fragile, though. She registered his whipcord strength in a glance. Her eyes skimmed over his other physical characteristics without interest. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Tunic, loose trousers, soft boots. Such things meant little or nothing to a Word Lord. Appearances were always deceptive. For instance, this man looked human, but he was not. There were subtle differences, ones which most onlookers would not observe. With an imperceptible nod, Pretty stored away the information she had gleaned, in case it came in handy later.

“The only answer that is needed is how I can escape this place,” she replied tersely. “I have business to attend to in the matter universe, and it cannot wait.”

She gave an impatient flick of her wrist, gesturing to herself with long, elegant fingers. “I am known as Pretty Poison. I am a Word Lady from...” For the briefest second, her voice wavered, as she remembered anew that her home was now gone forever, her rage and grief threatening to consume her. But then she gathered herself and continued as if nothing had happened. “From the dimension known as the Hand of All. What is your name and station, fleshling?”

[Shan]

She gave an impatient flick of her wrist, gesturing to herself with long, elegant fingers. “I am known as Pretty Poison. I am a Word Lady from...” For the briefest second, her voice wavered, as she remembered anew that her home was now gone forever, her rage and grief threatening to consume her. But then she gathered herself and continued as if nothing had happened. “From the dimension known as the Hand of All. What is your name and station, fleshling?”

Shan took a second to consider the information the she had given him, as well as its implications, before replying to her. The woman's eyes were studious and penetrating, severe in a manner he'd never really experienced before. Not only did she possess no heart beat, but she seemed to have a strange effect on the world around her. She had seen the city before he had even realized there was one to be seen, had known their location instantly. The air around her felt fuzzy and indistinct, the ground softer and more faded. If this was a land of untold stories, she was the story which refused to be told. Did she affect the world, or was it affecting her?

"My name is Shan," he answered simply, forgoing his full name. It wasn't often he used it outside of Yshier, most finding it difficult to correctly pronounce and giving up half-way through. He didn't really have a station to offer in explanation to the woman either. Phyzhiengsa monks were servants of the people and natural balance. They gained nothing and asked nothing, seeking only knowledge and peace.

"I'm... thinking you are correct, friend Pretty Poison. Ghûlheim seems our only course of action."

---

Though the towering city had appeared far off from the mesa they had awoken to, its walls rose up to greet them quickly. The ground had sucked at Shan's feet as the two had made their way toward Ghûlheim, as if seeking to add his body to the composition. All stories were built upon others that came before them, after all. One second he had asked himself why they had been brought there, and if their destination was the city then why had they been placed so far from it. The next, the land distance had evaporated like so much mist in the dying sunlight. No, they had always been that close, surely. He had simply misjudged it at first.

Standing beneath the yawning parapets, the sand and wind whistling through the risers, Shan stood in awe of the sheer size of city. Such was it that he could not see the end of the walls in either direction, nor the top of the enceinte. Endless possibilities stretched to the horizons and into the clouds, staring him down as if daring he intrude.

The walls, however, seemed cracked and malformed, as if the builders had tossed the idea into place and forgotten to finish it. The city gates appeared rusted from age and creaked in the wind as it rushed along the walls, shaking bits of mortar and dust loose. Red-orange sun-light, struggling to filter through the grey sky like a child opening its eyes for the first time, cast a pale glow over the exterior walls creating a sallow facade on the stone. It was difficult to tell if the city had not been completed, or was simply in its final throes of death. Shan wondered if Pretty Poison saw the same things he did in this aphotic world.

"Should we knock?"

[Pretty Poison]

"My name is Shan," he answered simply, forgoing his full name. It wasn't often he used it outside of Yshier, most finding it difficult to correctly pronounce and giving up half-way through. He didn't really have a station to offer in explanation to the woman either. Phyzhiengsa monks were servants of the people and natural balance. They gained nothing and asked nothing, seeking only knowledge and peace.

"Shan,” she repeated. Then, after a pause, she added, “Shǎn Shuò de Jiǎo Zi.” She pronounced the name perfectly, without the slightest hesitation.

The man radiated an inner peace, in a way that Pretty had never encountered before. Once, her natural impulsiveness would have prompted her to probe more deeply into his story, past the name she had already skimmed from the surface, and beyond into the experiential narrative that over time had made him who he was. But not any more. She no longer had any use for peace. Now, she wanted only to kill.

She gave him a curt nod. “I see that you know who you are,” she said enigmatically. She was not referring to the fact that he knew his own name, and remembered his history. Instead, the comment was meant in the deeper sense, an acknowledgment of his inner calm and self-awareness. “It is well. You will need that, if you are to survive whatever awaits us in Ghûlheim.”

Lightly, she leaped down from the rock she had been standing on to survey the city. Her boots left no mark in the dust.

“Come, we must begin.” Her keen eyes searched the dull sky. “It is not wise to tarry here. We have no choice.”

“I'm... thinking you are correct, friend Pretty Poison,” he replied. “Ghûlheim seems our only course of action.”

Her gaze returned to him, with a kind of detached curiosity. Friend? Her mind toyed with the word. Cai had been her friend, as had the Guardian. The Valeyard had been... more than that and yet less. But none of that mattered now. Now that her beloved Nobody had gone, nothing mattered. Nothing but bloodshed and revenge.

She didn't trouble herself to correct him. She was the last of her kind, the last Word Lord, the last Story-speaker. Words came less easily to her these days, each one that she spoke taking a toll that even she barely understood. Besides, she had no idea how they had both ended up here in the Primordium together. Perhaps she would need him, before their journey was through. Only time would tell.

Turning, she strode away, gesturing for him to follow, her brisk pace eating up the ground beneath her feet. And all the while, she kept her eyes warily on the horizon.

---

The Primordium was dying. With every step Pretty took, the more and more convinced she became of it. The landscape was rank and decaying, nothing like the sprawling, verdant place of legend where once all things had been possible. She could feel the sickness in the rock and dirt beneath her feet, seeping through her boots; holes and craters ruptured the ground, like the remnants of some kind of virulent disease. Overhead, the dull, sunless sky leered down at them, painting everything in hues of blood. The air was cold and stale.

Even the dimensions were no longer stable. Space was folding in on itself. At the start of their journey, the city had been far away, but as they walked, it loomed impossibly closer, as if every step they took covered ten leagues or more. Even worse, their surroundings played with the senses, beguiling and bewitching, breeding and nurturing confusion, so that it was difficult to remember how things had appeared just moments before.

It seemed like barely a few moments before they were standing before the gigantic gates of Ghûlheim, although Pretty knew that it could have been longer. She could no longer trust the perceptions of her physical avatar. Throwing back her head, she gazed up at the walls, formed of enormous blocks of rough-hewn stone. Like the rest of the Primordium, it was in very bad shape. Although still maintaining the imposing grandeur of its former glory, when one looked closely, it was easy to see that the vast city was in the last stages of decay.

"Should we knock?" her companion asked.

In the distance, Pretty heard the faint cry she had been expecting; a harsh, discordant shriek, inaudible to anyone with ears that were not as sharp as a Word Lord's. Once again, her eyes sprang warily to the horizon. This time, she could see them. Several indistinct black spots staining the sky, too far away to identify clearly. But Pretty knew what they were, and who they were hunting.

“Yes,” she said to Shan, her voice compelling and urgent. “Knock without delay and pray for admittance. Otherwise...” Her eyes arched upwards, grimly surveying the fractured and crumbling walls. “We will have to climb. The Night Gaunts are coming.  We cannot stay here, or it will mean death for both of us.”

[Shan]

Shan looked to what terror drew the woman's eyes, seeing only vague shapes in the distance closing in to where they stood. However, even the limited of sight could not hinder his sensing the creatures' overwhelming presence of evil. Cutting through the amber gloom like discordant fog, unfurling in harsh whispers of detest.

The monk spun his staff in one hand, leaping in a short arc and curving it over his body. As he did, he summoned a sharp, powerful wave of air around him and sent it crashing into the city gates with a reverberating clash. However, rusted and decayed as they may have seemed, the gates held firm with barely a rattle beneath the force of the wind. No alarms answered their beckon nor call respond; it seemed their plight would go unheeded.

"Perhaps we go unwarranted?" Another scan of the worn walls stretching into the unseen land elicited a stir in his gut. "Or there remain none to warrant it." The creeping vines and pocked holes in the surface seemed to mock his question, poetic irony placed into every stone. 

Answering his query pierced a shriek that shook the very being of Shan's body, down the bone. The beasts, Night Gaunts, were wavering none in their pursuit, ever faster they approached. Now close enough he could pick out minor details, from jet-black wings the span of small hut and a jagged tail. He could not be certain of the outcome should the two of them remain there to meet the Gaunts, nor was he keen to learn.

"Well, more than one way to get past a wall, friend Pretty Poison." Forgoing an explanation, Shan reached deep within himself to summon his strength, feeling the "world" around him answer his call as he resonated with its material. He had noticed it before, but it rang more clearly now. This place did not react the same to him as he had expected, the "matter universe" as Pretty Poison had called it moved in a more natural state. This place not only felt weird, it existed weird. The air was not ground was un-ground, the stone was un-stone, the air was un-air. His perception seemed to force it to react to his bidding, as spilled ink might force a page to be re-written. As such, when the monk spun around, staff extended to direct the air around the two and beneath their feet, then expelled its force as a bubble might pop on a pin, the resulting reaction caught even him by surprise.

Like comets barreling through the sky, Shan and Pretty were flung from the ground, straight up. The initial burst had cleared almost half of the distance to the top of the walls, but Shan had drained far more energy than he should have. He caught hold of a creeping vine in one hand and slammed roughly into the rock, knocking air from his lungs as and sending furious black mites across his vision. The monk barely managed to cling to the wall as he struggled to regain his senses. He forced himself to focus, seeing the nightmare shapes closing in on their position, slinging his staff over his shoulder via the small cord tied to it. Gripping a pock in the wall to right himself and face it flush, he began climbing toward safety.

[Pretty Poison]

"Perhaps we go unwarranted?" Another scan of the worn walls stretching into the unseen land elicited a stir in his gut. "Or there remain none to warrant it." The creeping vines and pocked holes in the surface seemed to mock his question, poetic irony placed into every stone.

"My people are dead.” Pretty's tone was flat and without inflection. She didn't appear at all surprised that the gates failed to yield, and it was impossible to tell if her statement caused her any emotion at all. “I am the last. Without words, the story cannot be told. I no longer know who... or what... lies within Ghûlheim.”

Answering his query pierced a shriek that shook the very being of Shan's body, down the bone. The beasts, Night Gaunts, were wavering none in their pursuit, ever faster they approached. Now close enough he could pick out minor details, from jet-black wings the span of small hut and a jagged tail.

Again, the crystal blue eyes lifted to the sky. “But I do know that the city is our only means of safety. These walls are ancient and strong. The Night Gaunts cannot cross the boundaries or gain entry here.”

"Well, more than one way to get past a wall, friend Pretty Poison." Forgoing an explanation, Shan reached deep within himself to summon his strength, feeling the "world" around him answer his call as he resonated with its material... As such, when the monk spun around, staff extended to direct the air around the two and beneath their feet, then expelled its force as a bubble might pop on a pin, the resulting reaction caught even him by surprise.

Like comets barreling through the sky, Shan and Pretty were flung from the ground, straight up.

The sudden rush of air was unexpected, but Pretty's avatar had reflexes like a cat. Instantly, she twisted her body so that she used the updraft to best effect. In the blink of an eye, she reached one of the uppermost sections of the city walls, making herself secure by wedging her boots into almost invisible crevices and clutching at the crumbling bricks. A thrill of exhilaration, a reaction she had thought no longer possible since Nobody's death, raced through her mind. It dawned on her that here, in this place that was not a place, without recourse to her CORDIS, she had been stripped of her usual invulnerability. For the first time in centuries, maybe even eons, she was just as frangible as the monk who accompanied her. If she fell from this great height, her risk of annihilation was just as great as his. She wasn't sure if the realisation excited her or made her afraid. Perhaps, it was a bit of both.

Nevertheless, there was no time to dwell on such philosophical questions. The Night Gaunts were coming ever closer, their shrill hunting cries breaking the heavy silence of the plains. She had no wish to enter Ghûlheim. Even back in the old days, it had been known as a place to be reckoned with. Now, with the Hand of All destroyed and the power of the Word Lords lost, who knew what darkness lurked within the city? Who knew what horrors the Primordium had birthed, once the leash of the Elder Folk had been broken? But as Pretty had told Shan, they really had no choice.

She had no access to her CORDIS, but she was still a Word Lady. She was the last Story Speaker, the only one left to answer for the dead. And what was this place, but a melting pot of untold stories? Instead of attempting to complete the climb, she closed her eyes and began to whisper. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen, except that the discordant shrieks of the Night Gaunts grew closer and closer. But then, all at once, the tiny plants that had seeded within the crumbling stones began to grow at an accelerated pace. Long creepers erupted from crevices everywhere, snaking down the walls, like Rapunzel throwing down her fairytale hair.

Reaching out, Pretty seized one of the rope-like vines, tugged on it to make sure that it held fast, then coiled securely it around her wrist. Once she was secure, it obligingly began to retract, and she allowed it to draw her upwards at a rapid pace, heading for the top of the wall.

[Shan]

Even though he had landed higher than Pretty Poison, she now shot past him at a surprising rate. A thick green vine had wrapped around her arm like a bracer and was not drawing her towards the top of the wall as if by wench. Meanwhile, Shan nearly tumbled from the wall when, as if to add suspense to the terrifying creatures' approach, a large section of the rock crumbled nearly to dust. Shan was pushed away from the wall as it fell and was too far out to reach it with his hands. He cursed, drawing once more on the space posing as air and shoved himself forcefully back to the stone.

The air around him crackled with thunder from unseen storm clouds; they could very well be present, but the sky consisted of large swathes of gray and red like a colossal quilt and any clouds present would be easily missed. He looked up and could no longer see Pretty Poison. She'd probably already reached the top of the wall, if she'd maintained her pace.

I'm not going to make it in time, he thought, seeing how close the gaunts were now. They beat their wings with furious strength, razor teeth bared as they anticipated the meal to come.

Then he noticed the stairwell in the side of the wall, running up in layers towards the top. How had he not seen that before? The stairwell blended in perfectly with the stone, and there were no lower steps from his current position on the wall. It was like they had been started from the top but the architect had given up halfway through. Shan threw himself to the side with a resonant boosted jump and hit the stairs running.

He'd managed to get several flights up before the first of the gaunts caught up to him, accompanied by a second clash of thunder. It screeched in nightmarish delight, digging into his ears like a sharp knife. Its wings were almost fifteen fifteen feet across, its long tail ending in a wicked looking barb that seemed poised to impale him. The gaunt dove at the monk, claws extended.

Shan braced himself against the wall clapped his hands together, the air reverberating in a concussive blast in front of him. The wave hit the creature like a giant fist and shot it backward into another with incredible force. Nausea swept over Shan and he nearly blacked out from the strain, sheer will alone keeping him awake enough to gather his strength and keep running.

[Pretty Poison]

Up above, Pretty had not been idle. Freeing herself from the twining vines that had pulled her to the top of the battlements, she quickly turned her attention to the surrounding skies, taking stock of the attacking gaunts. She saw one ricochet backwards, cannoning into another. Whatever the monk had done, the blow was powerful enough to send both of the creatures plummeting in a death spiral towards the ground.

Still murmuring to herself, a constant litany of quantum mnemonics, she concentrated on the city wall in front of her. It was thick enough for four men to patrol along it side-by-side, and indeed, from the legends she had heard, it had once been well-defended. Now nothing traversed the ramparts except whirling dust-devils, pursued by the wind, and the stone was crumbling away. Bracing herself, she curved her fingers and thrust them towards the eroding masonry, using the power of her words to shape it to her will, carving out large chunks of stone with her bare hands. The resulting missiles were formidable, too heavy and jagged for a mortal ever to lift, but she hurled them viciously through the air, her aim unerring. Gaunt after gaunt was struck and smashed out of the sky, her relentless attack thinning the swarm to less than ten.

Spots swam before her vision as she fought on, her chant unbroken, but her energy dangerously low. Without her CORDIS, she knew she didn't have enough power to finish it, there were too many of them. And even if she could reach her ship, here in this benighted place, she couldn't imagine there would be any gossip she could manipulate to recharge her fading avatar.

A scream of fury rose in her throat, burst through into a piercing spiral of sound, as spine-chilling as the shrieks of the gaunts themselves. She couldn't die here. She'd sworn to avenge Nobody, and she refused to let him down, not again. Not ever again.

[Shan]

Shan pooled the last dregs of energy to continue climbing the wall, digging his fingers into the cracks and crevices for any hold he could find. The gaunts screeched furiously around him, leathery wings pummeling him with gusts of hot wind that matched their fetid breath. With each new hand hold, he felt the wall shake and the world shutter. He chanced a glance upward and realized what was causing the disturbance.

Standing atop the wall like the shadow of death itself, Pretty Poison howled in rage and defiance as massive chunks of stone ripped free from the wall and hurled through the air. The makeshift missiles crushed the vicious beasts one by one, slamming into them with the unwavering force of a boot on an ant. Dust and rocks well in waves around the monk who clung fiercely to the wall during one particularly violent shake, struggling not to be shaken free. The wall above him had been shorn of its face and no handholds were left for him to reach without climbing back down another thirty feet.

The gaunts began rising higher and higher into the air, some of them attempting to dodge the rocks and reach Pretty Poison. Saliva dripped from their fangs as they neared. I can't keep up this pace much longer, he thought solemnly, his breath coming harder and harder. He could feel his body tensing as his strength sapped further and further away. If he didn't reach the top soon, it wouldn't matter how many of the guants his friend killed, he would fall to his death anyway. The last of the creatures remaining were catching on to their attacker's strategy and dodging her missiles with sudden drops and spirals, moving too fast to be hit.

"I have to get up there faster and help her," he gasped, trying to steady his breathing. "Need to get past the wall and away from these beasts." As if sensing his urgency, one of the gaunts locked eyes with him and dove at his position on the wall. Sensing an opportunity, Shan kicked off the stone and flew forward to meet the monster, planting both feet firmly atop the gaunt's head and pushing up with a firm blast of air to launch him toward the next one. The gaunt he'd kicked seemed to be momentarily dazed, hovering in its spot. Opportunity indeed. Shan hit the next higher gaunt and kicked off it the same, stopping it in its tracks in confusion. "Hit them now!"

[Pretty Poison]

For all his inner peace, the man who called himself Shan knew how to fight. Instead of clinging to the wall in fear as the gaunts swooped and dived, Pretty saw him thrust himself outward, using his own body as a weapon, striking one of the monsters in the head with his boots. Briefly stunned, the creature faltered in the air, even as he launched himself towards yet another of the gaunts.

Shan hit the next higher gaunt and kicked off it the same, stopping it in its tracks in confusion. "Hit them now!"

Pretty heard his voice spiralling up to her, carried by the gusts of wind that still churned around the tower, harmonising in counterpoint to her own unbroken chanting. Reacting instantly, she altered the pattern of her attack, hurling her missiles instead so that they followed the path of the monk, mere seconds behind him, each one striking the gaunts while they were stunned, splattering their brains and sending their shattered corpses plummeting to the wasteland below.

[Shan]

With a final burst of air, condensed to a point only slightly smaller than a coin, Shan sped through the air in a long arc. His heels flipped over his head as he used his momentum to propel him to the top of the wall, the last beast below that had been his launch board chasing after him with a furious keel before being silenced by Pretty Poison. Shan landed with a soft, balanced pufft a few feet away from the woman, crouching to absorb the impact and using his staff to maintain balance.

His breath was quick and he struggled to slow the rate of his labored gasps. He'd expended so much energy in the climb that he wasn't even sure how he had managed it. The sky above seemed to pulse in time as Shan sucked in air, streaks of grayish red piercing the mottled brown. Sweat matted his hair and stuck his shirt to his skin; his legs felt like a jelly, burning from the exertion. Not only did this world emanate such alien energies that he could not properly regulate within himself, the absence of proper sunlight (or whatever substituted for such) made him feel sluggish and over-drawn.

"You- you are quite- fast, friend Pretty Poison," Shan commented between his deep breaths. He inhaled a few more deep draws, feeling his pulse begin to normalize a bit. He peered over the edge of the wall, unable to see the ground they had left below; even so, the sky seemed none the closer to their position. The creatures that had attacked them were completely gone from sight. If any remained alive, he could not feel their presence. He felt a surge of relief at that, but it was tainted with an equal wave of regret of the part he'd played in their demise. As if lamenting with him, thunder crackled overhead, but no rain appeared in answer.

"What do we do now?" The monk peered around in either direction, but everything looked the same from his vantage point. He was far too tired to jump down or to resonate any more for the moment. He had expected to see something beyond the wall, some sign of the city that should lay in waiting, but not even the top of a spire could be found. "I see no other way down this side. Perhaps further along the wall? Or is there some way you know to access a port with stairs?"