An odd day at the very least; a day when the skies bellow with their thunderous threats of a lasting storm, and the quiet chirping of small birds carries on the wind even after the gryphons have taken to the safety of their roosts. A strange day further as tiny breaks in the clouds let beams of sunlight wash across the billowing plains. The tall grass, which tumbles like a tumultuous sea in the shadows of the storm, gleams like strips of waving gold as it heaves in and out of the sunlight. A single figure is visible in one of these warm patches, standing tall above the wild-grown plants.

How this figure became unto the plains is another story of interest, for an easy answer is not so easy to come by. During the howling of the winds and the crashing of the clouds, the sun cut its way past. When the light struck the ground, there was then a figure. Not an outline was visible before, nor a hint of the path he took to walk to that particular spot. He very well could have strolled into the plains during the storm, undetected during the chaos. As he stands so still, statuesque in a way, he very well could have sprouted from the very ground.

A dark, mud tone robe covers him completely, the edges fluttering violently with each push of the wind. His body remains completely unphased by the gusts, as though it was passing through him, or it was not strong enough to even hope to push him away. There he remains, the opening of his hood staring into the distance with complete apathy to the motion around him. In his right hand, a gnarled wooden staff is planted into the loose dirt below. It remains as unphased as he is, just standing, just watching.

A strange feeling purveyed the air. The clouds gathered in strange ways, letting beams of sunlight through in patches here and there. Illuminating the grassy feilds of the Debon Plains. Creatures were retreating to their places of sanctuary, knowledgable of the weather to come. A single traveller stood out like a sore thumb, moving amongst the winds and doing his best to keep from tumbling. Konahomaru had seen his fair share of nasty storms, as they often show up after a thourogh usage of his Lightning Blade. But the wind was a different story. The celestial was travelling to Kellen, away from the Ruins. He often made a stop in Kellen to visit the simple and kind people there before coninuing on.

There would be no way to outrun the storm. Kona was fast, but not fast enough, and he was in full gear as well. Another day and night spent under the rain. It didn't matter to him though, as thunder storms often made him feel comfortable for a strange reason. He had always had a bit of a current, which was clearly displayed in his aura. His bright, golden core and the white glow was accented by an occasional streak of blue electricity. Coming over a swell in the plain, rising to the rounded off crest of a now barely noticeable hill, Kona spotted a lone distant figure.

It seemed entirely unaffected by the wind gusts, which struck Kona as significant. Strong, seeming to carry some air of authority with his staff planted firmly into the ground. The earth-tone robes flowed in the wind, pointing the direction of it's travel. Konahomaru raised an eyebrow, as another gust attempted to push him over and onto his face. He braced and stayed erect. Was this person responsible for the storm? Possibly. Konahomaru was at odds whether or not to aproach him. He did not detect any evil...

Opting for confidence in his ability of self-defense, Konahomaru made his way towards the other person. Would he notice? If the figure did not pay heed to him, then he would continue as if the meeting had never occured...

A single flash of lightning scratched its way across the clouds before a booming crash of thunder rattled the world below. The deafening roar was only the crescendo to an already symphonic performance by the angry storm. The robed figure responded to the clamor by raising his left hand to the sky. As though he acted as conductor, the grass around him settled, and the winds ceased their howling. The world returned to a dim calm, spotted with sunlight, across a vast section of the Debon Plains. Off in the distance, the treeline of the forest shook with an unchanged attack by the wind. The clouds above quietly loomed while the faintest hints of thunder crept into earshot from distant skies. Nature continued its punishment, like an angry mother with a whipping swatch. She simply seeemed to be ignoring a large circle around this most strange figure.

The robe stopped licking the air and fell into the grass. The silhouette of the man did not shift, nor did the posistion of the staff. Only the single raised hand marked the transition from storm to eye of the storm. In the sunlight, pale skin could be seen from a distance. But, for those eyes preoccupied with the modest show of flesh, a larger act was to be missed.

The hood of the robe, that dark hole that hid a face, or perhaps a lack of face, continued to stare. In the emptyness of the Debon Plains, there was nothing to watch except the growth of the grass. There were no gryphons dancing in the sky, nor a herd of animals making their way from one stream to the next. In this direction, there was not but grass and the eventual cut of the horizon. But, out of nothing, came something. Just as the lone man standing in the plains had materialized without explanation, so did a strange glow. A half sphere began to grow and take on an ethereal existance. To those who had seen it before, they would recognize it as the Temple of Day. But it was not the Temple, just a strange, glowing figure of it. The lone form continued to stare, now at this memory of a structure.

He slowly lowered his left hand so that it was covered again by the plain and simple robes.

(OOC: Whee, I snagged an invite!)

Her closed eyes moved in a rapid succession of meaningless, almost spasmodic motions, sleep's hold upon the crumpled figure running deep. Vivid images flashed in her mind's eye and faded away faster than she could even notice them, and when she awoke they would be less than forgotten; indeed never recorded. As far as she knew, she was asleep and lost in a sea of nothingness. The imagery created by her firing neurons would mean little upon awaking, leaving her feeling as if she had simply not existed for countless hours. It was unknown how long she had laid there, or how long she would remain, but regardless of the length of time she would awaken tired and drained.

Though she was in the deepest stages of sleep, something made her stir slightly. Her eyes returned to a calmed state, and she became still once more. But the same could not be said of the world around her, and it wished to make her aware of that fact. She stirred again, bothered by something yet not wanting to relinquish the escape of sleep. "Go away..." she whispered in her sleep, her voice barely above that of a whisper. Yet she was master of nothing, and none would obey her. Again she stirred in agitation, conscious but hazy thoughts coming to her mind and slowly bringing her out of her present state. She felt the disturbance growing more persistent, but stubbornly clung to the idea that she could ignore it and continue sleeping. But always her efforts were in vain, and through the shadows that fogged her mind, she knew that she was no longer asleep when a clap of thunder startled her.

Slowly her eyes opened and she rolled onto her hands and knees with a groan. The wind was raging around her, tossing at her what little foliage there was. Sticks, leaves, grass, small rocks, each one taking its turn in lashing at her already worn body. Her vision was a blur, still glossed with sleep and exhaustion. She shifted her weight onto her left hand so that she might rub at her eyes with her right. A distressed sigh escaped her, the sunlight of the day burning at her pupils, causing them to constrict in an attempt to block out the harsh rays. Her mangled hair beat at her face and she looked bent over like a drunk that might be feeling the consequences of the previous night. Slowly she rose up so that she no longer rested on all fours, then wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Ever so slightly a shiver was noticeable, a forlorn look about her humble face as she looked abound the plains that surrounded her, so hopelessly lost.

Wincing, she looked up at the sun in the sky to judge the time. Daring to take a hand away from her meager efforts at staying warm, she shielded her eyes from sun and debris as best as she could. "Midday..." came her hoarse voice, though it was inaudible. Had she anything left to care for, she might have been embarrassed of the time, but it was of little consequence to her now. Clumsily she struggled to her feet, fighting just to stay standing because of the storm that tore at her with what she could only perceive as dull malice. She stumbled forward with no intent other than to wander until she was able to sleep again, no monologue in her mind. Only the dull observation of a world that had drained her very essence, leaving her struggling to survive.

Shudders ran through her frame, he body trying to preserve itself when she had not the will to try. Though there was no snow yet, it was in fact winter in the Debon Plains, and her few layers of robes were inadequate protection from the cool air. After some time spent walking, stopping only to tug at some scruffy plants so that she might eat their leaves, the clamor of thunder and wind lessened and came to an unnatural halt. Confused and apprehensive, she blinked several times and squinted into the distance. Though she did not notice, she had stopped shivering, having entered into a sunny pocket. As her eyes searched for some kind of meaning, her vision blurred hazily and she thought a glow streaked across her vision. Grinding her fists into her eyes, it was only seconds before she re-opened them and gasped, startled at the image in front of her. Almost terrified, she stood frozen in place, staring ahead of her at what she knew to be the Temple of Day.

She staggered backwards, clutching at her robes and blinking in confusion. Her head spun and she was frightened to hear her own internal monologue return. What is this trickery? But before she could interpret any meaning in the vision before her, it was gone, the image replaced with the backdrop of the planes. There was but a single disturbance in the natural setting, an almost familiar figure standing in the center of the clearing. "Surely I've gone mad," she muttered to herself, but she could not fight her intrigue. She stumbled forward once more, seeking the haunting figure. When in range at last, she called out to it. "Sargoth?"

It had only been an image; a spectacle conjured to help sooth old, burning eyes. The illusion of light playing in the air had been beautiful, but not as beautiful as the true temple had been. The structure had stood as a lone beacon of light in a world crowded by shadows. Even the long, stretching shade of dark times had been warded from the Debon Plains. A piercing beam cut through midnight skies and ravaging storms, unwaving and unphased by the currents of the world. Now, the structure was gone. No rubble, no trace, and even the grass had grown to match its surroundings. It was as if Imythess wished to forget entirely. And it may very well have succeeded.

The Guardian, creation of Laneer, child of the Elemental Primes and finally betrayer of the same powers, once God of Light, now stood silently in thought. Where he had gone and what he had seen, the questions in his life that had been answered and those that remained, all of the tribulations that tormented an immortal being, had been put aside for this moment. It was his chance to reflect on nothing more than a pleasent stroll. He could remember the journey from the plains to the entrance of his home. No evil could follow him into a place so pure, so untouched by the shadow. He remembered the beauty of the crafted walls and arched ceilings. After all, he was not the architect of the brilliant structure. It was a gift bestowed by the Light itself. He was simply caretaker and servant. But with the Temple gone, he was no longer its retainer. The light that once resided upon the grounds of Imythess had been sent away, and what little that was left crawled back into the God himself.

He had once been guided by this very same light; it was a warm feeling that pulsed in his chest and sent him down the righteous path. That warm feeling was gone now, a fleeting echo of what it had once been. Now it would only warm him in times of struggle and passion, when he loosened the chains on his own restraints. He feared that it was not the same warmth at all anymore, but it was rather a bastardization of his rage. That very same rage. The rage that almost killed Angredon.

From the ground at Sargoth's feet, a tiny figure bounced beneath the thick layer of grass. It yelped and snapped playfully at a small fly. The fly landed upon one blade of grass only to find itself next to a set of teeth; it would spin in circles and land on another blade, only to find the same fate. Angredon had been extremely playful and happy since his return to the material plane of Imythess. Sargoth had done nothing to stop this joy. The rustling had caused enough distraction that he looked down upon Angredon and watched the tiny spectacle below. From beneath the hood of his cloak, he smiled and closed his thunderous eyes. He was thankful, and would continue to be thankful, for the rest of his existence. The scar on Angredon's face was still visible, but well healed. The tiny pseudo-dragon was not blind; in fact, he could still compete with Sargoth's gaze. He owed a debt of gratitude to Lothlómendil, a long time friend.

Almost as if his thoughts had taken hold of him completely, a name carried on the wind. Sargoth. He recognized his own name. He had not been called for ages. The voice was familiar, if weaker on the wind than what he was used to. But who could the voice belong to; surely in his absence most mortals would have died. A tragic truth of immortality and its effect on traditional relationships. The voice echoed in his head repeatedly, stirring his thoughts. Angredon had no such troubles. With an exhuberant screech, the tiny pseudo-dragon sped toward the source of the noise. The grass almost seemed to split in half as the creature carelessly toppled forward. Sargoth could not doubt his friend. His voice crept out of the light around Lothlómendil.

Dear friend...

As the phrase faded into nothingness, the brown figure, staff and all, vanished from the horizon. It was only an instant before Sargoth had reappeared within three steps of his cherished friend. He stood tall and proud, as he always had done, and looked at her through his gape in his hood.

With a sweep of his free hand, his hood fell back to his neck, exposing a large smile. "It has been too long, Goddess," Sargoth teased.

Where before she had not a single thought, hundreds raced through her fretting mind as she made her way toward the tall figure, desperately seeking some kind of answer. Though the figure remained unmoved, she became aware of something rushing toward her at a very rapid pace. Her forward progress was interrupted by fear, for a moment consumed by the dreaded knowledge that she had foolishly mistaken an enemy for a friend, that her would-be opponent had taken advantage of her weakness by sending some unholy projectile toward her to snuff out her life before she could fight back. The terrible unknown assault struck her in the stomach and she stumbled backward as she had earlier, this time not of her own volition. Clutching at her stomach she was suddenly confused. This was not the handful of bloodied, tattered robes she expected. She wasn't even really in any pain. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them and again managed only to blink dumbly in reaction.

In her arms was an overjoyed bundle of limbs and tongues and scales that she could only assume was some small reptilian animal, dead set on licking at her face with its thick, somewhat pointy tongue. Confusion seemed to be all that she knew anymore, and she fended the harmless creature away from her face so she could look around for... "the figure." Did my eyes deceive me? She felt a panic in her stomach, wondering if she had missed what might have been her last opportunity to make contact with the only friendly face she could remember.

But it was only a brief moment before panic melted into wonder at the sound of a familiar voice in the air around her. Further, she was filled with relief when at last the familiar form of a guardian stood before her. She was beside herself, not even sure how to react at the moment. Pushing back his hood, he spoke in a bemused tone, addressing her by a long-since abandoned title. She might have winced at the memories this title brought her, but she was preoccupied with other thoughts. The heap of energy in her hands had calmed and became recognizable as a pseudo-dragon, and suddenly her memory hit her quite solidly. "Of course! This is our little friend," she said half-under her breath as she tried to remember his name.

She realized that the guardian was probably awaiting a response from her, perhaps wondering what could be floating across her mind and making her act slightly odd. "Forgive me, my friend, I have not been myself of late and my thoughts are scattered. It is good to see you alive and well. It has been far too long, I had feared you were gone forever," she said mournfully. "But I am afraid the title of goddess no longer fits, I am naught but a weary vagabond that wanders the planes. Please humor an old friend whose memory fails her, what is our little companion's name?" As she awaited his reply, a passing thought of her appearance came to mind and realization slowly crept upon her that she might look more than a wreck.

Angredon took no heed to the repeated attempts at stopping his onslaught. It had been too long. Too long since he had last seen his salvation. Too long since he had seen one of the last recognizeable faces on Imythess. Too long since he had seen a good playmate and friend. Other than Sargoth. The small beast settled only slightly after he had given his damp greetings, and contented himself to running around and over Lothlómendil without a single consideration for her comfort. However, even given the obvious annoyance of Angredon's actions, it was difficult to hold any harsh feelings toward the still nascant creature. With each scaled footmark and sheepish attempt to wrap himself over both of Lothlómendil's shoulders, there was an obvious smirk; as far as reptilian smirks go, of course. One of those faint smiles that are often attributed to animal faces; except this time, the superficial personification seemed required. There was hardly a doubt that the curved lizard's lips were drawn back for joy, and joy alone. The faint squeals, chirps, and growls only provided further evidence. What had once been considered an unholy bolt was quite the opposite. Angredon, if for the sake of his nature alone, was still the epitome of innocence. He was still a baby, as far as a dragon would be scaled against the passage of time, but even from birth he had not lost the carefree spark that still flashed behind his eyes. It would be unnatural and tragic for the spark ever flee the tiny body that continued to tumble and weave around his old friend. Sargoth was distracted for a short silence while he watched yet another spectacle inspired by the pseudo-dragon. It was one of life's curiosities that he never seemed to grow tired of observing. Perhaps that's why Sargoth cared more deeply for the creature than for himself.

"Angredon," Sargoth stated from behind his smirk. He continued, this time with a more commanding tone, "Angredon, cease your fumbling! You're being a nuisance!"

Angredon obeyed with a quick chirp, taking the oppurtunity to slather his tongue one last time across Lothlómendil's face. Even if the woman no longer proclaimed herself to be a goddess, Angredon seemed to find no difference in the taste of her cheek. But of course, it was this statement that brought a sense of confusion to Sargoth's expression. He pondered what she had meant when she said she was nothing but a vagabond while Angredon practically skipped to Sargoth's side. The guardian did not truly recognize that his small companion had chirped again in obedience and was looking at him for more instruction.

It indeed appeared to be true. The flux of magic surrounding Lothlómendil was not quite right. The thick roots of immortality, and the beaming flashes of the magics commanded by her, were no longer raging like a sea. It was true that even Sargoth's own magical aura had been altered and changed, but it was still apparent. Lothlómendil's seemed to be bottled up and kept away from the world. He could not fathom the concept that all of that power had been lost, but at the very least, it was now hidden within her core; it was too deep to see, too deep to directly interact with the world magics around it. A frail image was left in its wake; but never would he doubt the woman's integrity and power.

"You shall always be my Goddess of Magic. My vows remain and are renewed as I step upon this plane of Imythess. Vagabond only in your mind," Sargoth explained gently. His speech resembled common tongue more and more directly as the guardian aged. "But, I pray, never in your heart."

The wind seemed chilled as Lothlómendil fought from shivering. Her appearance seemed so chaotic; it was so different from the ornate beauty bestowed by the immortality of goddessess. She was still the gorgeous figure that had stood by Sargoth in the past, but now it was tainted by thin layers of dust and the occassional length of dead grass. Her robes no longer flowed quietly upon the currents of magical energy, but were instead tossed by common wind. Still Lothlómendil, but without the false looking glass that had been gifted to her. Still the same friend. Angredon nipped playfully at a tattered piece of Sargoth's cloak as he lifted it off of his shoulders and stepped forward to the vagabond of a goddess. With an outstretched hand, he offered the thick fabric to her, with an expression he had experience in giving; an expression that meant he did not intend on the offer being turned down.

Beneath his robe, he wore only the most modest in clothing. A white tunic with laced front and slightly billowing sleeves covered a pair of hide pants. His belt was no more than a strip of leather, tied as though he were a peasant. There was no trace of his wings, nor any remnant of the hole that once housed the Seed of Power. The marble tint of his skin, artisan crafted muscles, and thunderous eyes were all that remained of the God of Light. But there was something different. Something just enough out of place. An indescript nothing that would make the mind wonder what it was missing.

"My lady, please, put this on so that the wind does not clutch at your body with such ease," he requested, drawing attention to the cloak.

A smile spread slowly across the gentle face that peered down at the exuberant pseudo-dragon. "Yes, Angredon... I know it now as if it had never been forgotten." While the small creature fussed in her grasp in an attempt to climb about her weary shoulders, she gently ran a finger down the small scar on his face, causing him to nibble at her before she pulled it back with the slightest of upturned lips that almost resembled the formation of a smile. Through the fog of her patchy memory, she remembered a great battle. Was there fire among the great surges of uncontrolled energy? Trees, a storm, a man lurking in the shadows of her mind. What of these memories was real, and which of the vague images were fabricated? And too she remembered looking down at this small creature, weak in her hold and fading from the world. Was is her own will that had spared him? Had she spoken a long-since forgotten incantation that held the power to replenish his small body? She fought to remember such words, and felt a pain in her forehead, causing her to furrow her brow. She felt a familiar prickle in the air that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but the sensation faded away with her ache and the whisper of arcane words that sought to resurface in her mind vanished.

But the thoughts that swirled through the vast tomes of her tucked away memories existed for what only translated into a fleeting moment in the physical world. Angredon was called back so that she may have a moment in which to feel some peace and gather herself. With a gentle pat, she let him jump free of her and return to Sargoth's side where he anxiously awaited order or attention. A faithful companion he was, and she felt a sense of longing for such friendship. An image flashed through her mind, triggered by the desire; glossy, black wings and strong muscles that worked in a rhythmic motion, the sound of hoof beats. Like so much of the things she had not yet begun to fully remember, this too was re-filed in the back of her mind as her attention became focused once more on the words of her friend.

They were kind words, and they brought a rosy shade of red to her cheeks. Cheeks that had been freshly cleaned by the affections of a certain familiar that still squirmed restlessly with anticipation of attention. She too could not hold still, but for an entirely different reason all together. She gripped her robes around her tighter as the chill air caused her to shiver again. "Your words are too gracious, and they humble me." She lingered on what he had said about her heart, daring to reflect upon her own feelings for a brief moment. Now that she was receiving socialization once more she was steadily becoming more aware of herself as a person, remembering that she was a being with thoughts and emotions, not a wild animal that roamed the planes of existence without purpose, without need or want. "What has become of me?" she thought to herself with shame, her consciousness emerging from the murky waters under which it had drowned.

A caring hand extended a gesture toward her, bearing forth the simple gift of a robe to drape across her slender shoulders. It was astounding how much such a simple gesture can mean, how much different the world felt when filled with kindness. Stepping and turning to let the thick cloth cover her, she allowed him to give his gift. Though it was suited to fit the guardian before her with perfection, the garment was quite large on her delicate frame. But this was of no consequence to anyone present, and any such thoughts of appearances did not occur in the fallen goddess' mind.

With the warmth of the cloak came a sudden and peculiar desire that she had almost forgotten existed. A thought played across her mind of hot soup, thick, creamy, and delicious. The kind that filled the stomach and soothed the soul. Oh how greatly she now longed to taste such a dish, feel the comfort that came on such a moment. She remembered that even when her body did not require it, she greatly enjoyed the pleasures of food. This was the first piece of her old life to begin returning to her, and she doubted it would have done so without encouragement from the kindness of those in her present company. "My gratitude is yours, dear friend, a thousand times over. Yet the cold is not the only trouble that clutches at me with its bony fingers." Her thoughts stirred again, lingering on the fantasy of hot soup. A low growl issued from her empty stomach.

(OOC: 'Tis not proof read very well, but I must sleep. <3)

Sargoth closed his eyes and let a faint smile creep onto his lips as Lothlómendil attempted to make the robe fit even moderately well to her figure. The robe had been large enough to lay unobtrusively over the guardian's shoulders, so his old friend almost seemed lost in the fabric. He could now feel the air against his body as it easily entered his loose tunic. The smile lingered as his mind reflected. Thoughts of the past wandered from his memory to the front of his mind. Good memories of laughter. Memories of his first encounters with the Goddess of Magic. The smile did not fade as Lothlómendil explained that not all of her troubles had been chased away by Sargoth's offer of warmth.

He couldn't remember if they had ever found that peculiar mushroom.

With what seemed like a slow effort, he opened his eyes once again. It almost seemed like he had been escaping a dream. The lightning in his eyes, that raging storm that would burn as eternally as the statue's life, almost seemed missing for the first few moments. The bolts began to flash again, more and more frequently, until they appeared as normal. At least, as normal as could be expected for such a peculiar feature. He regarded Lothlómendil with the same smile and nodded.

"I appreciate your gratitude; however, you may save it until your problems have fallen away from you," Sargoth offered, "I shall see to you until you are settled." Angredon chirped happily.

With a second nod, Sargoth intended to keep to his word. The stubbornness of an immortal is nothing to trifle with. The stubbornness of a guardian was sometimes worse. As he had been built to do by Laneer, he would serve, protect, and provide companionship. It was only by misfortune and then fortune that allowed Sargoth to make his own decision as to whom he would provide these services. Sargoth owed Lothlómendil for his freedom and his life. He owed Lothlómendil for the life of Angredon. She had provided so many gifts, such large gifts, that he could do nothing but provide everything for her. Even if it was outside of his power. At the least, he could see to whatever was on Lothlómendil's mind. Angredon had taken a much more simple approach to the situation. The stunted dragon wanted to play with his good friend. He would stoop to whining and calling out weak chirps of sadness if she wished to leave sooner than he liked. Angredon was well aware of how powerfully cute he could be. Sargoth had even broken down to it before, but he would never admit to it.

A bound and a leap and Angredon was almost back on Lothlómendil's lap, but he stopped at the last moment and looked at the goddess with what appeared to be awe. In fact, something had definately changed. Angredon made no movements and just stared, his lizard tongue moving in and out slowly. With a blink, the creature turned his head upward and back, toward Sargoth, to see what had happened. Angredon chirped cheerfully again as he looked at his master, finally with a sense of understanding.

Sargoth reached out with his hand to take Lothlómendil's. What had been a white tunic was now an ornate dublette with white trim. His hide pants were replaced with formal silks of white that matched the coat. A gold chain belt covered the outfit, and the cuffs of his long sleeves were embroidered with intricate patterns in gold. It was one of Sargoth's more common outfits when he was handling business in the Temple of Day. With such a dramatic shift of attire, some description of beauty would only be appropriate. However, given the guardian's current company, he looked like a pauper in comparison.

Angredon had stopped to stare out at the uniquely gorgeous sight that appeared. Lothlómendil had been changed. Her face was washed, and her hands had been cleaned. The heavy baggage of a troubled sleep was swept from her eyes. The robe was missing. Instead, the once ocean of brown fabric, as well as the tattered bits of clothing beneath, had been replaced with a dress that would make the queens of the world jealous. A white overbust corset, with exquisite gold embroidery and grommets, accented the goddesses figure. From beneath, a white silk dress fell to the ground. The material was light and flowed like a river in even the lightest of wind. She too wore long sleeves, like Sargoth, but instead of decorative cuffs, fine strings of knitted gold dangled loosely from the wrist back up to the top of the corset lacing. The sleeves themselves were comfortably tight around the wrists, but showed off the flow of the fabric as they draped down about mid arm. Above all, somehow the outfit provided just as much warmth as Sargoth's brown robe.

Angredon tensed up and shook off his surprise as a tiny hat appeared on his head. It fit his reptilian skull well, as difficult a task as that was. More important to the little dragon, a silk tassel hung down from it, just long enough to move back and forth across his mouth. He chirped and snapped at his new toy. A small insurance gift to make sure Angredon did not get bored and jump on Lothlómendil's new clothes.

Sargoth could not hide his mischievious grin as he held out his hand to Lothlómendil. It was all a small gift to try and soothe her mind. "Take my hand, my Goddess. We risk our clothing in this grass," he mentioned playfully. In almost a whisper, he added, "I hope you like it, I'm not good with women's fashion."

Smiling at her dear friend, her face shone with gratitude for his never-ending kindness. They had traveled so far together over the course of the years, even to the edges of reality itself. And always they found a way to take the time for enjoying a calming walk in the sun, seeking council and aid from one another. He was her truest and oldest friend, by her side even through the weathers of passing time. She could not think of another for whom she could say the same, and it put her at ease now to walk with him once more. There came a flooding relief of calm assurance, replacing the animalistic tension of awareness that she had born of late. She was safe now, her long period of wild roaming drawn to a close that only peace of mind could bring. She had needed a friend more sorely than she knew.

Taking his offered hand, she felt a soothing warmth spread over her body. Then came the gentle scent of flowers, and it surrounded her. Such a pure aroma, a vast improvement over the scent of skin and earth to which she had grown accustomed. From where did it come? The wind gently roused her hair and she saw that it was no longer matted, it was instead smooth and shining in the light of day as strands danced on the soft breeze. She realized that it was her hair that smelled of flowers, and her skin and clothes. Glancing down, she laughed merrily. Somehow he had changed her, cleansed her and transformed her ragged garb into beautiful white and gold vestments of finely-woven silk. It had been too long since she felt the smooth material caress her skin, the comfort they gave was so nourishing.

Also noticing Angredon's amusing hat, she laughed again, answering the guardian's comment. "It is beautiful, Sargoth. I couldn't have found or ordered anything its equal in magnificence in the whole of Taras." She hugged him briefly, then stood back to admire her dress, twirling in a circle like a young girl, watching the fabric sway and shine pleasantly in the sunlight. Indeed, her smile was now more radiant than it had been before. Exhaustion ebbed away from her, energy once sapped out of her now flowing through her veins with vigor. It seemed that color had returned to her pale cheeks, she was already regaining her former presence. She could only hope that with it would come recollection of the greatness she once wielded, a reconnection to her arcane essence that had filled her with power in ages past.

A thought turned over in her mind, a vision of the bustling city of Taras. Particularly the central market strip where there were many merchants and eateries, fine foods with which to indulge oneself. Her hunger was not forgotten, and she puzzled. They were nowhere near the great city, and for a moment her face reflected thought, biting her lower lip. "Let us leave this place, and find sustenance. I wish to see the great wonders of men and their cities again. I worry only that it may take a long, tiring walk through less than desirable conditions in order to reach the closest city, and I am famished." Uncertainty clouded her face, the ever-changing reflection of her thoughts and feelings. She looked up at him, searching his face, hoping he might have an answer.

Good, he had done well. The hug was well recieved, as awkward as the act was for him.

Sargoth dipped his head as a smile of amusement crossed his face. His ward was spinning. She seemed to be perfectly content with such a childish act as she twirled among the long grass stems. The plains seemed to open up beneath her so that her dress could billow open and make her smile. Perhaps she had some magic left after all. Of course, Sargoth's thoughts were quickly distracted from the spectacle before him and refocused on something more personal. He was smiling. It was an act he had rarely commited to in the past. It was unnatural for a Guardian to smile. Now, within the short while that he had spent with Lothlómendil, he had been urged to smile several times. Emotion was unnatural. Almost as astounding as the single teardrop that once crawled down his cheek, the feeling of his cheeks stretching back was unique. He pondered whether it was Laneer's brilliance that allowed Sargoth to feel the tugging threads of emotion, or perhaps the doing of the elemental primes. After all, rage, love, and compassion were useful for keeping a protector under control. He had never truly experienced fear. With the little time he spent on the topic, he never fathomed the idea that maybe he was the one responsible for his own emotions. That would just be unnatural. Absolutely unheard of for a walking statue.

Angredon lost track of his new toy momentarily and began to bounce up and down near Lothlómendil, nipping playfully at the twirling fabric. Luckily, Sargoth's plan began to work again, and the tassle fell across Angredon's eyes as he hopped. He became distracted again and continued to nip, but this time away from the dress.

Sargoth was almost startled when Lothlómendil spoke again. He had let himself become swept up in his own thoughts for too long. She seemed unsure of herself as she spoke of great cities and, more specifically, of food. It was unusual to see such insecurity in Lothlómendil, who would control a room with a single smile on previous encounters. Something had happened; something was wrong with his friend. However, in light of her words, he was torn by a problem closer at hand. She would need food. While Sargoth did not eat by requirement, he did sometimes enjoy the sensation of food. Therefore, he was contented to find a compromise.

"Yes, a long walk indeed, though I believe we will find refuge in a town before a city. I only wonder if my memory holds, lest we become lost on our way," he commented. His large hand pointed toward the tree line in the distance. "Let us enjoy the game of the hunt, and we shall eat."
He smiled once again at Lothlómendil, hoping to convey his decision properly. She was hungry, and she would be fed. At the same time, maybe he could convince her to cheer up a little by hunting her own food. He had watched many a huntsman lighten his mind after a successful game.

"Besides, I think we might find shelter on the way. The skies have been punishing today," he added, glancing around the horizon to see the remainder of the thunder storm. "Everything seems darker these days. I cannot help but miss the Temple right now. Imythess benefitted from its beautiful light."

Hunting for our dinner? She hadn't even thought about hunting, and almost laughed at how its simplicity had escaped her. A cut of deer meat was no cheesy potato soup, but it was nourishing as well as an opportunity to enjoy the sport of a hunt. It was a game of skill in which she had not participated for quite some time, but the thought stirred something in her. The memory of silently staring down the shaft of an arrow as she lay in wait, fingers itching as she watched for the perfect opportunity to release their hold. It seemed that at every word from her dear friend, a little of her sanity and much-needed vitality was restored to her. "Yes, I think hunting would be fun," she said with a thoughtful expression. "And after we have eaten we, or at least I," she said with a knowing glance toward the guardian whom she knew did not require sustenance as she did, "will have enough energy to last the voyage to town."

They could sup, then travel until they reached a city. What would they do then? She wondered if they would part ways, or adventure further through the newly wild and overgrown regions of Imythess. If they did depart, what would she do? She had no goals to meet, no responsibilities, she had virtually dropped off of the face of Chaon and didn't know what she had left to accomplish. Perhaps she would visit her old temple grounds, try and piece herself back together. Thoughts floated by of the scenery there, what it was like during her reign. The long, luxurious walk from the bridge to the front doors, the immaculate courtyard. The looming statue that watched over the temple, visible after passing through the main entrance. The statue was no mere sculpture, but rather a remnant of a life-altering event she had undergone with the same stony face that stood before her now. In fact, it was more of a revelation for him that it was for her, but they had made the trip together and neither of them could have survived without the other. What had become of that statue? Very upset she would be to find it had fallen to ruin as the rest of her temple must have surely done. Indeed, it may very well be time for her to return to her former home.

And him? She looked up at him again with a question on her face, but none from her mouth. Where would he go and what would he do? In fact, where had he been? She supposed they would have time to discuss that at length until they reached the closest village. Their journey might take more time than expected anyhow, depending on the weather and who or what they encountered on the way.

Then Sargoth mentioned the darkness. Times were strange these days, and the balance within the land of Imythess was in a state of uncertainty. Only now it occurred to her that there may be no one at the helm of this land, that it was careening into the hands of chaos. Or worse, perhaps someone had taken charge, and was steering them down a path of horror. "The world has changed so much since our time," she started. "It is a different place than the home we once knew. The great warriors of old have waxed and waned in their greatness and are no more. For a time I suffered, my immortality only allowing me to watch all around me the deaths of everyone I knew. Even you disappeared, and I was alone. Tell me, where have your journeys taken you? You can regale me with tales as we look for deer or rabbits for our lunch." She smiled as she began to walk toward the distant trees he had pointed to, Angredon trotting at her side while she listened eagerly to what he might have to say. She also kept an eye out for more delectable roots, leaves, nuts, and berries for them to have with their meal.

Sargoth turned to follow his charge, and within a few steps he had gained enough ground to be at her side. The grass was thick, but not nearly so thick to stop his heavy feet from plowing through them. Angredon preferred a different approach as he bounced up and down, making tiny divits in the plains. Apparently, the grass tickled his belly when he did that.

"I don't believe there is anything to regale," Sargoth stated coldly as he readjusted the hood on his head. His next few steps seemed over pronounced as he gained a little distance on Lothlómendil.

Sargoth was distant for a moment as his thoughts turned to where he had been. What little he could remember of where he had traveled. A series of sad events, one after the other, and general disapointment as the overtone, marked the symphony of darkness that had haunted him. Imythess, although marred by shadows and teetering on the edge of chaos, seemed like a bright hope in comparison. He almost found himself stepping into the nearest beam of sunlight to escape the memories, maybe to find some pristine remnant of a peaceful life where he could forget.

But then, the woman at his side was all that he knew. She was that pristine remnant that he had sought out. Should he run from her, where would he go? Immortality, a rash that won't go away. In that form, the immortal was the rash of the world. Sargoth sometimes cursed his own life. Regardless of his internal struggle, he had still been blessed with friends, both Lothlómendil and Angredon. Angredon had seen the horrors that Sargoth had seen, and had felt as terrible as he had felt. It felt nice to have someone to share words and thoughts with, even if the tiny pseudo-dragon had not yet learned to speak. Maybe sometime soon, but not soon enough to assuage Sargoth's mind.

He watched the tree line slowly grow closer, although he had not taken many steps at all since he tried to move in front of Lothlómendil. Rolling hills had that illusion on many. The upward and downward track always pushed or pulled the horizon from the eyes. He decided to try talking to his old friend, hopefully to an end more productive than just upsetting her.

"My travels were long, and they were far. Farther than the restraints of this land. The chaos upon Imythess, this plague that you see torturing this whole world, is but a taste of the bitter truth. Perhaps it is just starting to seep in to this world, or perhaps the free will of the people help empower the basic tendency toward kindness, at least for a short while," Sargoth summarized bluntly.

"Even the elemental planes, those that tended toward benevolence, are warped and skewed. The most docile creatures have been shaped and cut for violence, or those that could not adapt, appear to be missing. I can only fathom the dangers that would arise if those abominations found themselves a part of this world," he continued, almost wrapped up in the thoughts. "While I could not find a path to some of the darker realms, I would assume that these changes are welcomed there."

Sargoth looked at Lothlómendil, still enjoying the beautiful dress that she was wearing. She too seemed phased by the events of late. He had only wished that she had accompanied him on his many travels, though maybe it was for the best that he had been with only Angredon. He had to move quickly, and he had found it necessary to act in some twisted ways to survive some of the worlds he came across.

"Now tell me, do you want me to continue? The stories can only get worse. Or perhaps you would like to tell me of the events I missed upon Imythess in my absence?" Sargoth offered, in an attempt to let Lothlómendil live without hearing a terrible truth.

Together they walked for only a brief moment before Sargoth's stride lengthened and he moved ahead of her. He paused, seemingly lost in bitter memories, and she softened with sympathy for his untold suffering. But she would not let him keep his distance. She went to him and gently placed a hand upon his broad shoulder, giving him a consoling look. Yet she spoke not. Words were not necessary to convey the meaning behind her knowing expression. They resumed their walk, slowly this time while he resigned to telling her some of what he had seen in his absence from Imythess. It was not a hopeful tale, and he asked her if she wished to hear more. She almost smiled at how he seemed to feel that she needed protection from knowledge of the evils lurking about the multiverse.

"Ah, I did not expect your travels to be easy. But I am grateful you had a friendly companion at your side," she said as she quickly stroked her hand across Angredon's bouncing back. He was hard to lay a hand on in his excitement, but she managed. "I am no stranger to the darkness that has come to taint the planes of existence. One of my last acts as protector of Imythess was a futile attempt to produce a magic strong enough to sustain a barrier that would keep us safe. Such foolishness may be what weakened me to my final breaking point," she said thoughtfully. In retrospect, she should have known better than to believe she could master destiny, that a single being was able to foresee and prevent all tragedies.

"But yes, the passing of time has left bitterness upon Imythess. Our great leader Laoura has been lost to us, perhaps forever. Nothing has been the same since then. I was not able to sustain this land in her absence, it was on my watch that devastation struck. So many lives lost... And now Veronna tries her hand. Deities have risen and fallen, heroes come and gone." Lothlómendil sighed heavily, feeling the regret of her failures. She wished things had been different, but time and fate were cruel masters.

"I cannot think of more to tell. Perhaps the land has been slowly mending itself since my fall from grace, but it did not ease my conscience. The nomadic state in which you found me was a punishment of my own design." And at once she grew tired of her helplessness, firming her jaw with resolve. "But no, that time is over now. All is not spent, there is more for me here." The wind around her blew a little more strongly, a glimmer of her former immortal power subconsciously revealing itself. It caused gentle ripples in the folds of her silken dress and stirred her hair in an other-worldly fashion. She looked to Sargoth, wondering if he would remain a part of this destiny, or if he was meant only to re-awaken her before departing once more for the unknown. Whole-heartedly she hoped that she would no longer drift through the sands of time alone; eternity could be such a forlorn place. Of all the beings she had encountered, who else could be as close to her as he? He who was made of stone at the hands of another, yet managed to become his own. He was unique, remarkable, and there would be no other like him to cross her path despite having eternity to walk it.

"Please, tell me more of what has happened to you and where you wish to go from here," she asked in a whisper. She cared to know and understand, despite how unpleasant his ordeals had been, and she was not afraid of what she might learn.

(OOC: Wow, that was quite a lot of dialog. 0_0)

Imythess had been rattled more violently than he had expected. He had left the plane seeking a way to prevent untold horrors from taking claw into the flesh of Chaon, but in his haste he had taken away his own powers to stop the evils. It then fell upon others to strike back and hold the world together. He did not envy their duty. As he walked, Lothlómendil beside him carrying the conversation, he listened and imagined what the world had been like while he was away. He could not imagine the loss of Laoura. Her power and compassion had been so full of fervor that he somehow knew that she would outlast them all. He had been direly wrong. So too had he almost returned to a world without Lothlómendil. He glanced to her, noticing some of her immortal power washing through her hair. While he had not expected to encounter her upon his return, he assumed she would be safe somewhere. Instead, he found her in the Debon Plains, not far from the site of his old temple. It was a curious irony. Angredon's thoughts were not as heavy. He continued to bounce and play, making sure to be as much of a nuisance to Lothlómendil's walking as he could. Sargoth did not know if Angredon would have ever realized that Lothlómendil was gone, but he knew he would never have seen the tiny dragon playing so happily with someone again.

Soon, Lothlómendil had finished speaking. The tree line had grown more prominent in the distance, but there was still a long trek ahead. For some reason, Sargoth was content to walk. It was a good feeling to trod atop the land without aid of magic. It was a feeling he had to do without while journeying to the outer planes, where the ground was as deadly as the inhabitants.

"I have forsaken Light. The hole left in my chest has been a void ever since. Only my vision to see Imythess as a peaceful and bright world has kept it from filling with shadows. So, I have been moving forward toward that dream in fear that I may lose my way if I stop. I am tortured, even if it is my own doing," Sargoth responded bluntly, his deep voice rumbling the sincerity behind his words.

The storm clouds were still threatening to pour down as they moved closer overhead. Distant lightning matched the bolts that crackled behind Sargoth's eyes.

"Since I have returned to Imythess, I seem to be lost. The answers I could find were never enough to provide the final solution. I wish to continue moving forward, continuing my search, but on Imythess, my home. I feel I must regain my strength even without the aid of the Light inside of me. If I cannot stop the terrors from arriving, I will have to do my best to fight them when they come."