Chapter Thirty

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Walking through the throngs of elaborately dressed Ak-Wo, Pligal, Dorn, and the patchers all gazed wildly at their surroundings. Each taking in a specific nuance, observing how others watched them move within their city. Clearly foreigners, to the denizens of Reyopa, the group seemed to unnerve the crowds as they allowed a great space to move freely while they closed the distance with one another. Their orbs dancing nervously amongst the crew, lingering for many moments upon Dorn.

Dorn, the massive Eron. His frame casting wide shadows upon the inhabitants of this land, his size far greater than most in this land. Throughout the wrappings of interwoven fabrics, Pligal saw their biolight flicker nervously as he neared while calming, once he walked away. Favoring, his right foot as the other was recently stabbed by the small summoner of the Vior, Dorn limped towards their unknown destination, splattering small specks of life-fluid with each step. Dabs of fluid, caking up blue, purple, yellow, and a swell of golden dust into the fluid.


In his mind, Dorn watched the area around him, the new metropolis unfolding before him. Each nuance profoundly exposed before him his insignificance within the land. The vision of the plains of Nasfa, the beautiful light emitting, radiating, dancing melodically, calmly, eagerly exposing their desire to connect, and now this land. Here, he saw through his wide orbs, the elegance, the regality, and the energy within Reyopa consumed him.


"Simply marvelous. The gods truly inspired these structures." Dorn thought as his mind ignored the lingering pain on the pad of his foot.


Moving forward, as Pligal and the patchers surrounded him, taking in the views of the marvelous city. Dorn allowed his comrades to direct his path as he let his mind float. Every inch of this land, he absorbed into his mind, painting the glistening obelisks, the mountain peaks cradling, yet protecting the land as the peaks shimmered with inhabitants, Dorn assumed, made to watch over the lands from distant enemies.


Walking for many moments, in silence as the group silently observed the new land, Dorn noticed much of the denizens shifted from bustling individuals to a lighter flow. Five obelisks shorter than surrounding structures circled a large purple mound of soil speckled with translucent stones. As they neared the circle, Dorn felt his scales throb slightly.


"Fascinating structures. What are those stones?" Dorn thought to himself as his mind continued to float.


Bumping into Pligal, Dorn's attention shifted quickly before him to their escort. The short Reyopan stood poised their orbs fixating upon Dorn, while ignoring Pligal and the patchers. Gesturing towards a nearby tower, shifting his attention towards the point their talon, Dorn stood astonished. Amidst steps leading to one of the obelisks, a multitude of individuals wearing seafoam green wraps, marked with the brand of the Vior, adorned with black streaks stood regimented, quiet, ready for Dorn.


Turning to Dorn, Pligal watched as the behemoth of an Eron remained in place. His bio light pattered as it betrayed his feelings, unkempt, raw, and unsure. After a few moments, Pligal reached out toward Dorn to rouse him. Before his talon could reach Dorn, he moved toward the regiment of Reyopans.


As he neared, the regiment shuffled collectively, marching in place, they parted as a sole figure wrapped in a canary yellow wrapping, nearly the color of their scales walked forward. Their bio light steady, centered around the scales of their orbs, they fixated upon the giant Eron. Fixated, driven, they closed the distance.


Mere moments away from Dorn, they stopped with their bio light intensifying, spreading to their crown, radiating brilliantly through the terra god's light. Shifting his gaze away from the beacon, beaming brightly, hurting his orbs, Dorn turned to see the others shielding their vision, groaning audibly.
"Come, Dorn." He heard close behind him. A seywaw's voice, commanding, yet sweet beckoning, enveloping him.


His scales going rigid, inflexible, stone-like, slowly turning to the sound, Dorn observed the Reyopan a breath away from him, their bio light decreased in intensity, their gaze sharp, fierce yet kind. Dorn's bio luminesces strobed wildly betraying his feelings.


"Cursed....cursed. How have I allowed one to close the distance without noticing?" Dorn's mind swam he continued to consider this while his luminescence danced melodiously, unnerved by the presence of this intruder.

"Do not fear me. I offer nothing but aid and support. No harm will come to you in my presence." The unknown Reyopan seywaw of the Vior said.

Moving around to face him, her face remained cool, impassive, yet welcoming. One whose orbs measured each portion of his frame, taking in each nuance, each flicker of his light as well as the stoic determination etched upon his face scales. Nearly imperceptibly, Dorn moved backward as the Vior leaned into his space, continuing to measure the massive Dorn.

Forcing himself to calm, Dorn watched intently as the Reyopan measured him. Their obs passed over each other before finally resting upon their jointed gaze. Maintaining it for many moments, their light seemed to sync as Pligal and the patchers quieted, watching carefully at this unknown spectacle.

As he gazed upon Dorn, Pligal noticed his orbs become glossy, unfocused. Stepping closer to him, he reached out with his talon to rouse the large Eron. Nearly to Dorn's scales, Pligal noticed an odd sensation, as well as an overwhelming urge to pull his arm away. Carefully listening to this instinct, Pligal watched as a blur passed over the area his arm resided mere moments before.

His orbs wide in amazement, Pligal turned to the attacker before thinking, "She is much faster than she appears." as his orbs met the side gaze of the Vior in front of Dorn.

Remaining in place, she stood unmoved, her wrappings remaining tightly woven around her. Her body and clothing unable to betray her movements. Pligal's confusion etched over his face as he struggled to understand what transpired.

Reaching out to Dorn, the seywaw Vior touched the right side of his face. A lingering intimate touch, one of the matriarchs passing their feelings to their hatchlings. Dorn flinched as she caressed his cheek. Looking down at her, he stepped backward, nearly toppling one of the patchers lingering closely to him.

After regaining his foothold, Dorn said suspiciously, "What do you want of me? I see you have the ability to enact some sort of trance upon my mind. I was slave to it for a time." Standing fully now, straightening his back, puffing out his chest, Dorn continued, "However, I see through that method. If others interrupt it, you cannot take hold. Also, you need me to willingly meet your gaze. Is that correct?" Dorn inquired.

Smiling widely, the Vior exposed her sharp teeth, yellowed after many cycles of life. Returning to the group of Vior who ushered the pathway to an obelisk, she continued until she reached the group before turning back, beckoning him with a gesture. Before responding, Dorn equally gestured towards Pligal and the patchers as the Vior gave a deep nod of acceptance. This day, he would not be separated from his comrades. No, that time would soon come.

---

As they entered the obelisk, flanked by the large group of Vior, Pligal watched as Dorn took in the surroundings, absorbing them as the harsh plains absorbing the first fall of crimson. The further he moved into the his structure, as plasma, contained in what seemed like invisible orbs, yet solid, contained small specks of the light source. Radiating only light and omitting heat, these marvels speckled the building, illuminating the walkways.

Pligal marveled at these pinpricks of light. In Duidon, the land of the Erons, Pligal accepted their way of life without much thought. Unknowingly accepting the old ways, the ways of his ancestors, Pligal never considered that other clans lived differently. Here in this place, all was different, everything yielded insight about the future of their ways.

However, despite the regality present in this land, the wrappings of the Reyopans, so intricate, so beautiful, one could weep at the mere presence of such fabrics, as well as the structures that threatened to reach the heavens, one spectacle forced Pligal's attention.

Dorn. The zes who exhibited such profound abilities as well as an aptitude for prodigious thoughts. Here, the large framed one seemed content, at peace. His face impassive, his mind racing, his biolight calm, focused. Pligal never saw this in his fellow legionnaire, yet loved seeing his friend, his comrade in a place he seemed to belong.

Nearing the end of hallway, a silver wall expressed an impasse. Reflective, the group saw the images pressed behind them. The closer to the silver wall, they appeared sharp yet the farther an object moved away from it, distortion set in. Warped images of Ak-Wo stretched far in the reflection. A ghastly sight to the patchers who began reciting prayers to ward off the seemingly malevolent forces. The Viors watched the patchers self-soothe through prayer nonjudgmentally as Pligal did the same. His journey away from the spiritual realm exhausted, he envied the seywaw form their comfort in the power of the ancestors as a pang lingered in his abdomen, a reminder of what he lost entirely.

The Vior guiding them placed a single talon against the silver illuminating a small panel of figures. Tapping at an unknown pattern, Pligal and Dorn watched carefully as the two absorbed each sequence.

After finishing her tapping, the Vior glanced sharply back at Pligal. Their orbs fierce, they seemed to measure this young Eron for some unknown reason. Remaining calm, Pligal met her gaze without yielding. Her light passed briefly around her orbs and then her crown as before with Dorn, yet nothing transpired. Pligal remained aware of her stare as something else caught his attention.

With his mouth slowly gaping, Pligal watched as a door frame opened next to where the Vior tapped. A dark room, unclear from the view of it, Pligal made to step forward before two talons wrapped themselves around his arms. Immobilized, Pligal turned his attention to the seywaw, once more before attempting to express his protest.

Walking over to Pligal, Dorn rested a talon on his shoulder before saying, "My kin, you and the patchers cannot enter here. This appears to be an area specific for the Vior." Turning his attention to the Vior members holding Pligal, Dorn spoke once more while holding their gaze, "Please don't hurt them, Pligal. They will not place a talon upon my scales. After all," Dorn said turning, once more to Pligal. "They called me here. They will merely examine me to determine my merit within these magical walls." Dorn's orbs turned to the hallway, absorbing them poetically, as one who sees the beauty within the simplest of fibers, the nuances of the soil, one at peace, at home.

Acquiescing, Pligal released the tension within his arms before nodding to Dorn in acknowledgement. Stepping backwards, in respect, Pligal watched as his newest, yet eldest friend passed through the pathway into the darkness, flanked by all of the Vior who stood presently. As the gloom, within those walls, enveloped him Pligal felt a pang summoned to his abdomen, swelling, radiating like heat.

Hearing a shuffling of footpads, Pligal turned to see the patchers standing stoically. Their biolight remained calm, unmoved, their orbs in awe of the environment before them. Pligal, took in the marvelous moldings of, what seemed like, metal upon metal, the intricate plasma, places in areas, which maximized their intensity, their luminescence reverberating like sound waves. Pligal took this in, never beholding such power of structure, the ability to spread and grow, creating a web of intricate patterns of light, light reminiscent of the beings of light, who provided such ghastly, yet prophetic knowledge.

Pligal found himself walking, moving towards the entrance of the obelisk without any real thought. No notice of any movement, nor the entrance opening. He moved taking in the images, surrounded in his thoughts, the remnants of the beings who transcended all of his ancestors and all of hers...

A voice called out as he thought this. Gentle and sturdy at first before presenting their true self, one of their honorific title. Pligal, roused from his revelry, saw it. Unable to keep his mouth from gaping, Pligal witnessed what many Legionnaires hoped  to behold with their orbs.   The Imperial Legate stood before him, her stance regal, yet warm, her biolight calm. Wearing the deep blue hue of the terra plane, etched full of yellow and light brown swirls, her wrappings expressed her influence, her domain of power.

Stammering, Pligal expressed his deepest and firmest gesture of respect. Drilling it into him, the Legionnaires expressed the necessity for those who witnessed the presence of the Imperial ranks. Here, before him, the one individual sitting at the throat of the Legion. The most powerful creature outside the council.

Pligal listened as his salute, hopefully presented an opening for his impudence, allowed his recompense to the Imperial Legate. Before a few moments, Pligal glanced up to see the Imperial Legate smile broadly.

"Come. We have much to discuss. You have created such an uproar heading here." She said turning before continuing, "Follow me."

Oh boy.  It is getting to an important arc in the story.  Stay tuned!  Don't forget to vote and comment.  

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