In his pit, heavily guarded by three of the Baron's personal elite, away from the former patcher's den, yet further below, deep in the hard rock under the Baron's workplace and living hovel, Pligal ruminated on the prior discussion with the Baron. With Dorn and San Zilterra, in tow, Pligal stood rigid in the presence of Baron Richtol. His arms bound, restricted as a deserter, deep thick strands interwoven to form the bindings, Pligal's arms hung downward with his talons clasped together, unable to move, frozen in place.

"Why have you attempted to desert us?" The Baron called from his sitting stone.

Different from his working stone, this object sat near the opening of the workplace. Seated next to the slits open to allow the light of the Terra God to radiate through illuminating the area with its speckled, glittery presence. Seated here, the shadows enveloped Richtol.

His presence loomed into the workplace and the large sitting stone cupped his bloated body. Specks of his lighting mechanisms marked his location as he remained wreathed in shadow. Illuminating portions of his dress, the Baron attire consisted of a thick smock of vibrant orange adorned with heavy scales of an unknown creature placed upon his shoulders and chest. Giving the appearance of one with strength and regality, Richtol evoked power in this position as all orbs naturally drew themselves to this direction.

Pligal watched as the Baron allowed him time to reflect, remaining rigid, imperceptibly defiant. Thinking of his time with his matriarch, seeing the young one of his kin, Eyilda, Pligal swam in his thoughts. Harkening back to his mother's words, once providing him comfort as she discussed the old ways of the Clan of Marn, now became putrid Sangre in his mouth. Shaken, broken, defeated, Pligal, flanked on either side by San Zilterra and the enormous Legionnaire, Dorn, allowed his mind to drift.

Feeling a sharp jab to his thorax, Dorn turned seeing San Zilterra foam, seething before contemptuously stating, "You heard the Baron, filth. Ansthwer now!"

"Now now, Zilterra." The Baron replied dropping all pretense. "Allow the young one to answer. He is no hatchling. He knows why he performed such behaviors, only he knows what motives allowed him to abscond."

Confused at the manner of speech the Baron provided, San Zilterra quietly acquiesced with a confused look passing upon his scales.

Turning to Dorn, the Baron orbed him carefully for many moments, before stating, "Young one. Dorn is it? You have provided such a great service to the Legionnaires. Without you, we may have taken much longer to acquire this one. Our savior in times of struggle." He said with great emphasis and flair.

Glancing uncomfortably toward Pligal, Dorn watched as his comrade remained rigid, unmoved by this statement. Leaning forward, Dorn watched the orbs of his fellow Legionnaire as they appeared glossy, unfocused as if the gods of death hovered over his visage. Meeting his face, Dorn's heart burst as the anguish of betraying his comrade swelled within him. Losing the seeress and forced to share the knowledge of the Pligal's most likely position, Dorn's stomachs turned, a repulsion becoming an inferno within the pit of his abdomen.

"To thank you further for your work in discovering Pligal's location, we have awarded you advanced training to hone that prodigious mind you have. You are to report to Queyan who awaits your arrival below, at the base level. There you will forgo Legionnaire training and will be placed within our accelerated training. Now go." Richtol ordered.

"W-wait." Dorn attempted to say.

Grasping upon Pligal's shoulder, he attempted to lean in before feeling the tug on both his arms. A tug backward away from the work chamber. Glancing back, Dorn saw four elite guards standing ready to escort him.

Quickly leaning in, Dorn whispered to Pligal. So close, yet so quiet, the Baron and Zilterra strained to understand the words yet only heard mumbling. Pligal's head lifted at the remarks before Dorn was tugged backward, once more. His large frame flanked by two guards on both sides.

Looking surreptitiously Zilterra, the Baron's orbs moved back toward Pligal. The special legionnaire, the zes who, potentially, held the power to end this war with the torsons. With unfocused, orbs, Pligal's gaze remained downward.

"What is your answer?" The Baron inquired with a harsh undertone.

Barely above a whisper, Pligal hissed, "All is lost."

His voice carrying the weight of his pain, his torment, his understanding of the loss of the old ways, Pligal's mind surveyed the discussion with his matriarch, the fruitless conversation proving, he alone held the knowledge of the other worlds. With the passing of the seeress to the permanent death state, Pligal solely held the knowledge of the beings who stood immersed in light.

His hearts burned, once more. Feeling the blaze build inside him, Pligal felt a familiar sensation flowing through his being. His bioluminescent light flickered, throbbed, pulsed as his strength doubled. Feeling his anger blossom, Pligal ripped at his bindings as they tore as easily as a hatchling's egg. A soft crack resounded in the chamber as the bindings broke before falling, tattered on the hard stone floor.

Zilterra sidestepped out of the way as Pligal's power surged within him, shaking the bindings, shaking his own core. Silently watching with a covetous smile, the Baron's teeth lingered upon the scales of his lips. Running his tongue over his sharp teeth within his mouth, Richtol hummed as his body barely contained his excitement.

"I do not belong in bindings!" Pligal wailed. "You don't see that all of this is futile. Everything around us is fleeting. None of this matters." Glancing downward, once more, Pligal returned to a whisper, "None of us matter."

An image of Sri passed in Pligal's mind. Thinking of her warmth, her guidance in such a short time of knowing her, his heart burned, a longing to see her.

Thinking to himself, Pligal sullenly stated, "No, that isn't the truth. We matter to each other. My kin matter."

Feeling his scales relax at this thought, Pligal breathed deeply. His inner blessing poured forth within him as he calmed. Invigorating him as Sangre never could. The remaining guard, Zilterra, and the Baron watched him as they awaited his move.

Turning his attention toward the Baron, Pligal sharply responded, "No, I did not wish to desert the legion. I merely desired to speak to my matriarch. She contained the words I wished to hear. However, it is clear that you cannot hold me. This blessing, this power, I behold, has proven itself effective against your machinations. So," Pligal said straightening his stature. "I need you to agree to my terms."

"Termsth? Termsth!" Zilterra stated bringing his bow to attack position.

Without looking, with a single blow, Pligal kicked toward Zilterra, sending him crashing into the nearby wall. Landing with his face upon the hard slab, the san felt the sensation of broken scales covering his abdomen. Wheezing, he felt a pool of life fluid enter his mouth cavity. Opening his mouth, it spilled out onto the stone slab as Pligal maintained his orb contact with the Baron.

Quickly, the Baron's orbs passed upon Zilterra, broken and battered over one kick. Thinking of the potential damage to his own frail body, his lighting mechanism shifted uncomfortably as he attempted to maintain composure.

"Pp-perhaps we can create a deal. W-what are your terms, young one?" Richtol stated hesitantly.

"I need to leave this wretched training yard. Take me where you are taking Dorn. There we can commiserate on a new plan of action for this impending war. Also," Pligal said glancing away for a few moments. "I would like the same patchers to be available for our care."

Orbing him intently, Richtol inquired, "And if I don't oblige?"

"Then I will leave and not return. Your fate will be your own. The gods would dictate your lives from here onward." Pligal said, his light brilliantly shining.

Watching the two exchange words, Zilterra spat more of his life fluid before cradling his abdomen. Amazed at the change in nature with this legionnaire, he watched as his anger seethed. Carefully, he waited to discover any sign of weakness, the loss of power he once demonstrated in the training yards. Lapping at the life fluid lingering around the scales of his lips, Zilterra moaned at the precious flavor. Making his orbs slits, he grasped his weapon tightly, continuing to wait for the chance to enact his vengeance upon the youth.

"How shrewd you are, Pligal," Richtol said, cutting through the silence of many moments. "You have seen your own merit. Great way to play your hand." Richtol raised a hand in salute to the young legionnaire after witnessing his ability at diplomacy. "Very well." He said as Zilterra shot him a glance. "Your conditions will be met. However." Richtol said before pausing, "Zilterra will accompany you as your guard. He will stay close to you during these troublesome times ahead."

Meeting his orbs, nodding toward the fallen san as Zilterra nodded in reply, smiling wryly in response, Richtol conveyed his silent message toward the small zes. Pligal turned his attention to his old san. Wishing nothing more than to leave his presence indefinitely, anger seethed within the normally calm eron.

"Absolutely not. I will never entertain the notion of this thing as my protector nor guard." Turning back to the Baron, Pligal responded, "You seemed to be under the impression that you hold some modicum of power here. I pray you to listen here and now. My terms are my terms. No deviation will be tolerated." Pligal said in a low, feral voice.