The Serpent's Son (Closed)

[Cydnar]

The council chamber was silent when Cydnar awoke, his eyes encrusted with sleep and his heart heavy with lethargy and woe. There was no strength in his muscles, so he rested prone, gazing up at the dome of the spire and through the cracks to the effervescent storm sky beyond. He was nothing more than a speck on a tiny, elegant picture, a grain of dust marring a vast architectural Ziggurat to dark gods and darker meanings.

What happened? He thought, unable to break his lips to whisper his question to anyone who would hear him. The bright lights of the magical runes and lightning that had illuminated the chamber during his 'trial' were gone, leaving him in twilight and chill and doubt. Am I alive?

The Sage, the Keeper of Death of the Hummel had spoken in riddles and Cydnar was no closer to the truth than he had been before his death. Things had dawned on him, like Niddhogg's rise and the irony of Morgen's dreams luring him into a trap he could not escape...but they in turn had given rise to nothing more than further questions, longer riddles, and harder parables to decipher.

He shivered and bit his lip, determined not to succumb to the cold after coming so far. He let the relaxing feeling of living wash over his body before trying to move, and slowly but surely, he rolled onto his side to grasp his surroundings. There was not a soul in sight, no councilmen, no audience, no Thayne corrupted overshadowing his presence...he was alone, amidst the devilry of Haida, with no way of calling for help.

"If my death has been..." he licked his lips to try and restore their use, "undone...what use am I alive entombed in danger?" He felt somewhat relieved, as one might, but the pressing concern of survival was a greater burden than accepting life's end. He pushed himself upright and crossed his legs, setting as he did into the habitual inspection of his bracers and hauberk. They were scraped, chipped and somewhat worn, but the snake's bite had swallowed him whole and not chided his body in two.

"By my hand...he shall fall, or by my voice, an army shall swarm to this tower and tear him asunder!" He bit his lip once more, and ran his fingertips shakily over the fangs. He frowned, expecting bone...but found them harder and more pronounced than they had been before. Something had transformed Cydnar, transformed his mettle, his emotion, his drive...he had spent so many years questioning his allegiance to the Salthias Temple and the ways of his people, but now, with it all under threat...

"I will not let it fall."

With great effort he rose, standing feebly with legs splayed at first, but gaining his balance with a surge of hope until he rested steadily on the balls of his feet.

"I will re-sculpt, remould, and rebuild the Hummel..." He clenched his fists and walked with a limp towards the stair well that lead off down back into the lower reaches of the tower, unimpressed with the journey half finished, and unsure of himself and his capability to lead after the loss of his friends in the dark of Raiaera’s night...