[centre][b]Osmodeus[/centre][/b]

King Osmodeus Marrow hated being touched, but he endured it. Gori Lamillur was a trusted ally of House Marrow and had been a great friend and colleague of his father. Osmodeus could still see in the sands of time this man just over twenty cycles ago clad in his battle raiment commanding the warriors of Ashtoken against the armies of the gnolls in the Great Gnoll War. He’d served as a role model to the young prince during the war, and the years since had not stripped the First Star of his charisma. If King Osmodeus had a fibre of sentiment within his body, he would have considered Gori a friend. He mirrored the Voice’s gesture and laid his hand delicately on his opposite shoulder.

The King’s eyes did most if not all his talking for him. Their irises were like two bright yellow sunbursts, eclipsed in the centre by full-moon pupils. They were entrancing to look into, hypnotic, contrasting the magnificence of light against the depth of darkness. Yet there was no warmth there, only the cold vast void of space. He held the cosmos in his gaze, bearing down with gravity upon the beholder. Now they seared into the eyes of the Voice, imploring him to divulge detail of the current happenings in the palace of the high king. He would stare for as long as it would take for an answer to be issued, for there are no grains of sand in space; no shackles of time.

[centre][b]Onyx[/centre][/b]
The sun beat down on the valley. It had been hundreds of years since there’d been water here, cascading down from a high crevice in the mountainside to permeate and enrich the bedrock. Plants had grown along the banks where soil had formed, up the slopes and onto the far ridge. Grazers had fed on the highland grasses and wildflowers and herders pastured their livestock for generations upon generations under a sky ruled by the dragons of old. 

The Long Summer had brought all this to an end. The Oath of Springs Tide was not enough to maintain the delicate ecosystem of Alabast’s mountainous region. The springs dried up deep in the range and rivers shrank and evaporated away. Vegetation withered and rotted, forcing the resident fauna to migrate. What remained now was a barren wasteland of rock, dust and bone. [i]All become dust[/i], the prince reflected.

They had been traveling for five hours now. Prince Onyx’s rear had become numb a few hours back as the camel’s gait relentlessly rocked him from side to side. He wore leather sandals and a tan robe with wrappings similar to his father’s around his face leaving only his eyes visible. They too were like his father’s, but with a warmth that radiated from the sunbursts, the light triumphing over darkness. His camel was bare bar its saddle which held a waterskin, basic rations and a scimitar.

The prince rode in a party of three, one behind and one in front. The rider ahead was his uncle, Prince Ostifer Marrow, Governor of Lith. As the second son of King Osmodeus, Onyx would assume Ostifer’s position in the event of his death so on the day of his seventeenth cycle Onyx was sent to Lith to learn about the city and how to govern it. Uncle Ostifer was his mentor and father figure in the absence of the king. He respected the man more than anyone he’d ever met.

Winds laden thick with dust whipped at their faces. Prince Onyx squinted through the squall to see ahead. Judging from the length of the journey so far, he figured they should be there soon.

The trio continued through the valley round a sharp jutting spur. There they saw it: a small mining village composed of a few shacks and a central campfire sight. No fire had burned here for a while Onyx noticed as he drew nearer, the remnants whittled down to a few spots of grey ash. They approached slowly, the wind howling as it blew through the encampment.

“Where is everybody?” the third member of their party asked, a Lithi soldier of Jaggar’is descent named Kar’tul.

“Look inside, Kar’tul,” Prince Ostifer commanded, wheeling around one of the shacks, “There may be clues as to what happened here.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Kar’tul dismounted his camel with a thud, sending up a cloud of dust into the air. He trudged over to the shack and entered.

“Holy Kammeth!” Kar’tul sprang backwards out of the door, tripping over himself. He pushed himself away from the open door on all fours, wild fear in his eyes.

Prince Ostifer dismounted immediately and strode into the shack, followed closely by Onyx. “My bones…” he uttered, as both stared at the huddled figure in the corner. It was almost human.