[u][i]The Vaults[/i][/u]

Vos’o’los canted his head at the offering from the Golem. His hand decorated with the henna eye came up to point up at the giant creature. A slight smile came to the Keytaker’s face.

“Your offering is a genuine one, that much is evident, Adam. It is not however the key required.”

He regarded the strange flock for a moment as they fumbled with their thoughts and the requirement of the key. Vos’o’los knew of course that they held it, but they had to [i]give[/i] it to him. Such was the nature of his existence. For even he, with his strange sight, could not know what the key looked like until it was given, and then, and only then would the vault be revealed to him.

Vos’o’los had waited centuries, sitting before the stone, guarding the vaults. Only a few had come in all those many years, and each time escorted by some avatar of the god Set. The Keytaker had thought it strange, but he did not question. The outside world was not his concern, only this realm was his to dwell in. 

As he watched them with his ethereal vision, the Keytaker noticed a flash of revelation pass before the werewolf’s eyes. She pulled something from within the pocket of her jacket and held it out for him. The Keytaker’s hand moved towards her, the fingers twisting, giving the eye upon his palm the strange appearance of squinting.

After a time he stepped to the werewolf, and gently took the piece of ancient paper from her hand. Instantly he knew. His four ears perked up, and a smile drew up his mouth until the corners disappeared into the cloth of the wrap that covered his eyes.

“Indeed you do possess the key.”

With his other hand, Vos’o’los produced a brilliant white flower, and he set it into the werewolf’s hand that he had taken the key from. “When you reach the vault,” the Keytaker said, “place this upon the opening. It will open, and once you have finished your business there, the flower will take you and your company to wherever you require. Merely think upon the place or persons.”

Without warning the light shifted, as if warping in a great wind of space-time, then, just as suddenly it came into focus, revealing that they all now stood before a giant tree. The tree’s branches rose high above, and even below the damp earthen ground, forming one of the strange orbs that had been seen hanging from the “roots” of the vaults. Vos’o’los was nowhere in sight. 

Upon the tree’s trunk, sitting about the height of an average human, was a conspicuous knot in the bark. From it twisted several delicate twigs that formed into a sort of organic chalice, awaiting the flower and the power it contained.