The clouds break, letting down a smattering of drops which crescendo into a full downpour that patters against the roof of the almost abandoned fortress, some of the water finding its way through gaps in the roof that have been left unrepaired for centuries.

Inside the fortress, all would be still and silent, save for the staccato of the raindrops against the roof, and the steady dripping of that which has found its way through the leaks … but the staccato is matched by the clip of cloven hooves that walk across the marble-tiled floor, belonging to a lone Aeonian dressed in ceramic armor and flowing robes that differ a little from standard issue for members of the Temple.

Turtle looks out at the pouring rain outside and then at the rain following suit inside her room, and flattens her ears. "Oh bother, and gall."

Turtle sighs.

Through the patter of the raindrops comes a different sound … Was that the call of a horn blaring in the distance?

Turtle turns in the direction of the horn.

The call of the horn stirs very old memories in the Aeonian of a time many upon many years ago. It is a call she has not heard in ages, and it takes some time to place it. A horn. A ship's horn. An airship's horn. A horn of an airship of the Temple. From Rephidim. … Reinforcements and supplies? … after all these years?

Turtle picks up her pace along the corridor, moving quickly in the direction of the sound.

Outside, it's dark and rainy. If that is indeed an airship, and not just some trick of the wind, it should be a bit difficult to dock, without some guiding lights to the landing platforms.

Turtle pauses to cover her head well, frowning angrily at the rain.

A few lights outside spell out the sides of the airship – for that is indeed what it must be. By the arrangement of the lights, and what can be made out of the patterns on the sails even through the rain, there's no doubt about it – the ship is of the Temple … and is overdue by a few centuries.

Turtle gasps, and gapes upward at the ship, shivering a bit from the rain.

Turtle turns and runs back inside the fortress, fighting with her skirts in her hurry to reach some flares to give the ship better light.

The flares, thankfully, are still in quite ample supply, and, once lit, it's evident that the flare still works as intended. And, there are plenty more. It's not like there's been any reason to USE them before now, after all.

Turtle looks relieved, and moves about putting them in places that will be well seen.

There's another horn call from the airship that indicates some sort of response that probably means the flares have been seen, but it was never the duty of the Aeonian to learn all those obscure little details about airmanship. In any case, the airship slowly approaches, slowing over the platform.

The airship hovers high above, mooring cables being cast down. Already, some fliers can be seen leaping off the sides of the ship, circling down to where they will secure the cables to links on the platform.

Turtle looks out one more time, before moving to a mirror to look over her hair. She removes her hood, revealing a small horn mottled in a pattern like tortoiseshell, and green eyes, that sparkle occassionally with flecks of gold. She frowns, and runs her fingers desperately through long a long straight brown mane. "All this time, and a ship had to arrive on a bad hair day," she mutters, almost inaudibly.

A couple of Eeee and a couple of Vartans land on the platform, busily working to secure the mooring cables. The Vartans, not surprisingly, do most of the muscle work, since they have more muscle by far to offer. It's efficient and quick work, and the ship is soon stabilized enough for the loading platform to slowly lower down by multiple cables from the deck … to eventually touch down on the platform upon which the Aeonian stands along with the fliers.

Turtle blinks upward, looking on with amazed silence at all the activity.

The platform which lowered down from the ship is sheltered somewhat from the downpour by the ship itself – or, more particularly, the area covered by the gas-filled envelope which buoys it in the air. Upon this lowered platform can be seen a handful of armored individuals – Jupani Temple Guards.

As the Temple Guards step off the landing platform, another figure can be seen in their midst – a figure in the red and black robes of an Inquisitor, his cowl pulled up over his head, but a single, dark horn spiralling through a hole over the wearer's forehead.

Turtle quickly brushes off her skirts, the looks up at the other horned figure with an attempt at dignity, but her eyes show her enormous curiousity.

As the Inquisitor approaches, his features are easier to make out in the scarce light offered by the flares and by the lights of the ship itself. He is most certainly an Aeonian, like Turtle herself, and an Inquisitor – again, as Turtle herself. However, his mane is of a fiery red that matches the red found in his robes … and his hide finds a match in his robes as well, being pitch black.

Turtle bites her lip, and tries to give a look of singular disinterest.

The black unicorn walks up to Turtle, then stops before her, raising a hand in greeting and salute. "Greetings. I am Inquisitor Melchizedek of Rephidim Temple, and request permission to enter Aelfhem Outpost. I am on an errand set forth by order of Quartermaster Supreme de Medici to tour all Templar Outposts and to update our records accordingly."

Turtle nods, an attempt at being gracious, despite overwelming feelings. "You are welcome. Although, I must say you records must be long out of date, seeing how long it's been since we've had some contact from the Temple."

The black unicorn nods his head. "That is true. It was with some surprise that we found any lights at the fortress … and even more that there was still a contingent here."

Turtle sighs, furrowing her brow. "I am the only one left here, I'm afraid." She casts a disparaging glance at the old fortress, as if wishing it would melt beneath her gaze.

The unicorn nods. "Your diligence in remaining at your post is commendable." He pauses, then adds, "May we have permission to enter the fortress, and to take inventory?"

The Inquisitor presents a sealed document, which he hands to Turtle, bearing the seal of the Temple and of Quartermaster Supreme de Medici. If he is actually making a tour of ALL the Outposts on Sinai, he must have an awful lot of these little documents to prove his authenticity.

Turtle scans her eyes over the document. "As you wish, but most of what little you will find is in disrepair from age."

The unicorn bows his head. "I thank you. We will conduct our business immediately."

The black unicorn and his entourage file past Turtle, heading down stone steps to the entrance into the complex. Already, the loading platform from the ship has come back down again, with some additional workers to aid in the documentation of the facilities.

It would not seem, however, that this ship is carrying in any new supplies to replenish the outpost's stocks.

Turtle casts a concerned look at the ship, then follows the party heading into fortress quietly, frowning to herself.

Back inside, the extent of the disrepair of the facility is more evident. Rain occasionally is blown by winds through broken windows, and more constantly drips through holes in the vaulted roofs. The interior is not DIRTY, per se, since the lone occupant is no slob, but there are hardly any materials available to effect proper repairs … and a definite lack of skilled labor to do the job, too.

The workers from the airship mill about, taking notes of anything there is to take notes about. Some are probably making assessments of needed repairs. It would probably be shorter to simply start by listing what does NOT need to be repaired, but that's just not how the Audit works.

Turtle walks up to the other Inquisitor, grimacing at the condition of the familiar walls. "As you can see, this place has been for the most part deserted for some time."

The black unicorn nods in response.

Turtle adds, "And it has been quite some time since I have returned to the Temple as well." She watches his expression carefully, looking for some hope of being taken away from this dreadful place.

The Inquisitor pauses in the middle of carefully perusing some crumbling documents, setting them aside and looking back at the Inquisitrix. "I do not recall being told your name."

Turtle crosses her arms casually. "Inquisitrix Turtle."

As the black unicorn looks at Turtle, there's something that seems to hint at some recognition in his eyes, although the black unicorn, for all Turtle can remember, is no acquaintance of hers – no one she has really come to know since she was a child of the Aeonians who arrived en masse to this world so many centuries ago.

The black Aeonian at last nods, waving to an assistant. "Check our records for any assignments of an Inquisitrix Turtle assigned to Aelfhem Outpost. None of the records, of course, will be recent."

The black unicorn, meanwhile, goes back to checking the records before him, and taking notes on occasion, filling out a stack of forms he has brought along. It doesn't look like terribly exciting work in the least.

Turtle sighs, and sneaks a look at her skirts, half-soaked from the rain, and begins fixing them in order, first the colorful sarong skirt, then the straight white one underneath.

Plenty of time passes for Turtle to address her personal appearance, before the assistant returns. "Uhm … sir … the only record I find for an Inquisitrix Turtle being assigned here is … over three hundred years ago!" The wolf looks incredulous.

Turtle glances up with a look that seems to question that timespan herself.

The black Aeonian doesn't look surprised by the report in the least. He turns to Turtle. "It would seem that you are certainly due for reassignment, if that is your interest. You would also have some vacation time accumulated, though I regret to say that due to caps instituted to prevent overenthusiastic Keepers of the Inner Mysteries from building up years of off-time … " He lets that thought trail off, then begins again. "We will bear you to another outpost where passage will be secured for you back to Rephidim. There will be some delay, as we are to make some stops … but I am sure the delay will not amount to much, all things in perspective."

Turtle hides her enthusiastic joy, and she says calmly, "That would suit myself just fine."

The Aeonian looks about, then back to Turtle. "Based on what I have seen so far, I imagine that we shall be ready to head out for Shabar in the morning. I would advise you to gather your belongings and make any preparations you deem appropriate."

Turtle nods. "Very well." The gold flecks in her eyes sparkle.

The black unicorn's expression as he responds to Turtle is humorless. "I will write a letter of commendation for your service. Keeping this position held single-handedly for approximately three hundred years is a feat hard to match."

Turtle smiles politely. "Thank you very much."

The black unicorn doesn't look up from the forms and records, still diligently perusing the crumbling papers and copying portions of text over.

Turtle quietly steps off to her room, still in a bit of a daze. … going back to Rephidim after all this time…