The ride on the airship has been uneventful. Even boring. The food has been invariably bland. And, then, one of the times the fox was let out … they let him go back onto the deck of the ship again. One of the guards said to him a word that he's heard a few times: "Rephidim."

Now, the kitsune is on the deck of an airship, as it makes the final approach to what appears for all the world to be an island that has been ripped up from its moorings in the ocean, and set afloat in the sky.

It's a very big island. There's a mountain at its center, and a city nestled at its base, and plenty of countryside surrounding that city. A network of docks can be seen at a "cove" on the sky island's edge. That's where the airship seems to be going.

Presently, there are no restraints on the kitsune. No shackles, no bindings. But there are plenty of heavily armed lupines and other creatures that make it apparent that trying a one-fox mutiny would be inadvisable … and leaping off the side of the ship would be a bad idea, too.

The kitsune watches as the ship gets closer to this place. Such a sight to him he has never seen the likes of ever before. Attempting to put two and two together, he points at it and asks, "Is that… this Reffidim? or his he on there?"

A wolf seems to catch enough of the kitsune's tone of voice, and nods, pointing to the sky island. "Rephidim," he says, followed by a sentence that escapes translation for the time being. However, somehow the feeling seems to be conveyed that this is going to be the fox's destination, not just a regular stop on the trip.

Francisco presumes that the response was a 'yes' to one of his questions. Yet to which, he's still not completely sure.

The ship continues to drift closer. Many other airships can be seen, heading to or from the docks, flying flags of what might be various nationalities.

The symbol of this ship looks like a four-pointed star with a crescent running across the bottom … suggesting a stylized anchor … displayed in red on a white field. The guards wear similar emblems.

The fox, not able to do much else, just continues to watch the approach and the surrounding traffic in the air.

Eventually, some fliers from the ship go down to the docks, and mooring lines are secured, as the ship is towed in. One of the guards starts talking to the kitsune, surely knowing full well that he isn't understood, but the tone of his voice sounds as if it's trying to be comforting, even though it's hard to do that with the gruff voice of a wolf. He is showing some shackles, and how they link together, made of wood, and indicating the fox's arms.

Francisco doesn't need to understand the language to get that meaning. He folds his arms across his chest, clutching each arm. "Uh-uh," he says, shaking his head. "I don't want the manacle things."

The wolf frowns, and holds the "manacle things" toward the kitsune, sounding a bit more insistent.

"Oh come on!" the kitsune says. "Do I _look_ like I'm not going to go quietly?"

*KLACK* The kitsune feels some pressure around his ankles. It seems a sneaky mouse put some shackles around his ankles while he was distracted. The wolf just shrugs and puts his wrist-shackles away.

Francisco looks down to see the shackles around him. He looks back at the mouse, then to the wolf. "Is this _really_ necessary?" he asks, getting a touch annoyed.

A couple of wolves come up alongside Francisco, and urge him forward, toward a platform set in the deck, with a railing around it. They look to be large enough to simply lift him up if he doesn't move.

He moves, but a little slowly as he shuffles his feet. As he goes, he complains about the shackles being a little too close to allow him to walk quicker.

The wolves don't show any signs of surprise, as they accompany the shuffling fox to the platform. Once he's within the railing, the platform begins to lower from the deck … and rather than going belowdecks, it appears that there's no hull under this part of the deck, but rather that the platform is lowering several feet to the surface of the floating island, to the docks below. After a few moments, it bumps to a stop.

Francisco continues to grumble about his ankle ornaments, fussing with them slightly. All his interest in the surroundings seems to have dissipated for the moment.

Once the platform has stabilized, the wolves lead the fox through the docks, every long, shuffling step along the way. There are some others along the way as well, and Francisco can see the regular business of loading and unloading of ships going on about him, even if he's not interested. The wolves seem content to head along at the fox's pace, as if they have all the time in the world.

… whatever world this is…

Francisco stops for a moment to bend down and scratch by the shackles around his ankles. "Hey, these really itch after a while, y'know?" he says to one of the wolves.

The wolves wait a bit, then prod the fox along. The docks are giving way to the outskirts of the city. The technology level looks pretty low here, though. However, the best way to describe it is … "anachronism". In parts, it looks like a medieval town. Then, there's some nearly featureless building, in an advanced state of disrepair, which looks like it belongs in some "post apocalyptic" sci-fi movie, and got left in one of the back lots in the rain for too long.

Then in other ways, there are poodles walking by, the ladies looking like Marie Antoinette wannabes (except for the head-losing part, that is). Various passersby hint at cultures exotic and alien, and some which look like they could well have come from anywhere on Earth … except that they're humanoids that resemble various of Earth's animals in features, or in strange combinations thereof. Here and there are occasionally creatures more genuinely "alien" … some hunched-over creatures that look vaguely lobster-like in some respects, then lupine, then horse-like in others … or some really big bug-centaur types marching down the street, clacking to each other.

The fox's interest in the place regains itself slightly, and as he looks around… a little wary of anything that looks bug-like, which some of those things certainly do. He tries to liken it to any period on Earth he's familiar with, even the ones that he's not been around to see personally – yet it looks a bit of a 'mish-mash'.

The guards lead Francisco on to a particularly large structure that dominates a few blocks … or maybe several, including all the outlying structures that bear similar design. It is a mish-mash as well, a combination of something vaguely plastic-like, materials metal-like, but not quite so, various high-tech features (but in various states of apparent ruin) … and then as if someone started building a colossal stone palace and/or cathedral around it.

Francisco looks up at the structure. "I guess this is the town hall," he muses.

Guards stand on the front steps, and some armored warriors walk by. Some of the warriors look as if their armor has been GROWN, looking disturbingly organic, though definitely solid, and the shapes hint at similar wolf-types and other beings wearing the armor.

Others, however, wear armor that bears examples of technology in its manufacture, for certain. By the trappings these warriors wear, and the designs of their masks and shields, there's something that hints these warriors must be of some sort of higher stature.

The fox is being led up the steps, toward the entrance of this building.

The kitsune once again is reminded of the shackles around his ankles as in trying to get up the steps he very nearly trips. Regaining his balance, he scowls at a random wolf who happens to be looking his way.

The wolves at the kitsune's sides look to each other … and then hoist up the fox between them.

Francisco blinks, feeling the floor disappear beneath him but grins. "Not exactly a preferred method of transport, but it's better," he notes to the one on his right.

The fox is led into the large structure, under semi-Gothic arches … past several rows of very large statues standing to each side. They are statues of humans, though the features are so badly worn that their faces are nearly smooth on account of it.

The statues seem to interest the fox as they are the first sign of humans he's seen here. In a strange way, this is comforting to him, yet at the same time, a little disturbing.

The stonework gives way to polished corridors, having a plastic-metallic look to it. However, even with the high-tech look of the walls, the way is lit with torches and hanging lanterns, and the smell of burning incense wafts through the air … intermixed with a hint of ozone. Further along, down twisting corridors, the passages look to be in worse states of repair. Here and there, panels in the ceiling hint at fluorescent lighting, which is either darkened, or only providing light in an intermittent, unreliable basis. Hence, there are still torches everywhere.

Francisco continues to look around as he is lead onward. If it is their town hall, he thinks, they must have a lot of people who don't pay their taxes…

The hallways are getting darker and more gloomy. Panels are open, revealing exposed tubes and cables.

The fox feels a slight shiver run through him, mostly apprehension of where he is being led. Not only that, but this building is starting to give him the willies.

There's a trend in the decor now. Spanish Inquisition?

Francisco looks to each side at the wolves carrying him along, searching in their faces for just a hint of what is to come.

Into a room, the fox is led. Some sort of office. There are panels in the ceiling that suggest lighting fixtures. They don't work. There's a desk in the corner, piled high with forms. The wolves lead the fox over to a table with some shackles on it. One of them says something to the fox in a gruff semi-consoling tone, but, again, he's no smooth talker.

The other occupant in the room is female. Canine. A poodle in robes. They are dark robes, colored green and gray.

Francisco regards the table with a little disdain, then smiles, perhaps a little weakly, over to the poodle. "Hi," is all he thinks to say, but in a more questioning tone than was originally intended.

The wolves start strapping the fox in. At least he has a cushion behind his head, but the rest of the table is pretty hard.

His annoyance comes back to him and he pulls against the straps, turning his head to glare at the wolves. "Geeze, just what is it with you people and straps here?" he asks them curtly.

The wolves back away, as the poodle walks in, swaggering. She looks as if she's dressed sort of like a priest, but her attitude just doesn't quite fit. She gives the fox a predatory grin, then steps up, ramming one spike-booted heel into a wooden part of the table, too close for comfort to the fox. She says something that, again, the fox can't understand, but she appears to be very confident of her position as opposed to that of the fox.

One of the wolves says something to the poodle, which seems to spoil her moment. She frowns and scowls, glaring at the wolf, evidently one of lesser status, by the way he cowers in response.

Francisco perks an ear slightly? "I see who wears the pants around here then," he says quietly, almost under his breath.

The poodle steps away from the table, and goes over to the wolves, giving them a yapping lecture. They nod to her, then leave. She then walks back to her desk, and grabs what looks like a helmet, golden in color, with all sorts of techno gizmos attached to it, and cables running to the ceiling, resting just under a knife switch mounted in the wall. She hauls it over toward the fox and begins to lower it over his head.

Not knowing what that is, Francisco tucks his head down a little, and tries to look up at it.

The helmet obscures Francisco's view of everything as it encloses his whole head, with space to spare. Everything goes completely dark – more than can be accounted for just by the lowering of the helmet. Something's going on in here, especially as he hears the clack of the knife switch being thrown. *ZZZZT!*

The kitsune *YELPS*, more with surprise than anything else and struggles against the straps in an effort to get his hands at the helmet.

A vision resolves itself. Francisco is standing in the midst of a landscape that simply screams, "Cheap Computer-Generated Graphics". Everything is dark, save for a glowing grid beneath the fox's feet. In the distance, there's a glow where the horizon should be, hinting at a sunrise or some distant city, but the glow continues along the entirety of the visible horizon in all directions.

Here and there, little spots of light dart about, following the lines of the grid. One zips nearby. It looks like a stylized, glowing mouse.

No shackles, no straps, no wooden bed. No temple. No poodles with bad attitudes.

One of the little glowing mice … runs right into the fox's tail. Well, one of his tails, that is. *PAF* There's a burst of light, and the mouse is gone, but in that instant, the fox is overwhelmed by a flood of information. Words, pictures, charts, diagrams … all rushing by faster than his mind can really process.

Francisco closes his eyes tightly, and puts his hands to his ears (they don't seem to be tied down here), but he can't shut any of it out. It just keeps coming to the point where he feels his head about to explode.

The barrage blips by. The fox is back in that surreal landscape. More "mice" are darting about, some within easy reach.

Francisco tries to reach out to one of them – perhaps he can find out what is happening from it. That is if the pounding in his head doesn't stop him from hearing himself think.

*PAF* Another mouse disappears in a blast of light and a shower of information. Recent memories flash back … of the scene in the room. "Inquisitrix Vindicta," one of the wolves said, "He has not undergone the medical evaluation. Processing him now could be danger – " … "SILENCE!" barks the poodle in response. "Can't you see? He's a fox. Just a fox. Not some alien. I KNOW what I'm doing… "

The snippet fades, leaving the fox back on the "grid". It was a memory of his time in the room … but now somehow he can understand what previously was just gobbledygook to him in some other language.

He looks around at the place confusedly, disoriented enough already by the grid – now more-so.

More mice zip by, some heading in straight lines, some zig-zagging erratically, none of them showing a real sign of reacting to the fox's presence.

The images begin to look distorted. The mice look like little foxes now, with nine tails each.

They're all giggling, making fun of the five-tailed kitsune.

Francisco, about to run after one of the mice before they changed, stops and stares at them in disbelief. Looking around, he sees that he is surrounded by them – all of them nine-tailed foxes. He starts to growl at them.

The nine-tailed foxes giggle back at him, wiggling their little tails. They are now breaking away from the grids, going in circles around him. The sky has changed from black, starting to glow faintly, a golden hue.

The words that the foxes say are not heard by the kitsune in the center. All he can tell is that they're mocking him, taunting him … and condemning him. The whole world seems to spin … and there's this terribly throbbing HEADACHE.

Through the spinning Francisco's growl turns into a snarl, and he tries to grab at some of them wildly. On managing to get a hold of one, he says angrily to it, "As if you haven't done enough to humiliate me in front of enough of our kind, you taunt me like this as well??"

*PAF* The little nine-tailed kitsune dissolves in a blast of white … and the assault of information is unbearable! Everything snaps to black … and pain.

… time passes …

Consciousness returns, and the headache is still there. No grid. No little kitsunes. No poodle.

Instead, the fox is lying on a table much like the one he was strapped down in earlier, but the office is different.

So is the company. There is a tall figure in robes and a hood. By the bulges in the hood that hint at a muzzle and pointed ears, the wearer is probably canine. The wolf guards in the room are most certainly so. "Ah. Welcome back, Exile," the hooded one says. "Can you understand what I am saying?"

Francisco's ears prick up and he lifts his head as much as he can, but narrows his eyes slightly at the figure. "No more games," he replies curtly.

"Indeed," says the hooded figure. "But be careful of the tone of voice you use. I have little patience with insolence. Let us make one thing clear. You are in the Temple of Rephidim. Whatever happens to you next is within our power to determine. If you cooperate, it will go well for you. If not, there is the alternative."

"Rephidim?" says the fox. "I thought Temple of Inari would be more appropriate. I mean, that is likely to put more of a fear in me than one I doubt any Kitsune has heard of before. Also, you made it pretty clear to me earlier that my fate was in your hands."

The hooded one says, "Very well then. I have not heard of this Temple of Inari, but I am not surprised. You are, so far as we can tell, an Exile. That is, you have come to this world from another. This world you are now in is called Sinai, and you are presently in the city of Rephidim, in the Temple. I am Arch Inquisitor Azrael. It is my duty to ask you certain questions. The first is – By what name do you wish to be addressed?"

Francisco," he replies. "As in 'San'… You didn't know that? So this isn't just some elaborate nine-tee illusion?"

"Francisco it is, then," Inquisitor Azrael says. "And, no, this is no illusion. I expect you must be disoriented after the Processing. Proper procedures were not followed, and the helmet was not properly calibrated. Its settings were left in place for a creature of lower intellect than yourself, a 'fox'." The word he uses for "fox" is exactly the same as the English word for it. In fact, this should be odd – The Inquisitor is speaking in that strange language, which Francisco can now understand perfectly.

That is, except for the word "fox", the Inquisitor is speaking in what was previously a foreign language.

Francisco asks slowly, "I am slightly, yes… but what do you mean 'creature of lower intellect'?"

Inquisitor Azrael says, "The beings known as 'foxes', which from time to time for inexplicable reasons come to Sinai, are quite often of inferior intellect, by most standards. So far, you do not seem to fit that trend. Please do not disappoint me."

The kitsune attempts to straighten himself up, made a little difficult as he is still strapped down. "I certainly would consider myself as 'intelligent'. After all, you don't tend be around for a few hundred years without picking up a thing or two. I even had an IQ test once – came out pretty high, I can tell you."

"Very good," the Inquisitor says. "Two hundred years, you say? Most intriguing. What is the expected lifespan of your kind? And, for our records, what is your race called? You mentioned 'kitsune' before. Is that the name of your race, or is that part of your personal name? Oh yes, and, if you are released from your bindings, can you be trusted not to bolt or cause any violence? It would not be in your best interest to do such a thing."

"No," Francisco corrects, "I said a 'few' hundred years. I'm kinda three hundred and thirty-something, which I guess for my kind is middle aged." He's starting to relax a little more now, less convinced this is a Kitsune trick. "We Kitsunes 'live' for around nine hundred years, and yeah, Kitsune is the name of my kind, not part of my name."

Francisco adds, "And looking around here, I don't think your guards would let me get very far if I did try and make an unscheduled exit."

"Quite observant. You are already demonstrating far higher intelligence than the average 'fox'. Very well then – Release his bindings," the hooded one says to the guards. The guards do so. The hooded one says, "You may either remain there, or take a chair, if you please." There is a chair next to the table, wooden, worn and weathered, but sturdy-looking.

Francisco nods in appreciation to the wolf guard, but chooses to remain on the table – seated this time.

The hooded one paces back and forth, and asks, "What is the name of the world or land you came from, and how did you come to this one?"

"World? So this definitely isn't Earth then?" asks Francisco.

Francisco grins a little, "No, of course it isn't. I think that people there might just notice bipedal wolves."

"'Earth'", the hooded one repeats. "Hmm. You imply that there are no 'bipedal wolves' there? But there are 'kitsune'?"

Francisco raises a hand slightly. "Oh, don't get me wrong… There are a fair number of kitsune there, but we have ways to blend into a crowd," he says with a slight grin, which then disappears almost as quick. "Or at least, I used to."

He pauses for a moment, "In fact, I bet there might be at least one bipedal wolf around… At least, I'm sure I heard Coyote mention him."

"Please explain. I have heard of 'Earth', before, but it has been some time since we have had a visitor from there, and it seems there is more than one world to use that name," the hooded one ventures.

Francisco thinks on how to explain what 'Earth' is. "I only know of one Earth," he finally says, "and the people there don't really have much scope beyond that."

"I'll say one thing though… We're slightly more advanced there than you are here. Better painters for one," the fox says, remembering slightly the gloomy corridor.

The hooded one nods. "But this is a world where kitsune and coyotes are the dominant races? There are no humans there?"

"Oh heck, no!" Francisco exclaims. "I only know of one coyote, and there are literally billions of humans there. In fact, I'd say probably only around a million Kitsune."

Francisco realizes something, and cocks his head slightly. "You know of humans?" he asks.

"Ah," says the hooded one. He nods. "Yes. They are not in abundance in Rephidim, but they are among us. As we understand it, Sinai has a great diversity of races compared to many worlds. But then, many people have come here from many different worlds over the ages. Now then … Do you possess any magical powers or noteworthy special abilities?"

The kitsune's expression falls. "You had to ask… Um, I used to."

The hooded one nods again, "… but your arrival here was accompanied by a loss of such powers. Not entirely uncommon. You will also find that items of high technology will not function as you expect here, especially if you venture down to the surface."

Francisco knows that his arrival here had nothing to do with the loss of his abilities, but keeps that to himself for now.

"Surface? Oooh yes, I remember now. How is it possible for this rock to float? I've never seen Gibraltar do that," he remarks.

The Inquisitor replies, "In actuality, we do not understand how, but there are many such 'sky islands' on this world. It is a phenomenon that is peculiar to this world, but not unique, judging from reports from some Exiles. Now then … what was your occupation before coming here? Have you any trades or skills by which you can support yourself?"

Francisco ums, "Support myself? You mean earning money and stuff?"

"Yes," nods the Inquisitor. "Have you any means of doing so?"

Francisco says, "Er… I would say not any more. I tended to rely mostly on, well magic."

"Unfortunate. Most unfortunate. One long-standing tradition of the Temple is that Exile Processing is accompanied by a fee of one gold coin. If the Exile cannot pay this at the time of Processing, he or she or it is expected to serve in some capacity to earn this amount."

Francisco frowns slightly, "A capacity such as?"

"That would depend upon your skills," answers the Inquisitor. "But it is quite possible you may have skills that you do not consider as particularly special. I will leave that to the evaluators to determine, as part of your delayed testing. If there are any particular elements, foodstuffs, or any such thing which you find toxic, be sure to let the testers know this. We would rather not have any Exiles poisoned by Temple food, and various Exiles have peculiar susceptibilities at times."

Francisco nods slowly, trying to think of any skills he could possibly put to use… He cannot even recall of any kitsune who ever had to work. However, while he thinks about that problem, he replies: "There's nothing really foodwise that I won't eat. Not at least where I come from anyway."

The Inquisitor nods. "Very well then. That will suffice for now." He leans forward, as if scrutinizing the fox. "You will undergo some testing. If there are no complications, I will take a chance and determine that you should be allowed some free movement within the city. You will have living quarters here in the Temple for the meantime, until your situation can be resolved. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the city. And be sure to return every evening. We wish to keep tabs on you, lest there be any trouble."

The fox nods. "Alright. Staying in the city is fine with me for the moment. It's a little of a long drop, I noticed."

"And stay out of 'Darkside'. The Guard patrols are not as regular there. When you see the locals looking as if they would like to have you for lunch, you are entering Darkside," the Inquisitor adds in an almost bored tone.

Francisco uh-huhs. "Sounds like certain areas of LA I remember. Sure, places like that are no fun without magic anyway," he says with a slight grin.

The hooded one nods at this, whether or not he understands. To the guards, he says, "Show him to his quarters." The door to the office slowly cycles open, sliding open … sort of like one of those sliding doors on the sci-fi TV shows, except that this one really needs a greasing badly … or SOMETHING, anyway.

Francisco gets himself off the table, and starts to head towards the door where the wolves are waiting. "Oh," he says, pausing to look back at the Inquisitor, "So what happens next?"

The hooded Inquisitor says, "You will get some rest, then undertake evaluations in the morning. An accident happened during your Processing, but you recovered more quickly than was expected. This is good. Inquisitrix Vindicta, sad to say, has been under a great deal of stress, and it surely affected her judgement. Hopefully you will not suffer from any lingering effects."

"I hope so too," Francisco replies. "I didn't see any drug stores on my way here. Well, I guess I see you in the morning then?"

"No, you will not," answers the Inquisitor. "Go along with the guards now."

The guards move to guide the fox out of the room, saying nothing.

Francisco follows along with them, taking it that his conversation with the hooded figure is at an end now.