Things were quiet for Ashur Galand after the Astromancer's inauguration. Life went on as usual … and then the invitation arrived. A job … with the Temple. Apparently the Astromancer candidate that had been saved from humiliation by Galand's swift hand was interested in hiring him. The envelope held one silver coin, with the promise of a gold if he came.

So early in the morning, at the appointed time he came. Galand presented his invitation to the guards at the gate and then found himself being escorted to an empty office where the candidate would be with him 'in a few minutes'. Meanwhile the cat was kept occupied by a serving raccoon who tried her best to stuff him full of sticky breakfast pastries.

The raccoon waves another treat under Galand's nose, "Are you SURE you don't want just one more, sir?" Her expression looks as though she might actually be hurt if he declined.

The spotted Khatta seems to consider a moment, then says slowly, smiling, "Just one more, then I've got to quit them, I'm afraid. They're so tasty, they're almost addictive!" He takes the treat and munches it with careful deliberation, as if trying to make sure he doesn't stuff himself too much, too fast.

"Oh! You're much too kind," the raccoon grins. She pulls a glass of Rughrat milk from her tray and then vanishes out the door, leaving Galand alone in the room again.

Tapestries rest against the walls, showing images of flowering gardens and enchanted forests. There's a spot on the floor where it looks as though something was wrenched up, but the bent metal plate that remains leaves little to show what was there before. The desk in front of the Khatta is delicately carved … but seems empty and unused.

Galand finishes off the pastry and groans, patting his stomach. "Oooof… If I eat so much as one more crumb, I fear I'll perform a rather convincing Eep imitation… " He looks around the room, and gets out of his chair to inspect the tapestries.

A delicately woven scene of what seems like a storybook land is the first one that catches the gambler's eye. Dragons fly through the air while mystical gardens tended by cherubs and other odd creatures grow and twine across the cloth. In one corner a knight can be seen winning a maiden's hand, and in another a woman is reading to her children, in another a circle of humans are dancing and laughing. Oddly, except for the mythical beasts and other creatures, none of Sinai's other races except for humans can be seen anywhere.

Galand hmms softly, as if filing that sight away for later, and slowly walks around the office, listening to the occasional protesting grumble from his overfull stomach.

A few moments later, heavy boot-steps can he heard outside and the door trembles. It's an odd mechanism, and an apparently rusty one as the men outside seem to be having a bit of difficulty getting it open after the raccoon closed it.

The cat's ears, sensitive as they are, perk at the sound of the boots, and he stands in front of the desk, facing the door at a respectful – but not submissive – pose, looking expectantly at the portal.

The door whines in protest but finally creaks open. A short human boy with neatly cropped red hair walks in before the doors open completely. He makes a gesture behind his back and after a confused growling sound the door shuts itself again.

"There. Privacy has always been something I treasure, especially in situations such as this." The human wipes his hands off against his sides and takes a seat behind the desk. It was obviously built just for him as, despite his diminutive stature, he's still at eye level with Galand.

Galand smiles amiably and purrs, "It's something that's often in short supply, especially on Rephidim." He does remain standing however, having not been told to sit.

The human raises an eyebrow quizzically at the Khatta for a moment until realization sinks in. "Please sit, Mister Galand. I consider this more a meeting of friends than a meeting of business. You remember the inauguration ball, do you not?"

The Khatta takes a seat, being sure not to sit on his impossibly long tail. He smiles. "Yes, I do indeed. As I recall, you mentioned possibly having a job for me to perform, and I rescued your dress uniform from a savage flying pastry."

The candidate laughs and folds his hands across the top of the table. "A job, yes… but it won't be a short term task. I'm looking for… " He strokes his cheek, "Bah – I can't think of the proper term. Allow me to explain… "

Galand nods, leaning back and relaxing, ears perked forward.

"I am not allowed to go outside ANYWHERE without an escort." His voice lowers. "Personally I don't think the Temple cares one way or another about me… but they have to keep appearances up. I'm looking for an escort who could provide protection should the instance arise, and someone who can be discreet when necessary."

The cat's eyes sparkle a bit as he laughs softly. "And how discreet is discreet?"

"Do you have friends, mister Galand?" The human scratches at the wood of his desk with a fingernail.

Galand nods, his face a bit more neutral. "I do. Some of them don't like to see the ah, light of day much, but most of them are honest enough. Many of them are people I do business with."

The human shakes his head, "I don't mean friends… I mean FRIENDS." He rubs his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis.

"USEFUL friends," the human adds.

The Khatta considers a moment. "Ah… yes, some of my friends can be quite… useful… What exactly did you have in mind?"

The candidate's eyes darken, "Allow me to ask you a question… hypothetically of course. Imagine that you were being supported by your friends at one point in your life. They educated you, let you have your way with things, and let you actually go out and feel the sun on your face when elsewise you might spend your days cooped up in some giant windowless building. Now imagine yourself going for some bit of training for a job you feel you deserve … but because of some treachery and the unfair advantage of your opponent having a little pet to guide him, you lose and get stuffed into a veritable dark closet and ignored. What's more, when you return home you find that all of your friends are either in hiding, dead, or in jail."

"How would you feel about that, Mister Galand? Would you look for new friends?" the human asks.

Galand hmmmms softly. "Yes… I believe I would. I can certainly understand that point of view. I was educated, then ousted, and finally made my own fortune, regardless of my wealthy father's predictions. So… yes… I can understand that, and yes, I'd likely look for some new friends."

The human smiles, "I looked in on you, Mister Galand. I found out about your background – which was why I thought you might be interested in this job. I have a few friends left but they require trips outside the Temple to visit, and there's not a guard in this building I feel I can trust anymore to bring me there safely." He clears his throat, "My job offer is this: an escort for various 'errands'… many of which could be profitable for you in ways you can't even begin to imagine. What I offer in return is a gold coin now, a silver every week, and an introduction to my friends. From you all I ask is discretion… and silence when ordered. You may be asked to do some unsavory things… "

An eyebrow, black on gray, rises over an ice-blue eye. "In my time in Rephidim, I've had to do things that were less than savory. I prefer not to if it's avoidable… It tends to attract unwanted attention at the worst times… but I am capable."

"I can take care of any eyes that might be watching you." The candidate grins. "Paperwork is a problem here in the Temple; records are lost from time to time… or matters that the Temple feels needs to be dealt with are forgotten and vanish. Such a disorganized system." He puts a hand to his chest in a mock-sympathy gesture. "Had I been chosen as Astromancer there probably would have been none of it at all!"

Galand chuckles softly. "Ah, I begin to see the picture. His Worshipfulness is the one you speak of who, ah… displaced you… "

The human's eyes grow cold as does his tone. "Yes. I'll tell you ALL about him as time goes by. He's just a hypocrite and an actor. He even claims to be sympathetic to slaves… yet LOOK at him! He's a slave-owner himself." He shakes his head. "Pah, but back to business… "

The Khatta nods, folding his hands on one knee. "Yes, business. So, if I were to agree to this, what would be my first task? Mind you, I'll not mention a word of this, no matter whether I enter your employ or not."

A smile creeps across the human's features once again, "For now… I simply wish to stretch my legs one or two nights a week. I'd like to go out, see the sights, smell the smells. I've never set foot in the Rephidim Bazaar, tasted ale from Bromthen Heaven, walked the grounds of the College Esoterica, and the closest I've ever come to gambling was with you during that horribly dull ball. I have an adequate disguise, but what good will it do me if I'm constantly seen with an Elite Guardsman or a Temple slave?"

Galand nods and smiles. "I understand completely. As you probably know, I faced much the same situation when living with my parents. Very well, I'm certainly willing to do that. I even know some places that you'll likely enjoy, and if you're worried about safety I am an expert marksman with a hand-crossbow."

"Very good. For now I believe we'd best start out small. I'll leave it up to you to decide the planning, although I should note that it is easier for me to make myself unavailable here at the Temple during the night as opposed to the daytime when more people are checking up on me. If you do your job well at showing me the sights, I'll introduce you to one of the few friends I have left – but he's the most powerful one of all." He extends a hand. "Iaokim. I never introduced myself properly. I am Rhys Iaokim."

The human hand is met by a slightly larger, furred one, and an amiable smile. "Ashur Galand, but you may call me Ash, if you like, or Mister Galand if that's more comfortable." He pauses to think for a moment, then says, "We could start by going to the inn I stay at… the Beggared Poodle. There's a little bit of everything going on there… wenching, gambling, drinking, decent food… and I often bring business home with me so to speak, so they'd think nothing of me having company."

Galand thinks a moment more, then says, "Oh… one bit of advice, should you ever go into the Three Thieves' Inn… First and foremost, never steal anything there, or it'll become the Four Thieves' Inn. Secondly… don't pinch the serving girl, Zsofi, unless you're either ready to lose a hand or a hefty tip."

The cat adds, "She's easy to spot. She's the one that talks about imploding children's heads."

"I wondered what became of her," Rhys muses. "Ahem. I'll need an escort for other reasons as well. Namely that this blasted body is still too young for most of the things I once enjoyed… and I… um… " He rubs his head, "I believe the proper term is 'lightweight'."

Galand nods slowly. "I see… I must confess I did wonder about your appearance, but I felt it would be impolite to ask."

"Yes… to add to my frustrations, I have full memories of living a long and productive life and then getting sick some time in my fifties. Then I wake up, I look nothing like I did before – not even as a child – and they tell me that six thousand years or so have passed by." He seems to be grumping at the world in general and not even directing his words at Galand anymore. "My wife, my job, my adulthood… pfft!" He makes eye contact with the Khatta again finally, "I only have my dignity left. But please, Mister Galand… if you have any questions, ask away. Nothing you say will go outside this room."

Galand blinks slowly… "Six… thousand years?!?" He appears completely astonished. "That's further back than recorded history… Who… What were you before?"

Rhys grins and leans back in his seat. "Second in command of the Expedition: a ship that sailed the stars and came here to Sinai to explore. There was a mutiny, and then we settled in. I know things about this planet and the history of it that would make the hairs of your tail fall out, Mister Galand."

The Khatta says quietly, his voice shaking a little. "Got something to drink?"

Arching an eyebrow, the human nods and hops from his seat. He wanders over to one of the tapestries and gently pulls it aside. Hidden behind it is a recessed cabinet containing several bottles. "How um… thirsty are you, Mister Galand?"

Galand thinks a moment, and says, "Fair-sized mental whammy."

Rhys laughs and picks up a black crystal bottle with some blackish liquid inside. "I tend to do that to people inadvertently. It labels me as a heretic or a madman." He sets the bottle down in front of Galand along with a small shot-glass. "I am neither. It's the whole world that's gone insane while I was denied my eternal rest."

Galand takes a deep breath and says, "I can understand that… " He gulps down a shot, and pours himself another. "There's about a million questions running through my head right now, and I'm not sure which ones to ask."

The liquid burns like fire down Galand's throat and tastes horrible. Still… it does serve to relax him with each drink.

Galand grimaces. "The first one being… what IS this stuff?"

"Wild Turkey Black. Some Skreek smuggled it in for me. I use it whenever things get too overwhelming." The candidate grins. "Do treat it with respect."

Galand chuckles softly. "I always treat spirits with respect. Alcoholic and otherwise. So… what brought you here? Why Sinai? And where's this ship of yours?"

"Several questions… Let's see now." Rhys hops back in his seat and ticks off his fingers. "We originally came here to explore. This world had great archaeological value and we wanted to see what it was about. As for my ship,well… " He clears his throat.

"You're in it now," Rhys says.

The only sound in the room immediately following that declaration are the soft shuffle of feet across the floor, the creak of a chair as it is sat in, and the clink of a bottle on a glass, followed by Galand's voice. "I… see. So… we all are descendants of the original crew. You… you're… you're a First One. Aren't you?"

"No no no no… the First Ones are rubbish. Dead and gone. Quite dead and gone. As for descendants… some of you are; some of you were uplifts." Rhys waves a hand. "Ironic, isn't it? I was chosen to represent the Priesthood in the Temple and I don't even believe in their religion."

Galand's eyebrow arches. "You know what could happen if some of this information got out to the general public… "

Another swallow, and the cat continues, more steady now, "… it could cause a revolution. The Temple would likely be overturned."

Rhys answers the question by bringing a finger across his throat in a slashing motion. "Quite correct. Either that or people would think you were a raving loony and hang you. I personally think the people of Rephidim are too lazy to revolt. As long as the Temple doesn't poke too deeply into their business, they probably wouldn't care if it was run by Creens and vermites."

Galand taps a claw-tip against his glass quietly. "I wasn't exactly thinking of the Rephidimians… There are others out there, downside, who wouldn't mind seeing the Temple fall from the sky… " He thinks a moment, then looks up. "Speaking of which, is the ah… Expedition functional?"

"No. Her flying days are done." Rhys shakes his head. "We very much wanted to leave, but this blasted planet crippled our ships. We couldn't even signal for a rescue."

Galand hmms softly, and says, "One thing that gets me, though. You said you're over six thousand years old. How is it you came to be in that situation? What preserved you?

"I wasn't so much 'preserved' as, um… 'recorded'." The candidate scratches his chin, "I'm sure that the original Rhys Iaokim died a long long time ago. What I am is a body imprinted with his memories." He taps his chin, "The technical term is 'clone', but the body they made was not that of the original Rhys. Just his memories."

Galand eyes the shot-glass and carefully sets it down on the table, next to the bottle. "I can see how that would be… disturbing. Even after hearing all this… I'm still your Khatta. But I do have to know one thing: I'm assuming you and the other Astromancer candidates – and his Mighty Worshipfulness Himself – are more of these… 'clone' things. What are your intentions regarding those of us who have lived here while you slept?"

"I don't care," the human answers. "Nobody has ever cared about me. I've either been a useful puppet, a tool, or a nuisance to be swept under the rug and forgotten. Why should I care about the world that's forgotten all about people like me?"

Galand hms. "Maybe we didn't care because we didn't know? Nobody knows except you, me, and your companions… and MAYBE a select few Templars… what REALLY happened, who you really are. The commoners don't have a clue. I knew you were different, even for a human, but I didn't suspect a single thing until you told me."

Galand mrrowls, "You and your companions aren't telling, and the High Templars never do anything but spout metaphysical nonsense to the unwashed masses. How were we to know?"

"It's not even that." Rhys sighs. "My whole purpose in life is currently one thing and one thing only: to replace the Astromancer should something ever happen to him. The very Temple that created me has discarded me, not to mention my friends vanishing when I returned from Tarsus." He waves a hand, "Do not mistake my indifference for malice. I could just simply care less if all the Jupani suddenly sprouted wings and flew off or if all the poodles on Sinai went bald. When I have a reason to care, perhaps I will… but for now this is not my world, not my home, and not the people I remember."

Galand hms. "Give it time. When I got ousted… I didn't care much either. If nothing else, the Bazaar will grow on you." He contemplates the bottle, then dismisses it. "I'm assuming what you've told me is to be kept quiet, yes?"

"Yes. For your health as well as my own," the human replies. "You may also keep the bottle… Oh yes, and this… " Rhys digs in his robe and pulls out a gold coin, flicking it towards the Khatta.

A flash of a quick-fingered hand later, and the coin is safely in the Khatta's pocket. "Thank you very much, Mister Iaokim. Is there anything else I need to know, or you need to ask me?"

"Just that nothing said here is to be spoken outside of this room. If anyone asks what business you had with the Temple, tell them that I wished to thank you for saving me from humiliation at the ball. Discretion is what I need from you most of all, Mister Galand." Rhys pulls himself from his seat and moves to the closed metal door.

Galand stands as well, tucking the bottle under his arm and the shotglass into his vest pocket. "Very well. How should I contact you, if I need to?"

The human seems a bit awkward now, almost two feet shorter than the Khatta now that they're both standing. "Don't take this to be as insidious as it sounds… but you need not worry about that. I'll find you."

Galand chuckles. "You've no idea how many times I've heard that." He sketches as good a bow as he can get, considering his consumption and cargo. "A good eve to you, Mister Iaokim. And thank you for answering the pestering questions of a curious cat."

"I am sure that you will have many more questions as our relationship grows." The human knocks on a metal panel in the wall and the door starts to cycle open. "Thank you again for seeing me, Mister Galand."

Galand watches Iaokim as he leaves, then waits for the obligatory Jupani to escort him out of the building. As he leaves, his face betrays only a slight hint of what he has learned. Upon descending the outer steps of the Temple, he turns to look at it, carefully for a long moment…

A couple walks past the Temple… They see a well-dressed Khatta looking up at the building with eyes that seem somehow haunted, carrying a bottle of spirits under one arm. Had they not given him a wide berth, they might have seen him shake his head and mutter, "A ship… no, it couldn't be… " Giving it one last, uncertain look, he shakes his head again, and starts the long walk home…