Within the peaked archway leading into the floor level of this tall chamber stands Jarik, silhouetted by the lights of the corridor behind him, which have been apparently repaired since the earlier altercation. Before him, the shrine stands, still, dark and silent – dark, that is, save for the racks of flickering candles on each side of the central column.

Jarik's return to the Temple was not entirely pleasant. He received a thorough chewing-out from one of the wolf Lieutenants, and was sent straight to the infirmary. Since then, though, he managed to hobble his way out, and find his way back to this place, to look over it once more …

Jarik thinks. o O { Okay Jarik, it's time to change how you handle things. No more barging in… I know there's more going on here than meets the eye. But what? }

The air is dry and dusty, and the walk to get here through the meandering corridors has been taxing on Jarik in his weakened condition – though his determination remains.

Jarik walks over to the console. Most of his weight is exerted on a staff, his back still screams from the burn of the blade and the impact of the shingle.

Jarik looks around the room again. o O { Just what is this place… ? }

The console is cold, smooth, reflective – with an operating panel laden with multiple keys and controls, beneath a large, dark monitor which has survived untold time intact, yet is quite lifeless.

the fox lowers himself to the spot where the inquisitor lay. His good paw reaches out and touches the floor…

Where Jarik touches, he finds a faint chalk mark. He can spy another chalk mark where the Inquisitor's attacker was felled by the knight's sword. Perhaps the markings were made as part of someone else's investigation, to record positions.

Jarik looks up to the console. o O { What are you, my odd little pillar? Those… upraised bumps… Perhaps it's like a puzzle box. Push them in the right order, something happens. }

Jarik shakes his head and goes back to investigating. No need to get into more trouble tinkering with their sacred trinkets.

Before the console is some padding on the floor – and by the look, a very recent addition compared to the other contents of this chamber. The padding is so low that it would seem awkward to sit there, but the depressions show sign of use – perhaps to rest one's knees upon. Doing so would not place one in a position to be able to access the console, however, but only to gaze upon the darkened monitor.

Jarik scoots back and takes a look at the chalk outline…

There is an outline where the would-be assassin fell. The chalk mark where the Inquisitor fell, however, is but a crude X. After all, he was not left there long enough for anyone to bother chalking his outline.

Jarik thinks. o O { Obviously the assassin hit the inquisitor with the hilt first. The injury wasn't a cut, more like a club wound. He's lucky to be alive… }

Footsteps echo in the entrance corridor, a good distance away, approaching at a slow, unhurried pace.

Jarik looks over to the assassin's chalkmark. o O { He was a rather poor swordsman. Perhaps he was just a decoy? I know I was lucky to have won that battle… I wonder how he got in here so easily? }

Jarik blinkblinks and looks up when he hears the footsteps.

There is no one to be seen yet. Whomever is approaching is still a good distance away, and around the bend.

At the assassin's chalkmark, there are a few spots near where the head would have laid, where it seems that the smooth stone surface has been marred – as if it had been etched into.

Jarik thinks. o O { Will I get in trouble for being here? Hmm. No matter. I need to examine this. Where they came from there is sure to be more. }

Jarik slides himself over to the assassin's chalking. He extends one claw and delicately probes the etched floor…

The etched portions are in irregular shapes … like puddles and splatters, but with something capable of eating just a little bit into the floor.

Jarik's brow furrows. { What caused this? } O o . he wonders, { I didn't have any weapon that could do this. Unless that dagger… ? No… It was probably a suicide pill so they wouldn't get caught. }

The footsteps continue approaching, rounding the bend. It would seem someone is coming, possibly alone, by the sound.

Jarik tilts his ear to the sound. { Hmmm, I wonder who this could be? Perhaps this person will know more of what happened here. I'll wait for them. } O o . the fox decides.

Silhouetted by the light from the corridor just as the fox was earlier, a slender form strides into the room – a cheetah – the same cheetah who sewed Jarik's wounds earlier, at his bidding.

Apparently she does not notice Jarik off to the side amongst the shadows. She continues toward the shrine, carrying something, then kneels, resting her knees on the padding set before the console.

Jarik smiles a bit and waves to the cheetah, "Hello M'lady. I was just taking a look around. I'm sorry if I'm intruding here, but, I've been worried."

There is a faint gasp as the cheetah stops in the middle of making the sign of the Star across her chest. She turns, still kneeling, to face Jarik, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust, seeking out his form in the darkness.

Jarik looks to the cheetah, "I'll go if you wish, M'lady. I don't want to intrude."

The cheetah turns away, back to the console a moment, bowing her head, eyes closed. Then, she makes the sign of the Star again, and rises, backing away from the shrine with head low, then turning on her digitigrade heel to approach Jarik.

Jarik watches her silently. { A silent and gentle grace she has… } O o . he thinks.

As she draws closer, she notices the chalk markings and the place Jarik has been examining. Her gaze drifts about, curiously, as if trying to discern whatever Jarik might be able to see in all this.

Jarik looks back to the floor, "I'm not sure if they were trying to kill him or not. Both were poor swordswolfs. But, the one I killed here could have easily slain the inquisitor. No one is THAT poor. Instead, it looks like he clubbed him. I wonder why… "

The cheetah looks about, following Jarik's narrative, and nods as she listens. Her brow furrows at Jarik's observation regarding the attack on the Inquisitor which could have been too easily more lethal than how it was delivered.

Jarik shakes his head and takes a breath, "I'm worried… that they were just distractions. Or warnings."

She looks back to Jarik for a while, watching him search for clues in the silent stonework and his memories of events transpired. She looks worried and helpless for a time, but looks down, then kneels beside Jarik, opening a purse at her side, from which she produces two thick wooden cups to set on the floor.

Jarik taps the holes in the floor. "And these," he says, "I'm not sure what caused these."

Still listening to Jarik, but not following his indications, the cheetah takes a flask from the purse, and pours some of the liquid contents into each cup.

Jarik rubs his neck, "T'Aris, I wish I had your wisdom, old friend."

The cheetah glances up at Jarik briefly as he mentions his mentor, with an expression that reveals that she has no notion of what he speaks. She looks down again, closing the flask and putting it away in her purse once more, which she sets to one side.

Jarik doesn't seem to notice the cheetah's actions. He's lost in thought. The fox looks up to the balcony. "And, how did they get in here?" he mutters.

Jarik looks back to the Cheetah, finally noticing the cups.

Jarik says, "I'm sorry, M'lady. I seem to be rambling."

Quiet as ever, the cheetah provides no answers to Jarik's wonderings. Nor does the chamber give a clue to be easily seen. The passageways leading to here and the balcony, after all, were fairly narrow, long and winding, and there were no conveniently large air ducts to be found for intruders to go shimmying about in.

Jarik says, "I know I probably seem brash and arrogant… I shouldn't have asked you what I did. I'm sorry, M'lady."

Jarik says, "I've never been someone who served a lord. I've always been… well… alone."

The two wooden cups are set out, filled with a translucent sweet-smelling liquid – a wine, it would seem.

Jarik tilts his head, "Something that's changed it seems."

The cheetah picks up one of the cups, offering it to Jarik.

Jarik chuckles, "It's a paladin's lot to be disliked I guess. Ah well." His brow furrows again as he thinks. o O { Perhaps Moffat ordered the assassination… He seemed awfully happy to hear about it.I'll have to keep my eye on him. }

Jarik clears his mind. "So M'lady… what is in the cups?" he asks.

The cheetah looks down at the cup, then back to Jarik. She pauses a moment, looking somewhat confused, then sets the cup down, and makes some rapid gestures with her hands. Seeing that Jarik can make nothing of the meaning of the gestures, she lets out an audible sigh, her shoulders sinking.

Jarik's ears droop, "I'm sorry… if my magic still worked perhaps I could understand. At least then Icould feel what you felt. I feel, oddly impaired."

Jarik picks up one of the cups and sniffs the liquid.

The cheetah looks back up, smiling faintly, and picks up the other cup as well. She holds it up to her nose, closing her eyes as she breathes in the fragrance of the wine.

Jarik hmms to himself. He doesn't recognize the scent.

Jarik tilts it so a drop of the liquid touches his lips…

The scent, hard to place, has hints of some sort of fruit. Grapes? … or maybe strawberries, for all one can tell? Or maybe a field of roses – with just the faintest hint of vinegar, speaking of the fermenting.

On Jarik's tongue, it is evidently a fine wine – an alien wine, tasting of whatever fruits may be found on this world – a sweet vintage.

The cheetah takes a drink of her wine as well – though not the meager drop Jarik tests with. Daintily, she sips at it, looking over the cup back at the fox knight before her.

Jarik smiles and takes a sip of the wine. The fox doesn't look like a hardened warrior, more like a gentle, old friend.

In the scarce ambient light from the corridor and the lit candles, Jarik can see the deep green of the cheetah's eyes – something he has not seen elsewhere during his trips out into Rephidim. The cheetahs have all been possessed of fur just as golden, hair just as dark, but their eyes have invariably been brown. Hers seem like emeralds in comparison.

For just a moment, the cheetah's hands tremble, and she blinks. She lowers the cup, holding it in one hand, covering her mouth with the other, as she giggles, and then looks surprised at herself for it. Trying to regain her composure, she lifts the cup and sips some more, but she cannot repress the smile.

Jarik savors the wine. "Wow… " he says, "Has it been four years since I tasted wine? My sisters birthday… I remember." he smiles at an old memory.

Jarik blinkblinks at the giggle?

The memory seems more vivid than ever at the recollection. Almost tangible.

Jarik sits there, "The inn, we decorated it… she was just so happy. It seems so long ago, like a different life." A single tear falls down the foxes cheek.

The dreary ruin of the temple seems to fade away. There is only Jarik and his golden-furred companion, and the taste and aroma of the wine … and then even the cheetah seems to be blurring. There is for a moment the sound of something falling and clattering on the floor, but the sound soon recedes, replaced by an indistinct, warm fuzziness – dreams long sought after, fantasies yet to be fulfilled, pleasant memories cherished.

The memories, fantasies and dreams all blur together. What is memory? What is merely the way that Jarik would wish things had become?

Jarik gets lost in memories of the past… dreams he feared to fulfill. He sees old friends long gone, nights talking around a campfire …

What was your name Jarik? What was the part of you that you buried so long ago?

The only thing to intrude into this pleasant montage is a startled exclamation, a voice jumbled, from far away – and a feeling of a heavy weight slumped against him. Or is that out of order? Time seems so subjective…

"Why are you so afraid?" the voices whisper to him, "Why do you deny what you were?"

Within the hase sits a young fox on a fence. He's smiling and waving to a little girl, no older than 12. The fox… is it Jarik? There is so much difference. He's young and happy. His eyes shine with life. What memory is this? What part of his past does this come from? He seems so… so… alive. Voices are heard, "Come on brother! lets go!" Then a fox's voice, "Nono, have to help mom with the inn… " Then the female again, "Oh, that's right Mr. Jarik Fireclaw, innkeeper!" There's a giggle and it fades away…

The haze clears again. It's a starry night. Two sillouettes can be seen in the moonlight. It's the young fox once again, this time his arm is around a pretty, young ladyfox. Voices echo oddly, detached. "Look at the sky, Alis." the fox says, "Isn't it incredible? Those pinpoints of light. I could look at them forever… " He turns to her and smiles. A female voice echos now, "That they are, that they are." she smiles slyly, "But, I find the stars in your eyes… " With that, the two foxes kiss… "Just hold me Jarik, promise you'll never leave me." she says and lays her head on his shoulder. The vision fades with the words "I promise Alis, I promise… "

The dreams fade away into a haze of darkness – a jumble of sensations immediately forgotten. How much time passes? It is impossible to know.

The darkness gives way to faint red … the glow of light as seen through Jarik's eyelids, as he lies … in a bed? A very soft and comfortable bed, unlike his own. And then there's that smell in the air … herbs? Flowers? Something pleasant, nonetheless.

Silence meets his ears, save for the sound of his own breathing.

But within Jarik's head, there is a buzzing … a dull throb … not a greatly painful one, but still an unpleasant presence that does not fade away.

The light does not go away. Jarik's eyelids flicker open involuntarily. He can see that he is in a room … no windows … a lamp burning at a stand nearby. Thick, soft pillows under his head. Pillows beside him, with a depression marked in them.

A chair nearby holds Jarik's belongings. The whole room is nice and neat and tidy, warm despite the cold starkness of the walls that hints to Jarik that … he must be somewhere within the Temple grounds yet.

"Azhtar?" a voice calls out, stirring up a hive of bees, it feels, in Jarik's head.

Jarik tries to sit up…

The door opens, and in a furling of red and black, someone enters the room … and affixes dark brown baleful eyes on Jarik. "Ensign … what are you doing in … " the voice trails off, the question uncompleted. Perhaps the Inquisitor Melchizedek is certain that he already knows the answer. He asks another in its stead. "Where is Azhtar?"

Jarik squints. "Who… ?", he rasps…

The unicorn does not look amused in the least. "Azhtar," he says abruptly, and it seems he has little intention to say more.

Jarik tries to swallow. "Where am I? How did I get here? What was in that stuff?" he coughs. "Sir, I… honestly don't know… "

No answer from the unicorn. He turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, stirring up the hornets in Jarik's head once more.

Jarik's voice seems somewhat strained, "Sir… I… " He's cut off by the door slamming. His mind buzzes and swirls with the odd memories, the past he thought he buried with his race. His body remains motionless on the bed. The fox begins to cry.