Throes shot through Medaurus's neck and forehead. He rose from the ornate marble floor, wincing briefly before sitting upright in order to gain his bearings. A beautiful yet haunting spectacle lay before him: a vast, moonlit cathedral of mighty pillars and colored glass, the grandeur of which exceeded even Leonte's Cathedral of St. Valeria. For a moment he wondered whether he was truly awake. His laced, linen shirt was covered in leaves, dirt and wooden debris. He wondered where the Vralthaar had taken them, and what its, no doubt, sinister intentions might be. He had underestimated the power of the stone. Though he'd devoted countless hours investigating it's macabre nature, it was now clear that he'd only scratched the surface of its true capabilities. He could not have anticipated that the stone would use human blood as a catalyst for teleportation.<br/><br/>He turned to Onora, who was staring directly at him, her eyes more suspicious and distrusting than ever. "I suspect you'd appreciate an explanation,” Medaurus said. He paused momentarily, rising to his feet and dusting off his garments. “Regrettably, so would I. The truth is much of the stone's nature remains a mystery to me. I know only that it is responsible for countless murders, including the young Sonia and the men and women of your company. They perished in service to me, and I bear some responsibility for their deaths. You must help me destroy the Vralthaar, Onora, or their deaths will have been in vain. You were forced to put one of your own men to death! Surely you understand why it cannot be allowed to abide in this world." Medaurus drew in a deep, satisfying breath.  “We should search for water and sustenance, as well as secluded place to rest. I fear I cannot go much longer without sleep. It would be wise to stay together; there’s not telling what horrors this fortress belies.”<br/><br/>“Perhaps I could be of assistance…” The tritonal, male voice echoed through the halls of the cathedral. Medaurus grew bewildered, and attempted to identify the source of the mysterious voice.<br/><br/>“And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Medaurus asked, suspiciously.<br/><br/>“I too am an inquisitor of the eldritch, godling. Though unlike you, I am not some pagan spirit made flesh, but a traveler of the dimensions, and a shaper of time and space. Your spirit may be older than mine, but not by much,” the voice responded.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fs8.postimg.cc%2Foya51f6b9%2Fphotomania-dce293e64b975712a11423b1b8ca668a.jpg&amp;hash=f28951ac95aec9ed9ca4e6fcca60a660" title="photomania-dce293e64b975712a11423b1b8ca668a.jpg">
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<i>Mysterious Orb<br/>
</i>​</div>Medaurus rolled his eyes, exasperated by the stranger’s inflated pride. After carefully searching the cathedral for the source of the voice, he at last discovered a glowing, blue-green orb, no larger than a small melon, at the feet a bloodied, beheaded statue of some unidentifiable saint. Medaurus grasped the orb between his pointed nails and raised it to the level of his eyes. As he stared into the small glowing mass, he beheld the head and torso of a figure, clad in Saqri robes of orange and grey. A flood of mysterious birds, dragons and other creatures seemed to continually flow from his long hair, rushing steadfast into oblivion. The sternum at the base of his floating torso was beset by orange poppies which framed the man’s pale, delicate face.<br/><br/>“What is your name? And how did you come to find yourself contained within this...globe? Medaurus asked with an irked yet bemused tongue.<br/><br/>“Silence! I shall answer your questions in time. For the moment, the two of you must find refuge within these walls. This castle is stalked by a score of Slith, serpent women with a taste for human flesh. Do not think they will spare you, godling. So long as you don that corporeal, human form,  they will strip the meat from your bones without hesitation. You must reach the Well of Eia. I shall lead you there. Bring peace to the spirit that dwells within, and ambrosia shall flow from the font of protection once more,” the mysterious stranger said.<br/><br/>“And why do you offer us this boon?” Medaurus said.<br/><br/>“I grow weary. The rejuvenating nectar of the well shall nourish me as well, even in this...form. We must head for the upper west coorid-”<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fs8.postimg.cc%2Fff0g7og5h%2Fphotomania-dc0b4b938b50720c1647f3e8318b95e9.jpg&amp;hash=d649de10518604895348976f114f4d0e" title="photomania-dc0b4b938b50720c1647f3e8318b95e9.jpg">
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<i>Slith<br/>
</i>​</div>The stranger’s words were interrupted by a hellish cacophony of hissing coming from every direction. From dark archways, two creatures resembling the aforementioned slith slithered into the moonlight. Medaurus had never seen creatures so abominable. They had no harms, only rounded stubs with, swollen, horned edges. Their hair was blonde and wispy. Thin lips surrounded rows of jagged teeth. Their necks were split down the middle, teeth lining the folds of skin as though their entire necks and mouths could open into single, flaring maws. In place of legs, long, scaly serpent tails coiled beneath naked and large bosomed torsos. They moved toward Medaurus and Onora with surprising speed, their folded mouths now wide open.<br/><br/>Medaurus reached for the wicker basket still within his grasp and unscrewed the cork at its top, unleashing an army of one hundred ebony wasps which buzzed furiously about. He slipped into their many skins, and raced toward an oncoming slith. It was always slightly disorienting at first: possessing and coordinating so many small body parts at once, though he quickly refined his coordination, and assaulted the slith with a litany of venomous stings. The demon writhed about. Large welts formed on her skin as thinned blood leaked from the cracks of her split neck. After squirming upon the ground for nearly a minutes time, her very torso exploded, lodging a dagger sized shard of bone shrapnel into his right shoulder. The tremendous pain forced Medaurus from the wasps’ skins, his glazed over, pale green eyes regaining their hued irises. He grit his teeth in agony, and ripped the column of bone from his shoulder, blood dripping down the pale skin of his arm.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbMediaWrapper">
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