ORIGIN

The Black Dog stood silent, his head slightly tilted, staring up at the dam. It was an ancient and crumbled wall, and he wondered, deeply, where it had come from--and why. There were often stone creatures there, shifting and moving in the deeper shadows of the ruined structure, and he was careful not to get too close; but today he wanted to. He wanted to approach, to slip in, to touch to the stone and see what it knew.

Quiet, head lowering, he padded forward. He knew not to use his magic, but then, he knew a new shape for it and still did not know what it did. Black paused some distance from the golems--still a hundred yards or more away, and thus far unnoticed. He'd wondered for some time if the new magic had something to do with them; he'd learned it here in Polaris, and it never seemed to do anything.

He'd try it, once or twice, and see what it prompted; if nothing, he'd try to sneak closer to the stone dam on his own. Pale blue eyes closed, and he concentrated, summoning up the magic that the pain-spearing orb had "taught" him.

Nothing happened, and so he was left standing silent--a black shape in the dark, motionless, head low and eyes closed.

He'd have to gather himself, and try again.

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He half-crouched, and slunk closer. He moved more like a cat than a dog, now, with careful placement of each paw, with rolling shoulders and a head motionless relative to his body, held low and with eyes fixed on the distant golem targets. Targets of his attention, of course, not of his aggression; he had little, anyway, and these creatures were not easy to defeat.

Best to avoid them.

Once closer, he focused again. The Spire's magical energy lashed through this cave frequently, and he waited until he felt a surge of it before attempting to shape his own spell.

Again, however, nothing happened, and Black slowly lowered himself to his haunches. He'd have to sneak closer on his own, then. This strange magic, this spell that seemed to do nothing, must have some hidden purpose. Perhaps he would discover it, in time, but for now he'd need to concentrate on the task at hand: to sneak by the golems, to get to the dam wall, and to test it with his magic.

He'd caught glimpses in the past of the history of things, merely by touching them with his magic; he knew that if he did attract the golems, he'd have to view the wall's visions and then merely run for it, hoping the golems didn't catch up. They seemed to ignore magic cast at them in favor of chasing down and trying to kill the caster.

Black would rather not get crushed today.

Or any day.

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He crouched, and crept quietly forward only after a long wait. He was certain the golems hadn't yet sensed his approach, and so began to prowl almost cat-like along the rock, keeping to the cover of boulders and of shadows.

He wasn't sure just how golems perceived the world--if they had standard senses like sight, smell and hearing--or if they only "saw" magic itself. He wasn't, however, going to take any chances, and remained as quiet and as hidden as he possibly could.

There was one nerve-wracking moment where his paw set a pebble clattering off down the hill. Black froze in place for several long moments, behind a large stone, and tried to keep his breathing quiet and calm as he listened for any golem approach.

Nothing came, however--at least not right away--and he continued on, until he had managed to slip around to the wall's nearest edge.

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Quietly, he crept closer, slipping past the final golem--one not too close, but active nonetheless, stomping to and fro with crunches of rock-on-rock. Here, he thought at last, and the thought was not without some satisfaction.

One carefully-placed paw drew him closer. Another, and he was beside the crumbled dam.

Wet black nose pressed to stone, and Black closed his eyes. The moment of truth was at hand: he would have to feel the wall for its past, delving into it as swiftly and as accurately as he could with magic--and then flee. Flee as he'd never fled before, bolt at top speed in a tumbling gallop away from the stone monstrosities. The golems, he knew, would undoubtedly turn and pursue him the moment they sensed his casting.

Black took a deep, quiet breath, focused, and cast his magic forth--into the crumbled dam, into the stonework, reaching for a breath of its past.

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