Well, uh, he might've gotten... a little lost on his way to Leo.

All right, so he should've figured out that Tunnel E wasn't the passage to the Bay by the time he'd gotten halfway through and still wasn't feeling very warm. But hey, this wasn't a bad place to be either! The whole place was well-kempt and pristine, unlike the wild growth of Eridanus or stubborn, often-malformed plants peeking out from between rocks and crystals in other caves.

Scorch paused by a patch of sweet-smelling flowers, coaxing some to magically grow on his forehead in a wreath above the row of glowing moss on his brow. He could add it to his garden,l later. Twitches, too, he'd allow to nibble at the grass, and even snatched up a little wallcrawler with his talons as he wandered into the palace to feed to the red mouse. Sure, it probably would've been more convenient to leave the gem-encased creature at home, but it seemed a little cruel when it would have had no enrichment available.

There were many, many twists and turns in this place, Scorch realized, and it would take a long time to explore them all. But! He could do it safely, and take as long as he wanted without fearing that the roof might suddenly crumble on him. (Some of the buildings in Orion were really dilapidated. Most of them, actually.)

Somehow, he managed to fly through the hallways without breaking anything. Everything was so perfectly arranged that Scorch would have felt horrible if he'd knocked something askew. Especially some of those vases--they looked very breakable. Landing and setting Twitches down, Scorch approached a random door. There was something about its rectangular shape and different color that reminded him of the ruined doorways in Orion—but this one wasn't open. What was beyond it? the owl wondered. Surely, with their penchant for perfection, whoever had created the palace wouldn't have put a randomly different rectangle in a hallway for nothing.

But if it really was a different sort of doorway, how was he meant to get beyond? Head rotating this way and that, Scorch stared at the doorway in utter confusion. Finally, he'd reach out a talon to give it an experimental nudge.

Scorch would find that he was most certainly not alone.

Oilstone golems--sleek and slick black--crunched and rumbled their way around the halls, patrolling in Isra's absence: the room guardian's final safeguard before she had returned to her own chrysalis to heal. For the most part, they ignored the owl, or appeared to: his presence did not change their slow march up and down the halls.

But when he touched the locked door, a faint shimmer of magic rippled out; and the nearest two Golems swivelled--one at each end of the hallway--and began their gradual churn in his direction. They did not yet seem urgent: more alerted, their focus now on Scorch, to see what he'd do next.

@Scorch

SCORCH

Nothing happened. Huh. Was this a... door that opened when you pulled on it, rather than pushed? Did those things attached to it need to be manipulated somehow? Scorch wasn't sure how he'd manage that, given his lack of hands with opposable thumbs.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Scorch's head spun to stare at the golem approaching from his left. Thump. Then at the one on his right. Their approach seemed ominous, somehow, with their looming shapes and black iridescence. "Uh..." he began nervously, becoming uncomfortably aware of the fact that it was hard to back away when golems were approaching you from both ends of a hallway. "You... ha... wouldn't happen to be door openers, would you?"

They reminded him of the golems that wandered Polaris, only a lot blacker. And more purposeful. At least they didn't seem to collect gems the way the others did--or not people's gems, anyway. Blinking anxiously, the owl resisted the urge to preen the feathers by his own gem just to make sure it was still attached to him. They hadn't even done anything yet.

The nearest Oilstone golem stomped to a halt some twenty feet away, and simply stared at Scorch.

It did not speak--possibly because it was unintelligent, or possibly because it did not in fact have a mouth.

The other golem paused, then about-faced and wandered back in another direction entirely.

@Scorch

SCORCH

'...'

"..."

"... Well, all right," Scorch said, in his best attempt to sound jaunty while hiding his queasiness. "I guess... not? Um. Sorry for... loitering?" Was that why it was looking at him like that? "Or, uh..." Was it insulted somehow? "I can... open doors myself?" he tried. "Sorry for--assuming anything, I guess."

Scorch swallowed nervously. Twitches squeaked. "Well, uh, I'll just be--on my way!" He could find a less golem-infested hallway to explore! Yeah! Taking Twitches carefully in one talon, he shot off away from the staring golem. Maybe there'd be an open doorway somewhere else, and he could enter without attracting the golems' wrath for loitering.

As it turned out, none of the hallways were any less "golem-infested," though a few doors did stand open.

One, down at the far end of a hallway, led to Nedies's kitchen: the scent of food was strong in the air even to an owl's weak sense of smell. The clang of work was even more obvious, with the clashes of pots and pans and the murmuring of the chef himself.

But before Scorch would reach that, there stood quieter, dimmer rooms open left and right: doors propped wide, no barrier to hold him out, leading to small dwelling rooms. These bedrooms were simple, but well-appointed: plush beds, wardrobes, dressers, and often little balconies looking out over the palace gardens. But they were empty: void of personal belongings, without the touch of clothes or flowers in them. Instead, the mirrors and few bits of art were sterile and silent, though perfectly cleaned.

Which room, or rooms, he would choose to inspect depended on his own choice, of course.

@Scorch

SCORCH

Gosh, how many of those darn things were there? Scorch would swear up and down he'd only seen a couple, at the most. Either they were all following him around for some reason (creepy!), or he was a lot worse at identifying nondescript amalgamations of black stone that all looked much the same than he'd thought.

No, he decided, they were definitely following him. There! That golem! Didn't its.... (face?) look familiar? Scorch huffed indignantly as he flew. He wasn't even doing anything suspicious? Why were they just stalking him? STALKERS.

Maybe going somewhere with more people would scare them off. And for that, all he had to do was follow the indescribable noise--it sounded like... lots of things falling? Or hitting each other? Scorch might have thought there was some sort of fight going on, if it weren't for the delicious smell. And hey, maybe he could get some free food out of sympathy for his golem-infested predicament?

He swooped through the kitchen doors, calling out a distracted "hey there!" to the tiger (was he the one making all the noise?) before his head swiveled back, checking to see if those things were still tailing him.

The Oilstone golems didn't follow; as soon as Scorch left the locked door alone, the one following lurched back into its mindless patrol route.

Nedies swivelled at the voice, dropping a pan, crying out in surprise. "NEDIES!" he cried, as if berating himself, quickly trying to pick the pan (and the vegetables that had been in it) back up. "That won't do... Who are you? Here for a midnight snack--or is it lunch?" A laugh, and he turned away, quickly dumping his veggies into a tub of water to clean them. He worked quickly, each movement rushed--and in the background, a strange bristly creature shuffled past, sweeping a little bit of dirt before it.

Indeed the room around the centaur shone with cleanliness; and it was hung with tools, clustered at every corner. Cutlery and ladles, big wooden spoons and rolling pins, stacks of bowls and plates and glasses and mugs--the room was ready to prepare feasts at a moment's notice. A stairwell rose up--another entrance to his kitchen, perhaps. Smoke rose from a stove top, and strips of thin meat were hanging overtop to dry.

@Scorch

Nedies?! Scorch's feathers fluffed up at the sudden speech, his wings half-spreading as if to take flight again. Was that some sort of... foreign language word for no? Someone the tiger had mistaken him for? Some kind of criminal that had done a specific thing, like one might yell out 'thief' or 'robber'?

Scorch was none of these things, but the tiger seemed nice, so he stayed and smoothed his feathers back down. "Uh, hi!" he tried politely. Hiding from the creepy golems following people around didn't seem like the type of answer he should give. "Um- an afternoon snack?"

He glanced down at Twitches, clutched in a talon. "If you don't mind, I mean. I've got a... friend? pet? here that would probably like some fruit, if you've got some."

"Certainly, of course!" He muttered for a moment, rummaging here and there, and only then did it seem to register that Scorch had with him a mouse. A mouse, in fact, encased in stone. He stood up so fast he banged his head on a hanging pot overhead, winced, hissed, and muttered something else--then focused at last on the mouse.

One hand rubbed his head where he'd banged it, but otherwise he peered at it. "What a strange thing," he observed quietly, then blinked to Scorch. He smiled. "So you are one of--ah, one of our fine mistress's guests? Either mistress?" he added, with a short laugh--there were two now, after all! "Tell me, friend, what sort of culinary masterpiece would you prefer?"

He turned, skirting the firepit that lay cold and empty before the open stone stove--all of it long worn bare. A pantry door was flung open with a flourish, little wooden crates on every shelf filled with a wide variety of preserved foods--and fresh ones, too. "For the little one... hm, fruit salad with a honey-lime dressing, yes? And for you-" he turned back, scrutinizing Scorch. He wasn't sure what this one ate--but he had asked, after all.

@Scorch