Petition... -- The Middle of Nowhere

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Date Posted: 09:30:12 03/03/02 Sun
Author: Nigia, Creator, Anella
Subject: Petition...

A powerful black-furred beast stands alone on a mountain top, the brisk and chill wind fluttering his thick mane about his proud head. Tail tuft twitching idly, four muscular legs straight and holding his noble form easily still -despite the force of the wind and the iciness of the bare rock- Moneshai turns his golden gaze upwards, his shimmering eyes searching the one who would give him answers. A sonorous voice booms out of the cloudy sky:

~Why have you come?~

The Nigia Original answers calmly, not in the least awed to be in the presence of that which could destroy him, his species, and his world with the flick of an eye - if, that is, Creators have eyes.

I have come to ask something of you. And I will not deal with your pets this time.

A roll of thunder, or perhaps laughter, echoes across the clouds.

~You presume much, Moneshai. You should be honoured that even my pet would speak to you.~

The black male snorts. He cares nothing for rank or prestige. Honour, yes, but honour in battle or in governing -such as he does- his people. Unwillingly, his mind flickers to his past mate. A Creator had killed her out of spite, in the prime of her life. As an Original, and an old one at that, the Nigia has had many mates, and loved them all with his soul. Of the Line Nigias are not common, no, but nor is their number limited to one, as is Redwood's Line.

Two things I am going to speak with you about, one far more pressing than the other.

Dropping his polite, reverent tone, the male assumes one of strength - his usual tone in dealing with any Lavanian that he does not detest. Flicking his ears, he duly notes the Creator's continued presence, as well as a flicker of lightning high above that signifies an anella is nearby. However, the powerful spirit is trying to annoy him; the wind begins to howl viciously, shoving at his massive frame and tearing at his night-dark fur, and suddenly his paws find little purchase on the steep slope.

~Speak, then, Moneshai. Surely the more pressing matter is how to revenge your dead mate?~

No. There are 32 huntable species on Lavana that I know of. How many are numerous enough to make a difference? Four. Helks and Byms are numerous but not wide-spread. Thus the only true food-sources we have, aside from fish, birds, and foliage, are Preda Bens and Quomais.

~Your point, little Nigia?~

Unless you want me and mine to start Banaying some nonsentients into Original, sentient food sources, I suggest one of you Creators put your omnipresent mind to work and supply some meat.

Flattening his ears as the wind succeeds in shoving him a bit farther towards the edge, where undoubtedly a fall down the mountainside would kill him, the black beast digs his silvery-black claws into the icy rock, staring with nearly-glowing eyes up at the gray skies. Then, the huge voice answers amusedly,

~If you have the means to do so, what forces you to, against your will and pride, to come to a Creator for help?~

Moneshai snarls, tail whipping back and forth.

You well know why! I do not hunt sentients. Nor do my kind. Some predators on Lavana make no distinction but most certainly do. I have not the skill to Baenae one nonsentient into another nonsentient, as the curse requires intelligence to feel the pain and suffering enacted. You Creators made this curse and gave it down to us, you know this as well as I!

Another thunderous laugh elicits a snarling growl from the Nigia, though he knew the Creator was not afraid. Quite suddenly, the spark of lightning drops, condensing into a massively powerful draconic being. As Moneshai feels the Creator leave, he roars, the sound silencing the wicked wind.

~Calm yourself, Lavanian. I will help you.~

The anella's sweetly musical voice sends chills up the male's spine, and he turns his shining orbs to her blazing form, golden fire flickering around the glimmering scales. Then, he freezes as the anella transmits another part of the Baenae to him, such that will allow him to curse a nonsentient into a nonsentient. Along with the information comes an amused feeling of reproach, as though chiding the Original for thinking the Creators gave them all of the Baenae. Then, her fiery form vanishes, leaving behind the smell of electricity and Crazouli deposits. Silently the black feline turns and makes his way down the cliffs, mind whirling with this new knowledge and the enormity of the task he has undertaken.

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