Steeled for the end, and resolute in the goal to make this desert into an ocean of blood before he fell, Zoba stood at the ready, Calibos unsheathed and starving for combat. But though he was ready to meet his fate, the throng surrounding him did not advance. In fact, they suddenly seemed unsure. Until they dropped to their knees. The assault of flesh turned into an ebb tide of docile creatures, heads bowed.
Confusion filled Zoba for the first time in his life. Truly unsure of what was happening. And then he looked up, and saw the impossible. An image of the one he recognized from across the Chasm floated in the air above him. Serene. Eyes closed. Not even aware some would say.
But the Velchurians seemed to know what this meant. The portent was as potent as it was obscure, but clearly this primitive tribe of plains dwellers were versed in the dark prophecies. Few Alycians trafficked in that forbidden knowledge, but they were not bound by the same rules as most. The only reason that Zoba had any inkling what this spoke to was because his role as Protector of Alycia required that he be versed in all possible threats to the realm. But even a mind as advance as his was overwhelmed by the idea of what this indicated was to come. He also fell to his knees.
At that moment the vision in the sky blinked out. Zoba heard a murmuring around and looked up to see the crowd before him parting. A Velchurian woman approached, regal in gait and taut as a bow. She was adorned like royalty, but moved like a warrior. Even Zoba couldn’t help but be impressed as she drew near and he saw her height nearly equaled his own.
“My name is Fleur Ondine,” she said. “I am Princess of the Plains and I claim you as my husband.”
Zoba looked around, confused as to this turn of events, then turned his gaze back to her as she knocked him out with an ornate club.
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