Trial of Oris - Order 1

Learning from the Keepers was as interesting as it was important. Wassail had bid them farewell in hopes of continuing his search for more clues to the Matriarch's whereabouts. Upon leaving the vast libraries, the scarlet and deep teal runner was met with more winding caves. This time though, he noticed more and more claw marks on the walls of the caves. The scent of rusting metals hit his nose causing him to reel back a bit, startled. He also started to see painted murals of haedians worshiping some type of god. It was red, black and gold. Bull shaped, its sweeping horns turned upwards with a circular object sitting in between them. It was surrounded by cruder images of haedians. Nothing like the Keepers or Watchers tapestries.

“You there. State your business.” A raspy voice called out from the shadows.

Jumping and flaring his wings to make himself appear larger. He snarled a bit, bearing his fangs for the unknown entity. He watched as an older Haedian emerge from the black shadows.

“State your business.” He hissed again, tail twitching in annoyance.

“I wish to seek an audience with the leader of the clan of Order. I simply wish to talk.” Wassail narrowed his eyes at the other, pulling his ears back.

“You are denied until you prove worthy.” The elder growled, his own ears drawn back flush against his head.

“Prove worthy? By what grounds must I prove myself then? Name your requirements.” The scarlet and deep teal runner puffed his chest looking down at the other creature.

The elder watched him. Eyes narrowing, their tail thrashed before turning.

“They are not mine to name. But before we continue on. Do you revere Oris by walking in his shadow?” He looked at the mural that was on the wall.

“Who?” The runner tilted his head.

He followed the elders' gaze. This must be that ‘Oris’ fellow he mentioned. Wassail had never even heard of this being before. He looked at the mural over again before shaking his head.

“I am not religious, nor have I heard of this god before.” Wassail frowned, shaking his head.

A growl came from the throat of the elder. Wassail soon realized that he was slowly being surrounded by other haedians. Some were covered in scars and missing limbs, others were thin with loose skin and sinking eyes. The crowd grew, the scarlet and teal green runner felt his tail swing side to side as he watched them come.

“You simply do not know the joys of Oris? You uneducated fool. We will teach you his ways.” The elder chuffed, a smirk appearing on his lips.

It was at that moment that Wassail was swept away within the crowd. They were actively pushing him into a different, bigger room. The murals that covered these walls were much larger than the first he saw. These depicted the god, Oris, in full body coverage. His bull shaped body covered with a cape, still in the red and black color scheme as the god himself. One had him fighting another god, this one a blue and golden winged serpentine. Another had him emerging from the depths of shadows, from the abyss of nothingness.

“Oris is the god of chaos and strength. He allows us to protect the Matriach from those who may harm her. With his power, we hope to be the strongest clan of Haedians. Even stronger then you topsiders.” A younger clan member hissed out.

They were covered in darkened chains that rattled as they moved. Wassail wrinkled his nose again as he realized the smell from before came from said chains. It made his stomach roll with unease.

“We do not measure strength based purely on power alone. We have no need for anything like that since our own wars many years ago, which have long since ended.” The scarlet and teal winged runner hissed, flaring his wings again.

Watching the other step back within the crowd, Wassail felt his hackles still raise. He did not care to learn of this god. Nor any others for that matter.

“You may not, but we still do, topsider. Perhaps a demonstration of his strength and ability are in order?” The elder spoke once more, lashing his tail.

Two younger Haedians stepped forward, their blackened chains rattling with each step. Again the stench wafted off of them in rolls. They began to circle each other, sizing one another up before leaping to attack. They bite at each other's throats, never making full contact, but they do draw blood. They clawed, snarling and snapping, their chains occasionally broke with the sheer force they were using. Wassail growled lowly, this ‘demonstration’ was unnecessary. He knew already he would not worship this god, nor would he allow this clan to force him too.

“Enough! I will not follow this god nor his ways.” The runner shouted, standing his ground.