The Forgotten Zodiac

Werr smiled a bit, sitting up and rubbing his face to get sleep out of his eyes. He sighed and watched the others sleep, rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn't help but stare at Luen, very much unhappy that his acquaintance had lost an arm. And Diana...she was gone, too. Werr couldn't help but feel like he was at fault, at least a little. If he hadn't sent Luen with Nate, this wouldn't have happened...

Luen, surprisingly, woke up next, slowly opening his dull emerald eyes. He laid still for a moment, then suddenly looked confused. Again, there was no movement, then he finally lifted his left arm and felt for his right one. His fingers touched his shoulder, where there was just a clean-cut, one-inch space before there was nothing at all. Luen frowned, then slowly looked down, staring at where his right arm should've been. He didn't say or do anything for a long moment. His fingers grasped the stump, holding the bloody bandages tight as he stared up at the ceiling. He made no sound, but tears leaked from his eyes as he wordlessly, soundlessly and emotionlessly cried.

Nate noticed this. He did nothing, though; Luen needed time to come to terms with his loss. Nate understood that. It took a lot of resistance to not reach out and hold his hand. Diana probably would burst into tears at this point, but there was none of that. It was silence that met Luen's tears. Shamed, heavy silence. Ophile rested his head on the edge of Luen's bed, watching him quietly. The wolf Tartaran wondered if there was anything he could do for him; but he knew that there was nothing. Nothing at all.

"Luen..." Werr finally said. Nate swore silently when he continued, wishing the boy would just shut up for once. "Diana is gone. The Silver Tornado took her and Jag..."

"But we're going to find her and get her back," Nate said, casting a glare over at Werr, who looked away unhappily. Nate sighed, realizing that Werr was feeling guilty over what had happened to the two of them and Diana. It was far too late to feel sorry, though.

Luen's mouth opened ever so slightly at their words, his eyes growing a bit wider. His nails dug into his shoulder, digging painfully into his skin. He turned onto his side, turning away from them all, still grasping his missing arm. He shook quietly, crying worse than before, but his only sounds were weak gasps and an occasional sob. This, coupled with permanently losing the arm he had wrote with, was just too much.

Werr recieved a smack on the back of the head for that, delivered by Nate. The Dragonian stood and sat down next to Luen, being a comfort just by his presence alone. Ophile sighed. "Come, Werr. Let's go get you some food."

"I'm not hungry," Werr mumbled.

"You are hungry. Come on." Ophile nudged the human king. Werr sighed and stood, walking out. Ophile followed, using his tail to shut the door behind them. He led Werr along for a bit before looking up at the human king. "You should have kept quiet."

"And keep it a secret from him?" Werr frowned. "He has to know sometime."

"Yes, but right as he is discovering the loss of his arm is not the right time to tell him."

"He would have figured it out one way or another!"

"Werr--"

"I'm the king, for that matter! I'll say what I want to my subjects." Werr stormed ahead, unhappy and now a little mad. Ophile stopped and watched him go, wondering what on earth to do.

In the kitchen, the servents and chefs were working and tending to their daily duties. Except all of them were tense and moving stiffly, and they kept glancing over at the foreboding presence that was interferring with their work.

Cynyr was sitting calmly at the table, munching on a piece of fruit and looking positively evil. He had his hood drawn up over his head and his shoulders hunched low, glaring out at the cooks with his single eye. Werr could instantly tell that he was grinning under the hood, however, and it was disturbing. The panther stopped when he saw Werr, though. He nodded his head slightly at the spot next to him, crunching down into his apple.

Werr plopped down next to Cynyr, grabbing up a pear as he moved over to his friend. "Hey," He said quietly, not really sure what to say. No, he was actually pretty certain there was nothing to say. He didn't want Cynyr mad at Ophile, nor did he want anyone mad at him. So...he kept quiet. Just silence was good for now, he decided.

Cynyr didn't say anything either, mostly just because that's how he was. The cooks seemed a little more at-ease now that Werr was there, as seeing him next to Cynyr was a dulling contrast. He looked normal, which helped to nullify Cynyr's dark air.

Caldir walked in, flicking his long red tail. He glanced over at them, then recognized Werr and walked over. "Good day, your Majesty," he said, his voice smooth and even. "I trust everything here is good enough for your grace?"

Cynyr snorted, resulting in a sharply disdainful glare from Caldir and the following words: "I could find a replacement servant for you if that one doesn't suit you."

Cynyr's eye flashed dangerously and he started to get up out of the chair.

"He's not a servant. He's my friend and personal knight." He sighed and set the teddy bear known as Welk in Cynyr's hands, turning to Caldir. "Everything is just fine though, thank you. The food is good and the beds are comfortable, as usual." He said, then decided on something. "Caldir, correct? You were named to be heir of this kingdom, were you not? Well then, I might have a few questions for you in regards to the capital city. I don't particularly trust Asmodius to be truthful, so...would you mind answering a few questions?"

Cynyr pouted and held Welk close, looking like a child that had just gotten in trouble for something.

Caldir smiled and said "Of course not, your Majesty. I am here to please, to be sure. Ask me anything you like and I will answer to the best of my knowlege. Who knows? Perhaps we can help each other. You never know what a good friendship can bring about."

Cynyr glared at him, as if daring him to try and be friends with Werr.

"Friendships are good amongst royalty." Werr nodded once, waving his hand at Cynyr. He would never be as close to Caldir as he was to Cynyr or Welk. It wasn't possible. "Have there been any strange crimes commited in the area over the last week or so? Any unusual instances of death or...anything of the sort?" He questioned, not really sure how else to go about his asking than to be blunt.

Caldir thought for a moment, then said "Now that you mention it, there have been a few cases of mysterious deaths. A few guards here at the castle disappeared without a trance and were found with no visible damage, save for a few scrapes. A young girl was killed in her bed, a few farmers had all of their animals strangely die, and more than a few men and women have gone missing." He flicked his ears, closing his eyes and shaking his head sadly. "A waste..." he murmured. "...of innocent lives."

"Indeed...I'll ask the guards about the disappearances, thank you. Who was the young girl?" He asked, then thought of something else. "Say...I was never told, but how long have you been the heir? And why are you kept in the castle? I would think that it would be saver in a secret, more secluded area...I guess it's Asmodius' choice, but still." He sighed a bit, then listened to Caldir's answers again.

"Asmodius keeps me here," he said. "He fears that if many people knew about me, I would become a target. I haven't been his heir for a while, as he only recently lost his daughter, who would've been next in line. He named me his successor shortly after." He flicked his tail, then said "The girl's name was Laura Birget. She lived with her parents not far from the castle."

"Right. I'll investigate that, too." Werr nodded. "Thank you, Caldir. You've been very helpful." He turned away, looking at Cynyr. "Right. I know what we need to do now. Are you coming with me?" He smiled knowingly before turning and heading for the door again. Ophile slipped in after them, nosing around to try and find something to eat. Despite his scary appearance, it was still cute, the way he went after things like a dog.

He stopped, spotting Caldir. "Hello there," He said, wondering if the Foxling would be startled by a big, talking wolf beast.

Cynyr got up and followed at once, done with eating and doubly done with Caldir.

The foxling smiled and said "My! What a creature you are, sir wolf! If you'll pardon my inquisitive nature and questions, might I ask what you are? For no normal wolf could speak our language, lest you be a wolfling or some other being of might." He bent down and brought his face level with Ophile's, saying "What is your name, good sir?"

"I am a Tartaran, simply put. I am not a wolfling, nor any other creature. My name is Ophile, and I am currently employed under Werr Rowe as an...advisor, as well as a bit of an attack wolf, perhaps." He said, dipping his head and wagging his tail around. Caldir seemed like he would make wonderful company, though Ophile knew not to judge a book by it's cover.

Caldir closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly to the side, saying "Tartaran? How fascinating! I've only read about them. To see one in person gives me a good feeling." He tilted his ears back lightly, then stood up and said "Well, I have business to attend to, sadly. I wish I could stay longer, but duty calls. By your leave, noble Tartaran..." He smiled and dipped his head to the wolf, then stepped around him and exited the room. One of the cooks came forward instead, saying "Would you like something to eat, sir wolf? We have many kinds of meats..."

"Certainly! Some deer meat would be lovely if you have any. Cooked or uncooked, I'll eat it just the same." Ophile nodded happily once or twice. He waited in the corner of the kitchen, happily wagging his tail as they carried over what seemed to be the meat from an entire deer thigh. "Thank you," He said. "You're very hospitable here." He dipped his head to eat, quickly devouring the entire thing in a matter of a few minutes.

((Anything in the meat? Sleepy pills, somethin' to make him sick?

THERE IS NAO. HONHONHONHON -french guy laugh-))

The cook nodded, then said "Of course." He turned away, returning to his duties. He quietly pocketed a small white package, easily hiding it in the folds of his robe. It had been easy to slip the sleeping drug into the Tartaran's food. It was tasteless and odorless, so he wouldn't detect it until it was too late. He would be knocked out cold in only an hour. It wouldn't hurt other than giving him a bad headache once he woke up, which would take a few hours. By then, the plans would be in place.

The cook went back to his work without another thought.