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Rise of the Khaar - Raven, Horse, Rat
Name and story Deadline is, after there are interested people for all Kaar OR in about a week
White/blue Raven "Neimond" -
safyras
Black/red horse -
Saphirawolf
Brown/green rat "Caedmon" -
Zjonni
Since it got requested here that I should draw more of my 'skullchilds' - the Khaar... CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!
But drawing more without any reason would be not nice and very unmotivating. So you get presents. YES - presents. These are characters you can adopt absolutely for free and nothing- almost. The only thing you need to do is giving them a name and backgroundstory. Easy isn't it?
Information you need about the Khaar to get a reasonable background story:
They don't give birth. They are creatures who are only a "product" of wrong used magic. Sometimes if a magician is too tired (or just unskilled ~haha~) and he/she wants to shapeshift/summon something they mutate into this creature with no chance to change back. Mostly they lose their awareness of the self and become mindless beasts.
They are mute and (if they still have they awareness) try to impress their feelings about gestures. The feather/fur/scale color depends on the hair color of the magician. and the glowy stuff in their body was their eyecolour.
The skull is free to choose it can be a real animal skull or, which is rare, one of a fantasy creature. Maybe the magician wanted to summon some kind of demon or dragon and because he/she was too unskilled merged with his summoned servant. Infinitive possibilities!
They are merely ghosts than anything else. Something between everything possible.
For the case there are more people who wants the same Khaar I need to choose that one who got the best backgroundstory. Because in fact: I want my babies in good hands which care for them. =3
Besides. This race is absolutely free to use. If you want to draw some for your own use - feel free to do so. But I am a curious person so I really would like to see.
White/blue Raven "Neimond" -
safyrasBlack/red horse -
SaphirawolfBrown/green rat "Caedmon" -
ZjonniSince it got requested here that I should draw more of my 'skullchilds' - the Khaar... CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!
But drawing more without any reason would be not nice and very unmotivating. So you get presents. YES - presents. These are characters you can adopt absolutely for free and nothing- almost. The only thing you need to do is giving them a name and backgroundstory. Easy isn't it?
Information you need about the Khaar to get a reasonable background story:
They don't give birth. They are creatures who are only a "product" of wrong used magic. Sometimes if a magician is too tired (or just unskilled ~haha~) and he/she wants to shapeshift/summon something they mutate into this creature with no chance to change back. Mostly they lose their awareness of the self and become mindless beasts.
They are mute and (if they still have they awareness) try to impress their feelings about gestures. The feather/fur/scale color depends on the hair color of the magician. and the glowy stuff in their body was their eyecolour.
The skull is free to choose it can be a real animal skull or, which is rare, one of a fantasy creature. Maybe the magician wanted to summon some kind of demon or dragon and because he/she was too unskilled merged with his summoned servant. Infinitive possibilities!
They are merely ghosts than anything else. Something between everything possible.
For the case there are more people who wants the same Khaar I need to choose that one who got the best backgroundstory. Because in fact: I want my babies in good hands which care for them. =3
Besides. This race is absolutely free to use. If you want to draw some for your own use - feel free to do so. But I am a curious person so I really would like to see.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1451 x 713px
File Size 1.09 MB
Listed in Folders
it'll take me a while to work something out for background, but the very vaguest beginnings is this is Robinton, Gale Robinton, a psychopomp aka guide to the dead. He started out as a regular wizard but when he died, instead of going on into the afterlife he chose to help others pass over. this form is kind of like a demonized sparrowcrow...both of them are considered guides to the land of the dead.
Name: Neimond
Story:
A old necromancer by the name of Nezari Zulka; was attempting to summon Death's messenger with a ritual circle anointed by five candles and a ring of salt. By sacrificing a albino raven; the symbol creature and vassal of Death's servant, the necromancer tried to pull the creature from its own demonic realm. The sacrifice not being nearly adequate, proceeded to not only suck the soul of the avian but of the necromancer himself into the ritual circle where the demon gate opened.
The ritual having strict guidlines for such a summoning faltered at the human soul's presence, the sentience was shattered as the raven's body beside the human had merged together into one entity. No longer being what it formally was meant to be for both mortal beings and demonic messenger, the four legged monster was born that fateful night.
There it remains high in the tower of the castle Nezari had done the ritual. Only one with a strong will, power and dark soul could command this beast, though with a few fragments of a sentient mind, it could make no decisions of its own, for being a servant, it followed; never lead.
When asked it's name, it would scratch into whatever surface it could find and engrave the name "neimond'. When translated from german to the english tongue, the monstrous avian that stood before you was defined as 'nobody'. A soulless entity with no true destiny; only a hallow existence remained.
****
I hope this is a good story, I have always loved demonic creatures be it fused together, or born from the blackest pits of hell.
Story:
A old necromancer by the name of Nezari Zulka; was attempting to summon Death's messenger with a ritual circle anointed by five candles and a ring of salt. By sacrificing a albino raven; the symbol creature and vassal of Death's servant, the necromancer tried to pull the creature from its own demonic realm. The sacrifice not being nearly adequate, proceeded to not only suck the soul of the avian but of the necromancer himself into the ritual circle where the demon gate opened.
The ritual having strict guidlines for such a summoning faltered at the human soul's presence, the sentience was shattered as the raven's body beside the human had merged together into one entity. No longer being what it formally was meant to be for both mortal beings and demonic messenger, the four legged monster was born that fateful night.
There it remains high in the tower of the castle Nezari had done the ritual. Only one with a strong will, power and dark soul could command this beast, though with a few fragments of a sentient mind, it could make no decisions of its own, for being a servant, it followed; never lead.
When asked it's name, it would scratch into whatever surface it could find and engrave the name "neimond'. When translated from german to the english tongue, the monstrous avian that stood before you was defined as 'nobody'. A soulless entity with no true destiny; only a hallow existence remained.
****
I hope this is a good story, I have always loved demonic creatures be it fused together, or born from the blackest pits of hell.
Brown/green rat
***************
Name:
Vinzenz von Herrenwyk
Background Story:
He was a magician who lived back in 1350 in Lübeck, Germany. He wasn't the best magician ... and some people said, he was worse. During his travels through North Germany he met near Hamburg the prankster Till Eulenspiegel, who was a big influence in his life. As the Black Death came over the North, Vinzenz tried to help. He heard from the wet nurse Marie, that a Quackery had said, that rats were the cause of the Pest. Vinzenz knew it was his chance to prove himself. He tried to ban all rats from his hometown - and casted the biggest spell he ever had done in his life before.
Sadly ... he still was a very untalented magician. As he spoke the magical words he remembered something his best friend Till told him. And he giggled. This changed his life. The spell he tried to do summoned something, nobody could ever imagine. He didn't ban the rats - he summoned the soul of a rat and his power made it bigger and bigger. With a sudden flush the magician and the rat soul were gone. But something else was there ... something unbelievable. A creature big as an human, but on four paws, with a green light where its intestines should be shined through his ribs. The head was the skull of a rat and a ball of green light was trapped inside. The creature shook its head. Something slipped away. Something ... that was before. It couldn't remember. It knew that there was something before ... but it couldn't grasp it anymore.
***************
Name:
Vinzenz von Herrenwyk
Background Story:
He was a magician who lived back in 1350 in Lübeck, Germany. He wasn't the best magician ... and some people said, he was worse. During his travels through North Germany he met near Hamburg the prankster Till Eulenspiegel, who was a big influence in his life. As the Black Death came over the North, Vinzenz tried to help. He heard from the wet nurse Marie, that a Quackery had said, that rats were the cause of the Pest. Vinzenz knew it was his chance to prove himself. He tried to ban all rats from his hometown - and casted the biggest spell he ever had done in his life before.
Sadly ... he still was a very untalented magician. As he spoke the magical words he remembered something his best friend Till told him. And he giggled. This changed his life. The spell he tried to do summoned something, nobody could ever imagine. He didn't ban the rats - he summoned the soul of a rat and his power made it bigger and bigger. With a sudden flush the magician and the rat soul were gone. But something else was there ... something unbelievable. A creature big as an human, but on four paws, with a green light where its intestines should be shined through his ribs. The head was the skull of a rat and a ball of green light was trapped inside. The creature shook its head. Something slipped away. Something ... that was before. It couldn't remember. It knew that there was something before ... but it couldn't grasp it anymore.
Ich interessiere mich für den weiß-blauen Raben.
Name: Cendrac
Story: Cendrac war einst ein großer Magier mit dem Hang zur Tierwelt. Er hatte eine magere blasse Gestalt, weiße Haare und rote Augen. Doch trotz alledem war er nicht alt. Weswegen er früher oft verachtet wurde bei den Magiern, weil er trotz alledem weiße Haare und rote Augen besaß. Viele glaubten, der Teufel persönlich habe ihn bestraft. (Er ist ein Albino. :D)
Raben waren seine Spezialität. Er untersuchte sie stets und beobachtete sie. Doch eines Tages hatte er einen fatalen Fehler gemacht: Denn er war spezialisiert auf die Eismagie. Nicht für irgendwelche andere Zauberei, doch als er einen weißen Raben sah, mit roten Augen, da erinnerte er sich an jemanden: an sich. Und er war so fasziniert von diesem Wesen, dass er ihn verfolgte und zu Eis erstarren ließ. Er nahm den weißen Vogel mit zu sich nachhause, sperrte ihn in einen weiträumigen Käfig und ließ ihn am Feuer wieder auftauen. Eine Weile lang betrachtete er ihn und setzte sich Gedanken in den Kopf... Wenn er sich in diesen Raben verwandeln könnte... Mit dem, der soviel mit ihm gemeinsam hatte, dann könnte er die Welt umfliegen. Er würde ihnen allen zeigen, was er konnte. Und so versuchte er eine Beschwörungsformel aus einem alten Buch, das er in der Bibliothek unter "Hexerei" fand, sie sollte die ähnlichen Gene des Raben mit ihm verschmelzen. Doch drin standen nur Gestaltwandlerzauber in verschiedene Tiere, doch unter Raben stand nichts... Unter dem Begriff "Taube" stand sogar etwas, es musste doch etwas geben... Doch nichts. Doch er wollte mehr aus sich machen.
Also setzte er einfach ein paar Formeln zusammen, nachdem er um sich und den Raben einen Kreis mit blauer Runenfarbe zog, verziert mit Elementrunen, dann schrieb er sich vereinzelte Gestaltwandlerzauber einiger Vogelarten auf und vereinte sie so, dass der rabe gut dargestellt wurde... dachte er. Doch als er begann, schien es zwar gut zu laufen, jedoch versagte der Zauber, der Runenkreis verschwamm vor seinen Augen und als der Rabe neben ihm zu Staub zerfiel und seine Haut sich langsam löste, wusste er, er hatte einen Fehler gemacht... Doch das war jetzt unvermeidbar. Er schrie, als er sich schälte, seine Knochen neues Material ausbildete, er um der Brust herum haarig- bis federig wurde, sich ein bläuliches Licht in ihm ausbreitete und sein Schädel zum platzen drohte - dann spürte er plötzlich gar nichts mehr. Nurnoch blutdurst. Leere. Und es wollte rennen. Blaue Flüssigkeit tropfte aus dem ... Schädel. Dann verließ es das Gebäude durchs Fenster, getrieben von urtiefen Instinkten... auf der Suche anch Futter.
Name: Cendrac
Story: Cendrac war einst ein großer Magier mit dem Hang zur Tierwelt. Er hatte eine magere blasse Gestalt, weiße Haare und rote Augen. Doch trotz alledem war er nicht alt. Weswegen er früher oft verachtet wurde bei den Magiern, weil er trotz alledem weiße Haare und rote Augen besaß. Viele glaubten, der Teufel persönlich habe ihn bestraft. (Er ist ein Albino. :D)
Raben waren seine Spezialität. Er untersuchte sie stets und beobachtete sie. Doch eines Tages hatte er einen fatalen Fehler gemacht: Denn er war spezialisiert auf die Eismagie. Nicht für irgendwelche andere Zauberei, doch als er einen weißen Raben sah, mit roten Augen, da erinnerte er sich an jemanden: an sich. Und er war so fasziniert von diesem Wesen, dass er ihn verfolgte und zu Eis erstarren ließ. Er nahm den weißen Vogel mit zu sich nachhause, sperrte ihn in einen weiträumigen Käfig und ließ ihn am Feuer wieder auftauen. Eine Weile lang betrachtete er ihn und setzte sich Gedanken in den Kopf... Wenn er sich in diesen Raben verwandeln könnte... Mit dem, der soviel mit ihm gemeinsam hatte, dann könnte er die Welt umfliegen. Er würde ihnen allen zeigen, was er konnte. Und so versuchte er eine Beschwörungsformel aus einem alten Buch, das er in der Bibliothek unter "Hexerei" fand, sie sollte die ähnlichen Gene des Raben mit ihm verschmelzen. Doch drin standen nur Gestaltwandlerzauber in verschiedene Tiere, doch unter Raben stand nichts... Unter dem Begriff "Taube" stand sogar etwas, es musste doch etwas geben... Doch nichts. Doch er wollte mehr aus sich machen.
Also setzte er einfach ein paar Formeln zusammen, nachdem er um sich und den Raben einen Kreis mit blauer Runenfarbe zog, verziert mit Elementrunen, dann schrieb er sich vereinzelte Gestaltwandlerzauber einiger Vogelarten auf und vereinte sie so, dass der rabe gut dargestellt wurde... dachte er. Doch als er begann, schien es zwar gut zu laufen, jedoch versagte der Zauber, der Runenkreis verschwamm vor seinen Augen und als der Rabe neben ihm zu Staub zerfiel und seine Haut sich langsam löste, wusste er, er hatte einen Fehler gemacht... Doch das war jetzt unvermeidbar. Er schrie, als er sich schälte, seine Knochen neues Material ausbildete, er um der Brust herum haarig- bis federig wurde, sich ein bläuliches Licht in ihm ausbreitete und sein Schädel zum platzen drohte - dann spürte er plötzlich gar nichts mehr. Nurnoch blutdurst. Leere. Und es wollte rennen. Blaue Flüssigkeit tropfte aus dem ... Schädel. Dann verließ es das Gebäude durchs Fenster, getrieben von urtiefen Instinkten... auf der Suche anch Futter.
There had been a beautiful city, once. Too beautiful, perhaps. Alabaster fountains. Lily-gilt canals. Cool, green parks and soft bowers. Its towers were clean and shapely, white beacons of craft and knowledge ascending up into the sky.
There had been a good, upstanding man, once. A leader of the people of his city. Respected. A husband. Cherished. A father. Adored. His wife had been demure and supportive. His daughter had been the most beautiful little girl in the city. Everyone agreed.
But where there is knowledge, there is envy. Where there is beauty, there is jealousy. Where there is wealth, there is greed.
When the plague came, the beautiful city acquired a shroud. People retreated into their houses. Dark sheets covered its gilt windows. Fulminous spices and minerals were burnt to ward off the sickness.
With all afraid to drink from them, the fountains were choked. With noone permitted to go about save the grim, masked doctors, the canals fell into disrepair. With no lovers and no children playing in them, the parks grew rank and tarn. Without the workers to clean the white towers, the smoke blackened them, and the sky they had once exalted now felt lanced by their bitterness.
People died.
They died alone and afraid to be near each other, locked and barricaded into their rooms.
They died together, love binding the healthy to the sick until no health remained, and then no life, and no love.
They died singly. They died in droves. The pyres were choked with bodies until there was noone left to carry the dead to the pyres.
The good, upstanding man, who for a time had sought to reassure his people, had walked the streets, calling through closed doors, speaking of hope, now walked alone.
The streets he walked now were empty of everything but the dead, and the rats which fed upon them.
The rats had brought the plague. They had carried it. Over land in carts, and over the sea in ships, they had come to the white city and brought the plague with them from the other side of the world.
The man began to study the rats.
He adopted the clothing of the doctors, who had gone among the plagued. The conical mask to shield his face. The hood and coat. The gloves and high boots. All made of the thickest, heaviest leather that fingers could bend. All buttoned with dozens of tiny buttons one after another so that nowhere could a rat squirm into them. Stiff with protection, he wandered the cold streets, peering out through tight-caged holes in the mask.
He had tried to save his family. He sent his wife and daughter away to a house in the country, where he hoped they would be safe.
He had tried to save his people. When the plague began he had assembled the greatest doctors, and the greatest wizards, and they were able to tell him a great deal, but none of them could stop it, and eventually all of them died.
He read their books, absorbed them into himself. Dark knowledge gleaned from cadavers and the spaces between the stars and the things which crawled beneath the earth. The terrible knowledge bent him and burdened him as much as the hopelessness and death that surrounded him. Daemonomancy. Alchymystery. Dyvination. Biologistry. Necroteny. Priestadygitation.
He filled his empty home with cages and tomes. Read terrible mysteries and performed dark experiments while the rats gnawed at the bars and rasped their teeth and chittered.
He tossed and turned in his sleep, haunted by the things he learned, and the never-ending sussuration of rustling fur and clicking teeth.
He learned that his city had not died. It had been killed. There was an enemy. An old, and terrible enemy. One who had long ago been cast out of the beautiful city for the ugliness and darkness in his heart. The man had led his people, then. He had urged that the evil be cast out.
Their city must be pure. There were places for the dark things. Their city was not one of them.
There were legends. Legends of a dark city on the opposite side of the world. A black mirror of the beauty of his own city. The city that the enemy had made.
The rats had come from there.
The plague had come from there.
The plague was not a thing entirely of nature, nor entirely of evil, nor entirely of magick. This was why the priests with their prayers and chants and the doctors with their herbs and powders and the wizards with their spells and familiars had failed.
Night after night he looked out over the black, empty city, hoping to see the flicker of some candleflame or lamp. Some sign that he was not alone.
He never saw one.
Feverishly he worked at the plague. Slowly and terribly he understood how it had been made. But now that he understood it, there was noone left to cure.
There was, however, someone left to harm.
He delved back into the old, worm-eaten books, searching for the darkest knowledge. He would turn the plague back upon its creator. Back upon the one who caused it.
The thousands of rats in their cages watched as he dug through the books.
The thousands of rats on the streets watched as he stole dark and magical things from temples, from wizard's homes, from the laboratories of physicks and the pits of the corpse-burners.
The thousands of red eyes watched in the lamplight as he traced the diagrams on the floor of his ruined home.
No priest, he prayed to gods. No physicker, he refined the plague. No alchymyst, he mixed dark powders. No daemonomancer, he wrote and pronounced the dark names.
He called upon the terrible things that live in the great blackness between the stars, that live in the shadows where no light falls, that dwell in the depths of the earth where the sun has never fallen.
He called. And one came.
Poor man.
He begged it, pleaded with it, offered it bargains.
Take this plague, he said, and turn it back upon the one who caused it.
The darkness laughed. It knew how ignorant the man truly was. It was unfettered. It toyed with him as a cat toys with a fallen bird.
This I will do, it said, but who do you think is responsible? Who do you think caused this?
The man spoke the name of the evil one, the one he had driven out for the sake of his white city, and the darkness laughed again.
You could have made a place for him, the darkness hissed. You could have had a city with a thousand shades of gray, but you had to have a city of white, which would not tolerate him.
You drove him out...
You made him what he was...
...And the good, upstanding man cried out, and the last threads of the magic and power fell from his fingertips as he covered his face with his hands.
...And the darkness took him, and his rats, and his plague, and the darkness moulded them together with his hopelessness and his doubts and his misery.
...And the frenzied rats spilled from their burst cages, surging through the house's dark corridors behind the green, envious blaze of their ghastly new leader.
...And the young woman, with her young daughter, pushed open the darkened door of the house they had left, seeking the husband and father they had risked death to return to.
...And their voices called down the howling black corridors of the house, repeated as soft whispering chitters by all of the dark-furred rats. The rats that were the house's only inhabitants now. The rats who owned the once-white city.
"Caedmon?"
There had been a good, upstanding man, once. A leader of the people of his city. Respected. A husband. Cherished. A father. Adored. His wife had been demure and supportive. His daughter had been the most beautiful little girl in the city. Everyone agreed.
But where there is knowledge, there is envy. Where there is beauty, there is jealousy. Where there is wealth, there is greed.
When the plague came, the beautiful city acquired a shroud. People retreated into their houses. Dark sheets covered its gilt windows. Fulminous spices and minerals were burnt to ward off the sickness.
With all afraid to drink from them, the fountains were choked. With noone permitted to go about save the grim, masked doctors, the canals fell into disrepair. With no lovers and no children playing in them, the parks grew rank and tarn. Without the workers to clean the white towers, the smoke blackened them, and the sky they had once exalted now felt lanced by their bitterness.
People died.
They died alone and afraid to be near each other, locked and barricaded into their rooms.
They died together, love binding the healthy to the sick until no health remained, and then no life, and no love.
They died singly. They died in droves. The pyres were choked with bodies until there was noone left to carry the dead to the pyres.
The good, upstanding man, who for a time had sought to reassure his people, had walked the streets, calling through closed doors, speaking of hope, now walked alone.
The streets he walked now were empty of everything but the dead, and the rats which fed upon them.
The rats had brought the plague. They had carried it. Over land in carts, and over the sea in ships, they had come to the white city and brought the plague with them from the other side of the world.
The man began to study the rats.
He adopted the clothing of the doctors, who had gone among the plagued. The conical mask to shield his face. The hood and coat. The gloves and high boots. All made of the thickest, heaviest leather that fingers could bend. All buttoned with dozens of tiny buttons one after another so that nowhere could a rat squirm into them. Stiff with protection, he wandered the cold streets, peering out through tight-caged holes in the mask.
He had tried to save his family. He sent his wife and daughter away to a house in the country, where he hoped they would be safe.
He had tried to save his people. When the plague began he had assembled the greatest doctors, and the greatest wizards, and they were able to tell him a great deal, but none of them could stop it, and eventually all of them died.
He read their books, absorbed them into himself. Dark knowledge gleaned from cadavers and the spaces between the stars and the things which crawled beneath the earth. The terrible knowledge bent him and burdened him as much as the hopelessness and death that surrounded him. Daemonomancy. Alchymystery. Dyvination. Biologistry. Necroteny. Priestadygitation.
He filled his empty home with cages and tomes. Read terrible mysteries and performed dark experiments while the rats gnawed at the bars and rasped their teeth and chittered.
He tossed and turned in his sleep, haunted by the things he learned, and the never-ending sussuration of rustling fur and clicking teeth.
He learned that his city had not died. It had been killed. There was an enemy. An old, and terrible enemy. One who had long ago been cast out of the beautiful city for the ugliness and darkness in his heart. The man had led his people, then. He had urged that the evil be cast out.
Their city must be pure. There were places for the dark things. Their city was not one of them.
There were legends. Legends of a dark city on the opposite side of the world. A black mirror of the beauty of his own city. The city that the enemy had made.
The rats had come from there.
The plague had come from there.
The plague was not a thing entirely of nature, nor entirely of evil, nor entirely of magick. This was why the priests with their prayers and chants and the doctors with their herbs and powders and the wizards with their spells and familiars had failed.
Night after night he looked out over the black, empty city, hoping to see the flicker of some candleflame or lamp. Some sign that he was not alone.
He never saw one.
Feverishly he worked at the plague. Slowly and terribly he understood how it had been made. But now that he understood it, there was noone left to cure.
There was, however, someone left to harm.
He delved back into the old, worm-eaten books, searching for the darkest knowledge. He would turn the plague back upon its creator. Back upon the one who caused it.
The thousands of rats in their cages watched as he dug through the books.
The thousands of rats on the streets watched as he stole dark and magical things from temples, from wizard's homes, from the laboratories of physicks and the pits of the corpse-burners.
The thousands of red eyes watched in the lamplight as he traced the diagrams on the floor of his ruined home.
No priest, he prayed to gods. No physicker, he refined the plague. No alchymyst, he mixed dark powders. No daemonomancer, he wrote and pronounced the dark names.
He called upon the terrible things that live in the great blackness between the stars, that live in the shadows where no light falls, that dwell in the depths of the earth where the sun has never fallen.
He called. And one came.
Poor man.
He begged it, pleaded with it, offered it bargains.
Take this plague, he said, and turn it back upon the one who caused it.
The darkness laughed. It knew how ignorant the man truly was. It was unfettered. It toyed with him as a cat toys with a fallen bird.
This I will do, it said, but who do you think is responsible? Who do you think caused this?
The man spoke the name of the evil one, the one he had driven out for the sake of his white city, and the darkness laughed again.
You could have made a place for him, the darkness hissed. You could have had a city with a thousand shades of gray, but you had to have a city of white, which would not tolerate him.
You drove him out...
You made him what he was...
...And the good, upstanding man cried out, and the last threads of the magic and power fell from his fingertips as he covered his face with his hands.
...And the darkness took him, and his rats, and his plague, and the darkness moulded them together with his hopelessness and his doubts and his misery.
...And the frenzied rats spilled from their burst cages, surging through the house's dark corridors behind the green, envious blaze of their ghastly new leader.
...And the young woman, with her young daughter, pushed open the darkened door of the house they had left, seeking the husband and father they had risked death to return to.
...And their voices called down the howling black corridors of the house, repeated as soft whispering chitters by all of the dark-furred rats. The rats that were the house's only inhabitants now. The rats who owned the once-white city.
"Caedmon?"
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