He is not alone in the Chamber, but the residents have not yet drawn together into the type of civilization that he is most familiar with. Ruhr has lived his entire life believing that those who do not dwell among the clouds of Stratos were lesser beings, and his time in Beqanna has done little to disprove his bias. It seems they do not engage in the world of politics, and so his plans to gain power have resulted in nothing more than wandering about in the woods.
Ruhr is doing the same tonight, picking his way down a slope toward a creek that he can hear more than he can see. The dim light of dusk lessens with each step, though the weak winter sun had cast little light even during midday.
He lowers his head to drink without much thought, his pale orange-yellow lips breaking the reflection of the nearly full moon that shimmers in the miniature oxbow. At first he thinks nothing of the rippling movement in the water; it is a trick of the light.
But a flash of red finally draws him from his musings of glory, and Ruhr draws back with a snort. Turning his head to the side to better see, he watches as the round white reflection of the moon becomes something else entirely. Though the details are blurred by the rippling water, an image of Ruhr appears. His wings are spread wide, and he is standing somewhere high. Around him are many others, and though he does not recognize them, he has no doubt of what their bowed heads mean.
He is their leader.
The Moon shows him this, and when the image finally fades, he raises his head to the nearly full shape in the sky. He has heard of seers, of those who can divine the meaning behind divine signs. But has anyone ever before been gifted with a vision like this? Has anyone else been gifted with such a direct sign?
No, he decides, only he has been chosen for such a display. The Moon, in her wisdom, has selected Ruhr to receive her, to understand her. And he does.
This place might be uncivilized now, but the Moon has chosen him to guide them toward her light. There can be no other meaning to the vision she has given him.
With a smile, he returns his gaze to the terrestrial Chamber. Is this the place in his vision, he wonders? He is not sure, but no amount of peering into the reflection tells him more. The moon remains nothing more than the moon, glowing and perfect. When he finally abandons the search for more visions, the only light in the sky comes from the sky, which feels somehow fitting. A cold wind lifts his silver-in-the-moonlight mane and tail, and ruffles the feathers across his neck, and he quietly ponders how to start down the path that the moon has laid for him.
@Snowbell and/or any
Ruhr is doing the same tonight, picking his way down a slope toward a creek that he can hear more than he can see. The dim light of dusk lessens with each step, though the weak winter sun had cast little light even during midday.
He lowers his head to drink without much thought, his pale orange-yellow lips breaking the reflection of the nearly full moon that shimmers in the miniature oxbow. At first he thinks nothing of the rippling movement in the water; it is a trick of the light.
But a flash of red finally draws him from his musings of glory, and Ruhr draws back with a snort. Turning his head to the side to better see, he watches as the round white reflection of the moon becomes something else entirely. Though the details are blurred by the rippling water, an image of Ruhr appears. His wings are spread wide, and he is standing somewhere high. Around him are many others, and though he does not recognize them, he has no doubt of what their bowed heads mean.
He is their leader.
The Moon shows him this, and when the image finally fades, he raises his head to the nearly full shape in the sky. He has heard of seers, of those who can divine the meaning behind divine signs. But has anyone ever before been gifted with a vision like this? Has anyone else been gifted with such a direct sign?
No, he decides, only he has been chosen for such a display. The Moon, in her wisdom, has selected Ruhr to receive her, to understand her. And he does.
This place might be uncivilized now, but the Moon has chosen him to guide them toward her light. There can be no other meaning to the vision she has given him.
With a smile, he returns his gaze to the terrestrial Chamber. Is this the place in his vision, he wonders? He is not sure, but no amount of peering into the reflection tells him more. The moon remains nothing more than the moon, glowing and perfect. When he finally abandons the search for more visions, the only light in the sky comes from the sky, which feels somehow fitting. A cold wind lifts his silver-in-the-moonlight mane and tail, and ruffles the feathers across his neck, and he quietly ponders how to start down the path that the moon has laid for him.
@Snowbell and/or any