Chapter 17
(Forbidden Fruit)
Unlike any previous time before, Xinpo’s absorption ability worked not only for Xinpo but apparently extended to encompass Jarow as well.
Jarow's world instantly darkened around him, closing in until there was no light of any kind. He could no longer see nor feel the world he was just in. The sensation of Noruff napping upon his leg vanished, the Oonja and the shade his leaves provided were gone, even the ground beneath his ass disappeared, no longer propping him up.
Nothing remained in his universe except darkness and a solitary image of a human that unexpectedly popped into existence before him. The human, or rather, an image of a human, was actually his own human body, floating in front of him, leaving Jarow feeling disembodied and inconsequential; without substance. He could no longer feel his physical body; he simply floated, detached, and watched from a small corner of the dark void.
Jarow’s mind quickly observed that the figure before him, standing alone in the darkness, wasn't the dwarven body he was using right now, even though he knew it was his own body. In fact, he was almost positive it wasn't the human body he had occupied before, the one he remembered from when he first woke up. Even taking away all the fat, age, and flabbiness, the proportions and features looked different. Instead, he was almost positive it was his original body.
The skinny human male figure stood wearing tight-fitting robes of an earthy brown, a slim metal staff held upright in his right hand. The staff seemed familiar but felt as though it were slightly different as well. It was the same color metal as Xinpo’s staff form, but the center third of the staff now looked to be covered in what looked like a type of strange wood.
As Jarow continued to observe, the image began moving. It started by swinging the staff in a circle in front of it, but quickly changed its grip and began to twirl the staff in intricate circles, going from side to side around itself in a twisting fashion, the body bending with the movement like a thin reed moving with an ever-changing breeze.
It then flung the staff outward, gripping it at the last second at the very end. This was quickly followed by an abrupt recoil. The image then used the momentum of the staff to move fluidly into a crouch where the staff swept low in a sweeping arc. Next, the figure brought the staff back up to chest height and spun it around once again before performing a high-velocity thrust.
It continued to thrust and parry, the motions of both the body and the staff seemingly liquid and moving together in a fluidic symmetry. His original body moved with the staff, the footwork and body movement resembling a dance; a dance unlike anything Jarow had ever before considered a human body would be able to perform, especially the frail body he knew his original human form to be.
After a few moments, the figure ended the kata it had performed and brought the staff to its side; pounding the end on the invisible ground upon which it stood. The figure then reverently bowed low at the waist but kept his head and eyes always looking forward. After the exhibition, the figure and weapon blurred momentarily.
Upon reappearing, Jarow noticed the figure had changed slightly. It now wore what looked to be leather armor and held a blade at its belt. The sword was longer than the dagger Xinpo had the ability to transform into, but he could tell it was indeed Xinpo, or a version of Xinpo that Jarow had yet to see.
Unlike the dagger, though, this sword had a wooden grip. Xinpo’s grip was still made of the same metal as he was, the handle was different only because it conformed perfectly to his grip. The difference was noticeable on the sword the image had, and Jarow made note of it believing the change was important.
Jarow could see that the wood upon the handle of this sword was similar in shape and consistency to what had been wrapped around the center of the quarterstaff the image had used before changing. As he watched and contemplated, the leather bound image grasped the handle and pulled the sword from its belt.
The new image began to move again, this time holding its sword to its side and taking an unusual stance with legs set akimbo. The figure then began to move, slicing through the air, quickly backing away, then holding the sword up in front of it as if receiving a blow, only to then swing out and bring the sword around for another attack.
The strikes and parries were precise and quick. Stabs and slices in between smooth dodges and side steps. The figure gracefully moved through the sword dance, finally coming to an ending where the image of Jarow’s first body stood still; the sword held point down in front of it, the tip of the sword stopping only inches from where the feet of the figure rested.
Jarow watched, both in awe and with a bit of sadness. He knew for certain now that the body performing these movements was his original; the feel of it, the way it moved, didn’t bring back memories; at least not in the form most would consider memories to be, but rather like a sense of recalling who he could have been. That thought was the true source of his sadness: from what he had been able to determine by studying his corpse, that body would never be able to do those things; movement in that body must have been extremely limited and painful if possible at all, for it to be so fragile and weak in death.
It, or rather ‘he’, had been weak in that life. He didn’t remember what had made him that way, but when he had cut through the skin, the muscles were all but non-existent. He knew that body would never have been able to perform moves like this in his real life, and because of the way he watched the body move now, a great sadness washed over him for the loss of such potential.
He felt as though the ability to move freely, to be swift and powerful, were qualities he would have greatly desired in his original body; qualities that starkly contrasted with the actual nature of that body. The exhilarating experience of being in his Orc body, with its formidable muscles and power, made him contemplate the unimaginable loss he would have felt had he transitioned from the robust Orc physique to the fragility of his original human form which now stood before him in the darkness.
Not for the first time, Jarow questioned his desire to become a magic user. He had yet to cast a single spell, even though he had chosen his spell specialization. He thought of his dwarven body, which he now occupied, and the power it held within. It was not the powerhouse his female Orc body had been, but its solid muscles and deep-rooted strength were clearly formidable. It almost seemed as though the bodies he had been given thus far were set to lead him in a more physical path, even though his internal desires leaned more towards a magical tendency.
As Jarow contemplated how the differences in his bodies affected his fighting styles and techniques, the image in the darkness changed once again, reverting to the robes and staff which the figure had worn when it first appeared.
It banged the butt of the staff on the invisible ground before grasping the weapon with both hands and taking a stance much different than it had before. It began moving through a kata once again, moving from one position to the next in swift and even movements. This time the dance it performed was more direct and concise, lunging and swinging, conserving its movements and standing its ground rather than giving and taking like the first figure had done.
Instead of dancing around and moving its body like water, this style was firm and unyielding. "The cliff upon which the water would break," Jarow's mind conjured the words. The footwork was much less dynamic but remained solid and grounded in one spot. No less effective, simply different in its approach.
After finishing the exercise, the figure took a final pose, bowing at the waist with the staff held out in front of it. After only a few seconds had passed, the image blurred once more and then reappeared in the second outfit, showing Jarow’s human body now clad, as before, in leather armor and wearing the sword at its hip.
This time, the unsheathing of the sword signaled the beginning of the performance. With a swift and obviously trained movement, the figure whipped the sword from its belt and slashed in a perfect diagonal. It continued after that, going through the attacks and defenses of the style of swordplay again, but with less free-flowing movement in this technique. Its stance had less change; the sword was used to block more often, parries pushed upward or to the side. It lunged and twisted or chopped rather than sliced and stabbed as it had done in the last form.
Jarow realized what was happening. Whatever was going on with him, it was showing him how he could use the sword and staff in different ways depending on his body and the situation he was in. The original stances were made for someone who was more dexterous, like his elven body. The latter were designed more for his current dwarven body; sturdy, less movement, more impact, and focused on guarding.
The image finished the dance after several moments, ending its performance with a slash and quickly sliding the sword back into its belt.
As before, the image blurred and changed, but this time it was different, and Jarow had the impression this would be the final change. The figure wavered then reappeared, but this time it had lost all of its clothing and weapons. Then the view seemed to zoom in, and Jarow’s consciousness was level with the figure, he could now see his old body in all its glory, although "glory" was a poor word choice in his opinion.
It hovered before him, twirling slowly in the ethereal darkness. The familiar image mirrored the state in which he had found it lying on the floor in the empty room of the hall, though now it was whole and uninjured. It stood there; fragile, weak, and devoid of emotion. A mere echo of a past existence. The figure resembled a mannequin, existing in this surreal space as it slowly spun in a circle while Jarow watched.
Jarow observed the rotating image, and a deep sadness enveloped him once more. The realization hit him that his time in this body before him was complete. The body which he associated with being himself was now just a memory, a piece of meat that he would never again occupy. There was a strange sense of loss and remorse at the thought, but luckily, the emotions were fleeting, replaced by a warmth of resolution and a hunger for adventure.
He was alive; he occupied a strong, robust body capable of engaging in extraordinary feats he could never have fathomed while he lived in his old body—the one circling before him. He knew at his core that he would have given anything for the chance to live this current life while he had been confined within that feeble body.
In these incredible bodies, which he had been given the opportunity to occupy, he'd battled monsters and wielded magic. Jarow knew, like someone knows when they are hungry, that his former self always yearned for more than a crippled existence, and now he was given that chance.
In a reverent whisper, he addressed the spinning image, "I'm living the dream, baby." A small smile curled his lips as he spoke.
A new window appeared in Jarow’s UI, the blue hologram of a system message.
Well, aren’t you the lucky one? Orro has offered one of his Ponna to Xinpo. By absorbing the Ponna, you have benefited as well.
Your Quarterstaff skill has been increased to [ Advanced ].
Your Sword skill has been increased to [ Advanced ].
You have obtained a new skill - Willow in the Wind (combat system).
You have obtained a new skill - Bighorn Sentinel (combat system).
You should really consider thanking Orro. Each of these martial arts styles took him decades to learn to the advanced level. He has just gifted you over forty years of his life.
The unusually specific message held within the window only remained visible for a few seconds; just long enough for Jarow to read the text twice over. It quickly faded away, and Jarow's normal vision returned.
While he read, the darkness of the void disappeared and the world on which he sat returned. The feeling of the ground beneath him, the soft pressure of the head on his leg. The colors: green moss, blue sky, brown tree bark; all swirled and coalesced around him as he read the words.
Once the window disappeared, Jarow felt whole once more. He looked down at Noruff, who remained lying undisturbed with his head atop his leg. Then, he gazed at the Oonja; the large tree person still stared at him. Finally, his gaze moved to the sword in his lap. It was no longer the dagger it had been before the visions occurred.
Xinpo was now shaped as the same sword Jarow had seen his body using in the darkness within his mind’s eye. The elongated blade was a mixture of silver metals, with a sharp and rigid look on one side, while the blunt side remained thicker and slightly darker colored. The sharp part of the blade was distinguishable by a clear delineation of polish, and there was a slight upward curve towards the pointy end. The guard still resembled the teeth of Xinpo’s key form, but now the handle was encased in a multi-grained wooden overlay.
The wood was different from what Jarow had seen on the weapon in his vision, though. There were colors within the wood now forming the sword grip—colors that exceeded Jarow's imagination. Browns, reds, yellows, blues, greens, and even a layer that looked almost white. The multitude of colors swirled together, in and out through the grain of the wood, creating what almost could be seen as an optical illusion.
Jarow stared at the new handle. With a small pang of regret, he contemplated how much more beautiful this wood would have looked through his elven eyes. While in that body, he had been able to notice every minute detail with precision, especially when it came to anything pertaining to nature; even the wood of the doors in the hall had looked special to him.
Lastly, he directed his gaze to the pommel at the end of the sword. Unlike the spinning key within the circle that adorned the dagger form, it had undergone a transformation. Although it retained the circular shape, a pentagonal leaf now accompanied the key. This leaf stretched around the circle, with its corners touching the edges of the circular frame, enveloping the key within its structure.
Seeing the change in Xinpo, acknowledging the sacrifice the Oonja had made, and following the message’s apt suggestion, Jarow reverently spoke to the living tree before him, “Thank you, Orro. I can’t even begin to express how much your gift means to me.”
Even though the opening from which Orro spoke didn’t move, and the bark around his eye was rough and solid, the Oonja managed to convey an expression of happiness. “You are very welcome, friend Jarow. If I may call you friend.”
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“You can definitely call me friend,” Jarow said lightly, a smile forming on his lips. “Did you really spend over forty years learning those techniques?”
“Indeed,” spoke the echoey voice. “But what are decades compared to the millennia I have lived?”
Jarow knew trees could live a long time, but learning Orro was thousands of years old was a bit of a shock.
“I have only one request,” Orro continued, “Use these gifts to guard my progeny.”
It took a moment for Jarow’s brain to fully understand what the Oonja had said, then Jarow’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t even asked for these gifts, yet now he found they came at a price. Not only that, but now he was supposed to guard Orro’s progeny as well?
But the thing that really blew Jarow’s mind was that the talking tree had a progeny! “How do trees, or Oonja, I guess, even mate?” was the first thing that came to Jarow’s mind.
A silly image of a teenage tree-man formed in Jarow’s mind. The image asked something philosophical about itself. “I am root?”
Jarow didn’t really understand where the silly image came from, but thinking about guarding a smaller version of an Oonja really made Jarow’s head start spinning, and he hoped that version of a possibility wasn’t in his future.
“Uh, Ok?” Jarow stammered. “But where is your son? Daughter? Sapling?”
The strange, grating laughter boomed from the Oonja’s voice tube once again, loud enough that Jarow felt Noruff twitch on his leg.
Jarow looked around, thinking he might see a younger Oonja appear, and wondered what he had said that was so funny. The loud sound finally woke Noruff up, and reflexively, the Quigza scooted behind Jarow’s back, shivering in fear once again, his head darting from one side to the other, looking for danger.
“Did I say something humorous?” Jarow asked as the laughter slowly began to fade.
“My progeny, or seed, is there. It is a part of your dimensional being’s body now.”
Jarow looked at the sword in his lap, and the pieces finally clicked together. The new handle, that was the part of Orro he wanted protected. That was his seed.
"Just to clarify," Jarow inquired, pointing to the new wooden grip on Xinpo’s hilt, "this part here is your seed?"
"Yes, friend Jarow. It will accompany and assist you until it finds the correct conditions, then it will extract itself," Orro explained.
Jarow examined the grip more closely. Its beautiful swirling grain was stunning, complementing the silver of Xinpo’s blade perfectly. Jarow attempted to contact Xinpo but received no response.
For a moment, Jarow panicked, wondering if this new addition had somehow blocked communication with his companion. Then, he remembered the times Xinpo had leveled up previously, and how he would be absent while leveling.
The last time Xinpo had leveled up, his consciousness had disappeared for an extended period of time. Jarow couldn’t quite remember the amount of absorption Xinpo required to achieve his next level. Still, given the numerous gifts Jarow received as a simple side effect of Xinpo absorbing the Ponna, he could only imagine the XP his companion had gained from the experience. Certainly more than what he would have needed to level up, and most likely with some remaining.
Noruff, upon realizing there was no actual danger and understanding that the disturbance to his nap was simply the Oonja's laughter, scooted back from behind Jarow and resumed his place beside his friend. Jarow gave the Quigza a quirky side smile and a slight "welcome back" nudge, then continued speaking to Orro.
“It would be my honor to guard your progeny, Orro. You don’t happen to know where I should go to find the best place for…” Jarow hesitated, unsure of the appropriate pronoun. He almost called the seed an "it," but hesitated. “Your progeny to extract itself?” His voice rose an octave by the end of the question.
The grating laughter returned, but this time it was more of a chuckle. “Only it knows where and when to plant itself.”
“Phew, at least I know what to call this thing now,” Jarow mentally muttered to himself. He smiled up at the tree, attempting to convey a sense of happiness and contentment, even though he wasn’t sure if those were the right emotions for the moment.
“Do you mind if I ask where we are? As you know, we kind of just arrived here and don’t really know where ‘here’ is or where we should go,” Jarow asked to continue the conversation after a short pause.
The Oonja twisted its trunk body around and surveyed the vista around them, as if beholding it for the first time.
“Oh my. There aren't many places you can go around here anymore, are there? It has been quite a while since I rooted here. It appears to have changed some,” the large tree said as it began to rise up, examining the surroundings more thoroughly.
“I remember the people here had bridges built to span these spires. There was a city there to the West, but I see no sign of it any longer. Perhaps I have been rooted longer than I knew,” Orro pointed off in the distance with his large limb.
Jarow really wanted to consult with Xinpo, but knew that wasn’t going to be an option for a while. Instead, he asked some more general questions, even though he knew any answers he would receive would be incredibly outdated.
“Who lived there? I mean, was it humans or elves, or some other species?” Jarow inquired.
Orro turned his eye back towards Jarow and the still somewhat cowed Quigza. “Mostly little fellows like your dancing friend there.”
Jarow looked down at Noruff, who didn’t seem to understand what Orro had said.
“Did you hear that, Noruff? The city used to be a Quigza settlement,” Jarow informed Noruff in as pleasant a tone as he could muster from his dwarven vocal chords.
He couldn’t say that this voice sounded particularly bad, but the gruffness and unusual twang it had made trying to sound anything but irritated a little difficult.
The words finally seemed to settle in, and Noruff looked up at Jarow, then Orro. His gaze finally ended up following Orro’s long tree limb arm to where it pointed past the spires to the West.
At least what they took as being West, simply because that was the direction Orro had pointed and said was West, not because they had any other way of telling which direction was which at the moment.
There were two major spires in that direction. One was rocky and sharp, with jagged peaks and angular jutting blade-like protrusions dominating its surface. The stone itself looked like a type of granite to Jarow’s dwarven eyes; strong, dense, but devoid of anything of real value without a great amount of effort.
The other spire looming in that direction was similarly as tall but didn’t look anything like the jagged granite spire. The stone of this spire looked much softer, perhaps basalt or sandstone, Jarow’s dwarven heritage informed him of all this information in as he stared at the surface of the tall rocky outcropping; although there actually wasn’t a lot of stone that he could see through the verdant greenery which covered it.
Of all the spires around in their view, this one was probably the most populated. Not only was it blanketed in a wide variety of verdant plants, but the plethora of birds which circled through the air surrounding the mountain were too numerous to be counted.
In the distance further on and in between these two very different stone spires, a distant cliff with a flat top could be seen, the summit of the land there only slightly taller than the elevation of this plateau. At the top of the cliff where the land began, there were vague shapes which somewhat resembled structures, but they were obviously in a state of disrepair, crumbling in places and leaning at odd angles in others. Neither were there fires nor movement to be seen coming from the area, just stillness.
Noruff looked and half-heartedly wagged his tails for a moment, but he could also see the emptiness of the town in the distance. “I don’t think there’s anyone there anymore, Jarow,” he spoke in a sad voice.
“I get the same feeling. But if we could get there, maybe we could figure out why the place was abandoned. I mean, if indeed it is abandoned. We really can’t be sure just from looking at it from here,” Jarow said, trying to keep some hopefulness alive.
He approached the edge of the mesa, peering down to assess the feasibility of climbing down. The top of the plateau terminated abruptly, presenting a sheer stone cliff that descended straight down. The cliff dropped perpendicularly for several hundred feet before showing any signs of sloping.
Jarow, grateful for his dwarven sensitivity to stone, could discern the qualities and minerals within the rock beneath his feet. The stone was porous but lacked the roughness necessary for climbing, with no outcroppings or handholds that would facilitate a descent. It was essentially a long drop before transitioning into a rough slope just before reaching the solid ground below. Scaling this cliff without proper equipment and assistance would be nigh impossible.
Once again, Jarow wished Xinpo were here to discuss and share ideas and opinions. Xinpo's Passe-partout ability might even offer a convenient way to transport them to the town effortlessly. However, he still wasn't certain about the full extent of the ability and its capabilities, because Xinpo couldn’t perceive it’s full potential yet either. Hopefully with his new level the power would become more useful.
Jarow knew that Passe-partout was a means for Xinpo to create portals, and it was how they arrived in their current location. However, whether Xinpo could precisely control their destination remained unknown. As he pondered, his gaze shifted to the wooden grip on the sword.
He still held it in his hand but decided to carefully slide the sharp blade through the straps of his kilt. Jarow couldn't help but worry about the potential of accidentally cutting the tie and ending up with his backside exposed again if he tried to draw the sword like the image had done in his vision.
With his sword stowed, Jarow’s thoughts began to wander towards some activities he could enjoy in a proper town. The idea of visiting a tavern crossed his mind, and a peculiar fantasy entered his imagination, a scene which felt both familiar but alien at the same time.
Images formed in his mind: clinking mugs of ale, a group of adventurers celebrating their victory after surviving a particularly dangerous dungeon, defeating a formidable boss, and acquiring newfound treasures. Minstrels played in the background, and a roaring fire burned merrily as meat and ale flowed freely among the merry band of adventurers.
He shook his head to dislodge the scene playing out in his mind's eye. He didn’t even need to eat or drink now; at least, he hadn’t needed to in the Fading Divide. So going to a tavern really didn’t make any sense.
Besides, where would he meet fellow adventurers, and what was the likelihood that there were dungeons around for him and a party to conquer? Those were the tropes of games, and this was his real life, or lives in his case; but technically, this was a game of sorts as well. He didn’t know all the answers, but he knew there was very little separating his reality from that of a game in many ways.
Jarow’s head began to hurt with his circular thoughts and strange contradictions. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, banishing the philosophical thoughts of his unusual existence; he needed to focus on what was here in front of him, not speculate as to the nature of the universe.
The entire mental journey, from envisioning the tavern to contemplating the complexities of his existence, and concluding with an effort to refocus on the present, transpired in a matter of seconds. Yet, Jarow found himself questioning why such thoughts had crossed his mind in the first place. It felt as if a brief burst of memory recall or daydreaming had triggered the whirlwind of his thoughts.
The peculiar memories or déjà vu that had momentarily occupied his mind dissipated swiftly. Jarow set those thoughts aside, planning to revisit them later when in the company of Xinpo and possibly others with whom he could discuss such matters.
While there were times he yearned for the leisure of such a pause, he recognized his need to focus on the issue at hand. He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck, a motion that felt more like a habit inherited from the body's previous owner than a deliberate action.
The neck-cracking ritual served to organize his thoughts though, and he tried to think of various scenarios for leaving this place. Although he wouldn't mind prolonging his stay here, since it was a relaxing and beautiful plateau, an inner calling urged him forward. There was an innate curiosity and a sense of adventure that had driven him since the moment he awoke in this existence. It felt as if there were a destination beckoning him, and the sooner he reached it, the better.
His thoughts finally returned to the settlement in the distance, and he thought to himself, “I would really like to sell some of this loot that Noruff and I found.” Not only did all the glittery jewelry make them look ridiculous, but they could use the money to purchase things they could really use, like clothes and rope. Jarow knew scaling the edge was a no-go, so he returned to the tree still searching for possible ways of leaving.
“Orro, you don’t happen to have another way of getting off of this plateau and over to the town, do you?” Jarow asked the Oonja upon returning.
With what would be Orro’s left limb, he brought his branch up to the upper part of his tree body above his trunk. He wiggled the limb back and forth slightly, giving the impression that he was scratching his head in thought. The entire action and scenario looked strange and was even harder to describe than to watch, since the branches of the arm and hand somehow passed through the remaining branches and leaves, which formed a type of large afro sprouting from what Jarow could only describe as the tree-person’s head. The entire scenario was a bit surreal.
Once he had scratched his head for a moment, the Oonja turned in another direction and began singing. At least, it was kind of like singing; it was the only word Jarow could think of to describe the sounds coming from Orro’s sound tube.
The grating laughter-like sound Orro made before was somewhat present in the sound he was now producing, but there was also a harmonically low pulsating frequency mixed in as well. There was also a third sound which was a mid-range tone that varied or changed pitch in a rhythmic way. It was the strangest, most grating, yet somehow intriguing thing Jarow had ever heard. At the same time, it was both enchanting and annoying.
Jarow and Noruff looked on and listened for a few moments before trying to ask Orro what he was doing. Either the Oonja couldn’t hear over the volume of sound he was producing or chose to ignore their inquiries because he continued the strange melody for over two minutes.
Jarow started to feel something coming from the rock upon which he stood. Unlike when he felt Noruff doing his zoomies earlier, he couldn’t visualize what was causing the unusual vibrations.
He could tell there were an awfully lot of them and that they were moving closer at an incredibly rapid pace. Jarow instinctively reached for his sword as he quickly shouted at Noruff to be heard over the sounds the Oonja was still producing.
“Noruff… there’s something coming. It’s running up the side of…” Jarow stopped what he was saying abruptly as a huge face appeared over the side of the cliff.
Calling it a face was being kind. What he commonly thought of as a face included at least one eye. Generally, there was some kind of breathing orifice, but that wasn’t mandatory. Add also some kind of mouth, and these were the general requirements Jarow looked for when considering something a face.
The ‘face’ which Jarow gawked at now had not one, or two, or even ten eyes. In fact, it had zero eyes. Nor did it have a breathing orifice. It did have what Jarow was pretty sure was a mouth, but it was hidden behind two large serrated pincers. These chitinous appendages clacked together in a strange rhythm as it came over the edge of the cliff to the top of the plateau.
The arthropodic beast didn’t stop at bringing its head atop the plateau. Its body began slinking up over the side as well, thousands of feet clicking and moving up and over the cliff. The body wound its way completely around the plateau, surrounding them, yet the feet never stopped moving.
The creature's prominent feature was its shiny carapace, a dark brown hue with a pale yellow underbody visible between the segmented sections. Beneath it, thousands of small, sharp, dark green legs moved in a mesmerizing pattern, forming a wave that traveled from front to back. The wave started anew at the front before completing even a quarter of the journey down the creature's remarkably long body.
The head of the creature moved around the plateau and formed a huge circle, it then angled inward, allowing the rest of its body to fully wind its length around the mossy area. The head, part of the still-moving spiral, appeared to be staring at the Oonja and its new companions. The millipede's body easily encircled the meadow, leaving little room to spare once the creature finally settled.
The huge beast kept its attention focused on Orro. The pointy pincers snapped but remained pointing specifically in the Oonja’s direction. Jarow had no other way of knowing what the massive millipede was looking at, or if the term "looking" was really accurate.
He kept his hand on Norruf's shoulder, restraining the Quigza from running away or doing anything foolish. Jarow could feel his friend's fear and tension through his hand; the poor little guy shook and quivered like he’d never done before. His quaking could be felt through Jarow’s feet as well, even over the continually moving feet of the monster.
Orro finally responded; he stopped his song and lifted his limbs up high. Then he began a new song. This vocalization was similar but noticeably different. The tones changed more rapidly, and the harmonics were less in harmony, if that was possible. Less like a song, and more like a rapid conversation.
Over the cacophony of sounds, Jarow came up with an idea and focused again on his Extra Perception, bringing the overlay back into his main view. With his ability, he could see the vibrations in the air, the sound waves coming from the Oonja. His voice tube generated wave after wave of sporadic noises, yet the waves coming from them, which appeared as small ripples of color, were patterned and recognizable as language.
Jarow shifted his focus to the clicking pincers of the millipede beast encircling them. Its aura, unlike the vibrant emerald and gold radiance of Orro's, presented as a solid dark brown glow that enveloped the creature's entire length, mirroring and enhancing the color of its carapace. The beast’s aura wasn’t what Jarow was looking for, though.
Emanating from the head of the monster were similar waves of color to what Orro was producing. The clicking of the pincers added another layer of sound and punctuated the waves coming from the beast. It was now obvious the two were communicating.
Jarow wondered why he could hear the sound coming from Orro, but heard nothing coming from the other creature. He focused again on the waves coming from both and compared them more closely.
The waves coming from the millipede caused the leaves on Orro’s branches to quiver, allowing the Oonja to 'hear' the waves. This is why Jarow and Noruff couldn’t hear the sound coming from the creature, and why Orro’s waves of sound were much more dense and loud. The two beings 'spoke' on different frequencies but used the same language.
Jarow, now grasping the situation to some extent, pushed the additional layer of Extra Perception into the background, preferring it to remain there. He then whispered to Noruff, "They are talking."
The Quigza looked up briefly with a puzzled expression but nodded. At least Jarow thought he nodded; he couldn’t quite tell the difference between a slight nod of Noruff’s head from the quivering of the little guy’s fear right now.
Jarow wondered what had caused Noruff to change so much so fast. He had been such a no-nonsense, fearless knight while in the Fading Divide. Now it seemed like everything scared him. Jarow knew his friend’s life had been short-lived like his had been originally, and that he had been trapped in those gray halls for a very long time, so he could understand why things would seem frightening now. But Jarow was in a very similar predicament and didn’t have the same fears of the outside world. He decided he would talk to his small friend when they were once again in a safe place.
After several more minutes of producing the unique sounds of this conversation between himself and the millipede, Orro finally stopped ‘singing’ and turned back to Jarow.
“Sna’annish’izi’itima has agreed to take you and your Quigza to the edge of the bowl,” Orro said matter of factly.
The first thing to come to Jarow's mind as Orro told him of the conversation the two were having was, “How in the hell can Orro pronounce such an insanely long and complicated name.” His second thought was, “How would this thing be able to transport us?”
“Uhh… thanks?” Jarow stuttered. “I do have questions, though.”
“Farewell, friend Jarow,” Orro said, and his limb began to wave.
Jarow felt his stomach fall out as he realized what was happening. Orro was saying goodbye without letting him get in any more words. He had arranged this transport without asking Jarow if he was ready to go or if he even wanted to go?