The wagon creaked and shuddered as it continued up the steep mountain path, nearly throwing half of the occupants out of their makeshift seats. It had been days in the caravan march with only the basics of sustenance and sleep, but such is the life of a prisoner.

Corrine had only just become a mage adept before Chaos ran amok, causing ruin and destruction all throughout his path and although the Heroes of the Lance were able to stave off the destruction of Krynn but at the cost of the loss of magic as they knew it. The Gods were silent since the Second Cataclysm and that was inclusive of Krynn's three moons so all Corrine had was a taste of magic. It was intoxicating but now forever elusive to him and all other mages and magus-to-be here on the continent of Ansalon.

Corrine's head pounded...he wasn't sure if it was from the lack of food, water, or sleep but it didn't matter. The carousing outside of the prisoner wagon was keeping them all up, as well as the incessant racket that one of the fellow prisoners was making. Some old grizzled man with white hair that proclaimed himself to be some Fizban the Fabulous and was prattling on over some story that he was reading in some book. Some of the others in the cart were listening to the would-be storyteller but the vast majority just blankly stared outside of the cart and up at the mountainous cliffs.

The human adept brushed the auburn hair from his face as he looked out, the sky was beginning to darken as the sun began to start it's dip below and two of the three of Krynn's moons began to make their presence known, even if now they were forever dulled compared to when he looked up at them as a kid. Lunitari please...please get me out of this... he pleaded silently, hoping the red moon would respond with even just an inkling of magic.

Lunitari remained silent.

"Oh...over there! That's where a few of my friends fought valiantly to save us from...well...what was that? I'm not even sure what we were fighting against way back then..." the old, robe-wearing man proclaimed as he pointed at a cave that they were preparing to pass, Corrine humoring him as he gave it a glance. He nearly did a double-take as he could have sworn that he saw a goblin guarding some type of orb, but as he rubbed his eyes it was clear to him that there was nothing there other than a cave that a few of their captors were using to store supplies. A pair of draconians and a knight of Takhisis were sifting through some of the supplies and Corrine's stomach yearned for something to eat.

Or drink. He could really go for a nice ale or brandy right about now to warm him up.

Fizban the Fabulous kept on prattling on until one of the heavily-armed and armored guards rattled against the prison-wagon bars and exclaiming for the old one to keep quiet lest he risk getting thrown off of the nearest cliff. Corrine tried not to smirk as though he didn't wish the old one ill, he too was getting tired of the lack of peace and quiet.

Alas, the quiet did not last long as the caravan of wagons stopped. From his point of view, he was at the front of a chain of 15 wagons, most of which were holding prisoners-of-war. Of a war from a few years prior and some newer detainees. Even though the Dark Queen may have lost, many of her followers were still running strong, though slowly the Knights of Solamnia were managing to decrease their previously-overwhelming numbers down to just a few major holders-of-power. Corrine deemed himself unlucky, having fled 3 years prior when his magic stopped working right at the end of the Second Cataclysm but poor lucky and a recent patrol of dragonborn saw him captured and thrown into manual labor...a labor of which is relatively frail body were ill-suited for.

At least 8 of the other wagons contained some type of prisoners from what he deduced based on their construction, along with a few other wagons used clearly for supplies and another used for a commander's sleeping quarters. Not that he had seen anyone go into or out of it for days. It wasn't as if he was able to do anything else in his time in the wagon other than listen to stories.

Corrine looked over to where the old man typically was and his eyes went wide. Fizban had seemingly vanished, the ex-mage clamoring over to the barred window. He'd only looked to the side for a few minutes and somehow the old man was outside of the cart. No door opened, he was just suddenly elsewhere.

A few of the other prisoners tried to climb over to the various windows...either in realizing that the old man had found a way out or knowing that it wasn't quite time for the caravan to stop as they had all mostly memorized the main routines of the prisoner caravan.

Outside there were dozens...nay, hundreds of soldiers. Most human or dragonborn though there were certainly more than a few minotaur and other creatures of which Corrine had never encountered...but suddenly there was Fizban, talking to a guard as if it were a normal thing for him to be doing. Corrine's jaw dropped as he saw some type of glow and then a dissipation. He couldn't feel anything but he knew. He knew.

Magic. An inkling. A spark.

He needed it. He had to have it.

He didn't realize when it happened but he had picked up Fizban's book when he had clamored over.

Wait, did I pick this up? Corrine thought to himself as he watched. He could barely make it out but it was as if a light cleared out foggy eyes from the guard. As he stared, the old man turned back at him. And winked.

As if possessed, guards from each of the prisoner wagons unlocked the main door simultaneously in some form of supernatural synchronization. A few prisoners thought to make way for a quick escape but the otherworldly gaze of the prisoners stopped them in their tracks. Corrine didn't fight it as he was ushered out of the vehicle...the prison...under the gaze of the draconian guard that directed him to a section out in a clearing before a cliff along with plenty of the others.

It was harder to count with such things happening quickly, but he estimated some hundred-or-so captives were ushered forward, the wind and gloomy, darkening weather keeping a dour mood though many were happy to be able to get out of their wagons and stretch. Corrine craned his head to see if he could see the old man but was unable to pick them out for quite a while as he was pushed and prodded along. The human grit his teeth even though he was some dozen feet from the edge. There was another cliff some 20 feet directly in front of them from another cliff face that looked like it was almost possible to jump to.

Almost.

The beating of wings soon became unmistakable. A shriek. A wail. Some of Corrine's fellow prisoners fell to their knees as if some supernatural force was telling them the end was near. Corrine felt the fear grip his heart, though he was able to stave it off through his distractions.

Dragonfear. He thought to himself.

Flapping up into view from between the two cliffs, Corrine was face-to-face with a blue dragon and their rider. The beast was truly terrifying with it's sapphire glistening scales, deadly horns and a gaze that was as cunning as it was horrifying. The dragon reeked of death and blood from some fresh kill still dripped from the creature's claws. He tried to steel himself and nearly dropped to a knee but managed to stay standing as the dragon landed mere feet from him.

Sliding off of the dragon's saddle, the rider landed with a loud clatter from their blackened plate armor, a silver skull emblazoned on their breastplate. Although Corrine could not see her face with the horned helmet that she was wearing, he knew who it was. Mina, the First Cleric of Takhisis, Commander of the Knights of the Skull. Evil incarnate for all he knew.

Looking off to the side, the auburn-haired human watched as the old man walked up to the armored cleric. Corrine clutched that book to his chest, half expecting the commander to pick up the old man and throw him off the cliff...or worse, feed him to her dragon.

"Fizban." the cleric spat with a clear level of disdain. "Is that really what you're impersonating these days you fool?" she said in her raspy, cruel voice.

The old man simply smiled, waving his hand to the side. "Mina in the flesh...I'm surprised you're here even after your god abandoned you."

The cleric's hand twitched, resting on a ceremonial curved dagger attached to her side and a truly terrifying growl emanated from the dragon. Corrine nearly fell over, the reverberations from the dragon making the cliff shudder and shake, groaning and deep rumbling heard from the stone that felt as if it were ready to collapse.

"I will bring her back." the cleric grumbled. Corrine imagined some feral creature under that helmet baring her fangs as she took a step closer to the old man.

"You won't. And sacrificing them won't help you. Even if you think a chosen one is among them."

Chosen? Corrine thought. It was hard to make out what they were saying even if he was relatively close, the howling wind making it difficult for him to hear. He took a step forward but was immediately met with a menacing glare and a readied spear at his side. His current distance would have to do. They continued to talk but some of what they were speaking about was masked under the dragon flapping her wings to regain balance from a particularly hard gust of wind and the other prisoners making too much noise.

"Fine. Take them yourself, I don't care. Just open the portal and I will find Takhisis myself."

A toothy grin filled the old man's face, one that Corrine hadn't seen before. And suddenly, a bright light filled his view. Between the two cliff faces a giant portal of light popped into existence nearly blinding the mage-to-be. There was no hesitation on the Cleric's countenance, simply hopping onto their dragon who bounded toward the portal and then suddenly ceased to exist on their plane.

With the dragon gone, Corrine's head began to clear...he hadn't realized just how cloying the presence of the dragonfear had been on his body and mind but it was definitely noticeable as soon as it was gone. As his vision mostly returned, the portal was still there in sight...as was the old man.

"Wh...who are you?" Corrine asked shakily as the old man walked up. The elder simply smiled.

"Follow me through the portal and find out."

The camera pans back as mysterious cloaked figures watch a group of malnourished prisoners and various guards walk through a portal. The trio wear reddish brown hooded robes with masks covering their faces. Once the majority have walked through said conjured portal, one of the figures wearing a rabbit mask reaches down and scoops the silver mirror from the pool of red water, the figures and the portal vanishing from view.

Without a word, the rabbit masked creatures walks over to a bookcase containing hundreds if not thousands of similar silver mirrors, slotting the recently-removed mirror into an empty spot before pulling out one adjacent to it.

No words, just grunts of approval from the elk mask and a simple nod from the tiger mask as the rabbit mask deftly slides the mirror into the pool of red.

Chanting, arcane mutterings, and the visceral feeling of magic fills the room. The creatures seem to float in this nothingness as they begin to scry, the deck of a ship coming into view. The elk brandishes a gloved hand and gestures, panning through their view until it focuses on what looks to be the captain of the ship. The tiger mask brandishes a dagger and slowly drives it toward the creature.

Lyam tried to stifle a large yawn but it was quite difficult with the size of his jaw. The 19-year-old canine wolf always had a hard time paying attention in the Bethel here in Rulid, he much preferred training or even working out in the fields. Not that he didn't find the bethelkeeper's sermons dry, but he much preferred a day filled with action versus attempting to sit in one place for hours. He did consider himself to be aligned to Pirhoua and all her deeds but with the draw of the Dungeon and Delvers getting fame and glory it was hard for such a young wolf to sit still.

His reddish-brown and white fur bristled slightly, as if a chill slid up his spine and up to his neck. He shivered, an oddity considering the pleasant and warm afternoon air in the little town. Nobody seemed to notice as he looked around before he focused back in on the bethelkeeper, an elderly female bovine in simple brown robes who had just finished one story and was about to start another.

Just one more. Lyam thought to himself, suppressing another yawn before nearly jumping up in place as Miss Annette's hands hit her podium, almost hunched over it. Lyam started to pull himself up to see if something was wrong as the first echo of the smack emanated from the relatively large building walls but the bovine stood up straight suddenly as if nothing happened. The wolf squinted a bit, noticing an otherworldly glow about her eyes. His ears twitched as he felt that chill again before a warmth filled the room.

"Twelve years ago an entire city and population was invited to this paradise at the behest of the gods." Bethelkeeper Annette said loudly. Her voice was different. Not only was it louder, but it commanded an authority that Lyam had never heard until now. He instinctively finished standing up but felt frozen in place, as if he was incapable of moving.

"Once again a populace flees from their war-torn and destroyed environment. Scouts from another existence seeking refuge from their refuse." She continued on, the gravitas almost causing the rafters to rattle and the inside of the building to expand as if it were larger than it already was. Everyone in the bethel hall could do nothing but stare.

"This little town shall be their first staging area. Shelter them. Clothe them. Feed them. These are what I ask of you...but do not make assumptions as to their intentions." Annette said loudly as she scanned the room.

P...Pirhoua? Could it be? Liam thought to himself, unable to move. Nothing else made sense, he couldn't imagine anything other than a deity could cause him to stay so still and unable to speak. His throat was dry and he was starting to feel light-headed. I...I'm not breathing!

"But even if their intentions are misguided...forgive them. Grant them mercy. Let your light shine and show them there is a path that is not sewn and rent into conflict. Even if we cannot save their world, we can at least lend them part of our own so that they might survive. And with this, I leave you, remember your Divine Charges for they will suit you well."

Lyam could feel her...feel her staring at him. It was...exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. His legs shook...and then suddenly everything was back to normal. His breaths were heavy as he was able to move again, his hands going to the table so as to not topple over. He looked around, unsure as to why he felt so much more affected than many of the others...but certainly the previous quiet bethel was aroar with discussion.

Before he could turn and ask if others had seen what he just had, a loud crack and boom rattled the walls to the central town building, causing the wolf to flinch before bounding outside, covering his eyes just in time for that thick plume of dust and sand to wash by, coating his fur in the gritty dirt. He wasn't a stranger to getting dirty from working the fields but he did groan mentally as he had just recently bathed.

He wasn't the only one that began to head toward the loud, raucous noise toward the foot of the nearby mountain. It was a simple farming town with no real guard, though Lyam fancied himself a fighter-in-training and part of the town militia, gripping the knife at his side. One of the farmers, a bison wielding a pitchfork ran with him toward the supposed explosion.

As the dust settled, Lyam looked up in awe at a large golden structure that shimmered in a bright white light with figures walking through it. The bison next to him clutched that pitchfork tightly and gasped out - Lyam wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that the bison was uttering, all he knew was he'd been one of the first to witness another miracle. Another pilgrimage. The start of one anyway.

Creatures...some seemed familiar to him, like the Brethren from the first pilgrimage. But others were a bit more alien...tall, human-like beings that were skinny with long ears, shorter humans that were about the height of ferrets but the width of a bovine. Tall, muscular, bull-like creatures. Things that looked like a cross between a kobold and a dragon. The wolf was stunned until he felt a hand on his houlder.

Whipping around with his dagger drawn he saw bethelkeeper Annette shake her head.

"Put that away child. That certainly won't help you gather lumber for lodgings."

Tarkas gasped as he sat up in his bed, his eyes going wide. His head pounded as if he had downed half a keg of cheap dwarven ale and he held back that urge to vomit the contents of his stomach.

Everything felt wrong as he clutched at his chest and almost yelled out a curse. Fur. Not scales.

He scrambled quickly to get to his feet and out from the covers of the bed, looking around desperately. His head was pounding. Was this all a dream? Takhisis could no longer play tricks on him.

"My wings!" he exclaimed out loud before covering his mouth, his eyes going wide and looking back. His beautiful silver wings. Gone. His dexterous tail. Replaced with some sad furry appendage that seemed ill-suited to war. He was wearing some type of thin garb, not the battlements he had on just moments before.

His eyes glimpsed a reflection, looking into the mirror was a creature alien to him...but moved with his thoughts. He blinked. It blinked. His heart raced and he went to clutch as his chest once again. He was used to scales, hardened for war...not this pelt of gray, black and white fur. His ears twitched, triangles perched on his head...where he was used to having horns.

He was a proud Sivak. Yet no longer did he have a body capable of flight and fight. His newfound feline claws dug into the skin underneath his fur, a snarl on his face.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD. A voice screamed inside, the draconian...no, the Chikitu Feline nearly doubled over in mental anguish, trying not to throw up again.

WHO ARE YOU? LET ME GO! GET OUT OF HERE!

Tarkas growled and stood back up. He didn't know what was going on. He wasn't sure how or why he was suddenly inside of another body. Or where his own form was. Clearly he was an intruder on someone else's mind but given his bodily control it was given that he was the victor in the conquest for control of the body even if it was merely his subconscious.

He wasn't stupid. He was practically the First Cleric's personal attendant and assassin. He remembered walking through the first portal and trudging through the world of white, difficult for him to comprehend or hear. Some people split off from the group. Some didn't make it, but most including himself went through the portal on the other end.

He had assumed that he would retain his body. He assumed incorrectly.

"Mateo! Matty! Wake up! Something is going on outside! Why the hell are you still sleeping, get out here!" a voice yelled from the other side of the door.

Mateo? he thought to himself. That is you? That is me?

GO BACK TO THE ABYSS, DEMON!

Not a demon. A dragonborn. A Knight of Takhisis. You address me with respect for I command this vessel now. Submit to me and know power.

The feline raised a paw, a swirl of radiant and necrotic energy formed in their paw with a wicked grin on their face.

"Coming! Be there in a sec!"