The Spire had been opened, and though it's lower levels had been caved in and its upper roof dissolved, still it thrust defiantly skyward. With its guardian gone it could be approached with impunity, but still it was the grave of several brave - if foolish - individuals, and others who had been loyal to the very end, bitter or glorious in turn.
Jigano knew of the portal in the lower reaches, and of the valiant serpent that had guarded it for centuries, and he kept meaning to try and unearth it, but there were still so many other things that needed doing, seeking, learning, answering that he had found himself too busy to return and begin the task of unearthing what had been lost.
Of course, there was also the pall of hollow victory that hung around the place, which had spurred the tensions between Natural and Outlander, torn friendships apart, and left a scar over the relations between so many people.
So, even though Jigano often passed the Spire on his way to visit Rory, he did not usually stop there. Nor would he have today, if the weather had not taken a swift and serious turn for the worse. But he was given little choice in the matter as lightning flashed brilliantly across the sky and Isuma reep!ed and dove into his hood to shiver as thunder rolled ominously, deep and rib-shaking in its power.
He was clad as he usually was, in a sleeveless light gray overtunic that fell to his knees and a wide-sleeved pale green undertunic tucked into brown breeches and calf-high soft boots. His white hair was long and pulled into a tail today, back from a sharp-featured, foxy face and clear blue eyes. A small winged creature was tucked mostly beneath his hair behind his shoulders, curled up in a wide hood that had been recently sewn onto the back of the overtunic, and a rapier of the old style rested comfortably at his hip.
After a quick check of the sky, Jigano grimaced and turned his steps towards the Spire, deciding discretion was the better part of valor and that the storm would be better waited out in the dry interior. Except that someone had discarded a bundle of old laundry in front of the obelisk, he noted as he neared it. Wet and dirty laundry, and bloody to boot...
"Gods least fortunate," the bard swore softly to himself as he broke into a jog towards the prone person who had collapsed on the ground. As he neared he raised his voice, reaching out to try and touch the person's shoulder gently as he knelt beside them - her? "What happened? Were you attacked?"
Jigano knew of the portal in the lower reaches, and of the valiant serpent that had guarded it for centuries, and he kept meaning to try and unearth it, but there were still so many other things that needed doing, seeking, learning, answering that he had found himself too busy to return and begin the task of unearthing what had been lost.
Of course, there was also the pall of hollow victory that hung around the place, which had spurred the tensions between Natural and Outlander, torn friendships apart, and left a scar over the relations between so many people.
So, even though Jigano often passed the Spire on his way to visit Rory, he did not usually stop there. Nor would he have today, if the weather had not taken a swift and serious turn for the worse. But he was given little choice in the matter as lightning flashed brilliantly across the sky and Isuma reep!ed and dove into his hood to shiver as thunder rolled ominously, deep and rib-shaking in its power.
He was clad as he usually was, in a sleeveless light gray overtunic that fell to his knees and a wide-sleeved pale green undertunic tucked into brown breeches and calf-high soft boots. His white hair was long and pulled into a tail today, back from a sharp-featured, foxy face and clear blue eyes. A small winged creature was tucked mostly beneath his hair behind his shoulders, curled up in a wide hood that had been recently sewn onto the back of the overtunic, and a rapier of the old style rested comfortably at his hip.
After a quick check of the sky, Jigano grimaced and turned his steps towards the Spire, deciding discretion was the better part of valor and that the storm would be better waited out in the dry interior. Except that someone had discarded a bundle of old laundry in front of the obelisk, he noted as he neared it. Wet and dirty laundry, and bloody to boot...
"Gods least fortunate," the bard swore softly to himself as he broke into a jog towards the prone person who had collapsed on the ground. As he neared he raised his voice, reaching out to try and touch the person's shoulder gently as he knelt beside them - her? "What happened? Were you attacked?"
