This was the end. The end of an era. The extinction of a culture. To him had been given the task of training what amounted to his own replacement.
God was perfect. God was just and righteous and brilliant. Yet something could be perfect without being infinite. God's power upon the Lands Below was finite. The creatures of meat and blood each had their own, lesser, will, and most of them flaunted God's generosity.
The peoples meant to receive God's Word were stupid and rebellious. They were naive and spiteful like feral children. So God had seen fit, in His perfect wisdom, to elevate the beasts of the earth. They were quick to mature and faithful by nature. To them was given the crown of the world until the rightful heirs came of age. That time was now.
Gurranq, High Priest of the Beastmen, would never doubt the Word of God. He would never fail to do as ordered, even should that be the extinction of his own people. But that did not mean he was without resentment.
And by the heads of the Dragonlord was this brat of a messiah going to drive him mad.
He stomped away from the chapel where she should have been contemplating God or the Greatwood. It wasn't always easy to catch a scent on the wind in Farum Azula. With the way its perpetual cyclones wove in and out of other times and places, it was easy to losse a trail. Fortunately, his charge stunk unmistakably of the Greatwood's too-sweet sap.
Farum Azula was likewise not a kind place to live. Junior beastmen and guests of the younger peoples lost their lives easily. If a gust blew too strong or crumbling infrastructure gave way, one had to be skilled enough to move in an instant. Failing to do so would result in plummeting to a spectacular death in the Lands Below.
Navigating paths which tended to be collapsed walls as often as proper walkways was arduous at best. It was slow-going for the beastmen, who had strength in all their limbs and claws to hold on. For the younger peoples, simply reaching the washroom was a trial.
As if to spite him and her entire species alike, his ward moved more like a beast than a man. That was part of the problem.
And of course, he found her in one of the few intact courtyards. She didn't even have the dignity to be meditating on the sturdiness of the trees which could survive here. She was practicing the combat arts of the beastmen alongside her expected consort.
Their mock battle would be considered fierce for their kind, but to the ancient beast, it resembled little more than the play of whelps. And there was precious little time to be wasted on play.
She wasn't even the true messiah yet. There were two other candidates – Empyreans they were called. Each represented a fundamentally different vision for the Lands Below, a different face which God would show to the younger peoples. Between the three were represented all things.
The Sage of the Cradle would usher in an age of the new. Of discoveries and exploration. Of expanding the mind and reaching higher planes.
The Witch of the Grave was her opposite. Her age would be one of memory, of quiet repose and deep respect. Of learning from the past and letting old wounds fade.
Then there was this bitch.
Gurranq's faith could not be shaken. Yet, he worried. Already, these lesser peoples had precious little to them. They had no fang or claw, nor any defense to their bodies and minds. It was true that they were born with the five fingers required to build a society. The mark of God was upon them from the start rather than a gift given and then taken back.
The other Empyreans had asserted their divine right by unvanquished will. Forces of the upper heavens bent to their call. His own ward, the Maid of Days, contented herself with learning the ways of the beastmen she should be preparing to usurp. The powers she commanded were of the lower world, of bark and bite. How could the vessel of God be content with earthly things? If she would be no better than the beastmen, then why replace them at all?
Encouraging all of this was someone who should know better.
"The high priest greets His Majesty," he growled even as he bowed.
The King of Beasts threw back his head and laughed.
"Be not so bitter, claw-brother mine! Thy cub takes to incantations like vultures to carrion! …she rips them apart and devours their innards. A true prodigy."
Gurranq scowled.
"The prayers of the beast claw were only our crude attempts at worship. The new Order will have no need of them."
"The Order, no. But what of the girl? She has to survive, first and last. Call them crude if you must, but bone and stone will never dry up, wither, or be put out. The Maid of Days represents the present, does she not? How would a warrior of the present day deal with two rivals possessing powerful magics?"
The King gave a feral grin.
"Tear out their throats before they could finish casting."
The great lion chuckled low and looked over the mock battle.
"I would gladly trade duties, brother. The boy is almost more trouble than he's worth. He'll be the death of me one day, I know it."
The wolf-priest grumbled deep in the back of his throat. Then he bowed his head again.
"The wisdom of the King is without bounds. I will teach her… at least until it is time for her to focus on the Word of God alone."
He strode toward the battlefield, and the pair of warriors quickly broke away to kneel.
"Come, Marika," he barked. "If thou'rt truly so possessed of desire to learn combat incantations, then let us entreat Lansseax."