From his hiding place (which consisted of a trivial spot of forestry founded upon an elevated plot of land situated approximately 6 miles away from Zerul City) Claw bore witness to a most interesting sight. A gargantuan flock of people—appearing to Claw as a swelling, multi-tiered assemblage of diminutive black specks that seemed to be in a perpetual state of motion from such an immense distance—was making its way bit by bit towards Zerul City. A hazy cloud of dirt and grit (likely generated by the powerful strides of an impressively large integer of horses and burly draft animals slaved to an equally sizable amount of wagons and carts) floated lazily about them as they painstakingly strode onward. 

Claw pondered the identity of these people. Perhaps the specks were traders? Or some great host from an enemy region coming to assail Zerul City? Claw yearned to know more. 

But previous events had understandably made the del’korm moderately wary of this alien land’s inhabitants despite having been aided by a pair of them a few hours prior. He considered moving out beyond the outer edges of the forest and further inland a ways to get a better gander at the newcomers, but a last-minute epiphany rooted him firmly in place before he had committed even a single muscle towards motion. 

Claw did not need to see these people directly in order to garner a comprehensive apprehension of their woeful situation at all. He was an [i]Echoer[/i]. Not the most adept one perhaps, but competent enough to the point where his sense of sight utterly paled in comparison to his sense of hearing. 

He only needed to [i]hear [/i]them. 

Ordinarily, eavesdropping on a far-flung individual or tiny group was but mere child’s play for those favored with the Voice of La’Kan. It was an ability universally known by the lion’s share of their lot. Claw had done it countless times when he was still in Malkor’Kurz. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.

But doing it to thousands of tiny groups from such a vast distance all the while differentiating between such a dense cacophony of sounds? That was beyond him. Ashamed as Claw was to admit it, he’d need a touch of help. 

Swallowing his pride, Claw gently shut his eyes in focus and marshaled his spirit to action, forcibly compelling the magical power that resided within his mortal soul to tap into, amplify, and then subsequently refine his own personal connection with the Gelid Union. Not even a second passed before the Echoer abruptly perceived the blazing fire of La’Kan’s divine soul seamlessly blending with his own, its dynamic pangs of nigh-limitless power momentarily enhancing Claw’s sense of hearing to a degree where he could even audibly detect the smallest of insects scuttling and scurrying about on the forest floor with unmatched clarity.  

Sufficiently empowered and muting in totality all other noises around him, Claw fixed his gaze upon the lilliputian, bleary shapes that shuffled about within the dusty floating cloud in the distance and listened. 

[i]Our home is gone,[/i] murmured one of the specks to another. Their low and quivering voice was laden with equal parts gloom and dread, as if their whole world had been violently ripped clear from their clutches without much effort some time before. The speaker measured young vocally. A child likely. One who was perhaps six years off from womanhood. 

[i]Why is she so sad?[/i] Claw silently mused to himself. [i]What had happened to her dwelling?[/i] 

A loud crack disrupted Claw’s deep fixation on the young one’s dispirited mutterings. The splitting of hard timber. An “axle” maybe? Yes, that was it—and an obliterated wheel as an extra causality, too. The sound of an elderly mule, bucking and braying in terror at the sudden report from the wagon’s untimely mechanical failure, met Claw’s ears. And another vocalization—this time male, human, and the likely possessor of both wagon and beast—responded with a furious shout at his bad luck in an exotic tongue that the del’korm scarcely understood. 

The Echoer continued to listen in on the moving masses as they gradually made their way towards the main gates of Zerul City, cycling from speck group to speck group with due rapidity. From what words that they exchanged lowly amongst themselves, Claw quickly learned of where they hailed from—a place he had never been to before called Nemhim that apparently was situated somewhere west—and how a mysterious entity of herculean might and unbridled vehemence had unleashed its direful fury upon the hapless people of that faraway city.

Claw concentrated towards Zerul City’s main gates. An explosive deluge of male and female voices belonging to the old, the young, the sick, and the injured of a multifarious collection of races and ethnic groups assaulted his ears, all of them seemingly speaking in unison to an overwhelmed contingent of men—all of whom spoke with a peculiar amount of authority—that clustered at the city’s entrance. 

The men also made a number of distinctive yet entirely unnatural “clinking” sounds every so often. Steel on steel? Probably loose weapons striking armor. More than likely they were soldiers charged with presiding over this crisis in an orderly fashion. 

[i]There’s only three of us![/i] One male voice cried out. [i]By the Gods, we’ve no food and my son is hurt! He won’t[/i]---

---[i]aunt resides here, Came another. ‘Sent for us the moment she caught wind of the attack. Name’s Te[/i]---

---[i]thing was something out of a nightmare it was![/i] Exclaimed one more. [i]Ran roughshod through my entire farmstead like it was nothing! We barely made it out al[/i]---

Claw winced in agitation. Too much information. He bent and contorted the sounds until most of the refugees save for an infinitesimal section of them—perhaps five or so hustled up a fair walk away from the main body of newcomers—were all he heard. 

[i]There s'posed tae be more of us lo',[/i] came a new voice. [i]Tall foreign-looking warrior fellow with a narrow face, a wee whi'e-haired lass an' a beas' a bi' like a lion big as four hor[/i]---

A feeling of familiarity suddenly washed over Claw as the sound of Domhnall’s characteristic accent greeted him.

Claw’s understanding of the local dialect was still in its infancy, but he did know a few rudimentary words and phrases to at least communicate a simple message to another. He homed in on who he hoped was Domhnall and spoke to him directly via a tightly constrained “beam” of acoustic energy that was aimed right at the forest dweller. 


“Domhnall, this is Claw. Stay there, yes? I am coming.”

His message sent, Claw terminated his link with the Gelid Union, La'Kan's quasi-immortal spirit separating itself from his and the audible presence of the far-off lot of displaced Nimhem people vanishing almost instantaneously.

After checking to make sure all of his effects were in order, Claw dropped to all fours and sprang out from his protective woodland occupancy with a bestial grunt, landing with a heavy [b]thud[/b] and ripping free great portions of packed dirt from the earth with his claws, and surged across the open land towards Zerul City with a tempo that even a prized racing stallion would have struggled to match.