"You're a bear."

"Yes."

"What's a bear doing in the Hallowed Tomb of the First Necromancer?"

"Shiny rock..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then beg..."

"What?"

"What?"

He would've ran a hand through his face if he could.

"What are you doing here, you fucking ursine?!"

"Shiny rock..."

"What the hell are you- oh..." Feandral turned and found just exactly what the 'shiny rock was - the Silmaris, one of three legendary artifacts from the Age of Gods, capable of controlling an aspect of nature, which, in this case, was water.

He reached out and grabbed the fist-sized artifact. "You mean this thing?"

"Is it a rock?"

"Well...I suppose it's technically a rock - yes." The object that housed the artifact's powerful energies was a gemstone.

"Is it shiny?"

"It's glowing - does that count?"

"Give me the shiny rock."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Do you have any idea what this is?"

"....it's a shiny rock."

"IT'S SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT, YOU IMBECILE BEAR!"

"So?"

"So, I can't give it to you!"

"Why?"

"Because it's more than just some shiny rock!"

"Why?"

"It's one of three artifacts, capable of changing the world itself, unmatched in raw power." Feandral explained. "With this, you can drown entire cities and lay waste to any kingdom you wished."

Once, a very long time ago, before the advent of the Age of Gods, a man had travelled the whole continent, seeking all three of the legendary gemstones: the Silmaris, Galmaris, and the Filmaris. He succeeded, and gained absolute power over water, earth, and sky; thus, with this power, the man laid waste to Empires and Kingdoms, reshaping the mountains and raising islands from the deep. When all was said and done, he died a most petty death - murdered in his sleep. The gemstones were recovered and scattered - never to become one ever again.

His master, the First Necromancer, had taken on the task of safeguarding the Silmaris gemstone. The other two were also given to other beings of great power, though he knew not their names or who they were, which was likely for the best. Feandral glowered at the ursine, who dared enter.

"So, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't give it to you, bear." He finished.

...

"Why?"

Feandral sighed; why, of all things, did a sapient bear wander into his master's tomb?

"Give rock..."

"No" He sighed. "Who sent you here, anyway? You don't strike me very much as one of the greedy adventurers, seeking treasure and glory."

"Flying human...."

"Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?"

The bear shrugged - or, at least, it looked as though the bear shrugged. Can bears even shrug?

Much Earlier...

For a thousand years, the Hallowed Tomb of the First Necromancer, Nergash, stood at the easternmost region of the world, overlooking the Pale Sea in silence. Around it lay the last of the world's Necromantic powers, draining the life from the land itself and raising the dead to fight off would-be interlopers in such divine grounds. Here, artifacts from the Age of Gods and Heroes were stored, collected by the First Necromancer himself when he still walked the world. For a thousand years, Feandral, the First Disciple, has watched over his master's final resting place, forever standing guard as to keep the unworthy from gaining power.

Immortality, however, was not nearly as fun when you were forced to stay in one place. Sure, he'd been told this before he took the oath, but he never thought an eternity alone, surrounded only by glimmering artifacts - a few of which were capable of speech, but they were arrogant things - would be this mindlessly boring. A few adventurers and thrillseekers would eventually wander in - once every few hundred years or so - and he'd even try to talk to them, engage in an actual conversation; of course, all they really came for was his master's treasure and then he'd have to kill them.

He'd lost count of how many mages and cultivators barged in here, thinking they were free to rob his master's artifacts and secrets; well...they're all dead now.

Soon enough, however, adventurers stopped coming; for the last three hundred years, no one and nothing has walked through the doorway to his master's tomb. And, maybe, that was for the best; humans were greedy creatures by nature, their hearts easily susceptible to corruption and sin. Even the weakest artifact in his master's treasury, the Black Orb of Alantir, could very easily upturn entire kingdoms in the wrong hands and - frankly - every hand was the wrong hand. And so, Feandral was thankful for the silence, for the desolate hallways and the isolation.

Emptiness for centuries - lesser men would've succumbed to the loneliness that came with his immortality.

And so Feandral stood watch, alone, for hundreds of years, with only the voices of the living artifacts to keep him company.

Until now.

A powerful presence walked through the doorway of his master's sacred tomb, a presence not felt since before the Age of Gods, in the Age of the Watchers, before the dawn of the world. It was familiar. He knew this presence, but the memory of it was too far gone - Feandral was simply too young when he'd felt it, too young to remember.... His master was there. The First Necromancer would've recalled - he would've recognized the source of the queer presence. Alas, Feandral waited, unsure of the entity that'd walked into what had become his home for an age.

Feandral pondered his response; he could summon the Deathguard, a legion of powerful Necromantic warriors, animated by powerful dark magic - far more powerful than the paltry skeleton warriors outside the tomb. But... a part of him was curious about this being - not because of its power, but because of the brief, but familiar, flash of emotion in its soul. Contrary to the belief of most mages - in his time, of course - Necromancy was not only about the reanimation of the dead or the binding of dark magic, it was also about the true colors of souls, of emotions that ran deeper than the recesses of the mind. The greatest gift of Nergash, he mused, was the ability to understand others through their souls.

And the being, who just entered his master's tomb, was lonely - its soul was filled with loneliness.

And it was that loneliness that stayed his hand; here was a kindred soul. Maybe, it wasn't another greedy mage or cultivator.

He wished it were so, but he didn't hope. Killing the interloper within the treasure room itself was just as easy as everywhere else; heck, it'd be even easier from there, where most of his powers were concentrated. There was nothing to fear and nothing to be worried about - one interloper, no matter how powerful, could not possible survive the onslaught of his master's deathly legions at the center of his tomb.

And so Feandral waited.

And waited.

Something walked in, its footsteps light and muffled - so quiet that normal human beings would have a hard time hearing anything. He could hear it, though only barely. 'Two sets... four legs? No... something's walking on all fours- some kind of crawling beast? Is it a Lizardman?'No... the muffling indicates the presence of fur- a Werewolf? No, this presence does not exhude the Curse of the Moon Spirit. What the hell is it?'

A bear walked in, and the First Disciple stiffened. 'A bear....'

It lumbered in, eyes drifting over the vaste hoard of treasures and ancient artifacts, each one having enough power to debilitate entire Kingdoms if used to its full potential. The bear's eyes, however, seemed to care little about anything and everything here; in fact, it looked quite confused - lost even - as though it had no idea what it was doing here, or where 'here' was. 'No, that's impossible; it's here for a reason. No mere beast could possibly reach my master's Hallowed Tomb just by wandering around....'

And so, from the perch, where his body hang and glimmered with Necromantic powers, Feandral leaned forward, looming over the larger than average bear, whose head snapped upwards. Their eyes met.

"You're a bear..."

And so began the most tedious conversation in his entire life.

"Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?"

"No."

Feandral sighed and seriously considered activating the Hallowed Tomb's Deathguards, but he stayed his hand and examined the bear just a tiny bit further; now that he thought about it, talking to the bear was a lot like talking to a child - a giant, deadly, predatory, curious, petulant child, who really didn't know any better. And, like any child, it would be rather easy to manipulate.

For a moment, however, the First Discipline wondered how this bear attained this much power; he wasn't quite sure of the traditions of this age, but, in his time, bears, who displayed an affinity for either Qi or Mana, were quickly hunted down without much discussion or debate, even his master actively hunted down bears with developed Qi pathways or active Mana cloaks. And yet it was different; he'd felt the auras of thousands upon thousands of different Magical Beasts in the past and none of them were remotely similar to this bear's strange, almost otherworldly presence, even its soul was unnatural, like a wound upon the world itself.

Feandral shook away the thoughts; the creature was fascinating, but not all that interesting considering everything else he'd already encountered in his life.

"Why did you come here?"

"Shiny ro-"

"I know - what I meant was: why did you choose to come here at the behest of this 'flying human' when you could've said no." Feandral asked. "What was offered to you in exchange for the Silmaris - a kingdom, another artifact of great power?"

"Safe passage in the Grey Mountains." The bear replied, its voice was inhuman, but quite unlike the raspy, ghostly voices of the undead. "Many powerful creatures there; I need to pass."

"Why do you need to pass the Grey Mountains?" Beyond the treacherous mountain range were the Northern Kingdoms, where war raged eternal and ignorance reigned - assuming they haven't changed after a thousand years. Why would this bear even want to go there, when the Southlands, home to the Mages and Cultivators, would've been safer - heck, why not just stay in the surrounding forests? The Westlands, of course, was definitely out of the question as that place was home to the Monster Hunters and those guys were lunatics - very heavily armed lunatics.

The bear stiffened for a moment, as if it was searching for an answer within itself.

It answered after a brief silence. "I want to go beyond the woods - adventure."

"Ah - wanderlust; that's not at all uncommon among humans, but-" He stopped himself; it wasn't as though this creature even understood human emotion. The minds of bears were simply different. "So, you wish to cross the Grey Mountains and live a life of adventure?"

The answer came quicker than last time. "Yes."

"What if....what if I offered you a something better than safe passage?" Feandral asked. He could not waste this opportunity; if this bear was indeed travelling Northwards, then - perhaps - it may be of some use to him. He gestured towards the treasures of his dearly departed master. "I can offer you a unique and powerful artifact in exchange for an errand, once you reach the Northern Kingdoms."

"What do you want?" Feandral would've raised an eyebrow if he had any hair left on his body. The bear, it seems, had no concept of loyalty; but then, he supposed, that wasn't too shocking. After all, loyaltly was a concept shared only by men and their dogs - no other creature felt it. Before him was a simple give and take situation that he could very easily take advantage of; there were many paltry artifacts in his master's collection that he would not cry over if someone ate them.

"In the lands of the Northern Kings is a place known only as the Dragon's Rest, it is where the mighty, fire-breathing beasts go to die." He explained. "There should be a black orb at the very center of this place; destroy it."

"Okay."

"O-okay? Wow, that was easy." Feandral cleared his non-existent throat. "Very well, we shall form a Fate Contract; if either of us fail to uphold our end of the bargain, then let he, who has failed, die instantly."

"Okay."

Dark halos appeared over both their heads, shadowy constructs of Dark Magic, ensuring that both of them would uphold their ends of the bargain - however lacking in detail it was. 'It doesn't matter; this is just a bear - it'll either succeed and I win, or fail and die trying, in which case I don't exactly lose. In either outcomes, I don't lose much, save for the paltry artifacts of my master, which he probably wouldn't care about, anyway.'

Feandral beheld the strange bear with a calculating gaze. 'It's going to die, but the mark I imprinted upon its body should allow me to reanimate it and take control. It'll be a very limited form of freedom, but freedom nonetheless.'

He would win either way, even if the bear somehow does the impossible and destroys the Black Orb of the Watchers.

He turned towards the artifacts and then gestured at them with a lazy hand. "Take whatever artifact you want, except for those that stand atop the piles - those are not for mortal hands. Take only what you can carry."

"Okay."

The bear took a step forward and-

Feandral's eyes widened.

-began eating the artifacts.

His jaws hung open as the bear began chewing on the Pendant of Illusions. Eating the artifacts wouldn't breach the contract's stipulationg of: take only what you can carry.

'The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math....'

Then again, what exactly was he expecting?