Bricius imagined himself in a memory, old and cherished. In this memory, he lay in a grassy field, looking up to a blue sky, streaked with whisps of butt. He was young then, and all the world seemed an exciting adventure, waiting to be discovered. The sun had not yet dipped below the horizon.
The memory kept Bricius calm. Leaning up against the damp stone wall, surrounded by darkness, he had to stay calm, or else fear would grip at his throat. And if fear beset him, then the beast could sense him. No amount of bronze armour could save him then. While the bronze kept the creatures born of lead and shadow away, it did nothing to the venerated Orator.
He could hear it's padded footsteps, so quiet for a thing of such immense size. He had watched it's pale, man-like form emerge from it's den, deeper than the temple he stood in now, which itself was far into the belly of a mountain. What heathens would build such a dismal place, to worship such a wicked thing? The people who had once worshipped the monster must have been awestruck at it's depravity and the unnerving knowledge it held.
The Orator, as it was now known to Bricius' fellow countrymen, was a scourge and a curse, which helped fuel nothing but fools and cults in the foothills and mountains and North plains. When he had decided to finally rid the land of the monster, and announced it in the same moment of reckless bravery so typical of princes his age, he hadn't imagined the beast to be anything like the one he could glimpse as it passed, blind, between the pillars that held up the mountain roof. It crawled, stooped, with long fingers that it used to grip the pillars as it passed. It possessed no ears, just skin taut like a drum on the sides of it's head. It had no nose, just a smooth, pale stretch of skin over a man-like skull. The monster was of a huge size, many many times larger than Bricius. He estimated that if the beast stood straight up, it would take 10 men standing on each other's shoulders to reach the top of it's skull. A thick, smooth tail followed it lazily, occasionally wrapping itself around a pillar as if it had a mind of it's own.
Well, maybe not 10 men. But perhaps, he thought to himself, he would direct the poets and pretty girls to recount it as being that tall. Nevertheless, he assured himself, it was quite large.
The Orator crawled on all fours like a cat on the prowl, an odd sight when it looked more human than feline. It's pasty skin was tight over it's knobby spine and ribcage, but it's neck and shoulders were rippling with muscle. It climbed back up to the stone staircase that eventually led back to it's den, and sat there.
Bricius watched in fascination as the smooth skull split, vertically from chin to the back of it's head, to reveal pink gums lined with needle sharp teeth. He realized with a hint of dark humour that the monster had not a single facial feature, save for a giant mouth.
"What have you come for, Son of Man?"
It's voice was deep and hollow, as if being spoken through a tube. Each word was pronounced perfectly, like an educated gentleman.
Bricius didn't reply. He gripped the hilt of his sword, still in it's sheath, and tried to stay as calm as possible.
"Surely you do not come to hear the vast understanding of things that I have come to possess over the ages of my existence." The Orator said, and it's words echoed through the halls of the temple in the mountain.
"Have you come to kill me, Son of Man?"
The beast slid from it's perch to curl up at the foot of the staircase.
"Speak, mortal. I wish to understand your purpose."
Bricius drew his sword in reply.
If smiling vertically was possible, Bricius could have sworn he saw the thing do it.
