The beast is sleeping and has been for a very long time now...

He has been lost from the eyes of the world in a hidden nook down one narrow, winding arm of the twisting labyrinth, tangled in a cover of concealing vines.  Some of that growth has died back now for one reason or another, leaving his large cat's face and curled paws visible to anyone passing by. Yet, still he sleeps as if be spelled.

Were he to open his eyes and look around he would not know anything about this place.  Unlike the others who came through in the wake of an invading God and landed in surroundings that, while displaced, were familiar to them Livingston does not hail from a favored civilization of the great and terrible wolf God.  If he were ever asked about this creature he would know no more than about the Labyrinth itself.  For, while he did come in the same way and from the same planet, his was a small forgotten corner favored by no God at all.  Yet, it seems even that little pocked of the world did not escape the turmoil caused by Gods at war.

The sleeping creature will be in for a great and terrible surprise when at last he wakes.  Perhaps it would be better if he did not...

I know I am dreaming, I know it because the colors are all wrong.  The colors are always wrong in dreams.  It seems this dream has gone on for ages though and all I can think is that perhaps I have taken ill and they are fevered dreams?

First there is the hustle and bustle and anxiety of a coming coronation... my coronation, I think. Something happens to put it way off track though.   I see myself slipping out of the stronghold, creeping down to a lower ledge of the mountain pass, probably to clear my head.  I am set upon by shadows, many shadows.  There is a fight, I think from this removed vantage point that I fought rather well considering, but their numbers are too much for me.  I am taken down and hauled away, but not dead no I'm quite sure of that much.

This all rings true and perhaps it even explains the fever dreams.  Perhaps, I was quite gravely injured in that fight and did indeed take ill.

Now comes the madness, the part I have seen over and over again in the space behind my eyes and can make no sense of.  There is ruckus and roaring, magical blasts and flashes... blood and bones and death.  There are great towering figures above it all.  One with a slobbering wolf's head and mad eyes.  A second with, some sort of silver aura surrounding it. I can see little more than that.  It is another battle, a massive one, it must be... but I don't remember any event that would have left me watching such a thing and everything about it feels so alien.

The eyes behind the closed lids move back and forth in a restless manner.  Clearly the sleep has become, or perhaps always was, troubled.  Still he does not wake even as the sun filters through the towering trees to warm his face. He remains stretched on the ground, hind-end tangled in vines and twitching paws extended before his whiskered muzzle.

So the scene waits for a new player to join this sleeping beast's strange play...