ORIGIN - for the better

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She was still battered around. Bruised and gently wheezing. Her ribs were sore and every breath felt like her lungs were about to puncture against broken bones. The blood on her face had been haphazardly wiped off but her skin was still damp and clammy, somehow too hot and too cold all at once. Aethril, however, had a mission.

With the opal still in her fist, her ears were pricked, alert, even with Obieth presumably on her heels. Her eyes scanned the hill-lines of Pegasus as they marched through the room and into the tunnel leading to Draco (largely ignoring the Sentinel standing guard, of course) and entered. She still wasn't sure what she wanted out of this specifically-- but she knew how she was feeling. Angry. Upset. Guilty. She wanted this fucking thing to pay even after its death.

The Hand hoped that Vargas had some ideas, though she was unsure if she was expecting him to understand. Did Vargas even have friends? Did he know what it felt like to feel responsible for the people close to him getting hurt?

The clicking of heels stopped and her hand extended briefly out next to her to touch the ridges along Obieth's forehead before calling out, "Vargas?"

@Obieth

Obieth slinked along close beside Aethril, on high alert to any danger. The attack had left her on edge, her nerves flaring, her instincts and senses honed to a razor point. Ridged tail flicked behind her as she stalked alongside the Hand, a protective ferocity leaving a rumbling growl fractionally away from erupting from her chest.

She was keeping them both swathed in shadows as best she could--a shadow that curled around the Sentinel, too, as they passed (as if his own magic was a reflection of her own, his eye contact silent). She paced along quietly, and when Aethril called out for Vargas, she at last let her magic drop.

She wondered, for a moment, if she should reach into his mind, when he turned up. To find out what he really thought of rebels. But Aethril had told her not to.

...Should she obey?

- THE LEVIATHAN -

The call swivelled his head, and he pushed up, lanky limbs pushing him fully upright. He hadn't been sleeping, only crouching--hunting a few cave rats for a snack; the bastard things had started to try and gnaw on one of the new Oilstones growing here. It must have smelled organic, he supposed, but he couldn't let them get to it--anyway, Aethril's voice cut through all that.

With a muttered oath of annoyance under his breath, he pushed up--just what trouble had he earned, now? There was no telling what the Hand would want of him, and the reminder of her very existence was a troubling one.

He strode for her, consciously un-gritting his teeth as he arrived--and paused, eyeing the damage that had been done. What the hell? "Aethril," he greeted, formally--the name she had requested. "What can I do for you?"

He didn't ask; if she wanted to tell him what had happened, she would. If she wanted to tell him what she kept clenched in one fist--she would.

It wasn't his business, otherwise.

@Aethril

She twisted the gemstone in her hand again, her spare one still on Obieth, keeping the Valkhound close. She found herself-- for a few moments --speechless. Her jaw worked as the Hand tried to digest her own emotions, sort them like picking files from a cabinet, looking for what was relevant.

Aethril still had to think about it, for a moment. "This one was trying to kill deer in the Palace," she began, because you might as well start at the beginning. She indicated the opal as 'this one.' "It didn't quite appreciate me politely asking it to leave. Damn near killed Isra." She allowed Vargas to put the pieces together himself.

Another twist of the gemstone. She wanted to break it, smash it on the ground and watch it crumple like delicate glass. "It was quite powerful. I was hoping, perhaps, you'd have some use for it. Or Totum, perhaps? I'd hate to see it go to waste." This was assuming-- as Aethril always did --Arwen had been someone's creation. She didn't like the thought of some Master's pet project wasting away.

Her nose began to wrinkle, and then a shot of pain stopped her. "If not, I..." a slight pause. "Would like something Isra can use, when she re-emerges."

Punching bag. Personal servant. Scout, assassin, another guard-- to Aethril, it did not entirely matter. Isra deserved some kind of enjoyment, if neither Master had any use for it.

@Obieth

She came to a halt as her Hand did, stiff and silent. The stench of Draco--the rot of its oil, the heat of its Spire--wafted through her nostrils once again, bringing with them fetid memories of birth. Of her near-drowning. Of her grasping her own fate.

Teal eyes lifted to meet the acid gaze of Vargas, and she simply stared at him in silence. She had nothing to add to this conversation; she was merely muscle, the guardian, here to keep Aethril safe. She wasn't here to talk.

But... she was curious about Vargas's mind. Aethril said no, she reminded herself, and--catlike--struggled with herself to obey.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas eyed the stone, then stepped forward, holding one six-thumbed hand out. "It attacked..? Some of these beasts do not know their place," he said, and winced--was this not his fault? Was disobedience in the nest not his domain to handle?

"Was it acting alone?" he asked, as an afterthought. At the very least, he could clean up any other allies it might have had. And then--"May I?" A request to see the gemstone, to look it over, to feel its power.

He wondered what she had in mind, but there was no point in thinking it over needlessly. No doubt she'd tell him. And no doubt this was, in part, a warning: that he'd better get this nest together, in order, obedient, or there'd be a lot more lifeless gemstones piling on his way. Well--better, that way, he supposed. It didn't reflect well on him, but it was hardly a loss if rebels wound up dead. "Do you have anything in mind?" He tried to reach out with his magic, to feel if the stone were alive (touching it or not), but it crashed back into his mind--visibly staggering him. He winced. "Bastard," he muttered, and then--with an apologetic glance at Aethril--"My own magic has not cooperated since my reformation at the Creator's hands." He really needed to sit down and practice with it. As a result, though, he had no idea if the stone held power--or just how much was left. It didn't matter. He could work with it personally, regardless.

"As I was saying--did you have anything specific in mind?" His tone was polite, deferential; whatever she wanted, he could do. He had a creation to make for Lord Dhracia, as well; may as well knock out two birds with one stone.

@Aethril

"It's the second time it's happened since I've woken up," she said. "I assume there must be a rebel den somewhere in the Nest, still. I intend to find it." Oh, how she'd love to set it on fire. She wanted to see the creatures writhe and scream as black flames licked away their pelt.

She licked her teeth and handed the stone over. "No," she lied-- Vargas hadn't mentioned him or Totum having a use for it, but she didn't want to scare them away from the idea if they did have something they needed. She was starting to gather ideas regardless.

It'd been so happy to disguise itself as a deer, after all...

Aethril's eyebrow lifted, and then she smirked faintly. "I fear quite the same. Somehow, I remember my magic being much more effective prior to hibernation-- if you'd ever need someone to practice with, let me know. It's all I do with my time these days." This was, for once, a genuine offer. Partially out of interest to see how Vargas's skills were going and partially for herself. She tried to push herself to practice every day.

Lest she plague herself again, of course.

Moving on. "If you're unsure then perhaps we can come up with something, if you so wish." Her gaze flickered down to Obieth, adding as an afterthought, "are you hungry?"

@Obieth

Vargas's words were practically an invitation. His magic was going poorly. He'd never notice her coming, right-?

She looked away, studiously examining the rest of Draco, even while reaching her mind for his. Like a cat whose mistress has told it to not knock something off a shelf, Obieth's paw hovered dangerously close, waiting for the moment when Aethril's back was turned.

It was perhaps for the best that when she reached out, her magic didn't answer; a little frustrating, but it was a frustration that showed only in the faint flick of the very tip of her tail. Baleful gaze then swept back up to regard Vargas--annoyed at her own failure, at her power refusing her. "Maybe magic is harder here," she suggested--"in places where the light is like this." It made sense to her, at least.

Surely the failure couldn't be her fault, after all.

She was a cat.

"Not right now," she murmured back to Aethril, at length. She was always willing to eat, of course--to the point that her sleek figure would likely be at risk were she given all the food she wanted--but right now, there were other things on her mind.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"I was just thinking that I should. Practice, that is," Vargas replied amiably. Some of his apprehension at the Hand's presence ticked down a notch--then back up as he realized this might be what she wanted. To lower his guard. For whatever reason.

The fire opal lay long, smooth and sharp in his hand: a hollow tube, glittering with color. "An attractive stone," he observed; "strange shape." He turned it over in his thumbs, pondering. "And you say it nearly killed Isra-?" That would have taken serious power, indeed.

He lifted the opal to shine against the void-light, but spoke to Aethril as he did so (and for a moment, he thought her "are you hungry" was directed at him, and very nearly gave a baffled answer--that would have been embarrassing). "If you refer to the cat--the long-haired cat?--it was not a rebel. It came here and returned to its stone. Some of these... Gembounds, they wander into the places that most closely focus the Creator's magic. The Black Spire, the Altar. They do not know what to do with it. The power overwhelms them--it is not their own. I believe that one is stabilized, now; did you wish to punish it any further-? I was thinking its shape might be useful," he went on. "But if you believe there to be rebels, I will gladly hunt them for you. Or, if you feel you can control her, Draconua rests within these caves. Draconua is... She slept beneath His spire as the rest of us returned to our stones. She claims to have seen His visions for millennia and has been driven half-mad by them: she truly embodies Chaos. But if you can control her, she would make a fine beast of war for whatever your needs might be. I warn you, however, that when I say she embodies Chaos, I mean it. I have to fight her into obedience." This warning was given drily, and at last, Vargas seemed to have had enough of examining the opal.

He held it out between them, indifferent as to whether Aethril wanted it back or would leave it in his hands. "If it was as powerful as you say, then I would agree that it should be made to protect that which the previous holder attacked." No point in wasting such strength. "If it is to be a sentry, then something with powerful senses would do. My first thought is some form of white creature--winged--that looks more like a statue most of the time. A bird, a bat, a gargoyle--something perched on the palace, something smooth and simple in its lines, something easily-mistaken for marble. Perhaps with a loud voice, or mind magic, to warn of incoming threats." He offered a loose shrug, then; the idea of a big, smooth white gargoyle atop the Palace walls was in his mind perfect, but he held absolutely no investment in it either way. "If you like, I could create several of these for you. A matching set, so to speak. It would only take time. But this is, of course, up to you," he added.

@Aethril

Aethril's head inclined. "Well, let me know when you are free. I'm down a sparring partner for a while," she went on, and though she'd intended on her tone being gently humourous, there was a slight stab of pain in her gut thinking of Isra.

"Yes," she said, lips tipping downwards. "In one spell, no less. I believe it must have been one like Farina-- ahh, what do you call it...? Prokaroyte." This would likely change but Aethril found it worth noting regardless. It'd been strong, and there was no point to wasting that away.

She went back to petting Obieth, nails gently raking back on her skull. The news that Vargas knew which she was talking about had her furrowing her eyebrows, finding that familiar feeling of distrust swelling in her gut. Perhaps it'd just been coincidence-- and, truthfully, Aethril did not care too much if he wanted to use it.

Aethril just doubted Vargas's opinion. It still could've been a rebel, idiot-wandering or not. "Keep an eye on it," she told the Master. "And keep it out of Cepheus. If I find it terrorizing the Lessers in the Palace again, you may not be able to retrieve its stone."

A part of her-- the little part barking at her to destroy the stone Vargas was offering back, the part that told her to set fire to rebel nests --hoped it would wander into the Palace.

Her shoulder rolled back, with another small wince, making a note to find which one Draconua was. "I'll let you know if I find anything," she was promising regardless. "I assume you'd appreciate the change in scenery? Or, perhaps, putting some of your creations to the test."

But her attention was caught-- hook, line and sinker --when Vargas mentioned something white and statue-like. Perhaps he was looking into her mind, without her realising...? Did it matter, right this moment?

A breath. "It's interesting you bring it up," she said, absent-mindedly shoving Obieth's head against her skirt and itching her cheek. "This thing had been-- obsessed, with the ivory deer. It was trying to poison and kill them, quite incessantly, and also somehow managed to turn itself into one. I had a thought that, perhaps... well. It was so interested in them, after all. Why not let it live as one?"

Mindless. Obedient. Mute. She liked the idea; and turning it into something that could live as a sentry for Isra was even better. "Perhaps, even, with some Hellswan features. The large mouth and aggression to outsiders; wings for flight." A matching one was even more tempting, but--

She thought of Dhracia. "I don't want you to wear yourself out," Aethril went on, not entirely out of concern for Vargas. "I understand that you're due to create something else for Lord Dhracia, yes?"

It could wait, as far as she was concerned. "Regardless, I'm very interested in this idea-- a set, too, would be quite nice to cover as much ground as possible."

@Obieth

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