ORIGIN

The caves had been changing, growing, expanding. Revealing new areas. These new places called to her (call it cat's curiosity), but thus far none had given her what she had sought. Of course, there was always the task at the back of her mind: Jupiter, the traitor. But no one she had met so far had known her, and no one had seen her, and even more-so: there was an infestation of Order in the caves that had nearly killed her pet.

Which was, frankly, obnoxious. She needed a better place to perch and brood and contemplate, until the time was right for her to extend her reach into destroying Order and the Traitors and All Who Stood In His Her Way.

The first moment she stepped into Cassiopeia, a comfort draped itself, hot and sticky, over her shoulders. This place had been forgotten, but signs of ancient life proved this place once had been a bustling metropolis. In its hay-day, this place must have been something special.

But now?

The lights flickered and failed, cloaking the dusty, broken down city in gloomy, loamy shadows. This was her element. Her heavy paws trod easily through the crumbling infrastructure. Her golden eyes searched the nook and crannies impassively, as though expecting something.

This place was dark and shadowed. A hum pervaded the air: the low buzz of chaos, its growl through the dust and rubble an ongoing promise. The temple's Oilstone spire kept it empty of life.

There was not much more to see, here, but that in and of itself was noteworthy. The temple's exterior was not only overgrown; old rubble had been dragged, piled in front. And old Oilstone chrysalises lay outside, shattered for as long as they'd lain there, holes leading to empty husks where living creatures should have been.

Somehow, those chrysalises felt to Elayne like the fulfillment of her thoughts before: destruction of all who stood in His way. But not hers, no.

This had come before her time.

Elayne considered this emptiness. Was it blasphemy, then, to stand in a place that He had laid bare? Surely not. This place was stagnant, cold... It needed new life, and perhaps with it, more destruction could occur. More death-- she hummed, shaking her head from these thoughts. Devastation was not all that she was capable of.

Her eyes settled upon the Altar, however, and she approached it. It took little effort to drink in the cool, fulfilling wrought of Essence that lingered around it.

This place was clean, and tidy, and perfect shelter for something new. Her mind tingled with the possibility.

This was a place of worship, she thought, though she knew not where the information came from. It stood where all else fell to ruin. Seemed that a bit of celebration was in order.

She sprouted a tendril from a crack in the flooring, and tore it out of its place with one massive paw. Clutching the dripping, oiled and still somewhat writhing tendril, she brought it up to the Altar and placed it down, watching her magical essence turn to rot.

"What do you think," she whispered, half to herself, "seems like it's a bit overdue for a change of pace." A smile drew across her face. "I will herald that change."

But first, she had to bring some meat home.