ORIGIN

Elayne knew where to find him: she had abandoned him in Canis, left him for dead to the hounds of Order. She knew he had survived, but had not bothered to come back for him. He had been weak, withered and broken from the frailness of his body. He craved Chaos, but it wounded him where it powered her.

It was alright. He was weak in mind as much as he was weak in body, and that made him useful to her regardless.

He was not useful to her in a hole right outside of Order's nasty little footholds, however. Now that she had found a new location, a better location, she simply had to drag his ass there.

Can he even survive the trip there? She wondered, or will I have to revive his stone myself?

Her eyes gleamed as she descended into the tunnel. Either way would suit her needs, though she did not like the notion of having to wait for the stone to remake a new plaything for her.

"Uvie," called the porcelain-faced feline, the darklight of their master's painting it the mane around it a slick oil, and her body a blinding white. "Are you here? My dear, I have wonderful news." Her honey-sweet voice was laid on thick, her smile baring teeth, and the words practically hissed.

There was no comfort in such a promise.

He barely stirred from his spot beside the Altar at her word. Once, he might have jumped to his feet, so eager to please. She hoped that was due to his weakened state, and not due to anything else untoward.

Regardless.

"Of course, my darling," she rumbled, prowling into his personal space and not even noticing if he recoiled or not as her tail swept around him, oil-slicked tendrils brushing his cheek. "You must be so tired of this place," she cooed, "it has stifled you. Made you grow weak, even with a fountain of our essence to fuel you."

"There is a new place for us," she whispered, bringing her stark-white face down to stare deeply into his eyes. "A place that has been forgotten, but Chaos sits at its heart. It is abandoned. It is ready for us to make it something more." She pulled back to her full height, claws scraping the stone under foot as her grin widened even further, splitting her face.

"We leave at once!"

She might have expected some complaint, or even an ask to wait. Questioning was unusual from Ultraviolet, but not entirely unexpected given her lack of explanation thus far. It would have been reasonable to ask where they were going, or for any amount of details.

What was not reasonable, however, was what the fool did. His eyes rolled back, his jaw chattered, he began to paddle uselessly as his body jerked with an uncontrolled seizure. Had one of his diseases made a home out of a tumor in his brain? That was inconvenient.

"Uvie," she tutted. "Calm down. There is no reason to be having a fit over this."

Obviously, he did not respond to that. He was having an involuntary seizure right in front of her. Sometimes, Chaos was inconvenient like that. It wouldn't be true Chaos if it wasn't sometimes a huge pain in the ass.

So she sighed, slumping down next to him. Her tendrils gently ran up and down his back, as she shushed him further. "It's alright, this will pass. And when it is done, my dear, we will make our way to our new home. Listen, I can carry you there. I know you have grown weak, and it is not your fault. This new home will change you and I, it will make everything better."

"Breathe, dear, breathe. That's it," she cooed as he began to calm, dazed and still stunned, but the jerking slowed to a stop. "You survived, see? Let me help you..." A tendril brushed his cheek, and she eased him to his feet.

The magic that threaded past them in a whisper knew nothing of--or perhaps cared nothing for--the twisted nature of their bond. It was a bond, and that was what drew it: old 'friends,' of one kind or another, meeting not for the first time but again.

It was an old magic, an echo called to this place now, one year after its last flicker through the caves.

Or it was a new magic, a gift in and of itself, in memory of what had come before.

Or it was something else. Something born of connections and magic numbers, time past and time yet to come.

A flicker, as two who had met before, met again. A promise. A whisper of possibility, but only a fraction of what it could have been. Still... it could be something. They had only a flash of time. No chance to discuss. No long minutes of soft debate, or calculation. Only this moment, a whim, the instinct to guide the spark of magic toward a gift. Would they choose something the other truly would like, adore, fall in love with, respect, feel forever grateful for? Or would their gift be a mistake, a misstep, well-intentioned but easily forgotten?

There was no time for second-guessing. Each of them felt it: the offer, for that split second, of making something come true for their companion.

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Each Gembound has only an instant to decide upon a Wish for their thread partner. While the players are free to discuss OOCly, the Gembounds themselves are the ones making this Wish: it should not use out-of-character information but should instead reflect the intent and beliefs of the Wish-makers.

Please GM tag a second time to have a Game Master confirm that all Wishes are viable.

The knowledge whispered to her was strange, a promise from an entity that she did not recognize or acknowledge. It was almost too easy to ignore, to brush off as nothing more than a passing insanity.

But Elayne, as chaos-touched as she was, did not experience such confusion of an addled mind. She heard what she heard and felt what she felt, and as strange as it was, it did not feel like something she could ignore.

I wish, the thought was frustrated, he was more useful. It was a cold, callous thought, one that at least, if you squinted, perhaps had some well-intention behind it. His Essence should strengthen him, not make him so weak and feeble." He weighed her down. Each failure compounded on itself, leaving him less and less capable of fulfilling her desires.

"Can you stand on your own?" Elayne asked as though the whisper of magic was nothing more than background noise. She made no sign that anything had changed, "or will I have to carry you?"

Elayne's wish was touched upon first. Usefulness. Strength. Subjective terms, but it was the essense of the thing that counted. Mindless, selfless, the magic worked toward that goal, swollen with Elayne's very will and shaped by her desires.

Almost at once, poor Ultraviolet would feel himself pitching into his chrysalis. He had time to make it to the Hole, to remain stabilized rather than outright dead; and indeed he would feel a strong compulsion to do just that. But there was no time for anything more.

And Elayne would find a cold crown settling upon her brow. Wicked, spined black metal, its whispers were chilling, cold, yet thrilling. They were a promise of power, of influence over those who would bow beneath her; yet a punishment for the weak who allowed themselves to be so dominated. Its single Oilstone crystal glowed with voidlight, illuminating the edges of the metal around it in bone white.

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As Ultraviolet sleeps, he will receive visions. These visions are of Chaos, but increasingly triumphant and savage. Rather than passively observing, he sees through the eyes of a Captain of assassins, ripping the life from the bleeding throats of a thousand world leaders. He is the General of armies, leading a brutal march that extinguishes the enemy, the roars of triumph bolstering him as his soldiers cheer him on. He is the King of a continent, the Emperor of a world, living a thousand lives in the time that he sleeps. Strategy. Tactics. Psychology. Manipulation. Domination. These, and many more, are gifted to him in his rest. Ahh, he will become useful. Whether he becomes a threat to Elayne, or her perfect partner in Chaos, will be up to him.

When Ultraviolet awakens, he will be changed. This change will physically bolster him, making him stronger and 'more useful.' They are likely to lean toward physical strength and size, and natural weaponry. His player may design these changes, or request a GM design; this will count as a Greater Mutation, with additional leeway for 'improvement.'

This chrysalis will not incur consequences, but may count toward future ones.