ORIGIN

The pieces of the finely-crafted scene blinked out of existence one by one--the man. The desk (and the owl was now set atop... a broad rock, nothing more), the papers. Some of them were hit by black lightning vanishing in a flash.

And then the pool of normal light was gone.

It was only after the storm had stopped that a mild voice spoke from up the tunnel, a little ways: "Hmm. It seems I have to work on the lighting. -That light looked wrong to you, too, right?"

In stepped the Collector, firing a glance at the Altar, and then at Ruby-One. He did not draw further into the room, probably wary of the chaotic magic that had just sizzled the stone all around. "You do know that that is just a rock, yes?"

The Collector paused mid-hoofstep, then his crimson pinprick eyes rolled upward, as if to peer through the top of his hood. His hands reached up, briefly feeling over his spiral horns.

"I would prefer it if you didn't," he replied, jovially enough. "Ahh, but you aren't one of the ones with a sense of humor-? My apologies. I am the Collector, at your service," and here, he swept into a low bow. "I saw you trundle on down, and found myself curious. It isn't often you see one of the Valkhounds with such an efficient form. But you are trying to gain an answer from the Altar..?"

He turned, and gestured to it.

The Collector didn't seem particularly bothered by the tentacle that gripped him, though he reached down and brushed off his robe where it left a slick of Oil.

The other Collector didn't look too bothered, either, when he appeared at the other end of the Hole, behind Ruby-One, speaking matter-of-factly. "A shame, that no one has praised you enough that you find truth to be mere flattery."

That might have been flattery again. Or it might have been honesty--difficult to tell.

"As for the trickery... it was funny." Hands parted, palms-up, as if to say he were helpless in the matter. "But as for that-..." and all three Collectors turned, nodding to the Altar, speaking as one: "If it were going to answer you, it would have. I did not follow you to trick you, but out of curiosity. He does not speak through mere stone. And if you thought he did, you drastically misunderstood the nature of the rock."

The third Collector walked over, rapping knuckles on the Altar.

"If you'd like to trade that gemstone to me in payment, I'll gladly explain it to you. Perhaps I can even help you get the visions you desire." Three hands--one per figure--raised into the air as if to forestall attack. "I will take further attack as a 'no.'"

The Collector (number seven, now) folded his hands as he regarded V-Ruby-One.

All of them did, in fact. And there was a sudden shift in his body language; it was faint, but sudden enough that it could, maybe, possibly even be genuine.

It was an almost uneasy glance toward the Altar. But not the sort that feared. It was almost... embarrassed, the way the Collector hunched very faintly, as if he didn't want to be the one to tell the Valkhound... something?

"...Oh, dear," Algol breathed, and sev--eight--sets of red eyes flicked back to regard V-Ruby-One. "I fear someone has fundamentally misunderstood the nature of Chaos." Claws drummed against his own arm for a beat, and he studied V-Ruby-One thoughtfully. "I owe you one. You helped to retake my home, Canis--purging that detestable, malodorous..." (claws made an annoyed flick-it-away gesture) "Hive."

One of the Collectors faded out.

"Let it never be said that I do not pay my debts fairly. In return, a tidbit of knowledge: that," and a claw gestured to the Black Altar, "is not a conduit. Not exactly. It is a source of Chaos; what you see in it is... Chaos. The nature of it. It isn't visions, not exactly. Certainly not from Him."

Another Collector blinked from existence; the Hole was back to five Collectors. One of them brushed at the tentacle around his waist again.

"He has visited here once since the Awakening, that I know of. You would know if he touched you truly. See the proof of this in the Palace, some time--at the theatre. But otherwise it is simply dreams. Yes--I was joking, with the resume. -Mostly. But such things, your meditations--they can help to shape what you see. If you wished to see what roles you might take... Well. I will not set the desk back up. But-... Ahh, I suppose that is payment rendered. If you wish to change your mind on the 'trade a stone for aid in channeling a vision,' I suppose I will be in Canis, in part thanks to you."

All three Collectors bowed as one.

The Collector stared, for a moment, from three faces.

Helion's dead owl was chucked, and sailed through one, which dispersed like smoke; the other two sighed as one.

The dead owl then thunked off the floor, with a little squish to accompany it. Both remaining Collectors glanced at it.

He shook his head as he looked to Helion. "You misunderstand me. There is no Creator here." He stared for a long moment, as if trying to impress the truth of his statement. "I can offer a vision. I cannot offer his. ...This is a rock, Valkhound." One hand gestured to the Altar, and the last Collector--tentacle around his waist--shrugged.