ORIGIN

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Is he going to raise them..? He hadn't thought of that. Tucking Ryoto even closer and protecting her with the closest object he could find, Yvan glanced back to the eggs, then again towards Hecate. He couldn't seem to find an answer, opening and closing his mouth, uncertain.

Nobody else would raise these, but did he even have the ability to do it himself..?

"I don't know," he confessed after an awkward moment. There was a brief glance to Ryoto for an answer but she was in no state to provide one. "Just... didn't want them to get hurt." And here he felt a little selfish, only caring about them because Ryoto cared. Holding the sword with his foreleg, Yvan pulled it up and away from the huddled Ryoto, leaning down to make sure she was okay under his wing.

She's not. There's too many people around them now, rummaging in the nest, too many, and Yvan tensed his grip on both of his weapons. They'd have to wait for everyone to leave. They couldn't stay here, the eggs were too much for either of them to raise, but, unless—

No no no. He couldn't. Yvan loosened his stance while still keeping himself over Ryoto, uncertainty plain on his face. There was no comfort to be found in a nest full of pokey objects, just like the one he'd picked up, the sword he transferred over to a proper hand to stare at.

He just didn't know what to make of any of this, nor how to comfort Ryoto in the midst of everything. What now?

@Hecate (for interacting)

Nice! He was very happy with everything he had seen and how he had helped out.

He gathered his stuff, his eyes shining with excitement and his tail flicking behind him as he bounded out of the area.

His heart was racing from the adrenaline, and he knew he was going to crash from exhaustion later, but for now he had new shinnies and new things to add to his little hoard! He was so proud of himself.

-exit-

Nosing through the weapons, most of them were passed by despite Gore proclaiming its desire for every single one it laid its eyes on. But then Buckley's paw unearthed the long wooden staff and bladed polearm and immediately looked up. "Look, look! This one is really long! I bet you could reach with it real well!" Gore glanced over, eyes narrowed disdainfully at anything its sibling could suggest to it, but Buckley was already picking it up and handing it back.

It scoffed, but reached forward and grabbed the hilt, adjusting it in its mouth for a moment before it managed to get a good grip. They stood there for a moment, as Gore held the weapon. "Ish heaby," it garbled through the wood. Ishani looked pleased.

Buckley waited for it to throw the weapon to the side and demand something BETTER but when it didn't, he decided that meant that it was all well and it had accepted the offering. Looking pleased with themselves, they headed out of the dungeon, weapon and armor in tow and lots of experience and cool stories to tell.

*Exit

"Buckley is speaking!" "GORE IS SPEAKING!!!" "Ishani is speaking..."

It was one matter to graze a paw against the hide of a gigantic beast, another to comb through the mud along a lagoon's shore. Primarily the difference was dexterity, claws' usage in higher demand when poking around for items to fish out of the murk. Continuing to be totally unaware of the true purpose of sandals, footwear rather than oddly strung protective gloves, Richter soon found his aimless search somewhat impeded by his questionable method of wearing his new apparel. Soles struck against a solid shape resting in the water, yet paws couldn't bend well enough to grasp and bring the unknown item into open view. At least the Gembound wasn't so foolish as to repeat this effort; once proved enough failure to understand adjustments were required. He removed one ill-fitting sandal, then reached again into the drink.

Mired as he was in a somber mood, a hum equal parts confusion and interest couldn't be helped upon revealing the pot he'd managed to grab hold onto. Amazingly intact, it looked quite the decorative piece, an elegant depiction of golden vegetation winding about on a dark and polished surface. If this remained of an old adventurer's possessions, for what purpose had they deemed it appropriate to carry such an object with them? Sentimentality, fondness for the aesthetic, or a far more practical use than appearances suggested?

Richter set the pot aside momentarily, removed the other sandal off his still shod paw, and tucked the resulting pair under an arm. Now entirely free to handle the curious container without fear of shattering such compelling craftsmanship, he picked it up and admired the quality of the piece while treading a careful path around the nest and to the tunnel waiting at the cave's end.

Despite fascination, concern stole his attention away long enough to squint at the pair situated by the eggs as he passed by. One huddled there, visibly distressed, her companion standing beside in a defensive hover. Words almost dared to bubble up his throat at the sight, yet a lack of proper sentences to form with them prevented any leaping off his tongue. Strangers, he could not conceive of the best reassurance or advice to give, much as the scene tugged at the heartstrings. Contributing to the mournful atmosphere might only worsen it instead of ease the burden, and so he stayed his course heading out of the dungeon.

-Exit Richter

The Survivor ignores most of the others milling about. Some chatter about the eggs in the nest, others pluck prizes from the glimmering piles. It does not care about any of them.

Though something does catch its eye - that perfectly preserved dagger. The fang of something - perhaps a creature like the one who nested here? - tooled and carved with intricate designs. It even shimmers, dripping dew off the blade, even when Survivor tries to dry it off.

It's a curious thing, but it pleases the Drone. So beautiful... It has to take it.

And the path out it takes in silence, quick to scurry away and vanish elsewhere into the caves.

Exit Survivor

The train vacuums up the bejeweled box just like it did the chalice. Is it unaware of what now resides in its stomach chambers? Is it unaware of the meaning of the conflict that had just taken place, or said conflict's passing? Perhaps we way never know.

The train is at least aware, for certain, of the path forward and outward. Without exchanging "words" let alone explanations with another soul—not even poor, confused Hecate or Ryoto—the train rolls out.

- exit -

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Yvan

Nebula

Triage

Richter

Survivor

Titivilus