ORIGIN

His legs shook, claws extended to clack against the floor, scraping stone to keep himself steady, cane heavy and glowing bright. The tunnel loomed up and over him, sweat thick on his skin, free hand raised to wipe his good eye. Magdalena followed like a looming shadow, something sickly sweet and venomous, her cold, vicious hatred palpable. Once upon a time, he might have liked it. Taken pleasure in being able to vex someone so thoroughly by simply existing. But he clung to the image he'd had in his head, of her decapitated, pitifully batting at her head with bloodied paws, dancing sickly with the lioness. It had been a small detail of his "false world," but considering just how much he'd created in his own mind, he'd been impressed to even come up with something that encapsulating of this general mix of apathy and pity.

He felt... bad, really. Whatever was wrong with Magdalena, it wasn't something that could be helped. That tallied up the total number of family he'd failed to save from themselves to two. Somehow, that kind of loss hit harder than anything else. The dead were dead - there was nothing he could do for Diot and Bee now; he'd bled and gutted them himself, rooted through ribcages for still hearts and cradled them like infants. But Baratheon - Baratheon had been killed by his own irrationality, his refusal to listen to his supposed "bonded." He'd thought, once upon a time, that loving someone meant they would feel the same, that branding them as family would make them stay.

Magdalena had taught him an important lesson, but he didn't know why fate found a way to keep slapping his folly in his face. He'd overestimated Magdalena's bond to match his own, underestimated her cruelty, been completely wrong about just how much his failures had poisoned him, until he honestly felt matched with the worst of the Merry Men. Torturing kids for fun almost seemed eclipsed by actually killing them.

Louie's chrysalis shined ahead, dotted with a thick layer of destroying angels and death caps, puffballs sprouting at the edges to act as alarms. The fungus twitched when he stepped near, moved aside enough for him to place a webbed hand to the peridot surface, checking it for damage. Priest darted a glance over his shoulder - and began to climb. The deadly growths served as a ladder, moving to help him, balancing him, spores coating his fur in a thick lining of built-in defense, until he stood at the top, holstering his cane and sitting down, slumping down. A gentle touch of nose to egg, and he refocused on the borzoi and her child - and his child.

The danburite. A cloudy eye narrowed on the hybrid, a tiny smile of approval gracing his face. The danburite hadn't been poisoned, not like the other. Iliad. It was a perfect name - strong, elegant. Powerful. Already so obviously grand, claws built to create. There were roots around Priest's heart. One for Louie, an oily, grey, unhealthy thing, poisoned by the past. One for Bones and one for Diot, although they'd begun to strangle rather than curl. And a sprout of a thing, bone-white and shimmering.

He couldn't love, not really. A man without a name or a face couldn't claim anyone. But he could offer protection from others, if not himself.

His gaze wandered to Odyssey. The same twist of bile met his lips, but he couldn't blame a child for the actions of their parents - and they seemed clean enough, not yet tainted by the sin that permanently stained both he and Magdalena. Bitterly glad of her blindness, he took the chance to eye her curiously. Perhaps she had cracked, as well? Considering she didn't even know his name, it wouldn't surprise him. Finally, the numbat stretched, all four paws spread wide on green crystal, and spoke, voice soft and worn.

"We are here. Do not come close. Unless you'd like to die, of course," he added cheerily, tossing the troupe a downright merry grin.

She traveled in silence, her fury festering in tempered isolation. She hated every moment of this, every moment being in his presence, every moment of realization that they shared something that she so dearly coveted. Every moment that his very breath curled in the air around hers and tainted the brains of her children. He was, she was sure of it; every thing he did and said, they would know. She had wanted no part in it. She had wanted only to see him crushed and dead and for them to see the remnants of what once was. Yet he walked alive and well, leading them on, his very existence betraying what she commanded of them. And once she realized her misery, she had tried to place her attention in something else. Taking up the rear of the group, she was sure to stay close to Nemesis' side, relishing the heat that rolled off of her companion. But it wasn't enough to distract her from her hatred, not completely.

Her senses volleyed between the group, flickering from Booker to her children, listening to the confident skips of the borzoi hybrid, and the slow dragging of the molefox, and the thundering steps of the trinoceros. The quiet tap-tap-tapping of the numbat and his cane. Reading into their movements, trying to determine their moods from the pattern of footsteps resonating through the ground, through the air. She could have let her mind wander off, occasionally delving into her disdain for the numbat only to find solace in something else, but they had reached the chrysalis before long. They were coming up close, and she could feel him.

The group stopped. Magdalena had taken the liberty of stepping forward, parting the group to stand closest to the mushroom infested chrysalis. She reached out to him, and she could feel him again, stronger, more. Knowing that it was him. His signature was undeniable, growing, breathing, thriving inside that cold shell. Alive. Her brow furrowed slightly, eyes unmoving, but her attention did shift to Booker as he spoke. Her lips tugged down into a frown. "You will no longer speak, lecher." Came her crisp command. It was simple enough, and if he complied, then they could get this over with relatively quickly.

In truth, there was no panic or sadness in her heart. When she had first received the news, her heart had quivered. But she was assured now in his survival. Just like Nemesis, the fox would rise anew from the ashes. And if his loyalties still lay with the Merrymen, then he would come back to them. But her anger was beginning to cleave into her loyalty to him. Always, always she had been loyal, unfailingly, unfalteringly. Even when he had brought the dragon and the numbat to them. And yet he betrays her, goes to the numbat, the one she so disdained. She had given him the gift of children. And he betrays her.

Perhaps it was best of the fox to stay in his shell.

Odyssey, on the other hand, was completely oblivious. The hatred wafting from their Mother had gone over their head beyond the cool and heartless words she spilled. But they were carried in normalcy for them - such coldness was commonplace in her intonations, and Odyssey didn't question it when they had suddenly stopped and Priest clambered atop the chrysalis, instructing them not to touch it, or even come closer. Magdalena had clipped a quick command, a reminder of their deal, and Odyssey glanced up at her, then to the chrysalis. They frowned, too; this wasn't fair. "Why aren't we allowed to touch it?" They asked, craning their neck to sniff at the chrysalis, but the warning of death in the lingering air forged an invisible wall between them and the stone. "Did he do this?"

It wouldn't make sense if Louie had done this, but then again, people he knew sprouting mushrooms out of nowhere wasn't completely unheard of. Othello did it all the time. Odyssey frowned again. This whole thing was making them greatly uneasy. "What's happening inside there? When is he gonna come out?" They asked, looking between Mother, Nemesis, and the numbat, then finally to Iliad, pushing forward a resonating sensation of concern. For once, they reached out to their brother for comfort.

Nemesis was hot and silent in her temper, feeling her emotions sway before stomping them down. There was no room for emotion in this moment, any thoughts she had of Louie were unimportant-- especially those concerning Louie's betrayal with the dragon, and his children with Magdalena. Nemesis wanted to care about these things in her heart, to roar and stomp and break everything, but it was unsuitable for a knight of her stature to act so rashly not only in the presence of her princess, but because and for her princess in front of her child and this... Booker. Priest. Whoever he claimed to be.

So instead the trinoceros' ears turned towards the children, so soft and gentle and full of wonder and life and curiosities. It made her heart ache, but she bowed her head towards them and spoke softly. "When one has been hurt gravely, they return to their shells, like babies. Like you were, remember, when you had to hatch?" She told them calmly, like she was telling a pleasant bedtime story. "The gemstone walls keeps them safe while they recover, so they can become stronger than before. Their magic protects them-- but only if they are powerful. Louie was one of us, a Merrymen, and so he too will return... If a gembound is weak, however, they will turn to bone and ash, and leave behind only their gem."

As Nemesis spoke, she found herself flipping through memories. Her own near death experience, Louie and Magdalena outside, waiting for her. She thought of Erebus' death, the coward, the filth, who's stone she had broken. He wasn't even strong enough to try and form a chrysalis. He deserved death.

"You two would do well to become strong like your father," she cooed politely, though she in truth loathed Louie he did have gifts and powers beyond her-- ones that he had shared with Magdalena, ones that allowed her freedom and greatness that Nemesis, reluctantly, appreciated. That was all she said, however, her dark navy gaze flicking back to the white, pale princess who she loved so dearly. Hopefully the words had been the right ones-- she wasn't exactly sure how close to thin ice she was treading.
"Magdalena Speech" "Nemesis Speech"

Movement wasn't pain, but it was discomfort and he disliked the moving for such a long period of time. Frequently he would pause before being spurred along yet again by the fast pace kept by the Eridanus visitor. No eyeballs to wet and no adequate mouth to moisten, his movement was merely his legs as they reached forwards to pull himself forwards in a continuous movement of dragging. Iliad's weight was increasing, but his strength was too and he had gotten better at his odd form of motion. More akin to the mole side of his parentage, with his hind legs only now bowing to a weird elongated walk.

There wasn't really anything for him to see, but he could feel the warmth and Magdalena's biting retort once again clipped over the wind. Oblivious to the lack of feelings expressed from his adoptive mother, he too, like Odyssey, had grown used to her mannerisms. Odyssey asked the appropriate questions, and Nemesis answered. Iliad just continued to stare deep into the void feeling his sibling reaching for him, to hold him mentality was comforting and he reached back. "Brother what does it look like?" It was too rude to encroach on one's vision and he would never step over the line to see through Odyssey's eyes without permission, but he could get what he figured to be a good picture out of just a description. Even if he'd never seen anything before.

The rhino praised his father for his strength, and he found his stomach flip slightly in discomfort at the comment. Without his father, he wouldn't have had a chance at life. Nemesis had said that those unworthy of living died and left a stone. It made him feel funny. He wasn't like his brother and he wasn't like Magdalena so where was his mother? He'd never really given it much thought before and he didn't give it much thought now. Just a passing curiosity.

When I speak.

When I think.

Priest stifled a snicker at Magdalena's command, making a show of miming zipping his maw closed and throwing away the key, eye glittering with malicious amusement. Her lanky child seemed just as oblivious as their mother, immediately spewing out questions, but the numbat stayed silent, only raising an accusatory eyebrow, whistling to himself quietly, drawing circles on the peridot chrysalis below with his cane. Thankfully the rhino guard stepped in - and really, she and the skunk were the only two Merry Men he held any regard for. They were loyal to their family, even if that family was rotten and putrid to the core; he couldn't fault anyone for being devoted to the ones they loved.

He wondered why Magdalena and the rhino hadn't had children... but then again, he had no idea why Louie would stoop to breeding with the white dog, so he mentally washed the thought away. The Merry Men were an enigma, waiting to be stamped out, bloody and satisfying. Out of any group in the caves, he held the least sympathy for their ranks. Those kids are going to end up dead, his mind whispered - and his clouded gaze flickered to focus on Iliad. Odyssey he held little care for, but the danburite... well. The danburite, he'd try his hardest to save.

The rhino spoke, and Priest continued his whistling, watching Iliad with only a nod of approval thrown towards the guard. Louie was, after all, strong - even if he had the emotional range of a tree stump, ninety-nine percent of the time.

He almost said something to the mole-fox, offered his own blurred sight, some further detail of what, exactly, was going on. Instead, he switched to staring at Magdalena, the gemstone framing her crown, the silky fur hiding a monster. It was almost hilarious, now, to debate whether he would have been more destroyed going with her than he had been staying with Baratheon. A part of him wondered if that was why she hated him so much; for being taken in by the dragon instead of - what, following her? Had she even offered, back then? Something about... ah. Finis originea pende. An empty promise with no backing but whatever sort of sick claim she'd wanted to make.

Either one of them would have been horrible, he finally settled on.

At least Baratheon had died first.

Perhaps it was for Booker's own good that she couldn't see what he was doing; if she'd known how he quietly mocked her beyond her inability to see, she would have snapped him up in her teeth. ...What was stopping her from chomping down on him, anyways? Plans. She had a careful way of exacting those plans. She made careful moves. Each advance was timed, cautiously crafted, and executed once absolutely necessary. Eating him would be tactless, and she didn't know what repercussions would come of it, beyond the obvious: at least she'd rid herself of the annoyance. In any case, her attention had drifted to Odyssey as they obnoxiously pushed a few questions about the chrysalis, and Magdalena gritted her teeth. "Tsk," She scolded quietly, but Nemesis didn't seem to mind and took the helm answering the questions.

Her explanation had nearly allowed the canine to spread a smile. She knew well who Nemesis might have been speaking of. The murder of the horse lingered in the back of her mind, and she was thankful that she didn't dream, lest she be haunted of it - such images failed to visit her in her sleep, and so she knew it only as an event that transpired. An event that served to further her.

Once Nemesis had mentioned becoming strong like Louie, Magdalena's ears twitched. That was an interesting subject. Evidently, he wasn't strong enough to outlast whatever had done this to him... would he be strong enough to emerge? Booker may have cast a physical shield over the chrysalis, but that wouldn't stop her magic from breaching its pores. In her own quietude, the dog pushed towards the peridot crystal; she could feel her magic scraping against its surface, searching for the tiniest crack, the smallest imperfection that would allow it to sink in. Beyond the glimmering green she felt him. His heartbeat, his breathing, just barely - and she sucked it in, hungrily drinking in all that she could feel, and idly wondering if he would ever know. If she was lucky, she would kill him in his shell.

Nemesis felt the tension in the air and was more and more drawn towards the appeal of ignoring it for the sake of enveloping herself in the childrens' wonder and quiet questions. They seemed quite interested, and in focusing on the babes, she could almost forget the aftertaste of bitter resentment on the tip of her tongue. Louie was garbage, but he was... technically... their garbage. The Merrymen's garbage.

With a quiet huff, she reached her snout down to snuffle through Odyssey's soft fur, so much like her mother's fur. "That's because you are made from your father's own stone. Illiad is made from your father's magic." At least, as far as she knew. She had never personally seen a gembound break off their own stone, but she was aware that the process went something like that. It seemed painful.

... Yet how could Nemesis help but cast her deep, dark blue eyes towards Magdalena, a quiet longing in her chest. It wasn't like the blind dog could see her bedroom eyes, batting with an unspoken flirtation, desperate to have what Louie had snatched away from her. Magdalena was her princess... And while she loved the children, loved her fellow Merrymen, she would always find a hint of jealousy in her heart.

If Booker or whatever his name wanted to pretend to gag at her loving, longing gaze, he could eat his own foot. The kids wouldn't understand what her stare went, and the numbat was of little importance to her.

"Magdalena Speech" "Nemesis Speech"