ORIGIN

Khloros was staring at Orion's throne, vaguely remembering the treasonous one who had called himself, King. The mind of the black horse was lost in memories, hazy as it often was. He was still recovering from a multitude of wounds across his body and was in no rush to move on and continue his task--not yet.

When he heard a soft crack from somewhere nearby, he turned, nostrils flaring and ears pricking at the sound. It had been a very long time since he had last heard the crack of gemstone, but he thought that he recognized it as the hatching of a new Gembound. Quietly he turned, shuffling to face in the direction of the noise, and he raised his head to peer up at the tower that stood nearby. The thing glittered, encrusted as it was with shards of shining gem, and the horse realized that this was a place he had never been.

Slowly he made his way toward the sound, and circled the tower until he could peer inside. He had never seen stairs, before--not like these--and they seemed too narrow, too steep, for a horse to climb. Still, he could hear a soft breathing somewhere ahead, and, with interest heavily piqued, he began to make his way up.

The climb was a bit gruelling, particularly given his injuries, and undoubtedly, anyone would hear his hoofbeats coming, with their heavy, slow tread of hoof on stone. Partway up he came across a few shards of broken gem, thick white--and at their center, a small, black creature lying curled in them. Its eyes were a milky white, and Khloros watched it for a moment. Was it suffering..? He did not like to harm the young, but nor did he wish to leave a creature lying in pain. It certainly looked blind.

At length, in a raspy, hollow voice, he spoke.

"Hello," he offered softly. He summoned up his magicka, trying to sense if the thing were ill, or merely blind. "You are newly-broken-free."

The cave's cycle was continuing, thus far--but who was it perpetuating it..?

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

Khloros rarely felt strong emotion. There was little that could touch the plagued horse, little that would bother him. But upon watching the young dog struggle to see, and question innocently its purpose--and knowing that he could not help him, that the dog would forever be a burden on whoever took it in--Khloros felt a strong stirring of deep, black anger.

He felt a fury that the Gembound of this cave were still destined to be reborn, again and again, trapped by disfiguring stones that rent their bodies. That they had no peace, in death, that they would simply be returned here. He had taken upon himself to end this cycle, but he could never bring himself to simply kill the newly-hatched. Thus he was left staring down at the product of all that he fought against, helpless to do anything to aid it.

For a long moment he was silent, gathering himself, swallowing back with bitter bile the rage that threatened to color his voice. When at last he did speak, he was nearly toneless, trying his best to speak gently to the being.

"We are trapped in stones, and there we grow," Khloros explained slowly, glad at least that the newborn had a greater-than-average understanding of words, at birth. It would be very difficult to explain anything to the blind, given that one could not show them a word's meaning. "In time, we break free, and then we grow outside of them."

All of this he said slowly, with a vague sense of grief and loss. This poor damn dog. This poor newly-hatched Gembound. It would suffer, and it would die, and there was nothing that could be done of this.

Khloros raised his thin head, staring at the tower wall bitterly, before looking back to the pup and continuing to speak. "The world is not dark, but your eyes have had this stone grow into them. We all carry a piece with us, somewhere. Yours have taken your ability to see the world around you. I am sorry. There are... magics that can allow you to see in a different way, perhaps. And you are here," he answered dully, that same bitterness now creeping into his tone, "because we are all trapped within this cycle. For this, too--I am sorry."

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

Khloros gave a soft, surprised snort as the pup tumbled forward, quickly lowering his head to try to intercept him before he fell too far. Up until that point, he'd been simply listening with a sort of deepening grief, and pity. He stumbled a little, and realized that the pup had probably taken a couple steps' worth of fall fairly hard before Khloros's long and bony face could stop him. Still, he did his best to nudge him gently back up, sighing quietly.

"You will need," he began slowly, in a voice solemn with sadness, "to be able to perceive the world around you, little one, in order to navigate it."

He lifted his head, staring down with dulled eyes.

He will only starve, and suffer. A pitiful, wretched thing, twisted and miserable, lying alone in some dark corner as he fades. Damn this world.

Aloud, Khloros merely continued, after a beat, with the same quiet, lifeless tone. "You may find someone to help, in time, perhaps, but you look like a creature that must hunt. And for that... someone else will always need to feed you, I believe. To hunt for you. Do you know your name, yet, little one?" he asked. He did not attempt any sort of grand speeches on the state of the caves, nor did he try to come across mysterious or the like--not with this one. There was no reason for it; Khloros had no agenda, bar faint pity.

"I am wounded, recovering. I am in no rush. If you wish I can carry you from the tower in my teeth, and bring you to the cave outside. I know not if another will aid you, or harm you, but in here you will-..." Starve? He did not wish to frighten the poor beast. It could hardly help its own state. "...find no food."

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

Khloros spoke quietly, and as he did so he likewise called upon his magic in a simple attempt to strengthen and cleanse the young one. His touch would not be good for it; perhaps had already been foul. Unbeknownst to him, the magic was working... backwards, in a sense. Rather than cleansing the pup, it was intensifying Khloros' own plague. Hopefully that would not hit the borzoi, but it would likely sicken the horse, should he not notice in time. "I am Khloros. I carry death." Khloros' tone was matter-of-fact.

He felt his magic well up, and waited; then he leaned down, carefully snuffling over the pup. He did his best to grip its scruff gently in his teeth, and then lifted his long neck. He found that turning in this narrow space was difficult--and stairs were not easy for a horse even going forward. The result was a long, slow backward shuffling down the tower stairs, until at last they had come outside. There, he settled the young one down. He let his magic fade, and sighed softly through flared nostrils once more.

"You are, I believe, a hunter. A creature which much catch, and eat, smaller prey. I cannot hunt for you. But perhaps another predator can. Without magic to find and hunt prey you will starve. They will see you, too, and you cannot see them."

With this advice offered, Khloros went quiet, having little more yet to offer. Should the pup have questions, he would answer them. Otherwise, he waited for it to absorb what he had said.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD