ORIGIN - some ancient call

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He had awakened suddenly, mucous slime filling his throat and lungs, the shimmering smoothness of moonstone encasing him. Coughing weakly, Mercurius slid from his age-old chrysalis, body spilling out across the floor of some tunnel he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. As he retched and hacked up his lungs, all he could think was 'I have to go back, I must go back, I must go b a c k.' Back to where, he did not know. On shaky limbs and concepts, off he went.

And that was how he stood before the vastness of Eridanus, and the smallness of the overgrown garden he had nurtured with Her guidance. With her, he had used his innate magicks to do something truly good and gentle despite all that had happened. The little plot of land was just as he had remembered it, albeit a smidge wilder and more untamed, weeds and grasses shooting up from the soil of their own accord. Lamb's ear had sprouted from the earth, gentle but enduring the numerous scars upon the Maw of Mosses. A gentle wave of magicka was sent their way, enchanting the delicately soft leaves with an ethereal glow. A reward.

"I miss you," he murmured softly, reverently, to Her. There was still something left of Her, he knew. Her essence refused to be dashed across the rocks as Her body had, settling all around the Caves. Mercy sighed, plopping down at the heart of his wild garden, haunches protesting at the abrupt movement. "It's selfish, I know, but... I do."

@Pride

When not tending to Envy, and those who called Envy their King, Pride often spent his time grazing in Eridanus. He knew a few of its inhabitants as friends, or at least allies, and he found its birdsong and thick cover to be calming. He was delicately picking his way along one of the black-earthed narrow paths through the underbrush, browsing as he went, when he caught a new scent: something warm, predatory and yet-... somehow not. It smelled of plants, too, despite the odor being all around him, and of chrysalis. A newborn, perhaps..?

His interest piqued, the white stag turned and slowly followed the odor through the ferns.

At length he found a wall of foliage, thick--but the scent led through it. Quietly he peered; he could see something white moving through the shifting leaves just beyond. Carefully he picked his way through, cautiously alert and ready to defend himself, but not alarmed or aggressive. Instead, his branching antlers canted to one side with curiosity, he stepped into the clearing.

There was a lion, there--white, with slender horns that shimmered with pale colors. The creature didn't seem to hold a menace about it; it was not tense or hostile, at least not yet. Strange... it hardly looks newly-hatched. Clearing his throat, Pride spoke quietly, his words as precise and as delicate as his movements, his voice flutingly melodic and soft.

"Pardon me. Is this your home? I do not believe we have met."

His demeanor was polite, confident, as if he were a well-bred neighbor stopping by to say hello. Which... in some sense, he was.

@Mercurius

Mercy, still yet to notice the visitor in his company, continued to fawn (ironic, wasn't that) over his plants and their success in their alcove. Calling upon his magicka once again, his eyes glossed over slightly, the reek of fire and brimstone filling his subconscious. With a slight choke, he closed his eyes. Opening them again, he found stillness, ash floating through the air, smoldering cinders still alight as they drifted. Another blink and everything vanished from sight. The coolness of the air seeped into his pelt once more, grounding himself. Eyes adjusting to the light, he turned toward some voice he hadn't quite caught. Despite the pleasant tone of voice, the ancient white lion froze.

Antlers, curved and gleaming in the light, pale blue eyes glimmering. A stone shimmering at the chest like a collar. 'He hadn't more than one. His son was golden,' his thoughts churned out, garbled through the rising anxiety. Without meaning to, he had scrambled to his feet, stumbling slightly as he did so. Eyes wide, his breath hitched. Mercurius sniffed the air. It wasn't any of them that he knew. He coughed softly, murmuring a quick "sorry" before swallowing his paranoia. "Sometimes," he offered vaguely, tail flicking dismissively toward himself as he tried to settle down again. "I wander often, going wherever the wind takes me to. I don't think we've met either, neighbor." Swallowing thickly, Mercy scuffed at the ground with a paw, struggling to hold eye contact. "My name's Mercurius Albu. But most Gembound call me Mercy." Astonishingly, that name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, despite the many cycles he had referred to himself by it.

@Pride

Pride watched, quietly startled in his own right, as the lion took note of him. The scrambling movement, the wide eyes, the hitched breath... He can barely maintain eye contact. He dismissed his surprise swiftly as he listened to Mercurius' words, and at them he inclined his head--and his branching antlers--politely. Pride did his best, too, to show no sign that he had noticed Mercy's discomfort, except to offer apology. And he was noble enough, too, not to even think to be amused that a massive predator had shown fear of a slender stag; there were plenty of logical reasons for such a thing, and he knew it.

The lion had almost the demeanor of a beaten dog, he thought; someone who had been badly abused. One of Blackberry's victims, I wonder..?

"I am genuinely sorry; I did not mean to intrude. I can go, if you wish--though to introduce myself, my name is Pride. I feed here, in this cave--not in your den, which is quite something, by the way. You seem to carefully tend it..? I have never noticed it; it is beautiful." The compliment, delivered smoothly in the stag's melodic voice, was meant to soothe and distract. He would certainly leave if the lion wished it, but he had no desire to have spooked him, and then to simply wander off. Better to amend what little damage he might have done, at least, beforehand.

But is this garden well-tended? Is it even a garden..? It certainly looks planted, but long-unkempt. His silver-grey eyes shimmered with curiosity as he looked back to Mercurius. "It is good to meet you, Mercurius."

@Mercurius

"It's okay," the pale beast (huh, when had that descriptor resurfaced?) murmured. Hurriedly, he stood and added a rather harsh "stay! Please." The last thing he needed right now was to be alone. If luck would serve him properly, this neighborly stag would prove to be a positive interaction and stay a while. Just a cup of sugar was hardly grounds for a visit. Besides, this creature had no sort of ridiculously flowery name that may suggest relations those two. Studying the stag, he found that the stance, build, et cetera to be nothing like theirs. A good-natured, rather genuine smile crept onto his face. ”Nice to meet you, Pride,” he chirped softly, firing quickly in response.

Mercurius’s gaze then returned to his paws, "I've not been here in cycles and cycles, Pride. But, thank you. It's done well in my absence.” They had endured, they had lived. In these caves… that was all they needed to do. Admittedly, the wanderer wanted the stag to continue the conversation, breaths managing to even out, now. His posture had yet to truly shift from nervous tension. Perhaps with time.

@Pride

Pride flicked one ear as he listened--and watched. The lion did seem distinctly afraid, though Pride felt it couldn't possibly be of him. Some faint glimmer ran through him, a distant thought, that perhaps indeed Mercy was not only a victim of Blackberry but another unwilling servant of hers--perhaps warned that Pride was the enemy.

He shook the thought aside, mentally, though he did not physically move. If it was the case, he would befriend another, and turn another from their fold, if at all he could. If Mercurius was not one of them, then he had no reason to worry.

And so he turned his mind to the garden itself, and to the lion.

"May I come in, and look at the plants more closely? I shan't eat them," he added, with a glance to Mercurius. "I could offer them a bit of mist, if you like. If you think it might help them." He waited, though, for permission--and spoke further, as well.

"May I ask why you have grown this place? It is interesting--I have never seen a garden, before. Not one grown by one of us. Certainly not by a carnivore," he added, though there was no accusation in his tone. He had, after all, met Amras and Rift-... Rift! This lion reminded him of him, powerfully. "But you do remind me of someone. He is smaller than you, I think--but a cat, as well, and gone green with growth. He lives in this cave too--somewhere--and I believe he tends to the forest and its plants. Have you met him? Rift? -That is his name," Pride added, with an apologetic smile, by way of explanation.

@Mercurius

His tail managed to wind about his paws, delicately finding its place as he seemed to relax into the flow of conversation. It felt genuinely good to just talk, though he distinctly worried about Faelan's whereabouts and well-being. He direly hoped the golden lion hadn't found himself in battle again. 'He is strong. He is well.' He had use of his claws where Mercurius did not, preferring to use his voice and pacifism. They both had their strengths. "Of course, you can come in. Feel free to graze, if you'd like. Any requests?" Pale moonstone glowed as it awaited his command, seeking an answer. "Mist would be delightful. I'm sure the fire's taken away quite a bit of water for them. We could make it a trade," the pale beast smiled, settling down, "a meal and a story for watering?"

As for the garden's origins, Mercy laughed softly, "you'll have to hear my story to know that." For a reason unknown to even him, he was oddly persistent about his tale, which he was definitely about to make up on the fly. His ears pricked forth at the mention of Rift, but not out of knowledge. It was more of juvenile curiosity, complete with the cock of his head. "I have yet to see him, but he sounds pleasant! I'm grateful there are some like me," he responded with an appreciative dip of his head. There were carnivores untouched by His reign, not forced into a life of tending to plants and pretending to be something they weren't. Although, of course, Mercy had chosen to stay with it.

He had to. He wouldn't be like Him.

@Pride

Pride stepped in with an incline of his head.

Some might have been suspicious at a carnivore tending a garden, and inviting prey creatures in to dine; it could have very well been a trap. But Pride held a certain sort of arrogance that had already decided that--since Mercurius was beautiful, and pristine white--he must be good. There was a timidity to him that was disarming, and the white stag proudly stepped into the clearing without fear.

Had it been a trap, he would have stepped blindly into it.

"You should seek him, if you can," he encouraged as he moved in. "I believe you would get along, if you do not mind the presumption." He then looked around, eyeing the plants with a sense of contented pleasure. There was always something lovely about aesthetic beauty, and though overgrown, this place still had a sense of care about it. The arrangements of ivy and ferns and the way the flowers hung, it was all delicately lovely. Pride gathered his magicka around him like a cloak, letting the atmosphere sink through him. The fog roiled out, thickly drifting through the clearing in billowing waves. These gently rolled from him as he stepped carefully around, evenly misting all of the plants with plenty of moisture. It lent Pride a ghostly, otherworldly aspect: a white stag in the mists, gemstone glittering at his throat and silver-tined antlers reaching skyward.

His musical voice went on. "I do not think I will graze--not more than a little. It almost feels wrong, here; but as to your story, I would be honored to hear it." He flashed a friendly glance to the lion as he finished his circuit of the garden, his grey eyes kind.

@Mercurius

Mercurius smiled softly as the deer stepped in, offering further encouragement towards meeting the so-called Rift. "I do not mind at all, Pride," said the pale lion, rather good-naturedly. Feeling a small burst of magicka in the air, he froze for a moment, pelt twitching in anticipation. Fog shifted gently about the garden, dowsing his beloved plants in some much-needed water. He did not need to see deeper into their workings to know that the mist was appreciated. Pale blue eyes flicked up to the ethereal stag, relaxation taking hold of his own shoulders. "If it suits you," Mercy shrugged gently, dismissing the cause of a meal, then. Shaking out his mane, the lorespinner smiled and dipped his head to the plants. "Forgive me if it trails on for too long. Have a seat if you wish."

Clearing his throat and pondering over his tale, he began: "there was once a boy, skin pale as snow and ice. He was born with a lamb's pelt about his shoulders, a gift from his mother, to stay warm and protect himself from the harshness of light. At night, the lamb would whisper to him, offering delightful poetry and prose. Its stories were gentle, mild, nostalgic. They regaled the boy with tales of fantastic beasts like dragons and unicorns, incredible figures such as knights and benevolent kings.

"He began to seek a life like those knights, those kings. As dawn broke over the horizon, the light rising high into the endless blue ceiling, he whispered to the spirits of the forest, begging them to imbue his storytelling lamb with life once more. They came forth from the wood, stuffing it full of grass. As the newly born lamb awakened, she sang and cried for joy. The spirits danced at her side."

"Next, he asked them to forge him a sword. One of the spirits obliged, drawing a blade of magically charged stone from the earth with the ease that one blinks with. The boy raised the sword to the heavens, proclaiming himself to be guardian of the spirits, frail and benevolent. As he aged among the spirits, so did his little lamb. They battled many despicable beasts that terrorized the countryside, felling slavering, many-eyed trolls and releasing their poor victims. Many scars were acquired in this time, marking his body just as the furious light in the sky did. With so much conflict, though, he aged quickly. His soul waned swiftly, drawing him into isolation. Many people adored him, revered him for his strength. But he never had the chance to truly begin his life, to find people who truly loved him other than his lamb."

"From his woes, came a new purpose. To settle among the spirits, offering forth life from the earth. The forest welcomed him eagerly, offering him benevolent magic to control it with. Underneath the stars, he worked tirelessly. In light, he rested beneath their cover alongside his lamb. The garden flourished under his tender, measured care. When he passed, life spent to the last drop, his beloved garden overtook him, binding themselves around his bones and taking him into their fold. His little lamb wept for him, but it too joined him in death, encompassing his shoulders as it had in the beginning."

Taking a breath, Mercurius looked up from where his eyes had drifted to, the heart of the garden. "I've never unsheathed my claws," he said, rather off-handedly, trying to provide some semblance of context for how he wasn't the protector of the forest he had managed to describe himself as somehow.

@Pride

The stag curled slender legs beneath him, lying on a bed of living leaves. He took a single, curled one, and politely, quietly munched it as Mercurius spoke.

Pride listened, intently. He had never heard a story, before--not a fictional, fantastic tale--and he found his imagination sparking and his mind wandering as Mercurius told it. He startled a little, inside (though outside he remained calmly peaceful) at the idea that the lamb had somehow died and still whispered, then come back--but he tried to puzzle out what he was certain must be a metaphor underneath.

As the story came to an end, he found himself first pondering on the idea--savoring it, as one would carefully taste a meal, rather than rush it, so as to not insult the chef.

To slow down, and enjoy life for what it is. To create, rather than destroy? But it was saving lives, before, this Knight. Pride peered at Mercurius, puzzled, as the lion spoke of his own claws.

"I do not understand why you mention your claws," he responded honestly, easily; "but I wonder about the moral of the tale. If it has one. Did the 'knight' grieve at his lack of normalcy? At the way he never had time to simply slow down and enjoy? It must be--he could not grieve at destroying, not creating, as he was saving lives, yes?" Pride shifted in place, some, and then--with the ease of the silver-tongued--spoke further.

"The tale drew my mind to distant places, and I shall wonder on its concepts. I have never met a storyteller, before--no more than a garden-tender. Or, I suppose, a knight," he added with a short laugh. "But now I know it is sorely needed. Ahh, but for more of you! You should travel, Mercurius, truly--and spread your stories. I know I am not the only one who would wish to hear them. Do you have any others?" His tone held warm encouragement, though he didn't quite understand the tale he'd been told. He was hoping the white lion would elaborate, but either way, he did wish to compliment the stranger--he seemed friendly, and shy, and Pride was nothing if not a gentleman. ...Deer.

@Mercurius

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