ORIGIN

Pride stood silent in the mist-drip humidity of Eridanus. Around him, ferns rustled and birds called, insects humming, so that the cave was never silent or still. It was full of life.

This would suit his purposes well.

Quiet, he began to pick his way deeper into the cave. He was testing his theories--magical, scientific--regarding the link between gembounds, and magic. After his unfortunate incident mind-linking to the Spire, resulting in a near-brush with consciousness-shattering madness, he had formulated a number of theories that he wished to test out. He was quite interested in finding some results, and in sharing them, perhaps, with the gryphon Amras--a friend, of sorts, who shared his scientific curiosity.

Pride felt that a powerful surge of magicka had a chance to uplift a Gembound into sapience. From what Amras had told him, infusing an inert gemstone was enough to birth a Greater; Greaters held magic. Lessers did not seem to, though they, too, held gemstones.

The stag remained still and silent, for a time longer. None of the birds landed near enough for him to try, however, and he began instead to pick his way through the jungle, taking the scents along the forest floor.

To his surprise, there was a distinct odor, part of the way along, of deer. He wondered, for a beat, if it were Karma--a young friend he'd had, since lost to him. But no, it wasn't familiar; it spoke of the cave deer that wandered blindly. He picked up his pace. Many of the birds here feared him, but perhaps a deer might see him as one of them? As ally, as family?

Pride followed the odor for some time, occasionally losing it and circling back, eventually following it over a brook and through thick brush until it was damn near fresh. At last, carefully pushing through a tangle of vines, he saw not one but three cave deer ahead--two pale cream, one white, and all staring at him in the frozen panic that came just before flight.

The white stag gave a soft snort, attempting to look friendly; he outstretched his neck to sniff toward them, and then browed idly along the ground. It seemed, for now, to work; they watched him, one glancing away to keep watch outside the little grove they'd been resting in.

Pride grazed his way closer.

The white doe--for they were all does, by the looks--eventually approached. All of them had long lashes, slender legs; all were perhaps half his weight, or less, though tall. One of the cream-toned ones had no visible stone. Another had a bright orange cluster at her shoulder, and the white one, a small, chaotic cluster of black stone at her lower left hind leg. This black gemstone was startling against the pale coat, and sparked with rainbows of color every time she took a step. He watched, pretending to browse, his pulse racing.

Could he do it, from here? No, she wasn't close enough--not yet.

A little farther, and the doe paused, ears flicking forward, her delicately slender neck outstretched so that she could sniff at Pride. He flicked his tail and turned, looking briefly to her, then away again, back to the food. Sure enough, this carefully-calculated display of friendly indifference had her moving up beside him, cautious not to get too close to his front, as she sniffed at his coat.

Pride wasted no time. He had no idea what might happen with a simple surge of magical power, but he did his best to imbue the black opal as he whirled around, heart hammering in his ears.

The doe was startled by his sudden movement, and an instant later recognized his blast of unaimed, unfocused magic; in her panic she leapt toward him, over him, her sharply-pointed hooves tearing shallow wounds over his back as she bolted. He let out a sharp bleat of surprise, stumbling, and a moment later she'd scrambled free and with a speed he could not touch, she had vanished into the jungle.

Pride stood staring, his sides heaving, after her. He didn't think he'd harmed her, but she--and her sisters--were long gone. He was left alone in the cacophony of the jungle, alone in the grove, his skin--and his pride--wounded.

He was, of course, disappointed. If he was right, and a gift of this magicka surge granted sentience to a Lesser, well--there'd been something comforting in the idea of a white doe for a companion. For the briefest of moments, he imagined sharing scientific conversations with her, whilst lying drowsing in a shade-dappled clearing in the forest.

Ahh, well; it couldn't be helped, now. Yes, he could pursue, but he was still sore and tired from his little accident in Polaris, and the doe had probably made her way to the other side of Eridanus by now. Nor would she let him get so close again, undoubtedly.

I ought to find something white, though, he thought to himself. For aesthetics, if nothing else. Just in case it worked.

He made his way onward, pausing to drink at a brook, then stepping through its icy trickle to pace back up into the thick cover. Eventually he came to one of the patches that had near-wholly burned away.

Interesting, this; there were small animals here and there, no doubt picking at seeds and insects that were already repopulating the enriched earth. As before, Pride pretended to graze his way in--though in a place burned free of foliage, this only took him so far.

He could see insects, but they would help him little. He'd never seen a Greater insect before and somehow doubted that they held much capacity to become something more. Still, nothing drew close enough to him out in the open, barren clearing, and after a time he paced further on.

It was only when glancing up into the trees, seeking birds, as he walked on (an hour or so later, in fact) that he spotted something of interest. A colony of bats hung, sleeping, from the branches just overhead. They were tiny, bright scatterings of color, little iridescent wings folded over their furred bodies. He could see not one, but two that were white, among them, and he came up as quietly as he could beneath them both.

It most definitely has to be white, he told himself distractedly, as he again focused his magicka--this time, upward.

The bats, however, were having none of that. Their little ears and nostrils twitched as he approached, and as he even began to cast, they were already unfurling and fluttering away in every direction, like rampant little butterflies.

His magic struck nothing, and he stood, exhaling with faint frustration through flared nostrils.

It was later that night, as he rested by another little creek--a slender little cut of water, really, shivering its way through thick peat--that he found his next target.

Or, rather, it found him.

Pride only noticed it because he heard its shifting of leaves and pine needles as it moved down toward the water, and he turned, blinking pale eyes, as the dim night orb-light reflected over its shining white scales.

It was a snake, a small and glistening thing, only a couple of feet long. Its head was broad, ridged here and there with points, but small, like the arrowheads he'd seen lying about from time to time. He waited, still and silent, and watched it moving closer. It was still on the far bank, and there it paused, peering down toward the water and flicking a tongue into the air.

There was a dark golden spot on its forehead, perhaps its gem, perfectly centered between its eyes and raised just a little bit along the skull. The snake paused, then, and stared right at him, and without hesitation--knowing it might be about to flee--Pride again repeated his attempts to send a surge of magicka directly into that dot of amber.

For a moment, the snake simply stared at him.

Had nothing happened?

Then Pride felt a sudden, mounting pressure in his own skull, a lump in his throat--What the hell have I done? and the world dropped away in shades of gray and black.

When he woke, it was to something touching his flank.

He startled, jerking and scrambling, but before he could get fully upright, the sounds of swift hoofbeats and snorts had him turning back.

Before him, scattered around and along the creek, were a full herd of jungle deer. Several were brown, and green; one was a thick shade of yellow, another blueish in hue. Two were white--one a purer tone, one yellowed at the edges.

They had come upon him unconscious, and curious, perhaps, had set to sniffing him over. Now they stood staring at his sudden scramble, some of them hoof-deep in the creek. As he lowered himself to lay back down, snorting softly in return, they lowered their heads and raised them again. Some started forward, others going back to grazing or drinking at he water's edge.

What happened to me..? he thought to himself. He couldn't remember, not exactly; perhaps the white snake had knocked him unconscious?

He let out a soft groan; his head still hurt. A thrust with his legs and he was upright, a few of the does startling back--and two young bucks, he saw, judging by their antler nubs. He shook away the leaves and twigs and paced down to the creek himself to drink.

The deer quickly pulled away, though they didn't flee, and as he did nothing more violent than drink the water, they drew closer.

Maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. Perhaps I have to earn their trust, first. He had little to do, at the moment, bar training up some of Envy's followers in magic use. Perhaps he could simply stay with them, for a time, live with them, learn their habits and gain their trust..? They were similar enough, after all, in form.

A yawn, and he found that the does were crossing again--around him, past him, and away into the brush.

Pride turned, hastening to follow. As he did so, he noticed something interesting--three of the deer looked unlike the others. The white one, along with the grey-blue and a darker brown one, had thick, short coats that put him in mind of seal's fur. All three had faint markings on their pelts that were of odd colors--pale blue-green, and as he eyed this, he noticed abruptly that the brown one's markings had flashed rather brightly in the light.

...Or had it been the light?

As they moved farther into the shaded area, the flashing came again--and was echoed by the pelts of the white deer, and the grey. ...Now that's new. Pride had no idea what a Marsh Deer was, or that a few had come from Cetus some cycles back, nor how bioluminescence worked. He had no idea that these were a hybrid Marsh deer and Jungle deer, or possibly just transplanted Marsh deer--only that the lights were fascinating, and an apparent means of communication.

He followed, his heavy antlers problematic in passing through the thick brush through which the smaller herd moved. His own trot was a floating, graceful gait, but these deer were more agile than he, swifter, and he found himself struggling to keep up.

With time they paused again, this time at the edges of a meadow clearing surrounded by thick forest. They began to graze, and Pride--edging ever closer, and observing them intently--joined them.

For the next twenty-four hours, Pride stayed with the herd. He learned a great deal about them, and their habits, quite quickly.

For example, he learned that several were, at any given time, keeping watch for trouble while the others grazed, and that the sentry duty seemed to switch smoothly and often. He learned, too, that there was a hierarchy here: the white doe and a brown, shaggier one were clearly the leaders, the white less so, but still dominant over the rest. These two led--and sometimes bullied--the rest where they had to go.

He found that they tolerated his presence, but were shy and skittish around him--likely owing, he thought, to his branching antlers. Perhaps the doe-and-fawn herds were simply not comfortable around bucks, or--stags? He wasn't sure which they had, as these were all females and young.

Pride found, too, that they had their own pathways winding through the forests. They knew where they were going, and with the white and the brown deer always leading and following (though often switching role) they travelled swiftly and quietly through Eridanus. They seemed, for most of the day, to either be eating or travelling between feeding sites; and judging by their shy demeanor, they must have been actively hunted.

And no wonder, Pride thought to himself, a little grimly, as he hurried to keep up. All of the Greaters who live here, who subsist on meat, must have to chase these down. He felt... enlightened, a little bit. He was being granted, by nature of his accidental form, a fascinating glimpse into the lives of these animals--animals so like himself, creatures he'd never thought to study before.

He was beginning to think that he might return here, frequently, to repeat the exercise--regardless of whether he failed, or succeeded, in his tests.

It wasn't until partway through the next day that he felt confident enough to try again.

The deer had, for the most part, accepted his presence; they didn't like him too close to the fawns, and often stamped or snorted and did their best to either drive him off, or move their young ones away, if he drew too near.

But when they grazed, he made a point of keeping watch for them, and he was certain that they noticed. Some strange, prideful part of him thought that he could even keep them safe, to some extent, in the way that their alertness never could: should a predator have leapt in, he could have likely talked them away. Would it be immoral, I wonder, to defend them violently against attack..? How far could I go? If I warned a sentient predator, and they tried to kill a doe, and I killed them in turn--would that be too far..? These thoughts ran through his mind, trickling over his knowledge, his logic, but he could find no answer to them. To Pride, morality was a bit of a foreign concept. He valued logic above all else, but never caused harm if it wasn't needed--he was no sadist--and believed that doing so was wrong. But the idea of morality being what you made of it wasn't something he'd ever truly considered; he sort of assumed, as many likely did, that there was a definitive right, and wrong, and that he simply hadn't found it yet.

It was evening--or so he thought; it was hard to tell with the dimmed lights--when the does bedded down to rest. They'd seemed to be more active at the cusp of dawn and dusk, and often still moved throughout the night, but they'd reached a safe haven of sorts and seemed more than rpepared to take advantage. It was a small, close grove, carpeted by thick green moss and surrounded on all sides by lush vegetation that reached dozens of yards into the air. It was hard to see, hear or smell past these barriers, and as the deer settled down, Pride noticed the indentations caused by months of resting in the same places.

When he himself curled down a few yards off, idly keeping watch with calmly-turning head and flicking ears, he found to his surprise that the does gathered somewhat around him. Many lay chewing the moss, or nothing; others curled their heads against their flanks and went right to sleep.

He hadn't been thinking about his experiment all day--but now the opportunity was close.

The pale doe lay quite near to him, her head swivelling to and fro as she looked around. Pride had already found her stone--a deep blue, nestled above her right hock. It was an asymmetrical shard, nothing beautiful or noteworthy, but regardless of all of that the fact remained that he couldn't hit it from here directly.

Was it necessary? He wasn't sure, but after pondering for a time, he decided not to risk it. Pushing up, he made his way to the doe, leaning out to sniff at her. Surprised, she flared nostrils and sniffed back, ears fanning toward him--but as he came closer, towering over her, she scrambled up and back.

Pride's body language was not in any way aggressive; he merely stood there, head dropping down to inspect the gem. There it is.

This would do. With a tense breath, he concentrated--willing the doe not to flee, willing the magic to infuse her stone and bring her sentience... or whatever it might do.

Pride stood silent for some moments.

The doe stood staring back.

Right. Good news, and bad news. Bad news is, nothing happened. On the plus side, nothing happened. At least she hasn't bolted.

The doe flicked her tail, then took a quick step back, head bobbing down, then away. She seemed to think that Pride wanted her sleeping space, or the like, and quickly moved broadside to him, her steps nervous as she padded off through the moss.

He lifted his head, confused and a little frustrated. Does this do nothing? he thought. With a sudden surge of determination, he stepped after the doe.

One more time. He'd try this one more time, and if it didn't work, he'd look for something smaller--weaker, perhaps, but something a little more... malleable.

Though he couldn't say he'd not come back to the herd again--to learn from them, if nothing else.

This time, when he did it, there was a slight reaction.

The doe made a little leap forward, as if stung, then turned to stare at him over her shoulder, bewildered and accusing. Giving up, Pride sighed and turned away, body language both gentle and weary.

This wasn't working--which was a damned shame, really. He'd been looking forward to all sorts of tests. To trying to communicate with the deer. To trying to educate it, perhaps. As it stood, there was little he could do, bar rest, and so he lay back into the moss, laid his head against his own flank (in emulation of the herd) and drifted off to sleep.

Pride woke to find the herd up and grazing. The doe in question seemed to have forgotten his magical attempts the night before, and lifted her head to peer at him with a flick of her tail, body language relatively friendly as she went back to working over the grass.

He pushed up, shaking himself out and stretching a little before joining the herd.

And why not? He was failing at doing much with his own magic. May as well just live with the lessers, for awhile. His thoughts dry, he began moving among them slowly, browsing on brush and grass. Slowly, unhurried but alert, they began to move onward through the jungle, and he followed. At times, again, his antlers caught on branches, where the does passed beneath without issue. It took a few shakes of his head to get loose from the worst of it, and soon enough his rack was littered with leaves and twigs.

The herd moved slowly, again following an old, familiar trail. They ate as they went--bushes, grass, succulent shoots and leaves, even berries here and there. Between browsing, they stared and listened about, always attentive. As with Pride, their steps tended to be placed carefully, so that they rarely made sound. As a result, the small herd passed mostly hidden, unseen, through thick brush and in near-silence.

At length they approached another new creek--a small and slender one threading through steep, leaf-covered banks.

Pride paused, here, peering down. It was as if he'd suddenly left the rest of Origin Cave behind--far behind. Envy and the Seven seemed so distant. Orion was near-gone from his thoughts. They were here, now--in the wilderness, far from those he had known, and he was embarking on a new adventure.

For a moment, he flicked an ear and hesitated, considering going back. He had duties to attend to, did he not..?

Pride had never done anything purely for enjoyment. Everything had a logical reason--a purpose, a goal. He was ever-focused on his tasks and his responsibilities. Yet here, before him, lay quiet freedom: a peacefulness, without any of that, at least for awhile.

Science and learning are my duties, too, for Envy's sake as well as for the betterment of all, he at last told himself, firmly. And with this excuse in place, his conscience mostly soothed, he stepped down after the herd. He trotted to catch up, lowering his head to sip at the icy water that trickled around his hooves.

It had been some time since last Pride was here, and now here he was again--the herd found once more, and he lying before them.

He was telling them a story--quiet, content. He was certain that they understood not a word of it, but that didn't matter to him. He was at peace, and the sound of his voice alone seemed to have them contentedly attentive as they lay in their moss beds, chewing cud or browsing grass, their ears all fanned to listen.

"And the creature of white opal did not know what to say: to lie to them of their fates, to tell them pretty stories... or to tell them the terrible truth, so that they might live out their days in fear, perhaps--but come to terms. Was it worth it, he wondered? Would honesty only soothe his own conscience, but damn them to terror? Would a lie rob them of their chances to make their peace, to finish their life's purposes, whatever those might be, before the end..?"

Pride let his voice wind to a close, silent for a moment, the deer all staring blankly at him. Despite his joy in telling his story, he was reminded--and grieved to remember--that they could not understand a word of it. They were as mindless as the victims in his story: unable to comprehend their own fates.

But what was the story's ending to be? He still hadn't decided that, not yet.

For now, however, it was time to move on.

The stag pushed up, standing, looking over the herd with quiet, bittersweet sadness. He'd come back to them, certainly--but he was grieved to know that they might fall prey to others in his absence.

There was nothing he could do for them. He'd wished to teach them, to elevate them, to make them something more--to give them the power to think for themselves, to defend themselves. Perhaps... he could still find a way. But right now, there was no way, no way open to him. For the first time, his magic had been unable to do as he had wished.

Perhaps there was no way that it was able; perhaps once a Gembound was born, the die was cast.

Regardless, it meant that they would remain feral and helpless--for now, at least. Perhaps, in time, he would return and declare himself their protector, for better or for worse (and some deep-seated instinct certainly agreed with the idea).

For now, however, he had other caves to explore. Other Lessers to test, and to test his magic against, and on. Other options to explore.

Perhaps... he could find a way. And when he did, perhaps he could return here.

The white doe stretched out her neck, peering at him, and he reached down to touch her, nose-to-nose. A brief and gentle moment, a soft joy blooming in him, peace in his gaze--and then he looked them all over one last time and turned, departing over the soft moss with sadness in his heart.