ORIGIN

Khloros closed his eyes, as he listened, so as to better concentrate. When Pride's halting, fragmented version of the story finished, he opened them again and looked to Dragon.

Slowly, softly, unhurriedly, he began to speak. "It is... much as he says. When I hatched--I am no Elder, no--but I heard voices from beyond. I knew my name; I knew that I carried death, and little more. I came to learn that the caves, despite their sporadic kindness, hold great evils. I came to believe that we are trapped here--our spirits forced into stones, creating life that suffers, and dies, only for the spirit to be drawn into another gem to repeat it again, over and over, for eternity. I--do not know how right I am, but I know that when I went to the Spire, it was with the idea that it was the source of all of this. I know that I felt... that if I destroyed that, if I found some way, then perhaps I could end these cycles of suffering."

The horse shifted in place, looking to Pride, and then to Dragon. "I did carry death, make no mistake. A plague. I spread it throughout the caves, then--believing that it was the best way to end the cycles. But I came to realize that once, there were none of us awake--that our life did not come, perhaps, from one another and generations prior but from the very Spire itself. I may be wrong. I do not know. But I held the ability to draw life from plants, to breathe beneath the water, to carry death and to see it in others, to manipulate, even to heal it away."

"When the stag came, he said that we are not free. That we serve another purpose. That we are born from failed creations, purged. He said that he is one of twelve, and that we do not belong to ourselves. He challenged me: he claimed that I might try to earn my freedom. I do not know what magic he used, either. It bound my limbs and forced me to walk where I did not wish to, and then the Spire, perhaps, did his bidding. Its magic tore my body apart. It was agony," the horse added, without emotion--a simple, soft recounting of the truth.

"I felt myself dying, and then I found myself in a white place. An empty place. There was a creature, there--holding me, touching my face. She--it?--was white, gentle-faced, gentle touch. It reassured me. Told me to rest, to be reborn, to spread this information. I was sickly, before--thin, carrying death, my eyes glowed green. I was a different creature. She said that I must aid others in seeing as I do. I believe she meant the souls, the being trapped, the Spire--our freedom, all of it? I do not know, for certain. But I know that I awoke as I am--different, and now I have no magic at all. I can do nothing--I cannot heal, nor plague; I cannot take life from the plants, nor can I breathe in the water, as I could. My body holds fat and flesh, where before I was bones and hide. I believe I did earn my freedom, but I do not quite know how."

He paused, and then he looked to Dragon. "I don't wish to stay among the kind ones who took me in after my awakening. It might bring the stag's wrath down on them, and I do not want that. But they said that you, yourself, seek knowledge--and that you also do not trust them. That the swamp is large, and dark. I wondered if this might be a safe place for me to hide."

The alligator listened, intently. As he did so, as with the information about Wilder, two conflicting reactions rose within him.

One was a good dose of healthy skepticism. The horse's mannerisms were... off, something not quite right about him. He might just be well and truly mad, or death might have sent him into a spiral of hallucinations from which he could not pick reality.

Or... it could all be true. Dragon almost wanted to believe; here, if Khloros and Pride were to be believed, was a source who had finally struck at a core of what might be a key to their survival. A key to knowledge of the innermost working of the caves: its history, the Elders' goals, and more. Astraea wishing to protect the Spire--that didn't seem all that surprising; they'd all defended it, after all, from Raheerah. It wouldn't surprise him if it were intrinsic indeed to their lives, their magicka, or both.

Yet the horse's phrasing... Astraea had seemed, for the most part, benevolent. Failed Gembound, purged..? Belonging to the Elders--one of Twelve--to be destroyed if they did not serve their will? Dragon would not, perhaps, have believed it, had he not himself seen that sinister streak in the stag. That sadistic little glee that he'd tricked, and trapped, another ancient within the caves; that he'd lied, successfully, to use another.

Could it be true..?

His heart beat a little quicker in excitement.

"If what you say is true," he began slowly, "then you may perhaps have hit closer to the heart of this world's mystery than you realize. The Children of Rot--that is we, here in Cetus--we seek the truths of these caves. We know little of Astraea, of the Spire, of our own origins or intended purpose here, if any. I would offer you a place among us, but I cannot promise that we can successfully protect you against Astraea, should he come for you. I will, however, try. Hide here; the cave is, as Pride has rightly said, large. It is dark. You are black," he went on, stating the obvious with some amusement. "You may stay here if you wish; and if I am asked, I will say that I have not seen you. But it is a dangerous game that we will be playing."

The alligator looked off toward the swamp, thoughtful. "Our Father lives in these waters. He, too, is... vast. Massive, as long as the lake is deep and very... fierce." Aquarian was loud, at least, but his terror of Raheerah had certainly disappointed the alligator. He'd never tell anyone that, though. "Add to his offering pile--food, treasures--and he may also protect you. Do it diligently to secure a greater chance at safety," Dragon advised. He looked sombrely back to Khloros.

"Astraea, then, was angry at the concept of destroying the Spire? He may have wished to simply protect it, though his other words, if true, certainly sound ominous enough," he rumbled thoughtfully, putting voice to his prior thoughts. "But you speak of our souls being trapped, here? Of a cycle of rebirth, and a white creature in a white void? --What, precisely, did it look like?" he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"You describe it as gentle-faced. I heard another tale, once--of Elders, long ago, of failed Gembound as you say, hiding from sound and light in the cover of darkness. A beast came, and killed many, and as the storyteller told it, a gentle-faced being brought many back from the brink of death. I wonder if it is the same creature," he added, eyeing Khloros thoughtfully. "If so... I believe you may be the only one aside from Elders, thus far, to be brought back so. I wonder if that makes you as they are-though they hold magic, I think, and you do not." His keen mind flicked through the possibilities rapidly.

Perhaps Khloros was simply seeking glory, and had heard all of the same tales and was picking bits and pieces to suit himself. Or perhaps he had heard the tales, and his own fragmented mind, half-broken by his near death, had assimilated them into a false memory of his own.

Or perhaps they were true.

"If you join us, I would invite you to tell your tale to the rest of us. But you would be expected, too, to protect the rest, as we would protect you--for we are family. And you would need to stay hidden, for while I will welcome you into our mist, I will not have you flaunting yourself as bait to draw danger in against us. We hide," he went on, sternly.

"We stay hidden, and we survive."

Pride listened intently, quietly, to both of the others. There was Khloros' long explanation of all that had happened, leaving very little detail out. And there was Dragon, offering not only to tolerate Khloros' presence, but offering him sanctuary as best he could, among the Children of Rot themselves.

Again he tried to form up imagery of what he had seen in the black horse's mind, to quietly help with the conversation. This time he managed to form a near-perfect image of.

...Khloros.

It was very small, but very precise, and with deep irritation and embarrassment, Pride dispelled the image at once. Oh, how terribly fucking helpful. Thank you, magic, he thought at himself with dour sarcasm.

"Give me a moment-..." he muttered, staring at the dissipating results of his utterly-failed magicka.

Khloros listened intently to Dragon.

He hadn't come aiming to join with any group, but the alligator's offer was undoubtedly a generous one given the burden of danger he'd bring down upon them.

He glanced at Pride's seemingly-random magical illusion of... himself, then glanced questioningly at the stag. Pride was muttering something about giving him time, so Khloros dismissed the entire incident as something he'd likely never understand, and turned his attention back to Dragon.

"It is... a kind offer," he said softly, "but are you certain you wish to invite that sort of danger? I can simply come and... live on the edges of the swamp, providing I can find enough to eat, here," he added, glancing out over the thin reeds. If that was all the marsh had to offer, he wasn't sure he'd find enough sustenance here. Perhaps the forests deeper in held some grass and brush?

He looked back to Dragon. "If you are certain, then--what of the... Children of Rot? Who are you, ahh--what do you stand for."

Before he committed himself to anything, he had best know the details, after all.

"Well, that's why I say to keep your head down!" Dragon responded, followed by a hearty bellow of laughter. "We're bound to arouse their suspicion sooner or later--the Elders, I mean--and possibly their wrath, even, eventually. This might bring it down sooner than before, but if all you say is true, we shouldn't let them come destroy you. Not before we know what it's all about," he went on. "If it's some kind of factional warfare between the Elders, it wouldn't surprise me. Raheerah was the enemy of Tenzin and Astraea; Astraea used the Three Kings against their wills. I do not think that they were all aligned! But if some were more right than others--morally, or logically!--or if some have our best interests in mind, and others do not... that, we do not yet know. Your 'being with the gentle face' may be the sinister one, in the end--I do not know that either. But if we tell you to go, to protect our own safety, then we turn away the one thing that we value most of all."

Dragon drew himself up, a little, eyeing Khloros with dignified pride. "Life is built on the deaths of others. Those who perish in weakness rot away; those who live on, on their flesh, in their stead, are the Children of Rot. They are those who survive! Those who survive, so that they may learn. Long ago our father Aquarian told us that so long as we brought him offerings, he would come to us when we were in need of him. And he told us that to learn all the secrets of the cave, we must simply survive long enough to do so. We are family, a family in our secrets, a family among ourselves. We will look after one another, and we will survive, and we find and keep the secrets of the caves. You--provided you can keep those secrets--are welcome to join us. The white thing wanted you to share its view with others; you could do worse than starting with us. Perhaps, quietly, we can spread this creature's word for you... though we do not yet know if it is true."

Who knew, after all, the motives of the Elders..? Which were malicious, and which were benevolent? Which wished the Gembound to grow, to flourish, to learn and survive--and which wished their enslavement, or their ends?

If Astraea's words, how Khloros claimed them, were true--if the stag believed them to be hardly more than playthings--then it seemed clear that he, at least, was not truly on their side. And as much as Dragon had admired Raheerah's power, he did not doubt that the dragon's ferocity had not been particularly benevolent, either.

Which left the white being. If it were true that it supported something which Astraea opposed... then perhaps they had found their benefactor at last. Or, at least a potential one.

Cetus, it seemed, didn't like him.

Pride was generally a skilled master of magic, but try as he might, the imagery simply did not wish to form.

Perhaps the mist was interfering, somehow, with his light-show?

The stag looked around, haplessly, baffled as to how the magicka was simply refusing to manifest. Then again, the last time he'd been here had been to fight a monstrous being in the darkness, perhaps half a year back, now--and his magicka had simply refused to work then, as well. It had in fact backfired more often than not.

What was going on..?

He missed half of the conversation, in his frustrated musings, between the other two--but he didn't particularly mind; he was paying a little attention, enough to know that he knew most of what was being covered already.

Khloros listened attentively at Dragon's description.

He considered.

The alligator was offering him a safe place. A home, a family, seeking knowledge and... survival. So very antithesis to seeking death for all things... but he knew now that direct death would have never worked.

The Spire itself had to be destroyed; or perhaps they had to earn their freedom in other ways. With a jolt, Khloros realized that the 'freedom' to which Astraea had been referring might have been their souls all along, though the stag had denied their very existence. Did he know..? Had he been lying?

The horse shook his mane, pushing these thoughts away. They were too much for him, still--too much for his sleep-baffled mind, still not come to terms with the agony of his death, to contemplate. Instead he looked to Dragon.

"I will hide amongst the Children of Rot, then--and tell them all I know. But I cannot hide forever in the swamp. When she brought me back, it was with the promise that I spread what I know. I am unsure which parts... perhaps all of them. But I must tell others."

He paused, and then added--"If you do not mind that... I will join you, for now."

Dragon grunted.

"Very well, but do not speak of our existence, do not tell others you are one of us, do not share our other secrets away! But join us, here--for now. And I know of better ways to spread your story, without going out to tell it yourself! We have birds," he went on, thoughtful--and then he looked to Pride.

"And, we have a pact. PRIDE," he bellowed, abruptly, an idea striking him. "While the Kingdom of Eridanus is piss-poor at secrets, the Bonebound have agreed to share. Bring them this knowledge, perhaps--as the horse wishes, and so it is not lost! They may know more--or it may be good for them to hear, anyway."

Though secrets were important to keep, it was also important that the most vital knowledge be disseminated, before it was perhaps lost forever. Should Astraea storm in with Tenzin and kill them all, someone else had to bear the horse's story, at least for now.

And who knew; perhaps, combined, they could piece it all together.

At first, this time, it seemed to be going well.

There was an image of sickly Khloros, and relieved, Pride began to narrate.

"This is what he used to look like," he began; and then an image of the gentle-faced being began to form. "And this is the--err?!" Without warning it had morphed, Dragon's grinning face visible over the gentle face. Horns sprouted from it, and wings, and as Pride's mind whirled away in confusion, it sprouted silvery branching antlers.

He struggled to get it back under control, only for a massive third wing to erupt from the tiny illusion, flapping high over Pride's head. He leapt back, half-cowering, and as he half-incoherently thought for an instant that he'd simply been seeing the distant trees, the imagery lost control completely and became one of the towering pines of Cetus.

It engulfed them, its aetherial illusion leaving them within the seemingly-hollow trunk. Pride closed his eyes, defeated, and sighed.

"My magic, it seems,"
he told them with dull irritation, "does not seem to want to work, here."

He tried to dispel the light-show, the illusion of tree in the mist all around them, but it would not.

It seemed they were stuck, for now. In the fake tree.

Of his making.

He didn't open his eyes, too annoyed to do anything more than stand there irritably and await the magic's own dispersal.

Khloros looked curiously to the imagery. He remembered Pride showing Mercurius, before, and Ayr--a long string of visions of the white place, of the Spire, the gentle-faced being, and of Astraea. But now all he managed were a couple of brief glimpses before the entire thing lurched out of control--leaving them in an illusory massive tree.

Khloros looked around, slowly.

"I will join you, then," he repeated to Dragon, almost absently. "Why are we in a tree?" This was asked mildly, and he swung his head to offer Pride his quizzical gaze.