ORIGIN

He landed neatly some thirty or forty yards off the Spire, and after taking a moment to fold his wings against his back and to glance around for any potential danger (he found none), he began to sniff around again. He smelled faint traces of other Gembound--some of the odors fresher, some stale and nearly-faded. None of them were so fresh that they concerned him, either as predator or as prey.

He spent a long moment concentrating, and then cast out his magic once more, seeking any nearby gemstone that might still hold a glimmer of magicka.

It took him a long moment--the only sensation close by was quite weak, despite being nearly underfoot, and very much overshadowed by the hum of the Spire's power. At length he managed to locate it. It took another few minutes of careful pawing, sniffing and casting his magic over the stones below to figure out exactly which pebble was the right one--and this he tucked into his clawed forepaw before turning to seek another.

Shango moved on.

Most of the rocky ground near the Spire was just that--rock, though here and there a gem crystal cluster had thrust forth from beneath. Polaris was, to his eyes, somewhat dim--a soft and pulsing glow from the Spire always left it lit, but somehow the orb-light here never seemed as dazzling as that in Fornax or Eridanus. This left him searching quite slowly, his nose and eyes working thoroughly over many square yards of stone in his search for any gemstone--as rough as it might be--that stood apart from the rest.

He found three, eventually, but only one held any magicka, and it was but the faintest spark. Weak, he thought to himself, if idly. This one would not do.

Still, he tucked it into his claws and kept it. He wasn't sure what he might do with it--perhaps try to bring life to it, later, or trade it to someone else for something--but for now, there was little point in simply leaving it behind.

He felt himself growing gradually weary again, but resolved himself to find at least one more before again resting.

Tail slowly lashing behind him, his predator's patience again visible, Shango made his way to and fro like a hound quartering along a trail. Despite his concentration, half his senses--eyes, ears, nose--kept a sharp lookout for any trouble, or for an easy meal. Still, though, he found nothing.

His magicka, though, sparked strongly against a stone so close that he nearly stepped past it--and he crouched, nudging between the rocks beneath him until he found the correct one.

This one, he thought to himself, satisfied. This one will do. Strong. Good.
Satisfied with this find, the hybrid again turned, making his way by wing and by foot back to his little stash. It'd take him some time to rest, again, but he'd now found five or so stones that he knew might be of use to the Merchant. This'd be enough to earn him his reward, for sure.

Eight stones, now. So three were useless--that's just how it went. That was luck; that was chance. There was hardly any skill involved, after all, in simply finding something.

Except looking in the right place--and that much, at least, Shango felt he had nailed.

For a time he had slept, nestled curled like a cat between the hidden stones, secure in the knowledge that he had already succeeded. Now that he woke, he felt that it was time to improve even further.

He stood. He stretched, limbs reaching, bird-talons extending and scraping briefly over stone. Saber-teeth flashed as he yawned, and the thorns along his sides and back briefly caught the light. A brief shake as he stood upright: and his scale-feathered mane, and the horns atop his head, too glinted in the Spire's distant glow.

He cast a glance back over his caches, then looked out, and around. He sensed and saw, even smelled, no one near. Shango even sat, for a time, letting himself wake fully and listening for any others that might be near, but nothing seemed close.

At last he crept to the edge, and--shaking himself once more--dropped off it, his wings catching the air and letting him drift in a swift but gentle glide back down toward the Spire once more. This time he angled for the other side--still far from its base, yet near enough that its magic thrum pulsed within his head. After he landed, even, he clattered back away from it for a few moments, enough that it would not interfere with his magical search.

For a time, Shango worked his way back and forth along the ground, nosing here and there.

Having no luck, he moved on; there was a place not too far, a place where a few layers of rock (perhaps missed in the initial forming of the caves, or perhaps left as a sort of artistic centerpiece) formed something of a layered shale-like outcrop. It wasn't very large, but it was pleasantly jagged, and he worked his way to and fro like a searching hound as he searched it for any trace of a gemstone.

It didn't take him long: he found, in fact, a small handful of chips of gemstone, and cast his magicka over them. Only one sparked back--and it wasn't as strong as the strongest few he'd found. It was, however, strong enough, or so he felt, and so--after casting his magic over the rest once more to be sure, and finding nothing--he scooped this one up to return it to the rest.

Then off he raced, leaving the pretty outcrop behind, heading back up to his makeshift den where he stashed his newest find.

The hybrid swept down again. Another rest, another day of stone-seeking. He'd taken time out to hunt, this time--a few cave rats filling him well enough. The Crystal River had sated him, though he was still wary about approaching the deeper portions.

He was again snooping around the Spire's base, and though before he'd kept his distance, this time he was quite close. He'd found a few gemstones right up near the Spire, but he honestly wasn't sure if they were just natural rocks, or the remains of the unfortunate few who'd gotten too close to the Spire itself--or maybe of those who had been dumped there after death. Regardless, he'd realized that finding the stones first, then taking them farther away, cut out the irritating problem of the Spire's interference in his sensing of their magic (if any).

So now he had a small pile of promising rocks some hundred yards off, all piled neatly up, and was testing them. Some were distinct: polished gemstones of glittering color. Others were raw chunks, rough, but still clearly crystalline, with again, bright colors. Others still were simply stones, yet threaded through with glitters of light that suggested that they might be gems. He didn't have all that many, but it was enough, at least, to test. It was a start.

...Not that he'd not already made a start.

Right off the bat, one of them sparked against his magicka. That's one, then, he thought to himself, using a taloned foot to gently push that one aside.

Shango rearranged his pile. The 'good' gemstone was off to the left, and the others he began to spread out, so as to better sense which ones might hold magic, and which not. Doing it to a group of stones was a little chaotic. He made neat lines, spacing them carefully out, and then he took a breath.

His maned head rose, horns glinting in the Spire's dim light, as he looked around: nope, still alone. Still safe to check all of this over, without interference or interruption.

Quietly, he again focused, passing over each and every one of the stones in turn. That one, he identified at once, pushing the third stone--well, fourth, really--aside with the first. It didn't feel quite as strong as the strongest of them, but perhaps it'd be of some use to the Merchant regardless.

There were only a few rocks left in this pile. Quietly Shango moved the "living" stones well aside from the rest, aware that they might interfere with his checking over of the other stones. Equally quietly, he began to move the known "dead" or at least, lifeless, ones away in the other direction.

No, nothing, no, nothing... His nose touched a few, and he pushed these aside. There! Another of them was good. Strong, even, though not, he felt, the strongest of them.

The magic seemed to be coming more and more easily the more he used it--as if the practice was helping him to more quickly determine which of the stones were "viable," and which were not. In mere moments he had a large pile of worthless, dead rocks, and a much smaller handful of gemstones that still flickered with faint magic. These he took up, and--leaving the dead-rock pile behind--brought back to his pile on the ledge.

He counted them. Shango felt confident that he had done well in his search thus far: he had eight relatively strong stones (though he was strongly considering keeping one of them for himself, for reasons he still didn't quite understand) and four quite weak ones. He wasn't sure what the Merchant might even do with these, but it was worth offering them nonetheless.

Shango shifted in place where he sat, staring up at the Spire. He was debating his next course of action.

There'd been plenty of stones around the great rock, and there was no indication that he'd be running out any time soon. On the other hand, none of them had been super powerful.

He was debating going back near the golems. He didn't want to risk going too close--but maybe if he slipped along the outskirts and gathered up stones whenever they weren't too near..?

It took some self-convincing, but eventually he decided to give it another shot. Quietly he crept up and waited, watching and listening until their loud stomping was just far enough off--and then he skittered up onto the nearest rubble pile, searching quickly with nose and magic for any gemstones with a spark of energy.

Rapidly, he scooped up the nearest that he found--and, glancing up, he saw a couple of the golems pausing, clearly about to head back his way.