ORIGIN

Shango stared, nonplussed, as the Dog uttered its not-very-helpful, nor-very-clear words. This grew into faint bewilderment as it simply turned and left.

"...It's by the wall with the carved stuff," he called after him, though he was still puzzled and a little taken aback.

Whatever.

The hybrid watched Black go, and then--once he was certain that the dog was well and truly gone--he returned to his own search. He pressed closer to the wall, carefully moving back and forth over the area he'd found the strongest gemstone. He searched in a sort of loose grid--to and fro in long, careful lines, then sweeping gradually back up parallel to the last, but a bit away, so that he slowly covered the entire area.

...Aha!

Another powerful one! Thrilled to be proven right, triumphant in his own intelligent decision (which really was likely all purely chance), Shango scooped this one into his talons to check it over more closely. His magicka resonated with it, and it certainly held a great deal of strength, but he felt that it wasn't quite as strong as the last had been.

Still, with primal joy, he lifted it and took it back to sit with all the rest.

This was it. He'd search just a little more, and regardless of whether he found anything further, he'd return then to the Masked Merchant with his stones. He'd found enough, he thought: quite a few very good stones, powerful stones. Some more than others, of course--and one very strong, if only one--but he thought it good enough for his reward. Good enough for the door? Perhaps not. But he felt confident that his contribution would be enough... the only question was how he'd get them back there, but he could tackle that later on.

Quietly he approached the Spire, as close as he dared. He crept along, slow and careful in his work, nose and eyes to the ground as before.

He found nothing there, however, though he spent some time circling and backtracking, and eventually he lifted his head to look around. He wasn't sure if there was simply nothing here, no "living" gemstones left this close to the Spire (perhaps it had sucked their energy free, or energized them into new Gembound itself) or if the Spire's magic was too strong, if his own was too interfered-with by its presence to sense anything this close.

In silence, but set firmly to his task and not at all discouraged, he turned to make his way to the eastern wall, which had thus far proven far more fruitful.

Once there, and once he'd paused, tail flicking cat-like to take a slow and careful look, smell and listen around--and once he was therefore certain that he was still safely alone--he began, again, to search.

Ears flicked in the thick mane. His horns glinted in the dim Spire-light as he lowered his head, his nostrils working and his hoof-bottomed taloned bird-feet clicking quietly on the stone. More than that, his magicka worked: his horns glimmered a dull blue, his body in the low light now seeming dull grey, and phosphorescent cobalt blue where the green shimmer normally sat.

He was rewarded fairly quickly: another medium-strength gemstone, shimmering where it sat half-hidden among the other glinting stones. He sniffed over this for a moment, and once certain that he had the right rock from the cluster, he carefully pried it up to carry it in his talons.

This would, he thought, have to do.

A glance back up at his den, or rather, toward it (he could not quite pick it out in the distance and in the dark), and he turned back to the stretch of rock along the wall one last time. Let me just check this place. One more hunt, and I'll go back, he thought to himself.

Just the one.

Quietly he made his way forward, stone clutched in one slightly-hobbling foot, his nose dropping back down again to sniff along the stone. For a time he worked his way along the wall, head moving to and fro as if he were along rails, checking from side, to side, to side.

He found nothing quite close on, and, head low, he continued to check along the path toward the river. There was but one weaker gemstone--barely holding on to the faintest shimmer of magic--and this he picked up to add to the rest before making his way further on.

At last he reached the river's edge, warily glancing about for a time before closely searching where the river emerged from the cave wall. It seemed to just well up from within the stone, and given its current he doubed there'd ever be a way to swim up into its tunnel--not that he'd want to. Instead, he began to search around the river's origin, where the cave wall and floor met. It was rather a remote section of Polaris, at least as far "remote" as one could get at the very center of the caves.

He found yet another fairly-strong stone, but nothing like some of the more powerful ones that he had found.

Quietly he collected this one, too; then he stood upright and had a close look around. There was a tunnel some distance off--across the river, and on the same side as he was: the eastern wall.

The two stones gathered in his claws, he turned back, and began to make his way back toward his makeshift "den."

Slowly, gradually, he made his way back toward the den. Along the way, he kept his magicka going, and it sparked and shimmered off yet another stone that he'd missed--or rather, he was moving along a line a little more west than before, so he'd not been quite close enough.

Satisfied, he gathered this one up, and found that it compared closely to the one he'd found not too long ago, on the way toward the river.

Surely he'd earned his reward now.

Once back at the den, some time later, he rested; he curled up, and spread out the stones, carefully organizing them into groups.

He had about six near-dead stones, with the barest spark of life left within them. He had, then, a large handful of strong, but not notably strong, gemstones. He counted, carefully, and the first time he came up with twelve, the second, thirteen.

Then there was the single strong, thrumming, powerful stone at the head of them all.

Good.

Silent, and absorbed in his task, he began to examine them all more closely.

Shango liked these stones.

Most of all he liked the peridots, with their bright green color that reminded him, a little bit, of his own eyes and his own feathers.

He considered, for a time. A lot of these weren't very strong stones--they'd be useless, he felt, to the Merchant. And he really felt attached to the first one that he'd found, the aquamarine, though he couldn't quite say why.

Ever since his genesis in Eridanus, born to unknown parents (and perhaps it was a good thing that he'd never met his maker, Khloros), spawned from a stone, he'd lived alone. He'd never considered creating children of his own, and he still had no real interest in parenting, but the idea of creating something that he could be proud of appealed to him. Too, the challenge of drawing life from the stones, and curiosity as to what they might make, pulled at him.

What if he made a trip, first, to Eridanus? He could try to create chrysalids from the stones, from a few of them, and then bring the rest back to the Merchant.

There was no real reason not to. It didn't occur to Shango that he should hang around to actually parent said children, or be family with them, as he'd never had a parent of his own. He'd hatched and lived alone his entire life, and honestly wasn't aware that there was a better way. No; he could spawn them, and check out the result, and be as involved--or as distant--as he liked.

So--not really thinking through the consequences, but merely out of impulse--he gathered up the stones. This was no easy task--a good number were chunky or awkward, and once he'd filled both front talons with rocks he found that he kept fumbling them. He compromised by shoving a bunch of them into his mouth, and carrying them carefully in his cheeks.

So laden with gemstones, he half-ran, half-glided his way all the way back to Eridanus--the place of his origin.