ORIGIN

He was making rather a racket, really.

Bones lying about loose were an irritation. He had no idea who kept moving them, in his absence, but he also had no intention of letting someone come back and use magic to puppeteer them around the place again.

He was in the process of using gemstones to fuse it, to settle it forever atop the back of the Throne. And it was a work of art: clear quartz and diamond glinted here and there, keeping the bones perfectly in place, the jaw opened in a fixed expression of hatred. Or--that was his own imagination, really.

That aside, there was dust to remove, loose rock to sweep away; and this was more easily-done with his energy magic. A blast here, a whoosh there, a clattering of stones; the Throne and the platform around it were fairly clean. There was just something about a slab of shining rock and gemstone that said "heroic," as opposed to a crumbled, dusty, cobwebbed thing littered with bones that rather distinctly seemed more villainous.

In any case, he could be heard throughout most of this section of Orion with ease.

Taking a step back, his head canted lightly to the right, he examined his work. Clean, yes; free of litter. A few of the bones were angled a little odd, so he concentrated for a moment, bringing up his magicka in a shimmering surge to settle them back perfectly into place.

...Nothing happened.

Pride let out a little sigh, eyeing the bones contemplatively. You never were very cooperative, were you? he thought to them, but more with absent thought than any real annoyance. He'd wait a moment, rest himself, and try again.

A spark of mischief flashed through Pride, and it took him a moment to realize that it was not his own. His silver eyes drifted down, and found his familiar--the little white hare--perched smugly atop the Throne. She was dwarfed by it, and he couldn't help but smirk; she was a cocky little thing, but he enjoyed her company.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, little Queen," he told her, amused. "No King who claims that throne tends to last in it for very long."

Pride glanced back sharply, in surprise--though not alarm--at the voice. There was that brief moment where his body tensed, not with fear but with that instant's confusion at the unexpected, but as he laid eyes on the stranger he relaxed--for the most part. He hadn't heard him coming; slinking cat's feet, he supposed.

He offered a friendly glance, and then looked up, briefly contemplative, at the bones. His gaze then swung back to Nassir. The hare on the throne watched them both, lounging like a haughty princess, flipping to sit with her hind legs out and her ears sagging back.

"Ahh--I did not hear you coming. What I mean--ah, these bones. They have not been there all that long. This was-" and here he paused, the memories again flicking through him, unpleasant--"an enemy of the peace, to put it simply. She wished the throne for herself, and was willing to harm and kill the innocent to get there. Well, she has it now--if not quite how she imagined it," Pride added, darkly humorous. "A warning to others who would kill the weak to further their own agenda. But she was not the first to claim this throne, and fall."

Pride focused again on the gemstone, for a moment, attempting to grow a little diamond from the rock, to swell and engulf the lower portions of bones without obscuring them too deeply. He wanted it propped there, visible, so that it could prompt these conversations in the future. It came, though weakly--barely the touch of rock emerging, just slightly propping up one bone. He resolved to work on it later; for now, he had a guest to attend to.

Pride turned back to Nassir, giving him his full and polite attention. A deep incline of his head, and he spoke again. "My name is Pride. I am steward, for now, of the so-called 'Kingdom of the Seven' that makes its home here. We would serve as guardians of the innocent, though our numbers grow thin."

Behind him, Mischief--sensing his solemnity and the import of his words--let out a massive tooth-baring yawn, and a grunt. Pride glanced to where she lounged on the throne, his ears briefly sweeping backward. "...And that is my familiar, the aptly-named Mischief, who holds reverence for precisely nothing. To what do we owe the visit?"

He looked politely to Nassir, the very picture of attentive, noble politeness.

Pride listened politely, his ears swept forward, his body still as he took in Nassir's words. Or, tried to. It was clear that the leopard was having trouble with communication, for whatever reason; it didn't bother Pride, though he felt a little sorry for him. He imagined that Nassir might, after all, be embarrassed; and in a moment of polite compassion, and inspiration, he tried to open a channel of more magical communication with the cat.

To his chagrine, nothing happened. He reached out for a moment, tentatively, but he could already feel that the magic had faltered and failed. He resolved to try again, but meanwhile, there was a conversation to hold.

At the rather grim question, he dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Myself and our King, yes. Reseda--that was her name," he added, nodding up toward the bones where they perched some few feet high above Mischief--"confronted us with a small friend of ours pinned beneath her talons. She said that if we did not acquiesce to her demands, she would kill the hostage. We used magic to end her quickly, before that could happen, though the little one did fight back of her own accord. She is fine," Pride added.

At Nassir's mention of Pisces, he tilted his head again, curious. "Ahh. I know Pisces, though I haven't spent much time there. That creature, in the water--Tenzin?--he holds an incredible power. The little one I mentioned--she was very ill, near to death on several occasions. He was able to strengthen her, by taking from me. It left me ill in her stead. I do not know what sort of magic that is, but it is admirable, and strong," he went on. "Pisces is a beautiful cave."

He turned, stepping off toward the Throne a little more, as if to invite Nassir along; standing staring at him was beginning to feel, to Pride, a little rude. "You are welcome to remain here, of course. If it is meat that you eat, I believe there are rats to be found in and among the ruined structures. We will not harm you. Though 'we' is mostly myself, right now, and a small handful of others. Our King slumbers, for the time being. But yes; we would deem ourselves guardians, where we can."

He considered mentioning the Kingdom of Eridanus--how they were allies; but he wasn't sure that they were. After his last encounter with Rift, and the cat's attempt to throw his weight around as if he were king of all the caves--even if the ending had been relatively acceptable--he felt no warmth for them. For Mercurius, certainly; but what Pride saw as Rift's ungratefulness left him sour, and he didn't bring them up.

Pride was quietly, attentively listening when suddenly, dark clouds roiled over the rock, emanating from the leopard. The stag blinked in some surprise, taking a brief step back.

"Interesting," he said, at once--and he sounded interested; it wasn't merely polite words. His head tilted, and he focused on his own magicka, for a moment. As if someone had shut off the lights, one by one, darkness swept in from all corners of Orion. The lights seemed to wink out, the engulfing shadows smothering the entire area until nothing was left but darkness.

From this, Pride's voice spoke. "Something like this magic, I wonder?" It wasn't bragging, or arrogance; he sounded curious. "Magic of light and shadows, I believe, though yours does look different. It certainly has a dramatic flair to it," he added. He released his grip on the spell, allowing the light to slowly, gradually filter back in as he continued to speak.

"I would be glad to-" ('train is far too arrogant') "practice with you, if you wish? The magic of the mind is one of my own specialties, as well: something I have delved deeply into and experimented with quite a bit. It often fails, of course, but at least its more dire refusals rarely result in much more than a bad headache," he added, with dour amusement. "But I am glad to train-" ('damn it, I said it') "you in what I know, or work with you on what we both do?"

'-There. Hopefully that fixed it.' He'd tried to rearrange that phrasing. He didn't want to sound rude, superior. "And you are welcome to join the Seven, if you please, in the meantime? Or to simply stay here, with us; you are more than welcome to do that, if you wish, instead."

Pride pondered this, briefly--he'd had magic simmer up from the faintest inspiration, before. He firmly believed that it could be directed to do anything one imagined; perhaps Nassir had merely wanted to hide. And, given his shy and stammering nature, that didn't seem unlikely.

And as to the black leopard's question--Pride studied him, for a moment. Despite his sleek form, despite the pelt that looked like blooms of charcoal etched into velvet, despite the eyes that seemed to capture and hold--entranced--Orion's stars, the cat seemed afraid. Or perhaps... unsure was a better word. The deep breaths. The unsteady whisper of paws backing away over the stone. Pride was, quite frankly, unsure that Nassir could summon up either the magic or the courage to defend himself, let alone others. He lifted his head, a little, pondering how best to tackle the situation. He was, of course, not intending to turn him away; the Seven included those who needed protection, as well. But it would be insulting to imply that Nassir was automatically one of those--and Pride didn't know him well enough to assume as much, anyway.

"Nothing," he answered, sweeping his head in a brief incline of antlers. At least, there'd never been any requirements, any ceremony. "Should our little King Livius awaken, undoubtedly they will demand being called by their title, but I stand on no such formalities. I simply offer you a place, and study and practice as you see fit. I would be glad for the company, in truth," he went on. Mercurius--they were still close; but the white lion remained in Eridanus. His grove was a haven, for Pride, but it was only "home" sometimes. And the rest of the time--here, in Orion, on the cold rock of the crumbled throne--he was alone.

Alone on the stone of a broken throne, he thought to himself, amused at the little rhyme.

Not alone, Mischief pointed out along their link, sullen at being forgotten. Pride glanced back to her, sending her a brief but heartfelt mental apology. Okay, so he had the hare--but she couldn't practice magic with him, couldn't discuss morality and science and philosophy and all the other things he was left with, with them trickling around in his mind, sand falling through stones with no one else to catch it, to weigh it. To send it falling in other, new directions.

"And, in time, if there is a call for it and if you feel capable, by then--you may call yourself a Guardian among us. There are buildings off that way, though--crumbled, certainly. The place I had mentioned there may be rats to hunt. They may provide shelter, privacy, if you wish--though you may stay here, of course, as well. We can talk for a time, or even practice now? -Shall I call you one of us, then?" he added, tilting his head a little.

Maybe I ought to add a little ceremony to all of this, Pride reflected; 'yeah, sure, you're in' doesn't sound anywhere near as grand or as special as it ought to, really.