ORIGIN

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The sensation of amniotic fluid filling its lungs wasn't new, but it remained just as raw.

It writhed against the too-thin and -small confines of its shell, gulping down the fluid through the wrong pipe and coughing something fierce as its head finally met air. Pushing every available limb against the garnet, Hemlocke wheezed. With ragged retching, the chrysalis fluid sputtered across the sand, intermixing. Blinking away tears - its shell had been somewhat covered by the breeze and fallen promptly into buggy eyes - the alien shivered in place.

First, a body assessment, right?

Narrowed eyes adjusting to the harsh light of day fixed first on its toes. The webbing between them was intact, again. It rubbed sharp little claws against the phantom burning sensation along its neck and chest. Nothing. Blessedly nothing. Nothing seemed different this time, either - self-modifications could be imposed by others, only, it seemed. It hadn't changed since that Trial, at least.

Hemlocke's ears managed to return from the land of muffled roaring as its senses came back to life. The floppy satellite dishes smacked wetly against its cheeks as it shook off the wet, and rolled around in the clean spots in the sand. Drying off, masking the almost offensive birth-scent clinging to it.

Behind it, the selenite seemed to still be intact.

i dunno which of you two want to post first but...
@Desert Rose Thirty-Five @Vargas

Vargas was, as befit an ominous Overseer, sitting just a few yards off and staring sternly down at the two chrysalises.

-That being said, it had been a quick struggle to get there. He was trying to hide his breathing, because honestly he was a little out of breath. Granted, he hadn't been far away--he hadn't ranged much since he'd found the two stones (and one baffled vulture freaking out while tapping at them). But the first quiet sounds of cracking had found him just coming back in via the Canis entrance.

He'd raced over here, coming in so fast that he'd skidded through the sand and kicked up a great plume of it before quickly settling to his haunches just in time for Hemlocke's emergence. Now, trying to steady his breathing, he did his best to sit there as if he'd been waiting for two weeks solid. It'd do wonders for his reputation, really. Very spooky. Very in-control.

Vargas realized that Doctor was a few yards off, staring at him with a slightly-open beak, and he glared at him--willing him not to mention the whole "why'd you just come tearing in here" thing. A jerk of his head had the vulture obediently scurrying out of sight, and Vargas looked down at Hemlocke, and cleared his throat. As ominously as he could.

Well, he's still alive, at least, Vargas thought dryly. But he couldn't wait to hear what had happened to them.

Being in the chrysalis was the only time Desert felt truly safe. Even as his brittle selenite covered him, he was awash with the lack of emotion in his sleep as his gem fueled his body's reconstruction.

He had to wake up sometime. This emergence was much calmer than his last, less dramatic as his muscles tensed. Settling under the comfort of the fluid was a strange newness, one Desert decided then and there that... He didn't like.

His horns were the first to pierce the shell surrounding him, a crack resounding through the tunnel not long after Hemlocke's. He took longer, though- although his body was desperate to feel the breath of oxygen through air rather than liquid, his mind swirled with new synapses that had replaced long forgotten ones from ages ago.

His companion had already emerged fully when his head finally broke through, more fluids clinging to him that usual. This was the part he hated- the stickiness overwhelmed him as he blew out the liquid from his lungs, coughing up before inhaling a sweltering hot breath. It landed on the dusty sand around them, and bleary new eyes took in the surroundings.

He'd emerged facing the other chrysalises. They were still unhatched then- good. He hadn't been under for long, then. His body made to follow through the crack next, claws flexing against its opening as his arms tried to shove the gem away.

Wait. Those weren't his arms.

He paused for a confused moment, still groggy from his sleep as he glanced down to his shoulders. Thick hand-like appendages had replaced the elbows of his wings, and a wet, wet, mane dripped with the water of his chrysalis. A brief panic flowed through him, drove him to shove against the rest of the gem and crack it open-the rest of his body tumbled out and forward, into the dust and dirt that clung greedily to his wet scales.

The next thing he saw as he was curling up (rather ungracefully) to stand was Hemlocke. They- Ah, they had chrysalized too. Blue eyes flicked over the remnants of garnet strewn about opposite of him before he judged on the alien. No... Wing hands? He was the only one to suffer this new growth, then.

Awkwardly, the two of them pressed against the ground as if they were wings on a wyvern as the purple in the edge of his vision dragged his sight up to- Oh, crap. Vargas.

"O-Overseer!" Desert's voice croaked, at first, still with wet over his vocal cords. He'd hoped to have some time to devise an explanation, but.. No. Vargas was here, as was Hemlocke-

He'd have to think, and fast. Drawing himself up, his modified wings rested naturally on his shoulders to clasp on them as though it'd always been that way, his head shaking a little before being drawn up as well. Surprise was flushed from his system- He had to be professional.

@Hemlocke

Hemlocke's gaze turned groggily towards the sound of cracking behind it, standing on the tips of its toes and shaking off broad hind legs. It immediately took stock of the selenite, the clear lack of antlers the most obvious to him. His neck had been consumed by a mane and - are those arms? They were still attached to the wing, but seemed far more like a hand. The larger claws could be useful, if there was reinforcement -

Vargas's throat clearing jarred it. The odd alien's joints locked up, instinctively springing about a foot in the air and twisting. Pulling a near-perfect one-eighty in the air, Hemlocke straightened just as Desert did. "Overseer, sir - !" it twittered, ears immediately flattening down and head bowing.

It vaguely remembered the fox-dragon saying he'd shoulder the blame for this incident. One would think Hemlocke would consider trusting him with following through on that, but they would be wrong. In retrospect, the alien regarded Desert's promises as a bit empty. They'd collaborated in the past, even saved one another in the foggiest of memories. But, here, he had no incentive to be helpful, to own up to mistakes. If anything, he'd benefit from informing the Overseer that his Eye had been the one to land them both in chrysalises at once, had been the one to really instigate the fight. Hemlocke could lose its position for picking fights and falling flat in its tasks to spy and protect these chrysalises.

So, it stepped forwards with a shake of its wings and steadied itself despite the glaring harshness of the light, still. "We - we were fending off some rats from the chrysalises, sir." Its voice wavered, and it repeated once over, "and we chased some rats off -" Hemlocke coughed, averting its gaze. "I - used some sort of magic I'd forgotten and it landed us both in a chrysalis."

Two completely different stories offered, but at least the latter was a half-truth. The odd alien was shaking, swallowing down its nervousness.

@Vargas

And there was Desert. At first, Vargas didn't note the subtle changes--but he wouldn't be an Overseer if it wasn't for memory and attention to detail. As it coughed and stumbled into the sand, wet with fluid, he observed the clinging, damp mane, the additional, powerful-looking digits at the bend of its wing, and--Fewer pointy parts than usual, eh?

Vargas listened, expressionless and still, as he towered over the two. He heard Hemlocke's explanation, and quickly worked his mind back to what he'd found. There'd been just the stones, blood, and glass. There'd been no smell of rat, nor any dead rats, nor any rats left over chewing at the chrysalids. That didn't mean it was impossible, of course.

So what were his options..? And why lie? He observed them for a moment longer. If they are lying, and he wasn't at all entirely sure that they were; rats could have been involved--
then they are trying to cover up something worse. They were misbehaving. And IF they are lying, they knew they were doing wrong. A lesson learned, he hoped. What had he to gain from pressing the topic? To learn a worse truth was to be forced into punishing them. And it wasn't that he needed them--he didn't, not at all--but they were still useful to him. And anyway, for all his ominous looming and unsmiling stares, he found them somewhat amusing.

Vargas, then, cleared his throat. "Good," he began, slowly. "I certainly knew that the two of you would not be so foolish as to force both guardians of these precious chrysalises into uselessness at once. And I of course know," he added, and leaned just a little closer, "that the chosen of Overseer Vargas would not be so foolish as to-" (and Vargas thought quickly, trying to cover all the bases)-"plan rebellion, fight one another, play with unknown magics, or anger the Masters. As completely randomly-chosen examples," he added, with a stern glare. He hoped he'd gotten one right. In point of fact, his working theory was that they were disagreeing about how to serve the Masters while planning rebellion, and it had blossomed into a fight. That's what he expected, anyway; that's what they all did. Had he known the weird, love-hate angst the two had fallen victim to, he would have been baffled, most likely, at best. "Because I know my servants are exactly the creatures," he went on, pushing up and pacing to the chrysalises, "to indeed guard these stones with their lives." He paused.

"How strange, though, that they show no sign of damage by rats." He slipped a brief, level stare to the two, and then quickly moved on. "Status report. How are your bodies?" Vargas nodded toward Desert Rose. "I see changes, there, Champion Thirty-Five?"

@Desert Rose Thirty-Five

It seemed the both of them were surprised, then. Desert, warily eyeing Hemlocke, ran a sharp set of claws through his mane from his wings, feeling new, alien sensations as he tugged out wet and curls from the hairs as if he were combing a beard. He... Still wasn't sure he liked it.

Hemlocke had begun with excuses. Did it not trust him? Well- Okay, that was understandable given what they had just went though, but Desert still didn't put faith in it on this. Was it taking the lead so it could rat him out? Why wasn't it telling the truth- it was prove better for Hemlocke that way, anyways.

"Yes," he added. Mentally, he kicked himself for even wanting to speak, but- "It was something like this glass magic we'd put around them. It may be the proximity." He shook his head- or perhaps it was just... An uncovered spell they'd both found.

He knew when to shut up, at least. Vargas- he didn't sound as angry as he'd anticipated, more like a stern, disappointed parent. He mentally winced at that. At the listing of reasons, he swallowed softly, wings drawing together. He stepped aside, noting how his joints moved without their weight behind them to look back to the growing creatures as well. "Of course." They wouldn't do those things, none of them! ... Totally not.

Well, they would fight. Let's see how long they'd take this time.

He may have seen through their facade, though. His jaw dropped at first to give another excuse- but, no, something more important to address. His mouth snapped shut and tongue ran over the roof of his mouth. There wasn't a scar. "Yes, I'm... This is a new development," he gave on the changes. The dragon's body twisted to look around himself, wing pulling out and hooked claws twisting. Fully functional, yes. His elbows, as well, had a lack of antlers, and he felt it along his jaw as well.

He pulled a clot of hair from the mane on his neck with jagged claws, noting a more developed thumb along the side of his wrist. "Overall, good. Perhaps my stone's judged me fit for some safety precautions this time." He let the drying hair fall from his talons with a shake of his arm. "The mane is thin- it may prove useful in protecting attacks there. Otherwise, I don't feel anything particularly different, other than what you can see." He wiggled his body as if he was exploring new skin.

He stepped forward, though, assessment complete. "How are the chrysalises? No changes?" They looked as big as ever, especially with Vargas's dwarfing the others. There was also that oily one he'd wanted to mention- his eyes were right on it- but... One thing at a time.

@Hemlocke

Hemlocke took the indirect verbal punishment quietly and - well, like a Champ, aside from the persistent shake of its tiny little frame. He knows I'm lying, was its first thought, as it tensed and forced itself to not lean away or scatter into the crags while its Overseer leaned close and pulled rank. Shut the fuck up, you piece of sand, was the alien's second, as Desert 'corroborated' its story, not altogether lying. The magic had been like the glassy spurs, albeit... made of its own bones. The fox-dragon looked like he was going to say something else, but wisely tied his own tongue. Hemlocke stared at the floor - suddenly very interested in tracing a crack with its eyes - as Vargas spoke of no damage to the chrysalises. Not a sign of rats.

The Overseer knew, but seemed to do little about it. Punishment, expected, never came. Or, was the anticipation just that? The quiet knowing that they'd done wrong and attempted to cover it up, only to have the door flung off of their dirty little secrets?

It was almost too easy to distract itself with their statuses and the chrysalises. Hemlocke eyed its wings for a moment and swayed its tail. Hoisting onto its toes and moving to perch atop a fieldspur, it waited for Desert to finish before beginning on its own: "I've remained the same and feel as if I'm fully functional, Overseer, sir." Short and to the point, words clipped with no embellishment. Defaulting.

Ruby-red eyes drifted towards the chrysalises, making the very same assessments as its - companion? ~~friend?~~ mortal enemy? rival? It'd come back to that later. Vargas's chrysalises were immense compared to the other three. They seemed to, at the moment, match one another in size, any space between swallowed up. Hemlocke's garnets were fairly small, as expected, and the selenite was relatively similar. Smaller, maybe.

"They seem to be progressing nicely," it chirped towards Desert, then idly started to stare at the oily-black chrysalis embedded into the wall, "but, sir - we don't recognize the stone in the wall, there. It was not there before." Before, as in, when they had given life and stone to all of these neonates.

@Vargas

Vargas stared at Desert Rose as the desert dragon spoke of the magic. There had been magic done--that he had to admit, if begrudgingly, to himself at least. After all, he'd found glass and blood everywhere. But he didn't care for the Champion to try and elaborate further on what Vargas 1. considered a likely lie in the first place and 2. he'd already graciously moved past. And so, as the Champion spoke, he stood up and simply stared at him for a very long, very silent, very staring moment.

But... he didn't know for sure that they were lying. Or rather, he was pretty sure--given the utter lack of rats or their stink when he'd come back; but the tunnel was dry, not good for scent. More than that, he knew that to punish them for insolence was likely to have to kill them. And to fail to do so-... He decided to be more straightforward, then, even at Desert's single sentence about the magic.

"GOOD," Vargas suddenly said, and the word boomed. "Because if my Champions were foolish, and my chosen servant was lying to me," and here he stared brief but hard at Garnet--at Hemlocke--"and if I did not punish them accordingly, I doubt the Masters would approve. They might insist that I do, and be unhappy that I did not, so it is VERY GOOD THAT YOU ARE BEHAVING WELL," and now, suddenly, his voice was a roar.

Just as quickly, he turned, in a sweeping twirl of violet skin and grace fit for a very large, very spiky ballerina, and approached the oil-slick of a stone glinting from the crevice in the wall. He made no mention of Desert Rose's changes, for now, nor of their questions, bar the mention of the dark stone. "I'm glad you asked," he went on, smoothly, his tone now a normal growl. He seemed to be grinning. "I do not know if either of you met her. Do you remember the Forsaken Revenant?" He looked back, amusement in his face.

He'd liked her. She was like him; and she was tough, and fierce. "I can't be sure. I wasn't here when she returned to her stone. It may well be another, but I hope that it is her. It is the right size," he added, musingly, as he looked back over it. "She trained the new creations! She taught and fought in the Pit. She was a fighter! And a damn good one," he added, admiringly.

She had, in fact, been his predecessor--in a sense. He was her improved design. And she had worked for him, under him. But there was something about her company that he had enjoyed, if only her strength. ...Vargas was probably the sort who'd have been best friends with himself, really. And was Vakornol a female Vargas? Well, she was the closest thing there was.

It would be good to see you again, he thought to himself.

@Desert Rose Thirty-Five

Of course, Hemlocke would cow at the idea of lying, its fear easily taking over. Not Desert- not the champion who'd built his life on it. Instead, Desert only stood with his head high as Vargas stared down, looking back with an unassuming face.

Of course they were lying. Of course Vargas would know. Of course Vargas would raise his voice, his words echoing hard around the three of them.

Perhaps this was a fitting punishment for Hemlocke. Let it worry on what may happen, what could have happened. A lack of punishment in this case was just sentencing it to devise an even greater one for itself. Well played, Overseer. Of course, the warning was there for him as well, but he leaned towards pushing it in the back of his mind for him to mull over later, with things he could have said.

Desert's wing-claws flexed as Vargas turned. He had to twist, somewhat, and step aside to look past him, watching the unmoving chrysalis.

The title rang a bell. His memory, though, was leaky as is, and all it did was sound familiar to him. "I've heard of her." His voice was at its normal volume, yet soft in tone. He was preoccupied with digging in the files of his brain, lost papers corrupted to the sands of time.

Training new creations sounded excellent, though. "She would prove to be a useful asset in these times, then, sir." If she decided to emerge. What had that Merchant done to wake the champions up all those cycles ago? It was faulty nonetheless- there were still some chrysalises closed as far as he was aware.

He wondered who they contained. He couldn't remember the trial he'd run directly before the last. They must all be from that one, right? He... Didn't actually know what had caused him to retreat to his chrysalis. That was concerning.

Perhaps he could find someone to teach him some spells to look into his past. But, for now, they could do with some other older beings in these caves that aligned with their cause. He couldn't imagine what she looked like. If she shared the Overseer's stone, they must be similar, right?

@Hemlocke

Hemlocke, tried and failed to steel itself against the next flurry of booming words - they were all bass in submissive ears, the tone all that it gathered properly. Disappointment, implied warnings, subterfuge. Manipulation was, at times, much more effective than a grab, a bite, torturous methods. For the odd alien, it was a knife turned back upon itself.

But, the moment had passed, and the Overseer seemed pleased by the sight of the chrysalis, unbroken and unchanging as it was. Faced with both oil-slick stones at once, Hemlocke noted that they must at least be of adjacent types. Perhaps variants, but within the same grouping of gem-species. Forsaken Revenant, it mulled quietly, obediently, doesn't strike me as familiar. The further descriptions weren't helping with the mind-fog obfuscating every seemingly important memory. "Her name doesn't seem familiar to me," it began, quietly, with another dip of its head, "anything specific before our awakening is - vague."

An internal wince rolled through its body as Desert referred to this - Revenant as an asset. Poor words? Beings worthy of an Overseer's respect couldn't simply be referred to as useful assets. Training and sport combat were signifiers of elevated status... at least, if memory served correct.

It chirruped after a long pause spent gazing at the chrysalis, "do you think that she will awaken soon, Overseer, sir?"

@Vargas

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