ORIGIN

Pride stared down at what, to all appearances, was another patch of mud like any of the others in Cetus: rank, churned dirt flooded with several inches of water.

"So tell me again--how the hell did you do this?" he asked, blankly. He was keenly aware of the enormous dragon hulking slightly to one side of him, aware of its shift of wing-leather as it turned to crane its head down to peer at him.

"I BROKE THE GROUND," Dread responded--simply, loudly, like every other facet of his being. Pride sighed through his nose, wondering how to handle this. As his silver gaze lifted, darting here and there for inspiration, his mind wandered. There is a sort of elegance in his simplicity, I suppose. There is certainly no complexity in him, and Pride glanced sidelong at Dread. "I'll have your gemstones for you in a minute. I just need to think about how to do this, first."

At his side, Dread huffed and stirred, and Pride could feel his impatience, feel that he was about to complain. But for his own part, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated the situation that lay before him.

He was not magically exhausted--he'd hardly used any of his power in the battle--nor was he in any way wounded. But Cetus had a way of flipping his magic on its head, he'd found; and he didn't want to make too much work for himself.

The task at hand: try to dig out the Gembound that Dread had inadvertently buried here. Dead, now, perhaps, or chrysalized, but it had to be done. And if he could figure a way to do that while making gemstones to pay Dread for his aid, all the better; it'd be a waste of magic to have to do all this work twice.

"I could simply form gemstones in the mud; it'd be easier to dig out. Shore it up, perhaps--the sides--with stone, as well... It will take some work," Pride considered, aloud. Eyes lifted to the massive trees nearby. "I could simply find a dead tree and translocate it with the mud..."

Pride blinked, staring up sidelong at Dread, sudden--well, dread in him. The dragon had always been loudly-demanding, but patient and tractable enough; docile, for the most part. His speech had remained simple and child-like. Now, though, there was a sudden deadly edge to him, the voice deeper, the words more complex.

He was serious, and Pride grimaced. He might be able to take Dread in a fight--might being the operative word--but it wasn't something he wanted to test and anyway, the dragon made for a useful ally.

Before he could make any assurances, however, the dragon was in motion, tail slashing down through the air, magic tearing open the ground beneath. Pride scrambled, as the mud briefly parted, to act in time. He scrambled to the edge (settling the spell in his mind; and he knew it, now, recognized it now that he was watching--the magic that had trapped Reseda, he thought)--and looked, with darting gaze, for the glint of a chrysalis below.

Mud, rocks--the briefest, filthy glitter of blue--There!

"I have it! Keep it open!" he cried, wrapping his mind, and his magic, around the chrysalis and wrenching it upward with a grunt of effort.

Pride grimaced, eyes widening, at the bellow; he startled and nearly dropped the damn chrysalis!

"HELL-" and he scrambled, now that he could properly see it, now that it was nearly clear of the mud, to haul it up the rest of the way.

There was a glint of blue-green, the dizzying sensation of impossible weight heaving upward, and then Pride staggered back with a gasp as it at last cleared the ledge and slammed down into the wet mud.

It almost immediately started to sink, again, but Pride knew that it only had a foot or so of mud to contend with, up here, and then would fuse to any stone it could find.

He peered down, watching as the fissure slipped back shut, tons of mud sliding slowly back in to close the gap. In the ensuing silence, he became aware, past his own panting, of a rhythmic, gentle gust of hot air to his right--and he turned, blinking as he realized that Dread was mere feet from him, staring fixedly at him.

As Pride stared up at the dragon, horror gripped him. It seemed suddenly as though he was held transfixed by a serpent's glare, the ember eyes flaring and burning, their fire spilling out to engulf him. The jet scales bled black, their not-color shrouding everything all around the pinpricks of staring flame--

Pride staggered back with a cry, fear wrenching his gut. He blinked, logic wrestling with emotion, his mind trying to wriggle past the fear to alert him that something was wrong, that this terror was unnatural, illogical. But how could it be, with the twenty-six-foot dragon staring down at him, threatening to eat him if he did not comply with its wishes-?

The fear faded, never having reached true terror, and his heartbeat thump was suddenly loud and foreign in his ears.

"Don't do that again," he snarled harshly, hoarsely, fear driving him into anger. Dread's implacable fiery stare gave no answer, simply staring, waiting, and so Pride turned. He'd made promises, and the dragon had kept his end of the bargain.

The stag focused on the mud once more.

The first stone to form was not as large as he'd have liked, but it was mostly gold-hued, as Dread liked them, and Pride glanced up to the dragon warily.

Now he was feeling rather worn; the constant casting had not been kind to him. But he wasn't done yet.

Pride took a deep breath, and steeled himself for another attempt.

The weariness became dizziness, exhaustion threatening to set in. The edges of his vision flickered. The mind-tampering had not helped--but Pride, regardless, was finding it difficult to focus.

What if I cannot finish-? he thought suddenly, and it was a stray thought, an errant one, but somehow, staring up at the dragon staring back down at him, it abruptly felt urgent.

As he took a breath, a pause, a rest, he became keenly aware of the soft gurgling of the chrysalis settling in the mud to his right. He glanced to it, then to Dread again, and then down at the mud.

"You did well in the fight," he offered, hoping a little flattery might smooth the dragon's fins some. Dread had, in the past, seemed a prideful thing.

But he stole a glance up, and found that Dread was still staring at him, unblinking and implacable, fins still stood quite on end. ...Hell, Pride thought, for the third time in as many minutes, and found irritation flickering through him. The dragon was choosing now to suddenly have a backbone-? Of all the times-...

He harnessed this aggravation, trying quickly to channel this energy into his magic.

Nothing came of it, this time--he strained, and focused, but his magicka flickered and failed.

Panic flared through him, and he glanced up, taking one step back. Sudden, horrified realization hit him: if he'd already worn himself out, then his greatest strength--his weapon, and his shield: magic--would not be there to save him.

"I need time. Perhaps a rest, but I will make you your stones. I have used a lot of magic, today," he tried explaining, slowly.