ORIGIN

He strode into Polaris in silence, his gaze empty. One eye was blind--blue-gray and empty--the other, pale blue, lost in thoughtful focus.

There were shadows shrouding him--not hiding him, no, but a wispy, smoky sort of darkness that clung to him like ink in water. There were whispers, too: incessant and soft, barely-audible to those close by. It was these that distracted the Black Dog; he was always on the edge of comprehension. The words would be nearly recognizable, meaning almost clear to him, and then they'd slip away.

At times, he still saw visions: imagery, in his mind, of ancient war and clashing weapons, of fangs and claws and blood.

And the rock behind him, as he walked, darkened.

He had been instructed to enter Polaris, and to spread the void here: and he intended to do just that. Shadow was not... bad, it wasn't wrong, or unnatural. It had always been a part of who he was and this, like all else he'd encountered in life, was surely offering merely knowledge, wisdom, to those who could learn to listen.

Black saw no issue in laying that offer out for others to see.

A black cloak wrapped him, literal cloth beneath the wispy shadows; draped over his shoulders, down his back, one clawed hand clutching it into place. He wasn't sure why he had it, but the Collector had told him that he had to wear it, and so now he did.

He had no real reason to question this. And anyway, his mind was on the whispers.

Black padded his way toward the Spire, pausing to glance up at it, eyes narrowed against its glare. It was hard to see, in its light, and he turned away before kneeling, placing one clawed hand against the rock. Nothing happened, yet; but the ground beneath him still passively decayed, shifting more gradually to a dull and oily black.

Black did not answer, straightaway, his focus deeply on his magic. This new twist to his element was still very new to him, and learning it--toying with its subtle differences--would take time. It was still darkness, yes, but it had a nature of its own. Still, it responded to him powerfully, now, the black stain darkening the ground beneath his hand and spreading like a dry pool, a spreading shadow, all around him.

Qisziux's voice, at first, was but a backdrop to the incessant whispering, so much that Black at first, what with his concentration, tuned it out. It was only after he had finished that he stood, straightening, and turned to face the little creature.

He peered down at it.

"The Dog is to spread shadows to the stone," he informed it, even as his mind slowly lurched into motion once more. This lizard--it had been present before, had it not-? Here, in Polaris-... He thought he had seen it with Max.

It felt so long ago, now.

He was unaware of the reptile's feelings; he assumed it was being loud simply to be heard.

Black became abruptly aware of the darkness rapidly spreading toward the child; his magic had been far more potent than he'd expected. "Move back," he rumbled, more sharply, stepping forward toward Qisziux, "if you do not wish to become touched by it, yourself." He was already in motion, striding toward the little lizard, as if to pick it up and move it away himself if it did not move fast enough.

Black went silent, perhaps puzzled. He straightened back up--nearly falling, this bipedal form still quite new to him--as the light flashed in his eyes, too bright; and then he took one step backward. It didn't seem to be fear, so much as acknowledgment, and his head tilted as not one but two blinded eyes peered vaguely down in the lizard's direction.

"Do you fear it?" the Black Dog asked, with no real emotion in the question. If anything, there was slight bafflement. "It is only darkness, Crawler," and apparently he'd designated the Gila with a new name, or title; "It is nothing to fear. There is knowledge to be had, beyond the whispers. It is ancient," he added. And then, silence as he stood there, waiting for his vision to return. He seemed to be in no hurry--either to further act on his orders, just yet, or to take any action in regards to Qisziux.

Black turned, and stared, for a time--blind, unseeing--down at the lizard. Or at least, its direction.

"The Dog's thoughts are, and were, his own," he answered, slightly more severely. As if to decry his assurances, images flashed before him--combat, urges of violence. For the briefest moment, he was deeply, suddenly tempted to step forward and to crush the lizard, to kill it--though he didn't quite know why.

He turned away. Long strides took him several yards away, leaving the broad patch of corrupted earth between himself and Qisziux.

"The shadows have no use for power. They simply are." He knelt, then, his back to Qisziux, clawed hands splayed across the rock once more. "It is but another form of magic. A purer one," he added, and stared blindly at the only thing he could see--a war, flashing past the corner of his darkened eyes.

Nothing happened beneath him, as yet--nothing past the faint corruption that lingered wherever he walked, at least.

Black did not answer straightaway.

This wasn't because he was considering the child's words. Instead, he was listening, still and silent, to the whispering that had risen in chorus against his ears. It was insisting... something. He could not pick it out. He listened, and tried to understand, but he could not.

"I bring shadows, that others may hear, if they wish; and go to learn." A pause, as he looked down again, staring--his vision only slowly returning--at the rock with his one good eye. Incoherent whispering- ...Distracted, he tried to remember what he was saying. That... the corruption was not forced--that not all were called... "Not all will answer."

"It would be unwise," the Black Dog answered to this last, after some consideration. To kill him-... yes, that's what the whispers seemed to be urging. But Black had his task laid out, and he focused, for now, on that.

As he knelt there, however, dark flickered about him. He shook himself, briefly, blinking; and then half-turned, his face visible beneath the makeshift hood.

Black oil dripped, now, down his muzzle from both eyes, as if the corruption had struck him, rather than the ground beneath. He seemed to stare, sidelong, at the gila--with only his blind eye.