ORIGIN - Town Hall

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Doctor had landed in the stands with a few soaring beats of his huge and feathered wings. He'd immediately felt dwarfed by the dragons, but he stayed carefully away from them, settling his feathers and his feet on one of the old stone benches.

Then, he watched. And listened.

He wondered, too, and he was surprised that he was the only one to call out the obvious question.

"I have never asked, I'm simply curious; to whom are the ahh... 'products,' to be sent? Who is it who needs them, and for what purpose?" It was with a sort of keen sense of productivity that he asked; surely there was a faster way to reach their goals. Perhaps Doctor could help!

Other than that, he remained silent, listening with some surprise to vehement refusals, opinions he hadn't thought existed. Surely these others knew that this was for the benefit of all of them-? The survival of the group?

Temperantia was silent. They had come like most of the Seven. Temperantia listened to discussions of the gembound with utter silence. Stock still. But beneath their smooth chitinous exterior, anger boiled within the fledgling angel. A veritable storm. This 'Vargas' already filled Temperantia with unease. But the words it spoke were unconscionable. Irredeemable. Not only that, but Astraea was here. If not for Astraea would promote them, think well of them, then it only confirmed them as an ally of Astraea. An enemy.

But Temperantia would not resort to violence. Even if... if it would save gembound. No, they would hold trust in the kingdom. The kingdom would preserve order. And if they weren't enough, Temperantia would stop them theirself. Not with violence, conversion as... as She had. But words. The words of the black horse struck true with Temperantia. Temperantia would lend their voice to the dissenters. "This is immoral," Temperantia said, eyes narrowing. "This is wrong! You would give up your spawn to these--these torturers of gembound?"

Temperantia was quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words. "The Hive would take gembound. Young gembound and indoctrinate them. Force them to do their will."
The words felt sour on their tongue, wherever that organ was. As if they were speaking blasphemy. Temperantia could not will themselves to speak of Her poorly. They could not say Her name in such a negative context. But...the Hive was not Her. She was still good in some way...they were sure of it. But the hive was different. A collective. Not her. They did not have to say her name. "This has shades of that. Who knows how they will turn out afterwards. What ideas these masters will put into their heads. Giving up your children to these...these masters. I would never. I would rather die than see newly hatched gems die for nothing. I am against it."

They would face those that controlled the caves themselves, if need be.

"When I speak."

When I think.

Pride felt as though the world were falling apart around him.

Astraea was here--Astraea, speaking in support of taking the children, making threats, and-... The brown stag's words, too, rubbed him the wrong way. He turned toward him with a flash of silver eyes. "Ahh, thank you for the correction. I would dislike speaking misinformation," he fluted smoothly, unintentionally mirroring the other stag's unspoken words. His tone, however, took on an icy undercurrent as he went on. "Unfortunately, it changes little of my point. If one might argue that her power was not what we saw--then we need only to look to what she could have done, with what remained. Or what she did to the other one, who came at her with arrow and bow. If one might argue that morally, this creature might not have done that," he added, a little pointedly, staring straight at Astraea--and oh, he couldn't have possibly known what he was doing, here--"One only has to look to what she did to Tenzin. It was wrong--all of her actions were, really--but if we are left with little choice then we must work with what we have."

He hated this, all of it. He'd styled himself a guardian. He saw himself as a protector. And yet now he was being asked to lead them down a path to death and servitude, but what option did they have-? Dragon spoke--one single question--and Khloros spoke out against it (and Pride felt horror bloom in his chest that the black horse showed his face here, let alone spoke directly against the Master). Pale hooves shifted uneasily from one direction to the next, as though the normally-composed Pride could not decide what to do, which way to look. Nervousness fluttered in his gut. The dragons, bellowing refusal or questioning it further. And he felt for them--he did. Azizos, Mercurius, in the stands--watching. What did they think of him, now; what did the Seven think-?

Sellout, he thought, anguish twisting in him. Coward.
And the unknown brown vulture's question, one Pride hadn't thought to ask--to what war were these soldiers being sent-?

He looked between Aure, and Vargas, trying to understand. "So you are saying the children themselves might face injury or death in your 'testing' but that they, themselves, would not be sent away?" he asked, thinking hard. Aure's suggestion, at least, brought him a bloom of desperate hope. "Yes-... If we were allowed to raise them? And perhaps you can alter these tests to be a little less fatal," he added, turning to stare at Vargas.

Vargas-... who Astraea was suggesting be a Master.

listen I don't even know what fully happens to Tenzin yet but-

Astraea was here. Master Astraea. Vargas felt his heart jump, a little, sudden additional wariness, full attention to every twitch and word, strong. He mustn't misstep. Mustn't misspeak. He didn't question first-class-ships, had it been? What the hell was a first-class? Or a ship? -He blinked the thought away with six toxic eyes, and listened.

My proposition in this meeting is for Overseer Vargas-... Blood rushed through his head. As calm and controlled as the Overseer always was, Astraea's words still took several seconds to process. Would you like to take up the mantle as a Master? We are short on Masters... There is also Farina, who is trapped... Would you like to take up the mantle? A creator, an architect--need to open a path... Draco has been lost. A Master? Thoughts ran confused, repeating, in his mind.

Overseer Vargas blinked, and bowed, crouching low which was not easy with his oversized forelimbs. When he spoke, it was with genuine awe and respect, with Astraea's rage against Nemean forgotten, with the knowledge that the stag had seemingly ignored his responsibilities not even touched upon. Perhaps later Vargas might wonder if he was to be the whipping boy for the dismal state of the cave. Or if Astraea simply felt like letting someone else do his work. For right now, he was simply, blindly, loyal.

"I would be honored, Master Astraea," he replied simply, managing only by a hair's breadth to avoid accidentally calling him Overseer in his own excitement. "Would you have me seek out Farina? Or head the push to retake Draco?" His tone was hungry, eager.

It was Dread's bellow that pulled him from his thoughts, his answers--and then others were speaking, shouting, and Vargas felt that it was his duty to spare Astraea from having to delve through the more meaningless answers. "Fighting back will be death for us all," he answered, his roar bluntly-spoken. He had seen, and felt, what they had not. It was simply... out of the realm of possibility, in Vargas' mind. Dragon, Khloros, they were directing their questions to the Master and that was not Vargas' place to intervene.

Oliver--the little black genetic mess--and the others echoing the "moral" argument had him in a sneer. "There is no RIGHT, or WRONG. There is alive, or there is dead! If you wish to rebel for what you think is right then by all means, wind up dead." Eyes flicked to Aure, and then to Pride, as alternatives and adjustments were suggested. It sounded fine to Vargas; all he needed was their training. Teaching them to walk and talk, a place for them to live and eat--that spared he and his team that effort. It'd be all the less issue if someone else was providing the beasts sustenence as they grew.

And if Astraea's offer is what I think it is, I may not even need them... he realized, and he marvelled.

@Reign (etc.) @Aure (etc) @ me lmao @Damask (and imre/james have already replied)

His ears flicked at Pride's words, and then flattened when he mentioned Tenzin. Narrowing his eyes, Astraea wished death upon the white creature more than he had ever wished for anyone. Pride was everything he could have been—pure—but instead, he was this. If he had to be this creature at all, could he not have retained his purity?

"There is no right or wrong for Lord Dhracia," he said simply, refusing the urge to call Pride a fucking moron for trying to argue morality for the Hands. They had no morals. They lived free lives doing as they saw fit, all in the name of Chaos.

Vargas bowed and accepted the offer, for which Astraea was grateful—if they truly did wish to get the nest operational again, he would need dedicated Masters. "We will speak more about this later," he commented quickly, before the crowed began to fire their disagreement from the stands.

His ruby eyes turned to view them, drifting across them as their voices rang out. They did not want to give up their children (and, what was a ship?) to whatever force might take them.

But when Khloros approached and began to speak, Astraea fought to swallow the bile that began to bubble up in the back of his throat.

"Captive?" he broke in. "You were born here. You know nothing else! You know not what it is like to be captive!" he bellowed, fungus beginning to grow outwards from him—a slave? Astraea bristled. He was not a slave. He was chosen to be here, and he agreed to be here. "And what have you seen outside of this place? Something that It showed you, from the Spire? It does not care about you, It does not want to free you—It only watches and lets things take their course, unless Its own home is threatened!" He took several steps forward.

"If you want to pray to something that might help you, pray to order—the Whole, and see if even HE helps you! Hah! You want such a thing, you are barking up the wrong Fate!" Another step forward. "But I will be dead before you smother our own Fate right out of His own nest, and it will be a dark day in End before you see Him gone!" As it had been.

"I have nothing to fear," he answered lastly, his voice lowering and freezing with an newfound chill. "I only obey, or fail. I was punished once. I died." His lips pulled back from his teeth. "And the very same being that cradled you beneath the Spire gave life to me again—as this. It muddled my mind as it muddles yours, but you are too weak to wake from Its dream. You slumber through the days waiting for paradise, but you will know only hell. You want to break cycles?" Astraea lifted his chin, glaring down his nose to Khloros. "It created cycles." How cruel it must be for Earth.

Finally, he turned to the others. They did not want to give up their children, they did not want to give up their stones—fine. So be it. He didn't want them, born of a Fate that did not belong here. He didn't want their magic, first generation of the Divine Essence. He sneered at the very thought.

"KEEP YOUR CHILDREN," he responded, ears flattening. "Keep your second and third generation children, then," growled his voice. Children! As if they had raised them from dumb blind infants into grown adults! Magic did half of the work for them! He bit back the bitter taste in his mouth, again. They did not know what it was like to be a parent—they had been parents for only a few years, if that! A fire burned inside of him at the thought that they might hope to ever understand what it was to be a parent!

"I get it! I do," he voice raised, then lowered. "I have been a parent for longer than you can conceptualize, I have raised—alongside Tenzin—our daughter. We overcame her disease, we watched her first steps, we taught her to swim, to read, to write—we even made it through her fancy for bad boy." His eyes rolled at the term that Tenzin had introduced him to. "And we fought to keep her here, but she released herself for you. She gave her magic, for you." Ruby eyes searched the stands for Black, but he was not here. At least, not visible. "Yet still, she was taken from us; Lord Dhracia has her stone and has filled it with life again." His brows pinched. He could not imagine what she might be going through, or Raheerah.

He shook his head. "So fine, keep your children. But when their designs are promising, they will need to learn how to fission and create feral copies of themselves—and these will be the products." That wasn't entirely true. "But I cannot guarantee the Hands will not also take some of the children that they find promising. I do not make that decision—and there is no fight to be had," he amended quickly, "because there is nothing to fight. If they are displeased, you die. You will not even have time to fight."

A deep breath, and then, "...so it is not about right and wrong, as Vargas says. It is about being alive and surviving—or dying." His eyes hovered on the winged ring. "The Hive are not on our side. In fact," ruby gaze shifted to Khloros, "that is the Whole to which you might consider praying to." A sneer.

To Doctor, he simply shrugged. "Wherever they are needed, by the Hands of Fate."

But he nodded to Vargas's words, his eyes settling onto Pride. "There is no less fatal—only stronger lives that can survive. If they die here, they will surely face worse death wherever they are sent if we pamper them and concede to easier lives." He frowned. "There is alive, or there is dead," echoed his voice as he turned back to view the stands. "And it is your decision. Rebel and die like those before you, or prove you are stronger, different—prove you can survive, despite what may be asked of you."

He shrugged, eyes once again finding Temperantia. "Or if you really would rather die, then so be it. Your stone will not go to waste."

There was a lot of discourse and yelling, raised voices and sneers—Imre was hardly following it at all! He did not understand what the arguments were about, but he nodded as the others expressed their displeasure from the stands. Yeah...! He didn't like the sound of giving up children, or being slaves, or... Well, he wasn't entirely sure what that was about. His fingers rolled on his arms, tapping as he curled himself tighter. He wanted to know more about it.

As the deer spoke, Imre tucked his head into the cavern his arms made. Why was he so angry! There was so much tension. It made Imre feel uncomfortable and he definitely didn't like it; but were those good points? Again, he felt like he didn't know enough. He wondered if there might be someone willing to explain more about this to him after, that could be neutral on sides and give him the most and least biased information...

James nearly jumped out of his skin at the feeling of a tongue on his fur, head whipping to the side to face Gaul, shaking like a leaf. Hooved and quadrupedal, like him and Pride... a herd animal. His muscles relaxed and he swallowed, slowly side-stepping so he was pressed into Gaul's side, eyes wide as he faced the center once again, though he perked up when he saw Khloros.

"Khloros?" he said, eyes wide, "No... he needs to leave- he'll be hurt!
He said if anyone saw him he'd be hurt- oh no..."

James looked up at Gaul, eyes wide and tail between his legs, "Wh-what's going on? I don't understand... they want us to give our gems up- won't it hurt? Won't giving up our offspring be... awful?"

He looked to Pride again, to his mentor and friend (perhaps more, but his little baby brain was as confused about parental bonds as ever, so he'd keep that slot open), wondering why Pride was standing among the creatures everyone seemed to think were... monsters. A realization dawned upon him. Looks didn't define the beast... it was their heart. And those who stood up there? Their hearts were black. Except for Pride, duh. He was okay.

"I should have stayed home..." he mumbled, ears down as he dropped to his knees and lay down, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible.

@Gaul

Khloros listened in silence, studying Astraea with a sort of aloof coldness. Oh, he could rant and rave all he wanted, but it amounted to the same thing, in the end.

He wasn't an 'architect.' He wasn't a 'master.' He was a scrabbling slave, afraid of his fate, apparently willing to even let family die to it. 'You slumber through the days waiting for paradise, but you will know only hell.' That is what I have been telling you, the black horse thought wryly. There was only this hell. Only that. It does not care about you. Maybe not, but Khloros--remembering gentle hands cradling his face--thought otherwise. Perhaps he'd been sent back not out of care, but necessity; but the creature had cared. There was no mistaking that.

"You are wrong, in saying that it does not care," he said, mildly, though much of what else Astraea said was too esoteric and foreign for him to pick meaning from.

"But remember this; for as long as you berate us for our ignorance, and yet refuse to enlighten us; for as long as you resign yourself to defeat, we cannot help you. You condemn yourself."

Still-... Prayer?

Was prayer a... thing? Did beings hear prayers; would the creature with the gentle face hear his, if he only called to it?

It seemed that the children, for now, were safe. Khloros glanced off at the forum exit; he would go to the Spire, then, and pray.

And he would see what, if anything, might answer.

exit Khloros unless stopped

Dread listened, but-...

...but there were just so many words.

Stuff about-... Captives, and a Dhracia (whatever that was) and Fate and Whole and... Dread also didn't know what a "conceptualize" was, or a "fission" (and he wondered, briefly and in a confused manner, if they were edible), and all in all it grated heavily on his nerves. He stewed and shifted, smoke pluming in twin threads from his nostrils as his irritation grew.

But-... He understood, at least, and at last, that Astraea was telling them that they could keep their children.

Dread was unsure about the rest of this, but that sounded like a victory to him. Narrowed ember eyes flicked to Vargas.

"DO YOU SEE? THE DEER-THING SAYS WE MAY KEEP OUR CHILDREN! DO NOT TRY TO TAKE MINE," he bellowed, and then leapt skyward, wings beating.

So far as he was concerned, this meeting was... over, probably?

exit Dread unless stopped/further addressed

Giggle's eyes narrowed as she listened, intently, trying to glean meaning from all of this. She couldn't quite make out much of what Astraea was saying but she did her best to commit it all to memory, nonetheless.

Lord Dhracia. Wholes, and Spire, and rebirth. Much of it was, as it was to Dread, a tad beyond her but one thing made her eyes widen, and she stood.

"Astraea," she called down--forgetting, for a moment, to use the title--but there was a sort of awe in her voice. She leapt at his words. "Might you... teach us to read, and write?" she asked, and her voice was only barely audible from down below.

It seemed... like such a terribly useful thing to know. The scratchings throughout the cave--Giggle had always know that they meant something. But what-?

And she didn't know what to offer him, aside from all the aid she and the Bonebound had already given. They'd protected Rezik--sort of, anyway; they'd wiped out Mother's nest. Was reading and writing so difficult a task that he'd refuse her? Or was she asking too much of one who cared for them so little?

She watched him, and she wondered.

rain stock: D Sharon Pruitt wiki commons; hyena Benjamin Hollis on flickr

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