ORIGIN

The creature had risen from a pile of dust and ruin, shaking flakes of silver-and-black from hunched shoulders. Around them was the typical debris of an awakening: large segments of stone that curved alongside the body in the manner of an eggshell, creating a halo upon the soil.

It was not his first time emerging. It was, however, an emergence in to an unfamiliar space. A loud, wet, strong-smelling mess of a place. His chrysalis was already sinking in to the marsh and soon there would be nothing left to prove he had emerged here.

As he prowled away from the remnants of the shell, Ibrahim's steps sank in to the loam. He felt mud squish between his toes and a seeping wetness overwhelmed his extremities. He snorted, pig-like, and carried his head as high as he could manage while he struggled through a deep section of the marsh water. A swarm of tiny hungry bugs buzzed around his exposed face and his ears flapped in response, trying to dissuade them.

When he came to a section of more solid land he was swift to pull himself out of the murky water and try to shake off; the mud was thick and made it difficult to move but not impossible, and when he finally got his last limb clear of the muck he stood there feeling it cool. The bugs moved on. He looked around as if half asleep, studying his surroundings.

As he peered around the area Ibrahim became aware of how loud everything actually was. It didn't seem that cacophonous until he was standing still and really listening. There were croaks, chirps, buzzes and hums; it seemed as if every shadow held some kind of tiny voice. Maybe the mist itself was alive with these many layered sounds, drawing them together in an eerie network of ghosts. The sounds were merely the fauna of Cetus; the lessers communicating however they were required to. The sound became white noise before long.

The newly awakened gembound adjusted to the darkness of the cave heart with relative ease. Somehow he knew not to be worried about the amalgamation of shadows obscuring things. It wasn't until a voice carried through the mist that Ibrahim fully comprehended his situation, roused from his distracted perusal of the darkness because of that sound. So different from the bugs and the frogs.

He did not say anything in response. Instead he shook his head and neck to rid them of any flecks of hypersthene that dusted his forequarter from his re-emergence, swallowed a snort of the air, and began to prowl. As he came through a barely-wide-enough gap in the trees he spotted them: soft, pale, and almost shimmering in the grey light that filtered through the marsh.

He draws a fresh breath in, tasting alien things in her scent. As he studies her now his expression betrays his suspicion of her, although after a moment so do his words:
"You don't belong here. Who are you?"

They looked a lot like him - but different too, in obvious ways. A tapered snout in place of his blocky wedge; a sharper aesthetic to their body, but four-legged and primitive like himself. He took a moment to tip his chin and glance at his heavy-set forelimbs with their patterned fur as if to compare himself to her. This scrutiny led him to notice something unsettling about the fringe of their silhouette.

It looked like... Her coat was moving. With a squint to his already beady eyes Ibrahim finally made himself known, ducking out from the shadows to approach with some caution; he was careful with where he placed his steps in case the ground gave way to soggy earth but otherwise his attention was fixed upon the stranger. When he was a little bit closer he could see it wasn't their coat that moved; there were bubbles, or something, forming in the air where the mist met their coat. It unnerved him.

Her answer was swift and her tone light, but that did not diminish the scrutiny that Ibrahim wore upon his face. The way she openly admitted to being from elsewhere only deepened his concern. He had been xenophobic from the start - when he had initially emerged it had not quite registered in his brain, but now that he was a little bit older he felt the immediacy of his distrust.

Questions spawned in his mind. "An explorer." he reiterates, enunciating the word with some derision. He wanted to ask her where she had come from and why; what purpose did exploring serve? Who did she serve? Because he could not fathom the thought of someone sneaking around the vicinity without an ulterior motive. He steps carefully around her in a crescent shaped path, watching as more bubbles appeared out of thin air only to pop away again. "I am Ibrahim." He answers as he strides.

When he pauses again its to adjust his weight, because the soil is a little bit too loose for his bulk. He half-steps towards some exposed roots and his claws scratch softly on the surface. "What is it you are looking for?" This space might hold secrets; it is certainly large enough and moody enough to invite investigation, but it is something Ibrahim is not open to. If this is to be his home then he must be careful about who he allows near.

The creature claimed to be looking around for cool stuff which was too vague for his tastes and his snout wrinkled to express his dislike of that answer; he snorts and then scowls. It would be wise for him to dismiss his worries but they are unshakeable, settling in the core of his being.

"There is nothing here but mud and mist." He drawls in her direction, his scowl vanishing briefly as he motions with his nose at the darkness intertwining the trees. "Unless you are here to hunt, in which case there is nothing here for you at all. It is all m—!" As Ibrahim states this there is no malice in his voice but there is a possessive sense of superiority. It is curtailed when something utterly bizarre happens.

The bubbles multiply quickly; as they pop in to existence they spread from around her pale coat and drift in to the dark, and his warning falls away to silence as he watches these strange little spheres dance on invisible paths. His body tenses and his scowl returns, this time flashing teeth.

He lunges at one particularly large bubble that's too close to his head and feels the shock of pain as his teeth scythe together. The mane down his neck bristles as he moves for another bubble, and then a cluster of smaller ones; but in each case they do the obvious and pop, leaving him to swallow air.

A frustrated grunt erupts from his chest.

"Stop that! Take your sorcery out of my swamp!"

He thought he was doing everything in his power to coerce this creature away. He snapped his teeth, his fangs shining slick in the veiled light, his shoulders hunched and overall demeanor being standoffish - then outright aggressive as he lunged closer; his snapping teeth cut through her words at the very least, so he did not hear the pitiful excuses falling from her lips.

"Get out! Get out get out get out!"