ORIGIN - Goth Phase

Something had awoken in the hole.They shared Temperantia's shape. Their eyes. But not their brain. Their color. Their demeanor. Fundementally different. To say Temperantia was feeling off was to call the sun tepid. When they awoke in that hole, nothing was the same. Its wings could barely flex. Their feathers stiff and blackened. The pain was as etched into their memories, their mind, as much as the words.

Words echoed within their mind. A mind, which had before only been their own. These thoughts did not feel like Temperantia's own. But they were there. Implanted. A name. Dontacael. Mother. Temperantia must destroy Dontacael. Repeating, over and over. Whispers surrounded them. Within their mind. The same thing, the same name.

The name made them crave destruction. They wanted to revel in its destruction. And Temperantia knew the root. Astraea. Lied to them. Forced them to be rebuilt. Their body to burn. To be lashed by unrelenting heat until Temperantia felt they shouldn't be able to feel. Pain that lasted past the unconsciousness. And they were left with the aftermath. Burnt feathers, incomprehensible, hateful whispers in its mind. Visions of Mother burning. Being destroyed over and over again.

They wished it was a nightmare. This wouldn't have happened if Temperantia did not trust him. They cursed themselves for their naivety. Their blindness in trusting Astraea. The name itself instilled hatred. They would channel it. Every ounce of pain, of hatred Temperantia felt, Temperantia would pass on to Astraea. Astraea would feel every burn, every withered limb, every misfiring nerve Temperantia did. Temperantia would not make the same mistake again. They would not speak when they saw Astraea. They would destroy them. As Dontacael. Destroy the deer the next time their paths crossed. Temperantia did not know if it were the whispers, or themselves. But they craved the destruction of that being.

"Pride." Temperantia called. The angel trusted Pride would understand what was happening. Understand how to reverse whatever Astraea and that..foul thing had done to them. But even as they stood there, the whispers overtook their mind. Searching for any speck of white to destroy. Consume. But even as Temperantia called for the deer, Temperantia wanted nothing more than to move on. Search for Mother. Destroy Dontacael. And then, once Dontacael was eradicated, burned to ashes, the embers themselves snuffed, Temperantia would destroy Astraea.

"When I speak."

When I think.

@Pride

From the central hub of Orion's heart Jampa could look up at the arc of stone surrounding the forum, with most of the seats still intact thanks to their proximity to the cave floor. She had spent a few hours tracing back and forth among them. The seats had gaps between them much like the larger buildings, and she spent some time mulling over the significance, as one might investigate and ponder the relevance of Stonehenge.

She had tried studying it all from the highest point across the forum, and then the lowest; some angles afforded glimpses of the raised throne upon its distant platform, while others let her study the tower structure - distantly, anyway. The path to Tunnel I was one she had yet to walk, and she had learned to be cautious with Pride's guidance. Curious as Jampa was of her enviornment, she wouldn't take massive risks.

That said, Jampa was quite comfortable with the ruins. When the forum's puzzling truths did not become immediately apparent Jampa's interest waned. She headed away from the curving structure in the center and in to the surrounding passageways between the buildings, and there in the dark she heard a voice.

It wasn't the presence of the voice that made her pause, but the contents of the message. Someone was calling for her father.

It did not sound like James. Tenzin would have been sleeping beneath the waterfall of Pisces, so it could not have been him either. Jampa could not tell if it was a malicious calling or not; she did not even think to question it, and instead began to look around for the source of the voice - it had only called the one time, so she could have imagined it.

"Hello...?" Jampa called out, eventually. At one point she paused and used her ears, sensitive as they were, but she could not hear movement. As she turned her head and tried to stare obliquely in to the darkness, she thought she saw something catch the dim quartz-light, and had to double-take.

"Is.. Is someone there...?"

@Temperantia

Pride pushed up at the sound of the voice, sweeping out with graceful steps. He'd been resting, wakening gently from sleep, and ahead he spotted Jampa also creeping forward. He came up alongside her, leaning down to offer a gentle brush of his nose along her shoulder. "You can come, if you like," he told her warmly, amiably. "It is only-..."

Pride trailed off as he looked up, faltering in speech and step as the sight of the black-winged seraphim swept slowly into sight. "...Temperantia?" Horror gripped him. As his reason caught up he kicked back into movement, faster now, more urgent.

"Temperantia-? What happened to you?" he asked as he approached, worry knitting his brow and lacing his tone with worry.

@Temperantia

A white shape appeared first. Antlers. Hooves. "Prid--" Temperantia began. Then, their voice got caught in their throat. Feathers. Wings. "You are not Pride." Temperantia said dumbly. Temperantia floated towards them, from the dark of Orion. Yellow eyes glowing. They watched Jampa silently. Confused. How much had Temperantia missed? "Who are you? Nevermind. Where is Pride." Temperantia said. Curt. To the point.

"Astraea." Temperantia said, voice low. They seethed at the word. Hatred in every syllable. Temperantia did not care if the whispers fueled their maddened rage. They would take the encouragement. Their wings trembled. Temperantia felt their skin crack as they trembled, raw pain adding fuel to the pure entropy gnawing at its mind. "Astraea he...betrayer. Betrayed us. Turned our mind, our body, against us. Look at us!" Temperantia said. Temperantia spread their wings, feeling the charcoaled skin and feathers crumble with the movement. Temperantia was growing to like the pain. It was something to fuel it. Something different from the new plague that encompassed its mind.

"Astraea did this! Left us with that...that thing. All we think of is Dontacael. Mother."

Temperantia felt a sudden urge to leave right then and there. Leave Pride and the white fawn, and kill the damn thing to get him out of Temperantia's mind. But Temperantia had to warn Pride first. Then, Temperantia realized it had spoken in rambles. Nothing made sense. "Nothing makes sense. We went to Astraea. We had things to speak with him of. We--we trusted Astraea. We...we wanted to prove Astraea wrong. Prove the Creator did not exist. He does. We...thought we could change the Creators mind. Redeem Astraea. The liar. Astraea said no harm would befall us. We have been nothing but harmed." Temperantia said, bitter. They wanted to lash out. Destroy something. Dontacael, their mind supplied. No, the whispers did. Temperantia brought black, tattered wings close.
"There is no redemption for Astraea. We must destroy Dontacael. Then Astraea."

"When I speak."

When I think.

@Jampa @Pride

...Betrayed? Pride could hardly believe what he was seeing; it was like a nightmare, like something he might wake up from any moment. What the hell had happened to them-?

He glanced to Jampa, worried--but sending her away now would do nothing helpful whatsoever. Instead he drew closer, offering his flank. "It's all right," he told her, in a murmur, and then looked to Temperantia again. "Can you tell me of this--Creator? Can you tell me who, ah, Dontacael is? I do not know the name," he explained, tone half apologetic.

Silver eyes travelled over the ring, the wings. "Are you in pain? I may be able to help you," he added, in explanation.

As for Temperantia's decisions, he couldn't say that he disagreed. Astraea's games had cost them all too much, by now. Maybe killing him would be for the best.

@Jampa (I went outta order here purely in case I'm a couple days getting back, hope that's okay!)

With her father there she felt much better. The voice was not one that she knew and as friendly as she wanted to be, she was also somewhat frightened; Jampa was a mild-mannered child and for all her precocious habits she was also, in the end, a shy one. With Pride leading her safely from the sleeping place through the dark she thought, maybe this is another of his friends, like James. A new friend for me. New friends were always worth it, right?

It was only a moment; Pride saw the figure and spoke a word, which later Jampa would understand was the creature's name. The way Pride's voice vacillated from the warmth and welcome he'd displayed for herself and the sheer horror that gripped it after was unnerving. She had never heard his voice in such a way before and it made the girl freeze, falling upon the deerborne instincts within herself.

Jampa's ears pivoted attentively toward the winged creature. She listened to its odd cadence and shared a few glances with Pride as the tale wove itself. They spoke of someone called Astraea, and someone else named Dontacael, which the girl misinterpreted as being a mother-figure (not aware that Mother was a name rather than a title). Themes of redemption went right over Jampa's head; she soon became discombobulated, feeling utterly out of place here while the adults had their conversation - a common occurrence that Jampa was learning to revile.

And her father would do what he did best: listen, mend, be a force of good. He would not know of Jampa's confusion or the stoking of resentful embers as he swept in to save the day; she did not speak, but watched bright-eyed as the pale stag attended his friend.

@Temperantia (sorry for the wait!)

"Creator," Temperantia echoed. Memories echoed. The burning. The void. The endless heat. The acute feeling of their own skin bubbling and cracking, being destroyed. The voice that called to it. Reshaped it. The way it spoke to Temperantia... the voices burned into their mind. Temperantia did not know how long they were quiet. Trapped in a prison of their memories. Their eyes were unfocused. No discernible emotion. And yet, a wince, a jolt, and they were back in the present. Away from that place.

"Dangerous. Violet. Green." Temperantia said. Low. Temperantia was quiet again. The thought about going back there terrorized their mind. The whispers called it back there. The black beads of oil they felt beginning to form proof they needed to. But that was the last place they wanted to be. "Dontacael. Mother." Temperantia said. Their twinned voices hissing the name with all the hate and fury the whispers provided. The visions provided. They were briefly no longer in front of Pride and Jampa. Temperantia's blackened feathers touched a section of white mold. They watched in revelry as it crackled and burned. And then, they were back. "No, not Mother. Dontacael. He is Mother, but he isn't. He...controls Mother. We are the cutting knife. We must destroy them both."

Temperantia couldnt help but laugh at Pride's question. Was Temperantia in pain? It was the first time they had truly laughed. Breathless. Unhinged. "We have known nothing but pain since waking." Temperantia said. Well that, and the growing desire to act on the Creator's vision. They had been Dripfed hatred for stability every second that passed. Every moment in the chrysalis. They looked first to Pride then Jampa. The pair of them. Temperantia folded their wings. Eyes narrowed. She was...quiet. Young. Temperantia carded through their memories, trying to identify the deer. Nothing stuck out. "I haven't seen you." Back to Pride. "What is their name? Are they your...child? When did this happen? We...how long have we been gone, Pride?"

The longer Temperantia looked at them, the more they found a rage growing. Found itself sick of their presence. Their pure white coats, and cervine bodies. A combination of the things Temperantia was beginning to hate the most. It was beginning to grate on them. But it would not bring them as much satisfaction as the destruction of either Mother or Astraea. The consumption of both, a hungry part of them said. The taking of Astraea's oil would satisfy them. But Temperantia didn't say any of that. Just stared at the pair blankly, as a rabid animal might.

"When I speak."

When I think.

((no worries abt being slow java!! im slow myself! Also sorry Temp just wants to talk about how much it hates dontacael))
@Pride

Pride stood silent, listening. He became aware--painfully aware--of the silent presence of Jampa at his side. He could not shield her from this completely. How much does she understand..? But he didn't want to ignore her, either. He was always... inclusive, as much as he could be. Children were but young adults. It was one reason for his brief disagreement with James on how to raise her: control and muffling of their thoughts and minds did nothing to develop them.

Nor did he want her terrified. He opened a link, briefly, a quiet murmur so he could try and explain to Jampa as best he could. He spoke aloud as he did so, but the telepathic link was for meanings. He wasn't certain that Jampa would understand it all without that link. "Jampa, this is Temperantia. They are one of the Seven. Sworn to protect innocents." Images and thoughts came with this, if brief: the concept of guardianship, an image of a white wolf standing proud, protective, in front of frightened faces. "Temperantia, this is Jampa. She is my daughter, yes. I would say you have been gone--I do not know; a cycle? Perhaps two?" Since he'd seen them last, at least. "Temperantia," he went on, looking to Jampa again--addressing her--"says they were in a chrysalis after a confrontation, and have learned some things." Meaning came with this, telepathically, but Pride gave few details--he still wasn't sure about them, himself. They are hurt, but I do not know how. I will try to find out more. It's important to gather as much knowledge as we can before ever acting on something rashly, he explained, and this part was all telepathic only. A lesson, to go with the incident--it was good to teach as he went, he thought. He tried to come across confident, calm, but he was a little rattled; he looked back to Temperantia.

"As far as your pain, I can heal it as best I can--it is tiring for us both, but it may help. A gift from Tenzin, this magic," he added, though notably perhaps, he made no mention of Tenzin being Jampa's other parent. "So what you are saying... please tell me if I understand correctly," and here he spoke slowly, thoughtful--unaware of Temperantia's rising disgust--"Astraea tricked you somehow--how?--and showed you this, Creator? And this harmed you, and all you can think about now is... you say Mother, and its creator 'Dontacael?'" Pride's brow furrowed. He'd known Astraea, of course, to be Mother's enemy. The stag had gathered them, aided in the charge in Cetus against the Hive, where first he'd glimpsed Temperantia to begin with.

Pride wondered, briefly (careful not to send this to his daughter, of course) whether Temperantia had simply... snapped, at last. If the stress, or perhaps something lingering and physical, of Mother's infection had finally driven it mad.

He hoped not.

But even if not--what were they to do-? Astraea had to answer for this, of course, if it were true. And Mother; this Dontacael..? What of them? What of this Creator? Pride had words, but little meaning to go with them. He hoped only that Temperantia had it within them to explain a tad more clearly.

@Jampa