ORIGIN

The Sentinel took the banana after staring at it, for a moment. Claws then carefully pulled the peel apart, as Oliver was indicating he do via gesture; his bites were careful, the black teeth sinking in in silence.

Story upon story, and most of it was tucked away into memory, too fast to really gauge in the here-and-now. He took note of the fact that he had living 'relatives,' and of the mentions of each cave master in turn.

The banana was consumed, and the promised sparkles glittered around the black shroud of the Sentinel. He considered Oliver's request.

He himself felt no real connection to this bird-dog--something thin and tenuous at best, but no real desire to sit down in the future and involve their lives together. "If the Sentinel has need, perhaps," was his blunt, indifferent response. He noted, with vague curiosity, Oliver's immediate, miserable sag.

He wondered, silent, what it meant. But he did not particularly care. "This troubles it," he observed, in his rasp--and, head tilting, he asked: "Why?"

The gut-punch answer was followed too-closely by a question, and Oliver had to really rally himself, blinking, to think of a coherent answer. He stared at the Sentinel, trying to see his Dad there--a Dad now dead, gone. He tried instead to see who the Sentinel was, but all he saw was a corrupted canine creature so alien and aloof that it was equal parts potentially dangerous and endearing. The innocence in its questions might have been cute at a younger age, but now gained that razor edge of danger--as if, if it wasn't given an answer it liked, it might simply erupt into violence.

Because it'd see no reason not to.

Oliver, though, was a kind being and he was already turning his mind toward finding a real answer for the Sentinel.

"Um... I don't know. I just--I miss my Dad, you know-? I feel like if you just... left and I never saw you again, it'd be like losing him--losing family, which you are--all over again. You know-?" he repeated, furrowed brow and earnest gaze imploring Sentinel to understand. He took a breath.

"I will be here if you ever need me, though. There's... probably a lot I can teach you? About magic and things, I don't know if any of your people know plant stuff, or even light. Are you--is yours, um, shadow? Or like--dark?" he added, unsure. It was something of a ploy, a hopeful prod to see if he could form some link, if emotions hadn't served such a purpose. Maybe if the Sentinel were a practical sort, then a practical offer was what was needed.

"Anyway, can I--ask you about yourself? Like, um--what you like, and don't like? What you want in life? You're family," he said again, but there was sadness in his tone. He got the distinct impression that the Sentinel didn't see things that way.

Emotions were generally alien to it, but Oliver's sudden apparent clingy link made the Sentinel feel... uncomfortable. He had no interest in intrapersonal relationships. No desire to cultivate friendships, or family. The faint idea of a link existing at all, the vague concept of "family" itself, was new to him and wholly alien, and as such left him uncertain, and uncomfortable.

But Oliver was offering teaching, training. And asking a question, too. As it happened, the answer to both was the same--and the topic, or topics, were a welcome shift.

"The Sentinel is tasked with protecting the Chaos Forge. Master Vargas leads. Creatures are created. The purpose of the caves, fulfilled." Ominous. But vague. "The Aperture is where the Sentinel stands. For now he has been tasked with meeting many others. Learning to fight. Learning how others fight. Learning of magic." Growth, and training; this phase of his learning was guided by only himself.

"It will teach the Sentinel of its magic," he decided, again a command and no form of request.

Oliver's other question--about his magic--was missed, or perhaps ignored.

Oliver choked down faint misery as he realized just how different the Sentinel was from his father. He was cold, and alien. But maybe he just hadn't had time, or experience, to show him otherwise-?

The Sentinel's demand was met with a sly stare, and then a faint, shy smile.

"Okay. I can show you how I can fight? It's not great but maybe it'll teach you something. But in return, can I ask that you visit here sometimes? Please," he added--because his parents had taught him manners.

The Sentinel pushed to his feet, halberd in hand, and considered.

"This is... acceptable. But it may not visit often," he rasped. The idea was still discomfiting, though he could not have quite said why.

Deals and exchanges weren't something he held any experience in, but this one seemed... fair. Learning, on his end, for whatever Oliver wanted. Although--"Once it resumes its duties, it may not leave Draco. The Aperture must be guarded." A pause, and a counter-offer: "The feathered dog may visit it there."

He took up a fighting stance, weapon held as he'd been trained, and as he'd improved upon himself: one hand near the center, one with a much stronger grip nearer the butt, allowing him to strike or block as needed.

Then he offered an answer, if delayed, to Oliver's question: darkness swarmed around him, coiling up, not pitch black but enough of an example of void-light to show what his magic was. "The Sentinel carries the void. As did his predecessor," he noted, eyeing Oliver closely.

And then, a command: "Teach it. Strike."

...Right.

Okay, so 'visit in Draco.' Oliver made a mental note of this--and to ask, later, where the hell 'Draco' even was. For now, he quickly pondered a lesson plan. He'd never really taught anyone before, let alone in a crash course; and he'd never really been focused on combat, really. He quickly thought over what he knew, and explained it as best he could.

"Okay, so... from Mom, I got light-magic." (Oliver wasn't really aware that 'light' and 'dark' were two sides to the same elemental magic coin.) "And then I learned plant stuff, and healing. I don't know everything, but what i do know is more about, uh... defense, and healing. As for how that works in combat, maybe it's best if I just show you. But don't--hurt each other, really, okay? Ready-?" he asked.

He waited for a sign, and then took a breath, pushing fully upright--a sort of hunched-over, crow-like pose. Magic welled up in a sudden flash and his blue eyes squeezed shut in anticipation, a throwing motion with his forelimbs guiding the magic forward.

The bright, blinding ball flung toward Sentinel, toward his face: harmless, but blinding for even a normal Gembound. Oliver, of course, had no way of knowing that it'd be doubly effective against one with his type of Corruption.

The light was so sudden, so blinding, that it hurt. Tears pricked up and stung at his eyes, and a hiss escaped him as he stumbled back, twisting instinctively away. The shadows that swathed him half-dissipated, roiling as if in reflex.

I cannot see, he realized, with a sense of panicked alarm behind it. Helpless-! He struck out at once, a rending series of blind sweeping strikes--nothing that was likely to hit Oliver, though the blade was sharp; it was meant to prevent the other hound-beast from getting in close whilst the Sentinel could not see him.

If he could put him on the defensive, until his sight returned-...

Oliver stared, uncertainly. The Sentinel had launched into a series of sweeping strikes that weren't even facing Oliver himself, and the bird-dog hesitated.

After a mental shrug, he stepped to the side--letting the Sentinel continue striking at nothing--and reached for his magic again. Water, this time, in a moment of thoughtful strategy: a blast of water poured up from thin air, and then shot toward the Sentinel's feet. It allowed Oliver to keep his distance, while putting the black dog-alien on unsteady ground.

"There's lots of ways you can use different magic," he explained, circling after sending the water pluming forth. "Sometimes, you have to get creative with it."

He was soundless, in his struggle--but it was a terrible new experience for him.

Blinded, for one. And suddenly his feet were slipping, the mosses and dirt underfoot soaked, muddy, and he stumbled. Oliver was talking, though, and his head snapped toward the bird-dog. It was a clumsy lunge on slippery earth that took him forward, but his intent was simple enough: to hook the halberd somewhere beneath him, and trip him up. To flip him onto his back or the like, if he were very lucky.

He was careful to not bring it blade-side first but even so he was hoping not to cut Oliver. The bird-dog had clarified no real injury, and that wasn't Sentinel's intent--though if he did cut him, well...

Oh well.

He realized, too, in a grim revelation, that his eyesight wasn't coming back any time soon. The flash had blinded him, and it would take a few moments for it to return.

The speed at which the weapon lashed out was startling, and the realization of just how much an eight-or-so-foot-long halberd could increase reach was a rather nasty one. He felt the wood strike his feet, and over he went in a heap.

The Sentinel was slipping and sliding in the muck, catching his balance, but Oliver knew that he had only seconds to move before he could be in very real danger--in a real fight, at least, and possibly even here. The spot the halberd had whacked his legs hurt, and he grimaced as he scrambled back upright.

He could roll weakly away, but if the Sentinel spotted--or heard--him for even a second, Oliver was toast.

He reached for his magicka again, a bit of franticness driving him: and it responded powerfully, a surge of heat and light beaming from suddenly blinding orbs high above. It was as though he'd suddenly plunged all of Canis into Hydra: impossibly bright, very hot, the leaves above working to filter out only a little of its power.