ORIGIN

There were not enough of them, these days.

Too many had drifted away, had wandered off or fell into the deep sleep.

With the (reluctant) help of the stallion Khloros, Dragon had located four gemstones. First he'd found a large, white pearl. This one interested Dragon the least, and so he was keeping it for last, if he had the energy for it. The second was a yellow Zircon whose facets flashed like dull flame--and which then, naturally, drew the alligator's admiration. The third was the weakest: a thunder-egg Agate, and one he'd chosen to try to bring to life first. He did not wish to leave it for later, only to have it waste away and die while waiting for a new chance. Lastly was, perhaps, his favorite. The green Clintonite reminded him very much of his own stone, a mottled green thing: Dragon had only seen his rarely (in reflection, or emerging from a long sleep of his own), but it was rather similar indeed.

He would raise these young to be among the Children of Rot, however else they turned out: allies against the Masters, trustworthy as blood and kin.

Well. Khloros had said that this stone was weakest--indifferent, uncaring he'd said it. Dragon cared. If this would be his child, he would grant it his strength: the strength of flame, the strength of ages.

He leaned down to where he'd gathered them up, arranged them carefully in a ring beneath the roots of one of the overgrown, mangove-like trees nearer to the Heart, and then he pressed his snout down to the first.

You will be my child, he thought, and did his best to impart this weak, fragile stone with warm life.

Life bloomed--he felt it, he knew it to flicker from him to the rock. And as he watched, drawing back with soft contentment, he watched it swell and take quiet root in the wet substrate beneath.

"Grow," he urged it softly, and then turned his attention to the next. This one was the one that reminded him of his own, and was perhaps his favorite among the stones: it had been found in the water, and thus he was certain there was at least a chance it was a water-beast, as was he.

That, or it had drowned there, or simply been washed away--but never mind that now.

He laid his jaw on this one, no less warmly and hopefully and gently than before, and focused.

After a moment, he drew back: nothing had come of this one, and he gave a soft huff of disappointment.

A second attempt, then. He hoped to the caves he didn't fail this one. He felt that this one was fragile, now--less strong than before, as if he'd damaged it somehow.

He did not want it to die. He wished for it to live, to be his child and a Child of Rot, among family. "Come," he murmured, settling his snout against it once again, staring at it half-crosseyed and hopeful. "I am here; I have power. You may take it from me. You may be my child," he urged, as if unaware he was talking to a rock.

This time, it took: a weak flicker as the last of its strength latched onto the match that he granted it, drew it in, swelled with it.

Dragon felt all the weaker for it and he breathed a deep sigh of both relief and exertion, weary already from the efforts.

He drew back, watching closely as it took, as it settled lower into the mud and grew. "Good," he murmured, and pulled away. "You have done well."

Praising a stone; and let no one tell him that this was strange, or foolish, for this was his child now.

Now, the third.

He had the white pearl lying in the mud, as well--but somehow, he doubted he'd have the power left to revive this one. No, for now he would focus on that dull flame bound in stone: the yellow Zircon.

Slowly, the lame alligator dragged himself around the base of the tree and to this stone, where he studied it, for a moment.

"You remind me of fire," he said quietly, amused, and then pressed the end of his snout to this one, as well.

He felt the power flow from himself to this, the third child--felt it take--and felt himself exhausted.

Dragon knew at once that to attempt a fourth might kill him, or at least return him to his stone, and he wished to be here when the children hatched.

Weary, he dragged himself up among the stones, and gently touched the pearl. "I will see you given life, in time," he assured it, and then turned to watch the Zircon taking root.

Three, then.

Three new Children.

He would raise them, and teach them, and protect them.

...But first, he required sleep.

The old, scarred bull alligator drew the pearl into his jaws so as to keep it protected. The others, he knew, were now bound here and therefore safe. He lowered his head, nestled protectively over the three stones, and swiftly drifted off to sleep, his drained magicka preparing to regenerate.

Soon...