ORIGIN - Nightmares of Clouds

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His step was quiet, so as to avoid waking the living sword attached to one arm.

Which... was an odd concern to have, and truth be told the Sentinel wasn't actually all that concerned--not as much as he probably should have been. He had simply accepted this parasitic weapon like a fact of life, and was returning it to Draco so that he could show Master Vargas.

His thought process suggested that perhaps this blade would find use in the Chaos Forge; or maybe it would want to stay here, near the Black Spire. There certainly was a resonance, there: everyone the Sentinel had met that shared his magic either dwelt or originated in Draco, here.

"MASTER VARGAS," he called out, his voice a rasping bellow--and then he went still, waiting, his ghostly blue eyes shifting down to see if he had woken up the sword.

His other fingers held the whispering halberd. That, however, did not wake up. Mostly because it was not alive.

@Mirac

Sentinel's voice was more than enough to wake Mirac. Mirac jolted awake with snapping teeth and a war cry. He began to crackle with energy, his wrap seizing, and his jaw tore apart. A crackling ball of void purple lightning bloomed, before arcing for the ceiling in twinned, massive bolts of torrid purple-black lightning.

"Mirac LIVES! He has survived the accursed SHORT death!" He cried. For better or worse, and definitely leaning towards worse given the ceiling, Sentinel had awoken the blade. Mirac's blinked his large, red eyes. The slit pupils gradually adjusted to the dark cave. They darted around, first to Sentinel, then taking in the strange surroundings.

"Mmmh?" Mirac began. "AH! Mirac has been here before! WIELDER! Why have we come to the heretical cave of breathing and not-dying? Is it named Master Vargas? Mirac does not LIKE it. It is not SUPPOSED to move! Mirac wishes to MURDER-DESTROY it!"

"speak" think

The shatter of magic cracked 'sky'ward, a black crackle and roar that seared an arcing line along the rock above.

A single oily black stalagtite, gleaming with its unholy foulness, shattered at its base and fell. It crashed to the ground a few feet before the pair, a loud smash of rock-on-rock and the associated shrapnel and dust. It wouldn't be dangerously sharp bits, but certainly a brief shower of particles.

What a marvelous display of power!

Draco seemed to exhale, as if the entire cave breathed a sound of laughter.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas was on his way to the call when half the air erupted in crackling black thunder. He dropped into a tense crouch at once, ready to spring away, but it faded with nothing more than a rockfall. "Draconua," he muttered, and broke into a fast pace forward: obviously, she'd awoken and was terrorizing the Sentinel, or something.

But--when he rounded a boulder and swept swift-limbed into sight, he found only the Sentinel there, holding two blades: the halberd, and a strange, misshapen sword. Vargas's eyes narrowed. "What is the meaning of this? You could have brought the roof down, Sentinel--there is no need for such theatrics! You hold no authority to summon me in such a manner, a simple call will-"

His eyes drifted to the sword as he spoke, and he fell abruptly silent, realizing that something here was off. It had eyes. It was moving, a little. It was crackling with the final sparks of black. "What is this?" he demanded, at once, again tensing.

It could be anything: it could be something gripping the Sentinel's mind, driving him to violence. Rebellion. It could be a powerful enchanted weapon. It could be... alive, even.

The Sentinel remained stoically calm, both throughout Mirac's tirade and the Leviathan's that followed. "It slept," he corrected, and then, a little slower, "The cave is not a heretic." A heretical cave-? The Sentinel briefly considered, and judged that perhaps, yes, a cave that breathed and moved might be considered odd to some. Blue eyes cut skyward when the lightning flashed, and due to either steel nerves or a total lack of sense of self-preservation (or good reflexes telling him he wouldn't be hit), the Sentinel simply stood there. A few scattered shards and dust struck him, and nothing else. As the rumbles faded, he spoke. "It is Draco. The Mirac need not murder-destroy the cave."

Then Vargas was there, his words barked and fierce, and the Sentinel bore this, too, with seeming indifference--or obedience.

When the Master had finished, had asked his question, he held the blade up slightly. He knew that Mirac would speak for itself, and he had only seconds, perhaps, to explain--assuming it didn't speak over him to begin with.

"It is a sword," he began, which really should have been obvious, but--"It is a sword that lives. It is Mirac, the One True Sword made for Maiming and Murdering," and thus was the sword's self-given initial introduction repeated in a monotone. "It holds powerful magic. The Sentinel wished to show the Master." He hesitated, then; why would he show Vargas? "In case you're interested?" He couldn't really think of any decent phrasing, so he just let that fall. And he didn't bother to introduce Vargas, mostly because he guessed Mirac wouldn't give him the chance.

It didn't matter much, anyway; he doubted Mirac would respect the Master's titles, and Vargas could certainly introduce himself.

@Mirac

"Sleep is a small, WORSE death! Mirac does not LIKE sleeping. Mirac could be causing suffering, INSTEAD, while he sleeps. Mirac will NEVER sleep again. ESPECIALLY not in this cave, the heretical one, called...mmm 'Draco'? Mirac thinks that it is SHIT." Mirac repeated. Mirac grumbled.

The Sentinel said not to. But...he wanted, very badly, to fight the strange cave. Especially since it had tried to attack Sentinel. "Mmm...Draco is NOT called Master Vargas. This Draco...Mirac thinks is...strange. If not kill, what does Mirac...DO with the Draco?" Mirac gave their surroundings a cautious glance. And then, before he could react, Vargas was there. Mirac listened, for all of two seconds, before it burst in to interrupt Vargas.

"The large purple one will NOT speak to Mirac's wielder in such a way! The Sentinel is Mirac's CHARGE! Mirac will defend him, and DESTROY Sentinel's opponents! Pledge your allegiance to Sentinel as his ally, as Mirac has! You may not call Mirac 'this'. Miracis not THIS. Mirac is MIRAC. Mirac is POWER incarnate." And then, shockingly, Mirac quieted as Sentinel lifted him. He seemed to enjoy Sentinel repeating his own spiel. Enjoyed being held as a weapon. And then, once Sentinel finished his bit, Mirac burst in once again.

"YES! Mirac is all of that! Mirac is the destroyer of other, less superior weapons! Mirac is a defender, Mirac is a beheader, a RUINER! Mirac is the decider of wars, the decider of life or DEATH!" Mirac forgot rather quickly about Vargas' transgression. With his blade still pointed to the sky, Mirac meant to light it ablaze.

Truly show his might in full. His gem glowed, and all seemed to be going according to plan. But then Mirac wheezed out a puff of ash. Despite the lack of heat or flame, his gums burned and crackled. He blinked. Not missing a beat, Mirac continued. "Mirac is an unbeatable weapon of mass destruction! Wielder! Why do you call this one...Master? Is its name Master?"

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@The Sentinel

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas's attention switched at once to the sword, hard, as it began to screech and demand and threaten. Ahh, but this was the very essence of chaos, was it not-? As irritating as it could be to control, at times, as his tasks demanded, true chaos was valuable to find. It reeked with His essence, it dripped and seethed with His touch.

Vargas stepped closer to examine it, and when it was done with its tirade, he looked first to Sentinel. All else that he was, he did attempt to maintain fairness--impartiality. When he was allowed to, at the very least. "I apologize, Sentinel. I had thought that this was your doing." Toxic eyes darted back to the living blade. And as his own demonstration of power, a twist of his native element sprang forth from a chaotic surge of magic: a flaring orb of blinding, toxic green light that appeared above them, lighting them all in its sickly cast. "I am Master Vargas, the Leviathan. Tell me, little sword--do you know where you are? Do you know who made you?"

His bellowing voice--not raised, but simply loud--rang with authority. Would the sword respect it? likely not, but he would see. For now, he would educate it, for disobedience in ignorance was first to be corrected, before being punished. Not that he had a desire to punish it, exactly, but his position did hold certain demands of respect, of authority.

Deeper still, however, he was held rapt. Fascinating. A relict of an older time, no doubt. Who was it who designed this one--and why? It was not the sort of Valkhound that one could send as a soldier; it was reliant on being carried. But it already seemed fiercely loyal to the Sentinel.

He was already pondering its uses, but could think of little aside from keeping it within the Chaos Forge for use. "That was your magic?" he demanded, as his mind went next to that--it was that powerful? A sword that could crack a cave roof from within the hand of its wielder below..?

The Sentinel stood in silence, enduring the apology with the same stiffness with which he'd accepted the tirade. Some part of him felt a twinge of... something? at Mirac's unexpected loyalty.

"The blade's power is greater than my own," he told Vargas simply: an honest assessment. Its magic could indeed crack ceilings.

He thought that it would be useful; and for many of the reasons that Vargas, indeed, now considered.

Then, to Mirac, he spoke--answering at least one of the living blade's questions, albeit quietly. "It needs do nothing with the Draco. The cave is not alive." But even as he said it, blue eyes flicked upward, wisplight flaring around them. Was the cave alive..? It moved. It changed. It sounded as though it were breathing, the rhythms of its shifts so ingrained in him from long hours at the Aperture that they lingered in his dreams.

Was Draco alive..?

"The Sentinel does not think it is alive," he amended, a little more slowly.

@Mirac

An apology was good as swearing loyalty to Sentinel. Mirac would take Vargas' offered apology. "Sentinel calls this cave 'Draco'. Mirac thinks the undying cave is STRANGE. The...errm, not living cave?" Mirac was trying to warm up to the idea of ignoring it, as Sentinel suggested. Mirac did not like the idea.

But he would follow Sentinel's orders until the cave wanted to fight him. A thought. Could Mirac ask the cave to fight him? He squinted, focused on Vargas' summoned orb of light. "What IS that? Does it cause PAIN and SUFFERING? Will it hurt if you send it into someone? Does it dismember them? And Mirac would like to know why Vargas' name is so long. Mirac thinks you have TOO many names. Why does Vargas get FOUR names? Mirac only has ONE. Wielder must give Mirac MORE names."

Vargas' second question took Mirac by surprised, and almost reflexively Mirac blurted out: "Mirac was NOT...," and he paused. Was Mirac made? Who made him? He hadn't had any these thoughts before. "Mirac....er, does not know who made Mirac. But Mirac was left with many other swords, who Mirac HATED. Mirac killed as many as he could. Mirac will EAT them if Mirac sees them again."

His distaste for the halberd had yet to progress to the point where he'd try to eat it, lucky for Sentinel. He'd never really known what the Blacksmith had meant when the blacksmith had mentioned him being alive. "YES! It was Mirac's magic! Mirac LIKES using magic. It is painful and fun for fighting! People want to fight when Mirac tells them too! Mirac can DESTROY things with magic!"

Again Mirac reached for his magicka. It responded, but for whatever reason the bolt was weaker this time. It struck out almost randomly, a much smaller bolt compared to before, striking the air not far away. A peal of thunder followed after, an almost muted rumble. But Mirac did not seem to care, erupting into laughter.

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@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas would have grinned, if he could. He liked this one. Sure, it was noisy--very overly talkative--but it had a brain and a good one at that. Moreso, it was chaos--good chaos, solid chaos, screaming lunatic chaos sending bolts of black lightning at the sky.

Draconua would have loved it, he decided--or maybe tried to kill it. Chaos was, after all, unpredictable.

Maybe they'd have eaten each other.

"Listen closely, Mirac," Vargas said, with many doubts that it would but with the expectation that a little bit, at least, might get through. "Draco is the home of the Chaos Forge. We create creatures of chaos, like yourself, though you are not one of ours! You are welcome to stay, or to join us, to prove yourself to us and create more creatures in your image, given time. But for now, I am curious about your abilities. You seem powerful. What do you say to a fight-? The Sentinel may wield you, and I will fight you both."

He wanted to see if it was good as its bragging suggested.

He wanted to see if it were useful.

"And no, the light is only light. I have other tools to dismember with."

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