ORIGIN

The cracking of stone was distant. The hacking coughing was far louder, more intrusive, and it drew the Sentinel's attention at once. He had been there for the cat's return to its chrysalis, and he'd watched the stone--timed it, idly--with the indifferent eye that befitted Draco's guardian (or, if one were to be a tad less poetically generous, the door guard--the bouncer).

Now he realized that it had at last spilled forth again, and his head tilted as he approached. Mirac was not with him just now; instead the halberd was held in hand as he watched Purity flail, Oil-stained and wheezing.

"It has awoken." This observation was delivered without inflection. Was it speaking aloud, or addressing the cat-?

The halberd was shifted slightly, moved to rest against the rock. "It returned here, and it fell. The Master holds interest in its form." Then the Sentinel waited, silent. If this meant something, he didn't bother to explain it--or maybe he thought that the cat would grasp his meaning.

The Sentinel took in the spitting correction without any reaction. All things, in his mind, were "it." That included himself, naturally. To Purity's profession of ignorance, however, he tilted his head ever-so-slightly. "It is within Draco," he rasped. Skull-like face turned to regard the Black Spire sidelong. "It is the center of the creation of Chaos."

Attention shifted back to Purity. The Sentinel stared, patient, uncaring. "The Sentinel did not tell it to leave." Hand tightened around halberd-haft. "The Master," he went on, more slowly (for it was taking him time to parse the fact that Purity had not understood) "wished to see the cat once it had emerged."

He paused. And then, to his credit--despite his total lack of empathy for the choking beast and his obvious discomfort--did attempt to rephrase, a little. "Master Vargas," (the hoarse words wheezed out slowly) "wishes to see... cats. Wishes to see, you. Now that you are awake."

Maybe that would make more sense. Of course, if Purity just bolted off, there wasn't a lot he could do; but Vargas... well, Vargas liked cats. He'd told the Sentinel to inform him once the cat had woken--citing "possible use" for it--but would Purity care? The Sentinel did not know.

The Altar.
His head tilted slightly. He'd heard the word--first as a description of a "big rock" and later in only slightly more detail. "It is a stone that whispers. It is a stone of the Creator. Yes, it is as the Black Spire," he surmised, more a guess than an assurance. He assumed this was what Purity was referencing, at least--the rock that told others things, that whispered instructions into their ears.

It was one of the last things, he'd been told, that his stone-giver had done--fallen into his chrysalis beside it, and emerged... changed. Half-absently, his free hand lifted claws to delicately brush the oily Onyx where it lay embedded in his chest. The soft click of it drew his mind back to Purity, and he looked at the cat.

The next question puzzled him--not the where, but the why. Vargas had never fully explained his fascination with cats--not to the Sentinel. When he had reported this stone, dutifully and with acknowledgment of the shape, the Master had not bothered elaborating. "...The Sentinel does not know," he began, "It knows where the Master is, but not why cats are preferred. It is... their shape. Perhaps. It is useful." There was no reassurance that the Master meant no harm; it didn't occur to him that he might need to offer it. His was an existence of obedience, and he could not imagine Purity not simply obeying Vargas's orders--despite being a total stranger to Draco and the Forge.

The mutter went unanswered, the Sentinel simply staring, waiting. Nothing else was offered, though admittedly there was a little information now given--if... puzzlingly-phrased.

For a moment, the Sentinel felt almost foolish: he did not have the answers, and this stranger was essentially being asked to be taken to his Master to get them, stepping blithely over his head. But it was his duty, and so he didn't comment, or complain, or feel any resentment whatsoever.

Instead he bit down the faint embarrassment and turned. He kept to a slow pace, a stride that while businesslike would nonetheless allow for the just-awoken cat to keep up; and if Purity fell behind, he would slow. "It is this way," he began, leading. And then, as they walked, he posed a rather mundane conversational question. "The Sentinel would ask: what damaged it? It came wounded, and returned to the stone. The cause was not seen." He glanced down, sidelong, at Purity.

He'd seen no indication whatsoever of whatever it was that had driven the feline into his chrysalis, but any threat near Draco--anything attacking others, particularly those of Oil--was something he wanted to be aware of.

Tall, blue? Clothed in gold? He'd been introduced to one like that.

"Taken by Chaos, harmed by the Hand," the Sentinel mused aloud. A bit of an assumption, but there weren't many "clothed" in anything, in these caves. It didn't occur to him to worry that Aethril's authority might supercede Vargas's own: the Sentinel answered to the Master, not the Hand. Had Vargas ordered him to attack Aethril, he would have. Regardless of his chances.

"Master Vargas is large." Purity wanted a description. That was the first thing that came to mind. But the Sentinel didn't fall silent, instead merely pausing to consider as his clawed feet rasped and clicked along the stone. "One of the first. There is strength, but thought. What bears brutality bears consideration." He did not explain this, instead coming to a halt somewhat nearer the Black Spire.

"Master Vargas," he called, "the cat has awakened."