the burning of the cavern witch

Chained rage dimmed to seething. Or--perhaps dimmed was the wrong word. No: it settled back and smoldered, a coal ready to erupt into roaring flame given the slightest fuel.

Given the churning smoke, it seemed an apt metaphor.

Wilder would find no mind with which to connect. There was emptiness, here. Nothing. This creature--as Mossie likely well knew--was but a projection: a shadow of the Shadow, visible only thanks to the offering granted the Conduit and its now-open link. Perhaps that was the reason for the chains: a binding, or a visual representation of a binding, meant to keep it from crossing from wherever it was to truly stand before them.

'Do not ever unchain it. No matter how much it demands you do. The results would be... catastrophic.' Mossie had heard those words spoken, but Wilder had not: yet it seemed an obvious truth, given the way the shadow-creature... yes, seethed.

Violet eyes fixed upon Mossie, the crackle of power like lightning still snaring over its smoky hide here and there.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I AM?" it demanded. ""I AM A GOD. YOU DO NOT KNOW OF MY POWER. YOU HAVE SEEN BUT SIMULACRA. PRETENDERS. MASTERSSSS," it sneered, mockery and dismissal in its voice, one clawed, fist-shaped pillar of smoke plunging down toward the altar as if to slam it in emphasis. "WHAT YOU SEE BEFORE YOU IS BUT AN ECHO OF MY TRUE SELF."

It paused, flickering and crackling with power, studying the two felines before it. It seemed to calm, adjusting, raising itself higher. "You will worship me," the Shadow decreed; "and you will bring others to worship me. I will demand sacrifice. Tribute. You will bring this to me. As your reward... as this transactional devil has forced upon me... I will grant you the boons of the loyal to their GOD!" A curled, clawed finger of smoke extended to point at Mossie, unfurling to such impossible lengths that it very nearly touched her.

"BOW," the Shadow demanded, and Orion growled with his thunder.

The inability to grasp any mind, any sort of power or magic, was bewildering and concerning. Whatever this was, it wasn't even here. Just an image, a projection, of whatever the true force was. What incredible power must be veiled behind it, for its formless projection here to be so massive and intimidating, claiming to be greater then the Masters themselves.

Wilder knew that there were greater powers then the Masters, of course. She did not understand them, although she desperately wished to know. Perhaps here was her answer, this formless cloud was what she'd been seeking. Would it be able to explain the magical rain that had befallen the people of Let? Could it tell her why the Spire had replaced the old one? Why Natural Order had taken over this cave? Why Let was dying? So many questions, but she had to remind herself - this was not her transaction. She had not created the altar or made the deal with the Collector. She had not spilled blood to summon the Shadow here. She was only an observer.

She had never been a proud gembound, willing to do what she needed to survive. So even though it felt humiliating, and even though she did not think she would worship this being (until she knew exactly what she worshipped), she crouched into a bow as well, touching the ground with her nose, tail curled beneath her. At the same time, she tried, again, to sense what this was, what power was at work here.

Wilder, reaching out with her mind, would find that the echo of magic reverberating back was that of Natural Order. Whatever power was creating this projection, at least, was of it: though whatever power the actual creature bore, the one whose projection she saw now, would be mere conjecture.

The beast, either way, seemed unaware of her tampering and testing. Its violet rage was locked on Mossie, an imperious stare turning incredulous and then baffled. Its roar--shaking the altar--was a demand: "WHAT IS A TSETSE?!"

The smoke roiled in silence, violet eyes staring down at Mossie. Its expression--being a featureless black cloud--could not really be seen; but when it spoke again, the impatience in its tone was clear. It was nearly outrage.

"ENOUGH," it boomed, a low crack like thunder ricocheting and echoing through the entirety of Orion. "YOU SUMMONED ME, AND YOU WILL BE MY PROPHET... WE WILL BEGIN NOW. FOR WHAT PURPOSE HAVE YOU CALLED UPON ME? WHAT IS IT THAT YOU SEEK?" The cloud faltered, and a shadowed hand lifted; it stabilized, as if it were taking effort to maintain this link. "BE SWIFT WITH YOUR QUESTIONS, OR DEMANDS!"

Thunder seemed to rumble, a crackle of magic sparking at the altar's edges. The Shadow drew upward, as if growing ever-so-slightly. "THE PRICE FOR THIS KNOWLEDGE," its voice boomed, "SHALL BE ONE LIFE."

It did not clarify whether this would be a Lesser, or a Greater, life. But it lingered a moment, shadows of it flickering this way and that, glowering down at Mossie.

"IF THIS... IS YOUR FIRST TIME AS PROPHET. YOU WOULD DO WELL TO GATHER MORE. MORE TO GATHER PAYMENT. MORE TO GRANT ME POWER. MORE TO FOLLOW YOU, AND I."

For whatever reason, this--all of this--was deafeningly loud, to the point that it pressed upon the eardrums almost painfully. And then--in a flicker of darkness--it was gone, the Shadow fading from sight.

Wilder listened to the exchange, still as stone and quiet as a mouse. Her eyes constantly flicked from the Shadow to Mossie and back again. What...what in the hell was all this?! She gulped again and waited for the Shadow to be gone before she dared to even move.

He head turned slowly to Mossie, horror bringing her to reach forward with her magic, to open a window to Mossie's mind, to give her some inkling on what the hell this cat was thinking. Why she was doing this and what she intended. Because this smelled and felt like horrible, horrible danger.

Outside of minds, she dared to ask the same thing. "What...are you thinking?" It came with almost a hiss. "That thing is...dangerous! You need to be careful - you don't wanna mess with the powers in these caves."