I'm not a Researcher, I'm a Relic!

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen practically purred, the Collector's flattery directly stoking his ego as he stood just a little taller. Yes, that was more like it. That is how he should be seen! Impressive. Pristine. regal, even. He allowed the Collector a chance to view his might as he soaked up the admiration before it was his turn to have his interest piqued.

"What I was here for doesn't matter, if power is what you can offer me." His voice conveyed a vague curiosity, almost disbelieving. It was true that Heathen would give up on a current task in favor of a better one, and any thought of the Blacksmith had vacated the leopard's mind, for a while. But could this creature truly give him such a thing?

Heathen ducked his head down, an attempt at a somewhat dignified 'retrieval' of the stone held beneath his tongue. "You can consider this a token of goodwill, if it interests you, so that we might discuss such a deal." His voice was clearer now that he wasn't speaking around a foreign object. "I am Heathen." He offered with a shallow smile, making room so that the Collector could claim the stone if they wished.

"Now, what would you consider the price of power?"

Notes:

The Collector listened intently, head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. Only after Heathen had wholly finished speaking--and even then, he seemed to think for a moment--did the Collector step forward, bending down to pick up the tiny ruby heart.

He lifted this, framing it against the forgelight, the magma gleam shining through it like fire. "Ahhh, how poetic. And freshly killed, too," he observed. "Merely the gemstone of a Lesser... but is it not glorious in its metaphor? You have a mind for the proper worth of things," he praised, and set it back where he'd found it. "Perhaps we might included it in a price, should we make a deal... but to barter with me is simply a matter of goodwill."

He pushed up, stepping back and opening his palms outward as if to display that he was, truly, a simple and honest merchant. Of course, his entire appearance and demeanor belied that, as though it was some dark joke that he fully expected Heathen to get.

"As for power... and do tell me if you're not the sort for long philosophical discussions, and in the future I shall get right to the point. But it does depend, does it not, on the power-? I offer many kinds," he added. He turned, lifting two objects from a nearby anvil. First he lifted a small dagger: old, eaten nearly through by rust. "A little thing, like the power to summon up a weak spell you do not normally possess... that costs little. A stone with life in it. Something else, small, stolen from its rightful owner and delivered back to me."

Then he set the dagger down and displayed, instead, the long well-made sword he'd picked up. He tilted it so that the light glinted along its blade. "More powerful things... Weapons imbued with magic, or armor enchanted to protect its wearer... gemstones that belonged to powerful warriors, to raise as your own... trinkets and useful items of all sorts. Well. Everything has a price, and I am but a humble collector and merchant of such wares. So the question becomes: what is it that you're looking for... and what do you have to offer?"

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen waited patiently, or at least appeared to, as the Collector processed his offer. For an ambush predator, the big cat was not a very patient one. He could be, though, when the reward outweighed the boredom. He only hoped that the Collector's offer would be worth his time.

"There is life in it, no matter where it came from. Something could be made of it, given it can live comfortably so close to a lava flow." The comment, paired with a half-smile, almost seemed directed as a compliment towards the Collector, given that they were enjoying the warmth of such heat just a moment ago. "An impressive adaptation for any creature." He added, clarifying the intention before agreeing to their offer. It was true, what he said, but he had no use for the stone himself. He could always kill another one, if needed.

"Oh, talk away. The price of a life and the cost of a death, what it takes to become a god. You are the first to speak my language!" Heathen almost sounded relieved, excitement growing evident in his voice as ideas wormed their way into his mind. Power! Worship! To change the very caves, to make the land called Lett in his own image! Control. Could this being, really hold that kind of power? If someone could create his lightning crown, who was to say someone couldn't offer him this? He only had to make a worthwhile exchange.

"Anything is too vague an offer, and it is not a true one. It's an impossible offer, for I could not give you the Spire and offering up my life would negate my very request." He began, allowing himself to speak freely as the Collector did. It was not often that Heathen was so forthcoming. "So I will offer you something attainable. Gemstones, enchanted items, a child, even, if you would find use in it. Anything to bolster your collection of wares. Unless... you seek something less... physical? A task you must keep your name away from, perhaps? There is little I would consider too steep a price." It seemed too soon, too blunt to directly state that he was more than willing to commit sins unspeakable to attain his goals. Was murder truly murder, if it was for the greater good?

"Ah, but my offer is only offered if you too can offer something grand. I will not hide myself: I want power. Control. I want to be worshipped, to change the caves and reform Lett as I desire." He became more animated as he went on, visions of this new world, of altars built in his name swirling in his mind's eye. He intended to create such a reality with or without the Collector's help.

"I want to become a god." Came a whisper from behind them, and Heathen's eyes were darkened by madness. Obsession.

Notes:

The Collector's eyes lit up, their pinprick red becoming a bloodlit glow. A wave of one hand, and two chairs appeared behind him. The first--a black lacquered chair with silver filigree and black leather cushion--he set behind him. The second, he lifted, bringing to Heathen. He turned it to face his own.

This one was not a mere chair, but a throne: ancient oak wood, inscribed with scrawls of dark runes, its broad seat one of rich royal purple--perfectly fit for a cat slightly smaller than Heathen, leaving him just the tinest bit oversized for it (but didn't that enhance the effect?).

He took a seat in his own chair, then, and another wave of his hand brought forth a small table covered in snacks. A silver platter of bloodied bits of meat; a bowl of warm milk barely touched with black tea. It was clearly intended for Heathen, though he himself took a tiny bit between two fingers, considering.

"Let--at least, its surface--is beyond all of us here," the Collector began, even while waving that away, "unless you wish to be taken there, but I know no path, and it is a path that once trodden is erased forever." He tilted his head to one side. "But there, we are little more than monsters, irritations to be swept away. Here-? Here, I can grant you the mantle of a god. Not a god's powers, not truly, but does that matter? -You are one who speaks my language," he added, voice becoming a crooning purr. "You understand the value of power, and the meaning of it... yes?"

The Collector leaned back, studying Heathen. "There are three such boons I could grant you, off the top of my head..." and his tone held musing.

"The first, and weakest, but the best to sway weaker minds: a series of spells that are powerful enough... but grant an appearance of divinity." He waved this away, too, before dropping the meat piece into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and continued. "The ability to wreath yourself in light or shadows, to create visions from nothing, to vanish seemingly into thin air."

That, then, was 'offer number one.'

"The second possibility requires willing followers. An item, worn by you, linked to items worn by those followers. The more followers, the more their power funnels into you; and in return they gain some knowledge of your own magic. You grant them... let us say, access to a spell that you own. And their very lifeforce funnels into you, strengthening you."

The third, then... "Or the third. I know of an abandoned minor god, perched upon his altar. It would be a minor thing, to usurp him and his power, to become a shadowed god capable of immense power. The cost would be to free him... but that would weaken him substantially, and empower you to take his place."

The Collector sat back, dipping bloodied claws into his hood, eyes trained upon the leopard. "If any of those appeal... we can discuss details, and of course, the price."

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen wasted no time, sitting tall on his throne (yes, he had already claimed it as his chair) and plucking up a piece of particularly bloody meat. He kept a mostly blank face, to prevent looking too eager, save for the smirk that he could not control. This was it. Finally, he was getting some well-deserved pampering. He would see to it that this would be his daily life from then on, a well-decorated throne and all the delicious meals he could eat. Why not? after all, the Collector was about to facilitate his deification.

The Collector both squashed and realized his dreams, all in one seemingly eternal moment in time. He would still get there, he decided, but he had to start somewhere first. There was no morphing Let, a world unseen by his eyes, without first morphing the caves. He would dig to the surface with his own paws, if that is what it would take. He swept away the idea for now, enraptured by the offers laid out before him.

"To even offer such a thing." He scoffed at the first idea, his version of scolding the Collector for not knowing better than to offer something more useful. "I can look into the past, have the weak hear things that were never there, reassure their fragile minds that I am no danger. Spells, I can handle." He followed their lead, savouring a healthy bite of meat and following it up with some milk. It was something he could get used to.

"Now that," He began as the second offer rolled in, lifting his head from the bowls. "Is more like it." The leopard licked the mess from their maw, meeting the Collector's pinprick eyes easily. "But I have the feeling you aren't done?" His question was rewarded with another offer; a final offer, given how unlikely it was to be able to top such power. "A true god, you say? A trapped god?" There was no feigning disinterest to get a better deal, here. Heathen's every wish could be granted, here and now, if the price was right.

Curiosity might kill the cat, but Heathen could not help his greed. "Tell me, what could you possibly want for the chance to become a god... and to be empowered by the followers I would accrue? I'm sure that many would find interest in sharing the power of a god." But would he even need the strength of others, if he could harness the power of a god? If he could become one? It was little more than insurance, if the price wasn't too steep.

Notes:

His expression, red eyes burning, was solemn as he (admittedly gently) amended the "spells" topic: "Do not underestimate the power of theatricality, my little would-be god." A gesture toward Heathen was followed up with, "Consider that a free tip. A rarity, from me. But of course, you do wish real power..."

...and on it went. When all was said and done, and Heathen had asked for a price, The Collector steepled his fingers and sat back. "Ahh, now that is the worthwhile question. But worth how much..? On the one hand, I might trust in your future success, and siphon a small share of that power for myself--in either case. Nothing you would miss... but something I would gain. On the other... you might not succeed. Oh, I hesitate to suggest such a thing, of course," and a clawed hand waved dismissively at the very thought, "but..."

Algol leaned forward, red pinprick eyes gleaming. "Accidents happen. Yes? So, let us say... For the location of the trapped god, and a way to usurp it. I would ask a living sacrifice upon its altar, but when you have done so, bring the stone of the recently deceased to me. A living, speaking Gembound, not a prey beast," he added. "But the creature in that stone knows me. I played some small part in its capture... and so, knowing that this sacrifice will go to me might gall it deeply. Enrage it, even. That will make it easier to manage, for you... and it will please me."

He leaned back, again, fingers once more steepling. "As for the other things... they are items, bound. Crowns and collars, very symbolic; for that, I would ask three enchanted items--wherever you might find them--of a decent amount of power, in trade. In both, or either, case... a share of power, in the end. Let us say... ten percent."

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen was not the type to hesitate, as the Collector would soon find out. He nodded at their first comment, a deep nod that was as close as the big cat would get to a bow. He accepted the comment, as he knew it was right. Such spells he already intended on learning, and he did not need help for such an easy task.

"Of course, you would hesitate." He did not growl, but his discontent was clear in the way his tone shifted, deepening. He made no movement otherwise, and seemed to nod, slightly, after the idea was waved away. "But of course you want a payment you can guarantee, as you have not seen me work. I understand." And I'll forgive, this once.

"A sacrifice, even of a greater, is no impossible task. I will do this." He spoke slowly, as if waiting for the collector to retract the statement. So many minds were frail, after all, and most would make a joke out of such a statement. "Do you have a message, for this god? I will deliver it... as a gift." He offered, hoping for something that might anger this so-called god even further. Surely if there was history, as they said, something straight from the collector would work better than anything he could make up. Besides, maybe the Collector would take it as an act of goodwill, delivering a message that they had long waited to say.

"As for items... I'm sure I can acquire some that are worth your time. And for only a share of power? Ninety percent of a god's power is still a god's power." He smiled, offering a paw forward. "Consider it done."

And then, a pause, as he remembered what he was here for. "Say, to spare me some trouble and keep me on task... Have you heard of the Blacksmith?"

Notes:

If offense was taken, the Collector showed none. He simply smiled beneath that hood, peaceful, a gesture that could not be seen but could be heard in his words as he spoke. One leg, looped over the other as he sat on his chair, bobbed thoughtfully; the cloven hoof went up and down with the movement.

"A message... hmm. No, but I would personally enjoy it if you gloated as you took him down. Ahh, I am not usually the petty sort, myself; but knowing his nose has been crushed into his own failure would certainly amuse me." Hands parted in a gesture of peace. "Up to you."

A hand offered to take the great paw, and shake it, though his other hand delved into the cleft of his robes. "A handshake--few here know of it. But for your protection, and for mine..." That second hand withdrew a parchment, one lined with text, a spare spot at the bottom that would fit a leopard's paw. "Just 'sign' here. Your print in the blank space will seal this contract. As for the Blacksmith..." 'Of course it had to be him.'

A claw pointed delicately to the ceiling, indicating the smaller Workshop up above. "I do know of him. We are brothers, he and I, though I warn you, his morals are far more... delicate. I would not mention our deal, or perhaps even our meeting. He would, I think, disapprove. If he is not in the Workshop above, then he will return there--eventually."

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen chuckled at the comment, thoroughly enjoying the company of someone who seemed to pair so well with himself. He would find the same joy in killing the lessers that were once so eager to kill him, after all.

In truth, Heathen did not know why he offered his paw forward. Perhaps it was something he saw in a vision, or just something that felt right. The Collector took it, and then produced some thin sheet to lay on the table between them. What a shame it was that he couldn't read. "I am trusting..." He was not, indeed, trusting. "That this, of course, only has what we discussed." His voice trailed, a statement twisted into only the inkling of a question. Just to be sure, because Heathen was always sure when he did something. Seeing no hesitation in the Collector's eyes (or ignoring any that may have been present), he allowed his paw to leave a single, neat print upon the parchment.

"Our deal is our own." He agreed. "Few minds are like ours, but I assure you, I have no such business with the Blacksmith. We had a... chance meeting. Fate, I would dare to say." He smiled, amused at his inside joke. Could it even be called an inside joke if only he was privy to it? He would say so. "I only have a question for him, you see. If I see him there now, it should only take a moment. If not, I shall find him another day. I'm losing my interest in the topic the longer I wait." He shrugged, muscles twitching with readiness to depart. He would wait, still, for the Collector to reveal the location of the altar before he made to leave for the workshop. He was eager to begin.

Notes:

"Only what we have discussed, with clauses to protect each of us in case of failure by the other. Quite standard, I assure you."

As Heathen's paw touched parchment, the print burned into paper: a perfect imprint, smudged only slightly, flames and smoke briefly licking at the paper. The Collector withdrew it, shaking it once, eyeing it and allowing it to cool before rolling it up and tucking it back into his cloak. "The contract is sealed," he crooned, a loud and ominous purr.

His tone immediately returned to normal as he spoke again, somewhat ruining the dramatic effect.

"I wish you luck in finding him, then. But he is a... predictable sort," and it rather sounded like he was trying pretty hard not to outright insult his brother. "If I'm not mistaken, your wait should not be long. And then?"

He turned, and snapped his fingers to the nearest smoldering forge: one of those rivulets of half-molten rock glowing dimly in the banked channels set into the cave walls. Flames sprang up, and parted into shapes: the image of a cave, landmarks vaguely visible. Huge crystal formations jutted; ruined buildings, a crumbling arena, and a tower showed the way. "You will find the god's altar in Orion. It calls itself The Shadow. You are looking," he went on, and a wave of his hand shifted the image, "for this."

A flat-topped altar, about six and a half feet long, its proximity to Orion's Forum clear. It might have been any color--the fire was simply orange--but the figurine atop the altar was distinct. It was a grotesque little gargoyle, just under a foot tall. A horned mask of a face led to jagged 'feathered' wings; its breasts were bared, its claws taloned. It looked like a little statue, not alive at all.

"The Conduit of Shadow. Abandoned--in fear, or regret, I think--by its last owner. Someone who regrettably could not handle its power."

He smiled beneath the hood, the brief gleam of fangs visible.

"I suspect you will do better."

A sharp snap of clawed fingers, and the flames died away.

"Ahh-... one warning. It is a god. Do not approach it before you are ready with the sacrifice. Find it, yes, but do not try and wake it. If it is displeased at being awoken without an offering it may simply turn you to ash. And for future reference?" He leaned in, intense, eyes glowing. "Do not unchain it. Whatever it offers you would be a lie, and the results would be catastrophic."