Insisting on coming probably was one of the stupidest ideas James had ever had in his short lifespan. He'd followed Pride around like a lost puppy and had taken it upon himself to try to ensure no fights broke out, as he was one of the Seven. It was his duty!

Though... his duty was shoved to the back of his mind as he tried to keep himself standing, his tail tucked between his hind legs as he watched all sorts of creatures enter the chamber, big and small, and then... bigger and bigger. The dragons, especially, frightened him, and he wanted nothing more than to run towards Pride and hide under his legs. Vargas made him feel like he was nothing more than cave slime, sticky, and gross as it grew up the walls of the tunnels running through the various caverns. His eyes were his worst feature, in James' opinion. Too many of them, and they looked like they might just melt out of his head at any given second. Also... which glowing holes even were his eyes? How many did he even have? Too many, that was for sure.

He struggled to listen to what was said, really only latching onto the idea of... child soldiers. Hang on- he was a child! He didn't want to fight- not yet!

Panic filled his chest and he fell onto his rump, his face growing hot and his hooves shaking as he tried to hold it at bay. He shouldn't have come... or at least, shouldn't have come if someone he knew wasn't going to be at his side like he'd hoped.

Maybe he ought to focus on something else, like the fact that there was a fly buzzing around the stadium, doing loops and zig-zags, making James wonder how it didn't get dizzy. Slowly, using the fly as a distraction, he calmed his racing heart and kept his head down after that.

She'd arrived with Aure and the rest of the attending Bonebound, and had taken up her seat in wary silence. Large gatherings were... not good for her. Orion, with its history of Senka, the shit-cat, even less so. She sat unsettled, shifting dark eyes to stare here and there with suspicion into darkness.

At least Dread and his family were here. Aure gave her comfort, but Dread gave her more surety. So, in some sense, did Orthoclase-Alpha. If fighting broke out-...

-Ahh, but the meeting was beginning. The hyena shifted a little, in place, and turned her attention to first Pride, and then, as he took over, Vargas. And then, in turn, to Astraea. She didn't speak, not at all, but she listened. She suspected that Aure would offer the suggestion that the bones had given them. She hadn't told him about Mother's fungus, which hadn't been particularly helpful; it had first tried again and again to get her to eat it and then, when it had become clear that she would not, told her that she should infect as many attendees as she could. It had insisted that helping the Masters, in this case, was bad, but most of its rambling had been desperation to spread itself far and wide, and she considered that distinctly unhelpful in this case.

Overhead, Omen cawed once as she circled and then landed somewhere out of sight--Giggle wanted her watching Orion, watching to make sure no black not-light with silver eyes came creeping to the Forum. For now, though, there was nothing--only unwelcome suggestions, unpleasant rebuttals, and asshole stags.

rain stock: D Sharon Pruitt wiki commons; hyena Benjamin Hollis on flickr

Dragon arrived like a strange mockery of Dread. Where the true dragon swept in graceful and made of predatory elegance, threatening and beautiful both, Dragon arrived hovering near-vertically, his heavy ridged tail pointed almost straight down, magical red-black wings beating in wispy thuds to even keep him airborne. His "dragon horns" flickered in and out of being, as though he were struggling to maintain the spell, as he dropped himself into the stands.

He tumbled, at first, finding it hard to land tail-first on a hard and slanted surface and misjudging, a little, his direction. He fell, rolled in the dust and came upright, turning with a brief and grumbling hiss. The wings folded and fell away, the magical horns fading, and Dragon turned his attention to the room.

He had told the Children of Rot two things. First, that they did not need to attend. That if this were some sort of trick, or trap, he wouldn't have them all dead. He promised to bring back what information he could to those who chose to remain behind. Second, that they should hide, and stay safe, if they chose to stay back. He'd do his best to protect them but he could guarantee nothing. Still, he knew that this would be a gathering of great importance--and as the rest clustered together, he could see that it was so.

The alligator remained quiet, and still, his scarred and battered near-black body motionless and low among the aged pews. And he watched Pride, and the Bonebound. The true dragons (and he was so damn jealous of them, of their beautiful forms--oh, how he still wished to be one-!). Vargas. And Astraea.

Long ago, Aquarian had made him a promise. Survive, the old master had said--paraphrased, really--for long enough, and you will understand the secrets of the caves. Unfortunately, Dragon had long ago come to realize that what Aquarian had meant wasn't that there was some mystical web to unravel, but rather, that the demands and cruelties of the other Masters would eventually become apparent. It wasn't a reward, but punishment, and the permanent grin across his reptilian face reflected nothing of his internal rebellion, and of his dismay.

So these were their choices, then. To remain silent in the swamp, and obey, and give away their children, and survive. Survive, as he'd always sworn to do. Or to rebel, and apparently to be slain.

Dragon eyed Astraea. The stag had been their ally, for so long. Yet Dragon had long ago come to distrust him, from all he'd heard, and seen. He wondered if he would kill Khloros, if he spotted him among the rest, but that was a vague curiosity. More than that, he wondered what the stag would say, if questioned.

Dragon listened to the rest, and thought, and considered. He could not imagine himself willingly giving up portions of his stone; like Dread he held his children in close regard. Children were cherished, children were always spared his predations. They were protected, adopted, and cared for. They were never given away to violence.

At length, he decided on the single question that he would ask. He'd already determined not to give an answer now, unless it were pushed, unless it became necessary; for now he simply called out: "Master Astraea. Do you believe that this is the right course of action? That there is no other way?"

There was no emotion in the question: it was blank, matter-of-fact, but Dragon's dark eyes regarded him with deep and critical thought.

The stag's answer, he believed, would tell them much.

Khloros stood quiet in the stands, half-shrouded by the shadows, and listened to them talk. He'd been careful to arrive separate from Dragon, to avoid his presence, so that no suspicion of his sheltering him in Cetus would--hopefully--be aroused. He'd even washed himself in an Eridanus stream en route, to wash away the revealing mud caked to his legs and hooves.

Now he was here, and what a momentous occasion it was-... Everyone gathered in one place (Unwise, he thought) and listening, talking, debating.

He did not doubt, for a moment, that if he stepped forward and into the light, that Astraea would kill him. Despite the promise of non-violence here today--Khloros didn't expect the Master to listen to the decisions of "mere" Gembound.

The horse spoke up, partway through, his now-rich voice carrying through the arena.

"You would continue to serve the magic that runs through this place? I've told many of you: it's keeping us captive, here. It's bringing life to slaves, only to serve--he sees us as only waste, byproducts, with perhaps a little use to pick from but no true value of our own. We are not free, so long as we obey."

A pause, and he tipped his head higher, and stepped farther forward, likely visible to all now. "This is a cycle that can be interrupted now. Here. Today. Refuse this, all of you-! Or you will only be sending further generations into pain and fear. Your children. Is that what you want-?"

He looked down at the stag--the brown one, with all its fungal infestation--and remembered the pain it had inflicted on him, the agony--and the gentle being that had come after. "I've seen outside this place. I have carried death. You call yourself a Master; you are nothing but a slave. Are you too afraid to help us? Are you too afraid to do what is right-?"

A tad dramatic, perhaps; but the black horse was seething with a fury he'd never known.

horse stock by venomxbaby on deviantart

Blight was not there to listen, and to talk. Blight was purely there to ensure the safety of his family. If an attack came, he would sweep in to help. For now, however, the dragon--unaware he shared both the gemstone, and the magic, of the black horse Khloros now speaking--took up a position some distance away. The forum was in the center of Orion, but the cliffs and ruins provided ample space to hide, to crouch and to listen from a distance.

Dread would give a roar, he knew, if there was danger; for now he waited, out of sight and silent. Shadows shrouded him further from sight, and covered the neon green glow of his once-Khloros-like eyes.