Town Hall - Printable Version

Pride lifted his head, looking up over the arena, and its seats. He'd spent time checking it for magical traps, ensuring nothing lay in wait to somehow ambush any of the participants. This gathering was liable to be a tense one, and there were many to attend who did not trust the others. Pride had asked the Seven to ensure that any fight that might break out was broken up before it got too serious, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. The great arena was open-air, at least, so the dragons could land without subjecting themselves to any sort of containment. And aside from that, the rows of ancient stone benches carved into the rock, the ones that looked down upon the arena, were worn but servicable.

They knew when to meet--Pride had gone throughout the caves, contacting each group and alerting them to a time and day, and a place. Now he waited while the last of them trickled in. And as they settled, he felt his heart quicken, a pace. He drew his magic invisibly around him, like a cloak, as was his habit--a little shield that he could create and then forget about, for now, but which would provide him some protection.

Granted, he knew most of them. But this was a larger gathering than he'd ever addressed, before; all eyes were likely on him, down in the center of the arena, white in the dim quartz-light. He hoped that he'd be audible to them all... but there was no guarantee. I should have thought of this before, he said to himself, warily, grimly. Too late, now. He tried to ignore the dryness in his throat. He tried not to debate with himself, for the hundredth time, which course of action would be the most morally correct. He waited until they were settled, and then he spoke, his voice a loud and fluting melody.

"Thank you all for coming," he began, turning to look over everyone who had come. "We are here to discuss, and address, a serious situation--one that affects all of us. Vargas will go into more detail," he added, and nodded to the Overseer. "In short, we believe that all of us may be in very grave danger from those who control these caves, from without. Recently the dragon Raheerah was killed by one of these--beings," he went on, and realized now that perhaps he should've asked for more information on that. "Turned to Oil by but a touch. A creature, if appearances are to be believed, more powerful even than the Masters. " He paused, turning in place, looking earnestly up at the audience. "Vargas insists that we may all face this fate unless we cooperate with him. This involves obeying, where necessary, and offering out our gemstones when requested. These, in turn, would be used to... procreate, to make into--soldiers, I believe. He will, as I said, explain more; but we are all here to listen, and then to discuss. We need to decide, together, what to do about this. "

Pride took a breath, feeling his heart race. This felt wrong; all of it felt wrong, but they had been left with little choice. "I am not here to provide an opinion or to influence anyone. I am here to offer what I see as our options, and to ask others for any alternatives. We might agree, and cooperate. This might ensure our survival, but it would take from us, children. We might refuse, and risk our deaths--a course we should not take unless we all agree on this. And we might outright try to fight, if and when punishment comes. Again, a risk of death, and from what Vargas tells me it might not be a final death, but a cycle of pain, instead."

Pride looked to Vargas, then. "Please, present to them your side of things."

Reign had a terrible feeling about this.

Pride had asked him, among the others of the Seven, to make sure that no fights would break out. And so he sat among the benches that looked down upon the arena, tall and proud as always, tail wrapped around his paws. The massive Gembound that stood near Pride had his attention, though his ears twitched this way and that, listening to the others as they filed in, or made themselves comfortable, or talked amongst themselves.

He was fast, and he had been asked to do something. If a fight broke out, he would step in. But he hoped it would not.

The cheetah licked his lips nervously, his heart sinking into his stomach as he listened to Pride's words. A great danger from those who controlled the caves--how could they defend themselves by such a power? Pride, himself, and the others, they were strong, and great in number. But he had seen what the Creators could do, and knew that they could kill countless Gembounds with nothing but a thought.

And the thought of children being turned into little more than soldiers had his stomach churning, had him licking his lips. He was a practical cat, believed in doing what had to be done. But creating a living, thinking, breathing being, only just to turn them into soldiers? No, no.

And the 'Overseer', as it demanded was a nasty piece of work, quick to violence, and he curled back his lips from his teeth. He'd been commanded to stop any fights that broke out, and if the 'Overseer', started a fight, then he would do as he'd been asked, though he knew it would not end well and would not be particularly productive.

What the Overseer said was not... kind. Still not as good as Pride's words, but at least their children wouldn't be soldiers. But their survival wouldn't be guaranteed, would be used as little more than experiments. His fur stood on edge, his eyes went half-lidded, and he licked his lips again--they would lose their grand-children, instead.

He didn't react, but he waited instead, for how the others would react.

He had come out of duty—that yes, he had been slacking on, but that was before he had been fully reawakened.

Astraea had approached quietly and, at first, thought he might just listen until he had a proper moment to speak. He was curious to hear what the Gembounds thought of things, especially with one of the point of views being from Vargas.

But his skin twitched as Pride spoke. Ugh. The Gembounds were always so fast to spread misunderstanding as misinformation.

He nodded as Vargas spoke—he had assumed the Gembounds could not fission, in that their magic might not tolerate it as they were... lesser beings. Not as concentrated as those meant to fission were.

Finally, he stepped forward, clearing his throat to throw in a minor correction.

"Raheerah was not killed," hissed his voice, his attention solely on Pride. "He was simply... de-materialized, if you will. Easier for transport. Should the others agree to work with Vargas, then they will need to understand—transportation is important. Sorry, but we don't have any first-class seats or fancy ships," he finished, his eyes turning to Vargas.

He didn't expect the Gembounds to know what first-class meant, or what a ship was, and it didn't matter. His goal was to clarify that Raheerah would very much be alive... somewhere.

"And so, it would turn out that we are short on Masters." Tamulus had fled. Enki and Jupiter had died. "My proposition in this meeting is for Overseer Vargas—would you like to take up the mantle as a Master? A creator, an architect?" Vargas was good at this already. However, he'd need the magical capacity to do so, and the extragensis would not be a walk in the park. Astraea did not mention this to him.

"There is also Farina, who is trapped... still." His ear flicked. Perhaps he could have helped her sooner, but he had, ah, not. There were others they had not even seen or heard from since the Great Awakening, likely living lavishly boring lives in their far-off corners of the nest. "And we will need to open a path to the incubator," he added as he thought more on the subject. "Draco has been lost to us for too long."

His eyes swept across the forum's rising seats. "If you choose not to die, then your efforts in retrieving what has been lost to us will be needed, but things may not be recovered... easily." Astraea snorted, a low grunt rumbling through him.

Imre had curled himself into one of the benches, sitting with his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clasped around them. Mostly, he was interested in what was happening. He didn't know enough about nearly anything to have an opinion on what the meeting was for, but he could feel a pull deep in his core that felt like yes, they should be following what the Overseer was saying rather than risk dying. Dying... His eyes wandered to the sparkling, starry ceiling as he reminisced on this word. It was as if he could almost touch memories he did not know.

There was another voice, and he looked down again, this time to a creature he had not seen before. Imre did not know what a Master was, or an Overseer for that matter—but he listened all the same, his eyes wide at the experience to learn and grow.

He remained quiet in his spot, tail curled around his feet as he sat comfortably coiled in his place.

Mayngo had been traveling, and training, and learning.

Winds still hurt his face, and the loss of his father-figure was a dull pain. But when the stag came, he knew it was important, and that he needed to come. Change was in the air, something was happening. Old Gembounds were waking, or at least showing their faces, and while he could fight he feared what would happen if he dared to face off against even one of them.

The fossa slunk along the backs of the pews, eying the white stag and the... Old One, trying to find a comfortable space to sit where nothing stung his face, where he didn't risk pricking someone else with those spines he had woken with, finally crouching on the back of one like some strange sort of gargoyle, one eye blinking wide.

And the stag's words were nothing shy of alarming. Grave danger, one of the Old Ones killed? He shifted uneasily, quills standing on end, children turned into soldiers? Mayngo loved to fight, considered himself a protector, but he was not at all comfortable with any children he may have being turned into soldiers.

The 'Overseer' seemed vicious, threatening the Stag for being too familiar. Their caves were... some sort of testing place, apparently, himself and the others to be tested, which he could have guessed given he had seen others die in Hydra, had nearly died himself. He bared his teeth; though their children themselves may not be made into soldiers, their children's children would, and he'd never allow it. He leaped to the next pew over, paced pace paced, only to snap his head to the side as another stag stepped forward.

'De-materialized?' he thought sceptically, surely the dragon had been killed, magic could do a lot but bringing the dead back to life? And... what is a ship? The thought of their being more Masters, more Old Ones, had him baring his teeth, but he knew better than to speak up... yet.

She'd arrived her with her father, and her brother--and, somewhere, Blight (half-grown, but with his magic powerful beyond even hers) was keeping watch to ensure that no trap was sprung. She'd thought she'd caught sight of him, once, his sickly body winging lithe and light to keep watch from a higher point up in the shadows.

Bone herself landed more heavily than her father: less graceful and more "thump down on all fours." She turned her body sideways so that she wasn't angled awkwardly downward, and turned her head to listen, and to watch.

The whole thing felt wrong to her, a cascade of unpleasant emotions flitting through her gut. She even tried to use her magic--the sort that could peek into past and future--to catch a glimpse of the results of their options. What she saw was not the future, but a horrific replay of Raheerah's fate, over and over in her mind--and she could feel the backlash of magic crackling through it, the pain sweeping through her head, the arcane power firing chaotically.

Bone shook it away as best she could, gritting her teeth against the pain and trying to focus. She wondered about what Astraea said, about Raheerah--she'd seen that imagery, and she wondered if it were true. Not dead--but transported..? How could something be melted into black goo, screaming and writhing in agony, only to somehow be reformed elsewhere? Her eyes narrowed a little, in confusion as much as suspicion.

Unlike her father, she didn't immediately reject the offers presented. She understood what might be necessity; if Astraea, if Vargas, were actually in the same boat as they were-...

"Can we not fight back-? If you are a Master, can't you help us? Can't we all fight back?" she asked, studying the stag. Or was his loyalty firmly against them; would he betray them to their deaths, instead?

Did he even have a choice?

Sharp always seemed to find herself in the wrong places at the right time.

She didn't know there was a meeting. After all, why would she? She was a tiny creature, and while she did have quite a few friends already she was not exactly one someone would notice when you're, say, looking for participants in an important life-or-death meeting. She was far too busy looking for trinkets to notice the white deer's arrival, and the various meetings he had with Monoceros' residents flew right over her head.

Rather, she found the meeting by accident. Sharp frequently travelled between the three rooms of Canis, Orion, and Monoceros whenever she looked for shiny objects (or in her vain attempts to get herself a light-orb), and the smooth voice of the deer seemed to carry throughout the room. It took a bit of time for her to locate it's source in the fallen city but she eventually traced it down to an odd, circular structure. Like some reptilian cockroach she squeezed her way in through a hole in the wall and popped out into a crowded stand. There were creatures everywhere, far more than she could count, and more than a few were definitely predators. However, they all were sitting nicely, focused on something in the center-- the voice. Sharp tried vainly to see, but the far larger bodies in front of her obstructed her view, so she resolved to just listening and trying to piece together what was happening.

After the nice, calm voice came a harsh, growling one. It sounded like that mean wedge-head-guy from Canis, though without being able to see she couldn't confirm. He spoke of death and destruction, two terms Sharp had no concept of, and then... stones? She understood that part. She loved shiny stones! But then, a new one: unfamiliar, but confident, with a slight hint of superiority. The lizard got the briefest glimpse of a tawny coat, of fungi large and small, and calculative ruby eyes before it once again fell out of view. Who was that guy? she pondered, halfheartedly listening to whatever big words "transport" or "ship" or "architect" he proclaimed. 'Seems okay. Better than mean wedgy-heady, I guess. She let out a little yip of surprise when the dragons flew over-- Dread she recognized-- but otherwise stayed silent, a mere spectator to the cave-changing arguments being placed.

thinking | "speaking"