Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

graphic themes

(Remembering a bad event, very vague)

It was this one's time to awaken again, having been drifting through consciousness, the flame of a candle left exposed to the elements. In and out, awake and asleep, on the edge of extinction. The lines had begun to blur, the shapes of their form becoming unfamiliar in ponds and shattered chrysalises. They called out to It, asking, begging-

Enough! Hooves pounded at the stone below, splintering stray sticks.

Nothing. Fragments of a dream. It was still waking up.

They needed an anchor, something familiar, something real. Proof. Proof that what they had seen, WHO they had seen was not just another moment of madness. The dark corner of the cave called to It, a familiar dented bush and impossibly stain-free stone in the center of a path, a path into the depths of Hell. The entrance to the Prison, not that It knew. It was born here, gangly and wet; humbled here, and-

They still remembered the feeling of teeth on their throat.

It was no dream, that feeling. Those eyes. But It needed more, to know, to trust. Slow steps on tense limbs led them towards the greenery, eyes scanning, searching. Blood, bone, anything. They shoved, forcing their bulk into a space once designed for them, a hidden refuge where their gem once served as the cave's womb. A sliver of red, one small clue, one almost invisible piece of their very short history.

It was enough. Seraph backed out of the bush, not unharmed by the thin branches that wound around it's limbs. It was once small enough to be entangled by them, but not any longer, having long ago reached their full size. It would not be toyed with again. It would not let such filth exist in the caves so easily as long as it was alive.

But it wasn't truly alive, was it? No, it had not been in some time. Where had its fight gone? Its curiosity? Its purpose... There was more to its task, there had to be, than just execution. Their hooves took them across the cave of their own volition, seeking something beyond their first moments of life, something... kinder. It was tired of silent anger, silent searching, silent seeking. It needed to speak, to breathe again. It was... lonely?

A strained voice unused for cycles escaped their mouth without warning, filling the Caelum with red-hot emotion, a wordless scream. It had a way with entrances, didn't it?


"speaking" thinking

@Fulgur (If the pronoun switching is hard to read, let me know and I'll simplify the next post to one alone!)

What the Arbitrator would find, as they crashed into the workshop, was that it was for once not silent. Chittering and chattering, a flock of strange birds perch on various shelves. They all turn in unison, staring at the newcomer charging in. They remain there, watching, curious, in that tense moment.

But it doesn't last long, and when Seraph screams, heat billowing out of its mouth, the Flock flee. And that is likely when they would notice the other Greater Gembound in the room, as the smaller creatures dart to hide under Fulgur's wings.

He'd been curled up at a workstation on the far side of the room, taking inventory of tools from ages past. Looking up from his work, he'd glance over a shoulder. Pink eyes dart over Arbitrator. Who is this?

Fulgur would pause before moving to confront - no, he'd take inventory of his Flock first. To his dismay, a few had been burnt. And he will have to figure out if the Arbitrator had anything against him in particular, of his was just unfortunate enough to be here when it vented its anger.

So he'd finally lift his head to speak, "Is something the matter?" There's a strain to Fulgur's voice, as he tries to keep himself calm.

@Arbitrator