This thread takes place primarily between The Collector and Mother, of the Hive, to fulfil his end of a contract signed with Horizon in this thread.

There was a strange sound like a beating drum. It accompanied the black-shrouded figure who had appeared at the edge of the Hive, as he made his way--head slightly stooped so that he could fit--through the narrower tunnels. He seemed to take no precautions for his own safety, and the brief conversation he had had by the Drowned Forest entrance had apparently earned him passage... for now. He held something in his hands, something long and flat and bundled.

The drumbeat thud grew louder, and the horned figure raised his head. Crimson pinprick eyes, sharply alert, picked the shapes from the darkness: the Praetors, marching in step, their numbers so great throughout the Hive that the floor of it rang with their synchronized movements.

"My my, Mother... all of this, for me?" he murmured, some faint and sardonic emotion placed on the title--or the name.

MOTHER

The Praetor closest stepped forth sternly, scythelike limbs raising to bar the beast's passage. Another stream of them came in from behind.

"The one they call Collector. ...Tell me... why should I trust one who hides his face, who works as an agent for Chaos-... No, that is not the right question."

The voice was commanding, indeed maternal, and strong. Yet the creature that pushed its way past the Praetors drew the eye downward: a scraggly Echoing Gray, its pale eyes empty of the scorching stare the Collector was sure she would have given him in person. "No, my question is... give me one reason I should not kill you."

The Collector did his best to stand up straight; the Praetors, too, had to hunch in this narrow space. He held the wrapped object out before him, and then bowed deeply. He was known mostly for his silver tongue... and it was this that he now put to use. "Ahh, very clever. First, allow me to correct a... misapprehension. I am not an agent of chaos; I am an agent of my own. Although, if I were an agent of Chaos, I must say that your presence in these caves only stirs it greater. A prodded hornets' nest, keeping the others here from complacency. That is, I can assure you, for the best. But that is not why I have come here. I've come to bargain, on behalf of one who holds one of your members dear. Allow me to present a gift. Proof of my good will."

MOTHER

The Gray looked to him, its eyes narrowing despite the lack of anything in their broken, half-blinded depths. The Collector watched, politely silent, awaiting her judgment.

Those of the Hive would feel her tension. Her awareness of them all, her uncertainty, her suspicion, her rage--held barely in check, simmering. She kept all of them at bay for the time being, a mental hand waved in their direction. She would hear him... for now. They were, after all, in the absolute furthest reaches of the Hive; she'd had him led deeper away from the center of the nest, not toward it, in the narrow passages that led to the storage caves.

The Praetor nearest to him plucked the object from his claws, and pulled the cloth away to reveal a sword. The blade was purple crystal, the hilt silver. The crystal seemed somewhat clumsily carved, chipped away to form a sharp edge; it was enough to puzzle her, to give her pause. He would not give her something cheap or poorly made, which meant that this thing's value was hidden... if it were not a trap.

"What is it," she demanded, words curt and harsh.

Yet from his demeanor, she could detect no duplicity. That wasn't saying a lot, she knew: he was known for his trickery. Perhaps he'd been recruited to attempt infiltration--but surely he knew that was not possible. She'd never allow one of them any deeper into the Hive, no matter what promises or gifts were made.

So perhaps... she could at least hear him out. But the guards posted at other entrances were set on high alert, and the circling Ghostbirds overhead sharper-eyed than usual... just in case it was some trick.

"A blade. Poorly made. Kept as a souvenir," he added, waving one hand dismissively. "I collect many things. But items imbued with magical power are one thing of special interest to me. The other prized items... are the stones of those who have fallen, who I found interesting." He gestured to the blade. "That is one such stone. I can assure you, that were you to return that one to life, you would find quite the asset for your Hive."

His crimson eyes glittered, one clawed finger raising to his lips. "Of course... you did not get it from me. In return I only ask that you hear out my request, and allow me to leave unharmed. I promise to tell no one of this place, or its location, though many of them know already, so it is nothing lost for you; I need a small room, however, to make my case."

This seemed to be very important, but after a moment he paused to backtrack, a little. "Were you to choose someone to revive that stone, to keep its utility, I would recommend you pick someone beautiful."

MOTHER

She watched him for a moment, before deciding to acquiesce to his request.

"Let it be done, then," she replied, impatiently, the rat waving one forepaw in a dismissive manner. "But I warn you, Collector, I have no patience for your games. If you betray me, or harm any member of this Hive, I will kill you." It was not a roundabout threat, tactful, as she so often was with her Hive. It was a cold, direct threat, and he seemed to take it in stride, bowing and murmuring a simple "Of course."

She distrusted the empty way his red pinprick eyes studied her, the way it prickled the fur on her rat body to have those eyes on her back as she pushed past him. She led the way forward, down an even narrower, rougher-floored passage, one leading farther yet from her true body, and into an empty storage room.

Praetors surrounded this place, filling every tunnel. They had been roused from what was so often a state of near-hibernation, and were moving to and fro not unlike the stirred hornet's nest that he'd described.

Mother pushed her puppet through the doorway, and stepped inside, making her way to the far end of the room. This rat was disposable: she wanted the Praetors at his back. Then "she" turned to face him, the rat sitting upright and waiting for him to speak. She itched to threaten him further, to warn him of her defenses that roiled in anticipation, to point out that a distraction would be pointless, but... if it were an attempt on the Hive... Let him believe she was that much a fool.

The Collector ignored the hostility, behaving as the perfect gentleman. He could've brought up how she'd insulted him before, twisting his home cave up in her foul, moldy threads, forcing him into other caves for a time. But he had no reason to escalate things, for now; he kept that on the backburner in case he needed it.

He showed no discomfort at stepping inside her Hive, with the Praetors at his back. And perhaps, given his tendency to simply disappear--a trick of light, or matter--he was not truly even here. But he certainly appeared to be, and certainly sounded real.

He cleared his throat, and bowed his head. "This room is safe, yes? -My presence here is not a threat?" At a slight, tense shake of the rat's head, he nodded and swept a chair from thin air, settling it beneath him. He drew for another, offering it out, and when the rat merely glared at him he shrugged and slid it into his cloak where it--impossibly--vanished. Then he sat, crossing one leg primly over the other.

He raised his right hand, index finger pressed to thumb. "Then, please do not be alarmed. I would like to make my case, but in order to do so... I need a little atmosphere. You understand," he said, and winked. His back was blocking the door.

The Collector snapped his fingers, summoning... The Piano.

@The Piano

THE PIANO HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT.

As soon as it felt the tug of the charm under its hood and the rush of blackness that came before it, it knew. And its heart (or its metaphorical equivalent) sang with a dark, shining joy. It had finally been summoned.

It did not speak. It did not question the icy surroundings it was in or the threatening atmosphere of the Praetors that closed in (although it thought that both rather added to the atmosphere). It did not even blink. It just popped into existence, its nine-foot triangular figure filling the previously empty space, and started playing.

Slowly at first, a deep bass note that rang out in the icy silence that developed into thrumming, troubled arpeggios. In its contralto middle range, a severe melody rang out, with jarring dotted entrances and turbulent intervals.

It was slow. It was suspenseful. It was dramatic.

It was, The Piano hoped, something the Collector would be satisfied with. Something he would enjoy.

MOTHER

The Mother of the Hive--or rather, her rat puppet--was silent as the piano appeared. For that was, initially, how she viewed it: a piano. Lowercase. Not a name. She thought it was just a regular piano, an instrument, a nod to how ridiculously dramatic the Collector could be. It certainly fit the rumors.

She didn't sigh, but her faint exasperation rippled through the Hive.

Oddly, there was a second sensation. One other Drones and Hosts would feel: a flicker through the Cleaners and the Praetors in range of this one-creature symphony. None of them--not a single one--had heard music, before. And now they all froze, processing the novelty of it. The... beauty. It wasn't that anything would shake them from Mother's grasp, or make them suddenly develop individuality, but... the music held the same taste as that sort of grand event, a hint in that direction.

And the Collector? He leaned back, for a moment, one foot bobbing along, those tiny glowing eyes half sliding shut as his head nodded too in appreciation of the rhythm.

"Tell me why you are here. Stop wasting our time."

He waited for a dramatic lull, a pause after a sudden faster-paced segment early on. He held up a claw as if asking for patience until it struck, and then a soft 'ahhhh' of delight escaped him. He smiled up at Mother's puppet, fangs briefly glinting before he settled forward a bit, hands clasping before him.

"To business, then. I have been requested by a loved one to attempt to reclaim a member of your Hive who they feel has been separated from them, presumably by the nature of said Hive. I am aware that this link is not so easily broken. As such, I presume you would need to forcibly sever them in some way." He made no mention of killing, of retrieving a stone; that was not his purview nor part of his agreement today.

He withdrew three rolled-up scrolls from his cloak, each bound in faintly stained white ribbon. The Praetors' gazes fell on those ribbons; scythe-limbs twitched, as if they desired at once to tear them free and clean them. But they did not, perhaps by Mother's direction.

"Thus I present three options. That is the first. The second, simply to guarantee that this member--one 'Cyneweard;' if you do not know the name I do have a description--visits that loved one, one 'Horizon,' a two-headed bovine sort of Gembound. The third, assures that you have some method of truly severing this Cyneweard from your hive." He offered up all three contracts, not holding them out yet but simply displaying them, and awaited a response.

And all the while, the Piano played.

MOTHER

The rat twitched, irritation and impatience rippling through the entirety of the Hive.

"And what price could you possibly pay to be worth such a thing?" she demanded, but it was scoffing. He couldn't, and she knew it. And the whole Hive could hear her assurance: they were not worth so little to her, certainly.

The Collector smiled again, folding all three contracts into his palm.

"Ahh, well, that is the fun part," he answered. "I can offer almost everything. In terms of price..." he leaned forward, his eyes glittering as The Piano reached a crescendo in its lovely work. "Name yours."

MOTHER

She remained entirely unaware that The Piano was something other than a piano, an inanimate object, an instrument, enchanted perhaps but certainly not alive. She wasn't there in the flesh to sense a stone or magic. There was only the rat, which stared, whiskers twitching, at The Collector.

But this... changed things, a little. Anything..? Name any price?

"I've heard the rumors of your cursed rewards," she began, but it was tentative. "And you could not give me what I want. Security for this Hive. A weakening or--no, an expulsion of the filth in these caves. You--what?" she broke off, rat's eyes narrowing, because the Collector had let out a softly delighted laugh.

"What if I were to offer you a weakness? A time or a place, or both, to strike? You would need to do the legwork, of course, but... tell me, is it a price that you can even pay? This--Cyneweard? If I were to even offer you a chance to strike Chaos from these caves... to claim it for your Hive. Can you free them?"

MOTHER

She was silent.

And she remained so, for now her mind was reaching along the link, and searching for the Gembound in question.

Her next words came not aloud, but through the link, twisting for his mind. "Drone Zero-One-Nine. Knight. What can you tell me of this? Of this... Horizon. Of your desires." She had no intention of giving up a drone, let alone a useful one. But maybe... trickery was in the realm of possibility?

Unlike Algol, she had no compunction about breaking a contract outright.

@The Piano (for general reactions) and @Cyneweard (Mother brainwave post!)

The Piano's focus was on its music--it was something it took immense pride in, and it wanted to be sure this performance was the best it could give--but it listened in (how could it not?) to the Collector and the leader of this Hive.

Others might have surprised to see a little Lesser rat at the head of an army of giant warrior ants, but The Piano was not. In fact, as its 'eyes' swept over and landed on the Echoing Gray, it felt a sense of... rightness. It made perfect sense that a rat was the mastermind leader of this 'Hive'; after all, just look at Archimedes, the mastermind behind The Organization. The Piano would never be someone to underestimate the seemingly unassuming species.

It absorbed their conversation, this back-and-forth bargaining and the juicy morsels of information--it was seeking to purge what from the caves? That sounded like major--and violent--news--perhaps The Organization could take advantage--but it was not quite processing it.

It wouldn't do to take away valuable brainpower from its performance, after all.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

panic attack

typical hive mindfuckery

He was tending to his usual duties, guarding a sizable hive node in Eridanus, when he first felt the shivers of Mother's suspicion and rage. He couldn't help but react to it, despite knowing the threat was caves away. His pacing quickened, eyes scanning the treeline with an increased fervor, itching with building nervous energy. Some part of him yearned for some oil-soaked beast to come bursting out of the foliage, to make the threat tangible and actionable. So he may recognize his one purpose. His only purpose. Protect the hive.

For a while his attention remained turned outward, away from the link, on guard against an enemy that could not show its face to him. However, as the conversation progressed, he became increasingly aware that they were talking about him. His pacing slowed, gazing growing even more clouded and unfocused as his attention turned inwards. He was primarily confused, a bit nervous- why was he being singled out, of everyone in the hive? When he caught on that it was about his children, and his 'freedom' he felt relief that they were still alive and healthy but a deep sadness that they were going this far to reject mother's love.

When Mother called for him, he answered quickly and dutifully, as though he hadn't been quietly listening in for some time now. Mother. The greeting was soaked in love and devotion. Horizon is my child. They have a brother, Coilean. I gave life to their stones shortly before I was inducted into the hive. It has been many cycles since I've seen either of them. A number of memories were sent bundled alongside this information. The moment he first saw them- he hadn't returned in time to witness their hatching, just the immediate aftermath, wobbly steps and clumsy first words. Lessons- basic survival knowledge and self defense, yes, but also specific warnings to avoid The Hive, how to identify the mold and those infected by it. The last time he ever saw Horizon. He had tried to set things right, then, to share Her love, and was meant only with violent fear and rejection.

I was scared and confused in the beginning, and I passed that fear down to them. They think you're a monster who consumes and hollows out all that you touch. They will never accept or understand your love. I'm sorry. They are so lost and scared without a family to guide them, and its his fault. Guilt and remorse and longing is bleeding freely into the link, now. He didn't dwell on the past often, especially not the events directly before and after his infection. Mother typically redirect such thoughts if they're ever close to surfacing. This is why. Those memories are so distant and foreign yet so, so vivid. The panic and fear and exhaustion as he fought Mother's infinitely patient and inescapable grasp. Worrying over what would happen to his children when he was no longer there to look out for them. Worry over what would become of himself when he infection finally consumed him entirely. Fighting a foe he never should've faced, in the middle of Eridanus's fungus-choked greenery. Stingers and crunching bones and blood and pain and consuming darkness. Waking up afterwards, knowing that something had been done to him, and that he couldn't fight it, no matter how hard he tried.

He had lost track of his physical body some time ago. Now he was viscerally aware of it. He was standing in the middle of a clearing, breaths coming fast and loud, whistling discordantly through the spiracles dotting his helmet. "I'm scared." He wheezed hoarsely into the empty air. He trembled faintly despite is rigid stature, sword slipping through shaking his hands. Thoughts tumbled around in loops, too fast to really keep track of. I'm lost. I'm scared. My throat hurts. I'm sorry. I'm scared. I miss them. My head hurts. I'm scared. I'm scared.

He fumbled blindly along Mother's mental link, tugging at her sleeve like a lost child. Feels bad. Make it better? He begged.

MOTHER

Cyneweard's response was one of deep emotion, unexpected from the Knight. It wasn't that Mother thought him to be incapable, just that it didn't often erupt so powerfully in any of the Hive. It had been... repressed? She was unsure, but as he contemplated, she began to see potential here. She still did not trust the Collector, but she began to break things down as one of pure Order would.

First point: relationships outside the Hive were to be fostered, if they progressed the Hive's desires.
Second: Cyneweard was unhappy. He was missing a relationship previously fostered with family.
Third point: Such a relationship would not be so easily resumed without grave distrust...
Except that, fourth point. One of them had explicitly reached out through the Collector.

Conclusion: she could allow Cyneweard, even encourage him, to rekindle those bonds under the illusion that his link with the Hive was muted or even fully suppressed. The family could trust him, he could spread the Hive's good will, she could gain whatever questionable reward the Collector offered. For that matter, that final point was hardly relevant. A few extra contacts outside the Hive was a good thing on its own.

She sent a flicker of reassurance to Cyneweard. His emotional turmoil had deepened in the few seconds she'd been thinking, a request for solace reaching for her mind. She plucked the necessary strings: a dulling of stress, a warm sense of well-being, a promise that things would be somehow all right. Her voice in his mind was soothing.

"Drone Zero-One-Nine Knight, tell me. Would you be willing to pretend that I have acquiesced in part to this deal that is being offered, in order to is that Piano alive?" The thought, halfway through, swapped very abruptly from a Mother's gentle caress to utter shock. The realization had come at once, the tendons, the bone wheels-...

In the cave, the Echoing Gray sat back, blinking at The Piano. Aside from the fact the thing was ALIVE, there was the fact that it was here at all. The idea that something could simply teleport into her Hive, behind her defenses-...

She set that aside for two seconds to finish her previous mental conversation. "...I apologize, child. What I meant to ask is if you would like to pretend that I have accepted this one's offer, and reconnect with the one seeking you. Perhaps it would be... healing. And allies outside the Hive are always welcome."

She gave him a moment to consider it, and the Gray leaned back, and spoke. "I did not invite a Gembound into this Hive," the rat snapped, and glared (empty but pointedly) at The Piano.

The Collector bowed his head at a slight angle, but his foot--one leg still crossed over the other--continued to bob to The Piano's rhythm.

"Nothing to fear, my lady. A personal connection, and only with this one. -I did ask if it was safe, here," he added, glancing up with only the faintest trace of reproach in his tone. "It will not be able to find its way back, and I hardly think this... singular ice cave amongst a thousand others will be particularly recognizable. It also has no other magical links to other creatures," he added, and that was a blatant lie; he hadn't bothered checking.

"But if you wish..?" he went on, raising one hand, fingers poised to snap.

@Cyneweard @The Piano

Wrapping this thread up soon, most likely!

The Piano couldn't help it; a shiver of laughter ran through its music when the rat-queen seemed to make the realization that it was, in fact, a living Gembound. It appreciated the Collector coming to its defense, however, and even basked in the attention of the two. The atmosphere was one of drawn swords and tightened bows--wait, did one tighten bows used as a weapon or was that only the instrumental ones it had read about in the library? --Never mind that now.

Its music faded away, to be replaced by the chord-smash imitation of a voice. "Do not worry," it reassured. "I am quite harmless. As you can tell, I am just a feeble musician." While it didn't quite know about feeble, that seemed like something reassuring to say.

Then it remembered that the Collector had once told it not to speak. Ahhh, well. Too late to regret it now. Sheepishly, it began its slow melody once more.