So, following her little stairs escapade with Pallas in that accursed tunnel, Elyon was back in Canis. Not even she knew why, quite yet. Perhaps it was to explore a little more closely? To chat up Dad and Eli? Maybe it was just a desire to be back at her birthplace by her second cycle --- not that she was keeping count --- that brought her back. After a couple of days, the reasoning became clear. The hybrid had disappeared up into the higher recesses of the Chambers, far away from any snooping rats or dangerous other Gembound (not that she couldn't punch them into oblivion.) There, she shed her first skin, molting into a more state. Ugh, being free of that old shell was great.

Later, as a silly prank, she propped up the split carapace with bones. Elyon unwittingly may have created the Caves's first scarecrow. Unfortunately, the poor lad would never stand guard over any field. Simply just a bit of the Chambers. Like, one hallway. That was a sacred duty, still.

Anyways, the centaur laid in wait for her new shell to harden and not be a mushy, vulnerable blob. She didn't need a near-death experience to know that hiding and lying in wait was the best option. After a few days of quietly starving, Elyon scampered down the near-vertical slope of her little den and scampered out into the open. Ah, the fresh smell of dry bones. How she had missed that! Her hoof-claws clicked noisily against the stone, skittering across bones with practiced ease. All of that childish clumsiness had seemingly vanished, giving way to a quite graceful creature.

Not quite so graceful, though, when she took an entire femur and snapped it in two beneath her foot, then choked down both halves quite easily. That left things to be desired; first and forefront, the ability to not see that happening. Ugh.

Oh, shit! Eating and molting had apparently spurred some bit of memory in the young centaur's mind. Hadn't Dad said something once about this big cloaked creature that had all sorts of treasures and stuff. Elyon immediately choked down the rest of the bone she was working on and spun in place. Her mouth opened slightly to call out the creature's name, but she couldn't place her finger on what that name actually was. The Connector? Director? No... it had collected stuff --- oh! "Aye, Collector? You still about?"

A rustle, among the bones to one side. A few of them scattered from a pile, and from this pile stepped forth a black-cloaked figure--horns protruding, then shaking the bones aside. He emerged, stepping up and out--though if inspected, the pile was merely a foot or so deep.

Blood red pinprick eyes regarded the stranger, and the smooth, deep voice purred--"Always, my dear. How may I be of service..?"

@Elyon

Suddenly, like emerging from a deep pool or sauna, came the Collector. And he was tall! Not so tall that Elyon was craning her neck up but still very tall. If she stood on exclusively her hind legs, she may have matched the beast's height. She wasn't interested in that --- no, she was intrigued by his method of entry. With a curious chirp ("Woah!"), the centaur scuttled forth, leaning low and kicking at the bone pile. There was no mysterious void under them or any holes leading Elsewhere^TM. Her hoof-claws clip-clopped as she turned around and pointed at the innocent bones, interrogating, "how'd you do that?"

After a moment, waiting for an answer, she drew her arms close to her chest in a rather ecstatic gesture. Finally, something with arms! Well, she assumed the Collector had arms. Elyon couldn't confirm that yet. "Will you arm wrestle me? I want to be the strongest in the Caves but nobody has arms or whatever these things are called---" she lifted her hands, showing them to the Collector. "Or, or--- do you have cool weapons and shit? Like a fire-breathing claw-thing!" Of course, she meant a sword. "Or a long stick with a pointy thing at the end."

@Game Master Dark

The Collector waved the clawed fingers of his left hand, tilting his head. "Magic," he responded. Then he listened to Elyon's words, quietly. He waited for her to finish, and then seemed to think about this. "Well. No, in answer to your first question. And as to the second--tell me this: for what reason, precisely, do you wish a weapon?"

And truly, where had she even heard of such things..? The beasts of this generation were hardly wielders of objects like the forerunners--but perhaps it was her own idea. He had not, after all, ever seen a "fire-breathing claw-thing" before.

@Elyon

Magic? That was hardly a worthy explanation! But, to be fair, Elyon didn't have the strongest grasp on magic or what exactly it did. She had yet to witness any other display of it, and hers failed to even manifest at will. For the time being, she let the subject go. Maybe she could find someone who knew easier magic than that.

Also --- "no arm wrestling?! Fuckin' bummer!" She half-crowed, crossing her arms and pouting childishly. Without any other aggressive positioning in her repertoire, Elyon huffed and padded over to the bones. She studied them for a moment, before taking a knee and grabbing an elongated femur. It was about the size of her forearm, perfect to be brandished as a sword. "Well, I can't really use magic like everybody else, and I also can't really reach other Gembound that well because I'm not that bendy," she paused, swinging her make-shift sword side to side, "I'm not a bully, I swear! I just think it'd be cool, I guess." Her sword arm fell slightly, as did her face, "I can't really use magic, so, yeah."

@Game Master Dark

Ideas ran through his mind. A spear, perhaps? She looked well-built for such a weapon. Or perhaps a bow and arrows? --Jupiter might be angry about that--but that only sweetened the idea. Humor--pernicious and bright--threatened to overwhelm his features... but he wore a hood. His features hardly mattered.

Claws drummed--once--on a ruined ledge of stone beside him. "Hrmm. I can offer you something strong--something powerful, to sweep those before you aside. Brute, raw strength. Or I can offer you precision, at the cost of power--something pointed, as you say, to pierce those who will not stand aside. Or I can offer you, last, a thing to strike those even far--though it will require much practice to use. Make your decision, if any of these three appeal to you--and I will name my price."

@Elyon

Elyon watched as the Collector thought quietly, mulling over her request. So, he wouldn't acknowledge how much of a bummer he was being by not arm wrestling her. The centaur deflated visibly for a second, twin tails swaying with slight annoyance. Once weapon choices began to be rattled off, though, she perked back up. Power, precision, or range. The idea of practice didn't quite appeal to her, so she immediately dismissed the ranged option. Sweeping up foes seemed like a good idea, but so did precision. She presumed it was like the spear she had conjured up in her mind. Power must be like her false sword; which, by the way, she cast back into the pile. Elyon stroked at her chin and moustache for a moment, then clenched a fist — a natural weapon of her own. With an air of finality, she chirped, "I think I'll go for power!"

@Game Master Dark

The Collector leaned back, with a nod. His hand slipped behind his back, and he then withdrew it--and within his claws, he now held a weapon. One far too large to have been merely concealed behind him.

It was huge: a flail mace, its handle alone fully three feet long and thick, and seemingly formed of a massive, heavy bone wrapped in bands of black iron. A dark and rusted chain hung from the end of this bone, another two and a bit feet of length, and too thick to break with any sort of normal means. And from this hung an oblong ball of something colored like bone--narrow where it touched the chain, bulbous and round at the end, like a skull. This object was studded all over with sharp, misshapen points: what looked like claws, teeth, and sharp shards of bone. On closer inspection, the mace was clearly damaged: the bone handle was splintered thinly along its length, the teeth and claws and bits of bone shattered here and there. The chain was rusted, but the Collector swung it lightly nonetheless, and the misshapen ball of bony points whizzed through the air with a low bass hum.

It was clearly a weapon that could, when swung, crush through one's enemies. To cleave through armies, and decimate one's foes... if only it were repaired.

"Agragon's Final Flail," the Collector explained, his voice somehow pleased. "It is, as you can see, in a state of disrepair. A sad condition for such a fine, historical weapon. I will make you a deal: you agree to repair and to empower it, and you will keep it. Should you cease doing so, however, it will be returned to me."

The Collector paused, eyeing Elyon.

"Its repair and its empowerment both require use," he added. "You will need to begin to hit things either way. Here... try it out."

Clawed hands flipped, palms-up, the flail offered out in them. The heavy bone lay across his hands, the spiked flail slowly swinging, as if trying to tempt Elyon, below.

@Elyon

Elyon watched reverently as the Collector withdrew an enormous bone-bound weapon from his apparent treasure trove of a cloak. Her eyes brightened further as the flail's end swung through the air, points whizzing and humming. She clipped forward slightly, inspecting the weapon closely. The links connecting its two parts was a rusty red color, like her own mane. Its handle seemed close to breaking and the end was jagged and worn. Elyon pouted slightly — the best she could, anyways, with a stiff face — and looked up just as the tall creature began to explain.

Without hesitation, she found herself already reaching for the flail, chirping, "who was Agragon?" The centaur didn't quite grasp the concept of how using such a brittle-looking weapon could repair it, but she also didn't have a strong hold on the limits of magic itself, so she didn't particularly care. "I'll do my best—" Elyon gasped as she touched the flail. A cold feeling settled in the bottom of her upper gut, foreign and disgusting. Her hand retreated from the weapon's handle, wrist clutched by her other. Despite herself, Elyon reached for the flail and took it in both hands. Perhaps it was just a weird magic thing and the Collector was fooling around with her. The sickening feeling came again, awful bone-splintering impulses rising in her.

Holding the handle in her left hand, she pulled it up and over her shoulder. Realizing how heavy it was, Elyon raised her right hand, planting it firmly toward the flail's blunt end. In a smooth, albeit sloppy motion, she sent the spiked bulb through the nearby pile of bones. The mass scattered and splintered immediately beneath the sheer force and power of the thing. A rat skittered out from the pile, and Elyon immediately tensed to give chase to it. The lucky rodent was already out of sight by the time she even took a step. Some part of her encouraged her to yell after it, to bully it. Elyon swallowed, looking back to the Collector.

"Does it matter what I hit?"

@Game Master Dark

The Collector waited patiently, one hand slowly sliding over the palm of the other. He watched as Elyon struck the bones, tensed; he suppressed a smile beneath his hood.

When she spoke, he responded in a calm, soft tone. He knew the weapon's effects--he'd need to seal the deal and leave. Soon.

"Not at all, my dear creature. Not at all. Prey. Enemies. Anything living, of flesh and bone. And as to Agragon-..."

The Collector turned, stepping away from the ruined wall he'd been leaning on and running a claw over it lightly. A trail of shimmering red light was left in its wake, and soon there was a mural, of sorts, glowing crimson. Myriad figures, vague--almost just stick figures--parting like a sea, falling away where a tall, equally vague shape seemed to stride through them. It was bipedal, and appeared to perhaps be winged, and the mace was clear in one hand. The creature must have been massive.

"It is said that he was a great war hero. Where he strode into battle, his foes parted like water beneath the rain of his blows. For each that fell, the Final Flail grew in power--repairing itself, and growing new spikes of bone or claw for each enemy that perished. Some broke off in combat, only for more to take their place. Agragon was notorious for breaking his weapons in combat, but given this one's regenerative enchantments, this was the last he ever needed--hence the name." The Collector gazed at the mural for a moment longer, the shimmering red light now fading away. He then looked back to Elyon, blinking.

His story was not entirely accurate. Agragon had been driven to madness and bloodshed, and the weapon had been his undoing. But that story would hardly sell this piece, would it..? He slipped one clawed hand into his cloak, drawing out a scroll of old and yellowed paper, which unfurled in his claws. "If you agree to my terms, then place one hand upon this page, and our contract will be sealed."

Greed flickered in him. Power. It was so close that he could taste it. 'Touch it,' he willed her, silently, glee joining with greed. Oh, the things that she could do with this. The damage she could cause.

He couldn't wait to see.

@Elyon