He was still lying mud-slicked and half-hidden in the black, fur obscured at least in part by tangles of moldering foliage and the smoke of the burning Hive.

When his strength began to return to him, he began to try and haul himself away from the heat of the flames--but his muscles were sore, trembling, and hardly responding from whatever Alpha's venom had been.

Alarm flared into fear as mere heat went to a sudden sensation of slipping: as the ground beneath him began to fall away, dragging him blindly backwards and down. Then there was mud--mud everywhere, around him, in his nostrils and his eyes; and suddenly he could see, past it, the world falling up above, falling away--no, he was falling down--

Mother-? was his final thought, wretched and pitiful, desperate, a child's last helpless cry--and then he was drowning, snuffling in the tons of mud piling up atop him, crushed beneath its weight.

Gemstone cracked out, rapidly forming around him--but without a way to escape his living burial, it was quite possible that the bear might never emerge again.

haha whoops exit Sergei to chrysalis

Reign
He who is to be a good ruler
must have first been ruled

The cheetah grunted as he slammed into the panda, finding them both to the ground. He set back a bit to keep her face out of the mud, shaking his own to get the muck out of his nose, only to find the cub beginning to struggle beneath him, yelling for Mother, and then everything was over.

He could have gotten up and returned to his family, and he wanted to. But she was crying and wailing and screaming, so he stretching himself out and began to lick between her ears with long, rasping strokes of his rough tongue, and tried to purr--apparently succeeding, as his chest began to vibrate and his purr was loud even to his ears. "All is well, kitten," he rasped his tongue over an ear, worked to clean the muck off of it, "All is well."

He moved his tongue to her shoulder, trying to get some of the muck off there, too, "It may not seem so now, but it will be eventually. Perhaps not now, perhaps not for a time, but all will be well." Back between her ears, now, that spot he always had a hard spot grooming on his own, "Shhh, kitten, shhh,"

His ears caught his name, as loud a yell as that musical voice could manage, and he raised his voice, rumbled back as loudly as he dared, not wanting to yell in Shoko's ear, "I am here, Pride!"

He rasped his tongue over her ears again, purred "Come, kitten, can you rise to your feet? Come with me, come with me, it is safe, now."

Temperantia thought they were in the clear. They would escape, help Mother live for another cycle at least. Save their family. But then, they felt teeth on their carapace. Temperantia flailed beneath Ischium. Panic consumed them as they struggled, unpractised as they were in combat. Temperantia begged Mother to help, for any of their siblings to help. But deep down, Temperantia knew that they were caught. They shrieked, terror and rage combined. The twin voices combined to produce an earsplitting sound.

The knowledge that Mother would soon be ripped from them. That they would soon be alone, along with all of their other family that had been caught. They would not go down easily. They would fight until mother was gone. To show their devotion to Her. Temperantia focused its flailing, it would hurt Ischium. It flapped its wings in their direction, but it's wings were flimsy and small, it could not reach. It was over. Defeat weighed heavily on it, and it had one final message to Mother. I am sorry.

The coyote yelped as he managed to hit the disc-thingy, sending them both down into the muck. His ears jerked back, and he whined at a horrible sound, shaking his head back and forth, but his paws remained even as it flailed its wings.

And... what was he supposed to do now. None of his magic could really do anything, so he yipped as loud as he could "I have one help please!" even as his tail wagged excitedly.

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.

Her gait is stumbling, unsteady—Daughter is not used to running, especially not this far, and she struggles not to trip over her own two feet as she follows Solis, blind to everything around her except the familiar orange of her brother’s pelt.

She has to help her family, she has to help her family—those words repeat in her head over and over again like a mantra as she forces herself to keep running through burning lungs and aching muscles, desperately trying not to fall behind the much older cat. No longer is her mind focused on summoning her wisps, although the one she has managed to drag up gleams in the air above her, a perfect, orderly orb—just like Mother wants, except in this case—

—except in this case, there is only pain, anguish, fear in her head, pulsing from her siblings in waves so sharp and strong she nearly does trip over her paws, tears beading in her eyes as their feelings pulse in her chest as if they are her own. No, no—it burns, it burns, not hers but another’s pain, Legion, her buzzing hive of siblings, and she reaches out into the bond as if to take their pain on but it’s too late too late too late and Legion—

—falls, and she does too, finally giving in to her burning muscles and the ache she feels within them, finally giving in to that pain, anguish, fear, hurt hurt hurt—

Legion!— she cries, but she can’t feel them in her head anymore.

She can’t feel them at all.

Too late too late I was too late—

She hears Mother’s voice in her head, and calls out before she registers the words, looking for comfort, like a child crawling into her mother’s arms, her tears overflowing and dripping down onto the tunnel floor—Momma…

Her words are like daggers in the little kit’s heart.

Mommy, no! she cries—please, there has to be a way, there has to be a way out of this, there has to be a way to save her family—

—even as the links in her head wink out, one by one by one, as her siblings are quickly lost to her, (Sergei, Azrael, brothers and sisters and—no no no no no she can’t REACH them she can’t hear them she can’t feel them they’re gone gone gone gone—) she pulls herself to her feet and keeps moving. Solis has long since vanished from view, having most likely run ahead of her while she cried, and all she knows, all she knows is that she has to follow his footsteps.

Avenge her fallen, lost siblings, now good as dead to her in her mind now that she doesn’t know where they are, now that she can’t contact him, now that they’re gone from her head, lost, her heart already mourning even as she keeps moving—she has to keep going.

And so she does not recognize the danger of the fungus in the tunnel until it is too late—does not recognize the fact that they are not like Mother, unable to receive warnings from her momma, from her siblings, now that they are almost all gone, gone, gone—

—and she registers only the slightest brush of fungus against her paw before everything goes white with pain.

She thought—she thought her burning wisp had hurt—she thought—she thought—no, no, she can’t, she can’t—her siblings are gone, her family is dying—the nest is lost the nest is lost—she can’t think, only register a tearing, grasping burning coming from within, as the fungus reaches into her core and pulls and pulls—

—her mind goes blank with pain, and Daughter screams as she feels something squishy and rootlike being dragged up through her throat, the sound distorted into a sort of gurgle as she falls to the ground and writhes.

[Content Warning: Gore]

The stag emerged into the aftermath, an upright, pristine vision near-untouched by mud. He picked his way into the clearing, amongst the Gembound, at first hardly paying them attention. Ruby eyes settled, instead, upon the destruction left in the wake of what had once been Hive.

Grim thoughts kept him silent, for a moment, and then he turned.

The appearance of Dread was startling enough, and he pondered it, but the stone was utterly wrong--was it not?--and the size did not compare. Pride, though, left Astraea going still, his gaze settling on this other stag, red eyes narrowing. What business did it have looking so beautiful--even streaked by mud!--when he had been created plain, and brown? Why could he have not at least had a white hide--ahh, to have pale blue eyes-...

He looked away. Now was not the time. "You have done well. Proof that many among you hold great potential," he told them, his voice softly encouraging--but his magic was reaching out. Testing. Seeking.

He found them--one by one, and his magicka jerked at them. The Master of Fungi stood, and waited, triumphant and silent, as Lesser Gembound began to creep into the clearing. Cave Deer, glowing faintly with their bioluminescent markings, slipped one by one into sight. A number of bats settled to hang from tree branches overhead and rats, mice and spiders, even birds, gradually filtered in. Throughout this, Astraea remained silent, still, only giving acknowledgement to their arrivals with flicks of his seeking eyes.

At last, he straightened.

"Know the fates of those who embrace the Hive's cruelties," he boomed. The ruby atop his skull began to glow a bright crimson.

The lessers began to scream, to wail, to cry out and flail. The bats and spiders fell from the trees, to writhe in the mud. The deer leapt, then floundered, thrashing on the ground. The rats squealed, and the mice alongside them, scrambling in panicked circles that could not carry them free of Astraea's magic.

A smile curled his lip.

One by one they began to burst, the white fungus tearing from skin and bone, ripping muscle from flesh, cracking open ribs and pouring out through mouths and nostrils, erupting through the sockets of their eyes. The screams became muffled; the ground flowed red. The myriad bodies--spies of the infected--thrashed and then, torn apart by the white mold, grew still.

The fungus itself coalesced into a single mass, spreading across the mud to still itself at Astraea's feet. He stepped forward, and pressed a hoof into it, harshly, and the entire clot of Mother blackened and melted away.

"This was the evil I warned you of," he told them, at last, his gaze sweeping around to take all of them in. "Now that you have seen it for yourselves... be vigilant. Should you hear of infection, find me--and there will be more." It was impossible to root out. The best they could do was kill it, where they found it--and Astraea would delight in that, delight in showing them that despite all their attempts, they could never take over this place.

The stag turned, and left, the carnage still twitching in his wake. He would watch the tunnel for awhile longer, and ensure no other rats ran fleeing this sinking ship.

_____________

This concludes the GM portion of this thread. Others are free to continue as they see fit. Any Hive members attempting to exit the tunnel may tag GM Dark or assume that Astraea cleanses them en route. Any Gembound who remain infected at the end of this thread will be considered Permanently infected, and can never be cleansed, and will suffer additional effects as laid out in the "III. Hosts" portion of the guide linked below.

All players may claim 200 magicka for an Extra Long Thread, regardless of how many posts were contributed; however, they may only claim this for one character, as this is not an official Quest thread.

All Gembound who were former, or current, Hive members at the time of this thread may post in Update Me for a special Original Hive Host achievement.

Lastly, Mother's influence has not faded completely. Click here for an updated guide on the fungus and its persisting infections, its effects, and how it may be dealt with.

@Dragon (Pride, Dread, Giggle, Sergei, Legion)
@Aure (Phlegethon, Eythan, Howl, Nassir, Orthoclase-Alpha)
@Aries (Septiezal, Opal Three-Seven-Six)
@Selenite-Gamma (Serek, Pallas)
@Zyros (Aquamarine, Zelk, Tethys)
@Azrael (Shoko)
@Hera (Ischium, Artume)
@Temperantia

Pride watched Astraea with thinly-veiled suspicion. His expression was neutral, but there was a distance in his eyes, a careful stillness to him. He knew who this was, even if he'd never seen him. He'd heard-... stories. And from the way the stag's red gaze fixed on him balefully, he felt that the Master had found for him some form of disapproval.

He remained silent as the Lessers died, looking away from them; when it was done, he spoke.

"That was needlessly cruel." But Astraea either didn't care, or hadn't heard; he was already pacing sedately away.

Pride shook his head and turned back to the task at hand. The Master's magic was clearly powerful--perhaps beyond most of their own--but they had done the bulk of the work, here. To Dread he offered a weary nod. "You will get your rewards, Dread. But you buried someone-..." Would he care-? We were here for war. I didn't tell him not to kill. A belated realization--and Pride stole a quick glance at the dragon, with a little bit of relief in it. Dread hadn't gone so far on the warpath that he was slaughtering those who'd surrendered, or the like; that was good, at least.

Pride sighed. "I will still be in Orion, representing the Seven. If any of you need me, you'll know where to find me, hm? I need to reward this dragon," he added. "Meanwhile I will be trying to dig out that bear--he may be drowning down there even now, or he may be in his stone, or dead. I do not know." He glanced to Dread. "I will use gemstones to shore up the mud, and you can keep as many as you can carry, hm? Come."

Pride cast a final glance over the group, then moved off, calling over his shoulder as he went. "Nassir! I could use a bit of help if you find yourself free."

exit Pride (for trying to dig out Sergei)

Dread mostly ignored everything happening, staring fixedly at Pride, awaiting his shinies. When Astraea turned up, he turned, eyed him--then eyed Pride, then Astraea, wondering. They looked the same, ish; just different colors.

That's where the dragon's brain stopped. It didn't jump to any conclusions; he just took note, and went back to staring at Pride. He tilted his head at the mention of a--bear? He hadn't noticed.

He also didn't particularly care.

But he dutifully plodded after Pride, wing-walking through the mud (with reluctance), ignoring everyone else as he left them behind him. He didn't even look for Hera; perhaps he still wasn't aware of her aid, or maybe he'd just forgotten her already.

Whatever the case, his mind was on shinies now.

exit Dread

Dragon observed Astraea, silence ruling. They'd met before--more than once--and the nod he offered the stag was, though touched by Dragon's ever-present pride, respectful enough.

Appearances were important, and all that.

The stag's brutal treatment of the Lessers surprised him somewhat, though perhaps they felt nothing of it-? No, he thought, judging by their cries, they felt everything.

Interesting.

When the stag turned away, Dragon did not wait for him to leave earshot; he turned and began to bellow.

"Well done, all of you!" he directed at the Children, first; "I will go and tell Father soon enough that he is safe, now." Humor laced his tone with this. "The rest of you--keep an eye on our home, and come to me at once if you see more of this! Is this all of us-? Ahh, and Aure, Pride--should you require aid in the future, you have but to ask."

A fine speech for a fat, scarred alligator, and politely-said. Dragon then turned, checking to see if anyone else still required aid, or still needed cleansing. Ischium's call drew him, and he grunted. Draconic wings again flared, and the alligator was suddenly lifting off, sweeping unsteadily and heavily through the air. Ischium wasn't far--still in earshot, easily so--and he moved to plant some bulk on Temperantia. He called back to the Bonebound, then: "The strange wheel with eyes is here! Can one of you remove the fungus from it?" Preferably before Astraea comes back to do it his way, he added mentally.

Dragon is NOT yet exiting. He's tryina drop some wait on Temperantia though!

Daughter
the voice in my head was no longer my own.

She stays there a while in the tunnel, trembling with pain, just barely able to hear the—the commotion further in. No, that’s not the word—the, the howling cries of pain from further in, the screaming and squealing of what feels like a hundred different animals, the pounding in her head and the dead mold in front of her curled body a backdrop to the—

—the cacophany. That’s the word; this horrible mess of howling that she wants to hide away from yet can’t stop listening to, hidden away and alone in the tunnel, terrified that she’ll hear one of her siblings’ voices in the screaming.

But the sounds she’s waiting for, the sounds she’s dreading, never come. The tumult fades away, eventually, after what feels like an eternity of listening to the hellish sounds, and no matter how much she shifts her ears forwards and no matter how much she strains to hear, none of the horrendous sounds are familiar.

And then there is silence except the distant voices of people talking among themselves, the leathery sound of something very, very big moving in the distance—and this she flinches away from, all too reminded of Legion’s last moments, the thought of her siblings being swallowed up by a great, dark mouth before their connection was cut—

—and now hers is too, isn’t it?

She’s alone. Completely alone.

She’s never felt so isolated before; even physically alone, she always had the thoughts of her family in her head.

She’s never… never felt so afraid in her life.

Solis? she asks, to no response—of course there isn’t, yet she doesn’t know how else to say it. She doesn’t—she doesn’t know how to make the words come out of her mouth. She can hum and she can bark and she can growl but she can’t—she can’t speak. Momma never told her how.

And now momma is gone. Gone forever; it feels surreal. She can’t be—be gone. She was in her head just a few moments ago.

Something deep inside her won’t accept the crushing fact that she’s alone. She doesn’t feel… well, she feels sad and lonely and scared but those are all distant, fuzzy.

She feels numb.

With a tremble of her body, still aching from the pain, the fungus that was in the tunnel but seems to have receded with all the screaming, (she feels like she’s in a fever dream—no, a nightmare) she gets to her paws and turns, walking down the tunnel, back the way she came. She doesn’t know where she’s going, or even if she has a destination at all—she just knows, distantly, that she needs to walk. She wants to leave this place.

And so she does.

;exit Daughter