Oliver listened in sombre silence. None of this seemed... well, good, exactly. But none of it seemed terrible, either. Or well--the past did. Much of what Astraea told them did.

But it didn't sound like anything awful was about to happen. He was saying--if Oliver understood correctly--that nobody would have to give up their kids. He wasn't sure what fissioning was, and so he asked aloud, quiet, hesitant:

"Excuse me, sir, but what's fission-?"

Other than that, he simply glanced to Mercurius, a little uncertain, and murmured--"I think... it'll be okay--right?"

Bone turned, peering a little quizzically--and a little shocked--at her father. He was bellowing, when others were trying to speak, and Bone grimaced and turned to her brother. She lifted one wing to drape it reassuringly over Svartis, murmuring as she did so.

"We'll be fine. You'll see. And if those bastards come for us, we'll kill them."

Their father's interest seemed to stop at "keep your children." Bone, however, narrowed her eyes in focus as she listened, her brow furrowing deeply. "May I ask," she called down, her voice a deafening boom of its own, "who these are, those you speak of--this Lord Dhracia. Hands? What do you mean by--a Fate, and 'his own nest?' I don't know these terms," she added, shifting in place a little where she clung to the ancient stone pews. "I apologize if I'm the only one here ignorant of them."

Names (Lord Dhracia, It, He), Places (in-End? Nest?) - Astraea's spiel was, as it was for many of those present, a lot for Aure to take in and digest at once. He scrambled to commit as much of it to memory as possible but, Caves, it was a lot.

Their children would be safe, at least, but -

His ears tracked the draconic bellowing, fixing on Bone more than Dread's exit. Ah, it would be wise to... ask for definitions; and his mother, too. Reading and writing... Knowledge, hidden away in the caves, ready to be uncovered - or a lost communication system.

Aure dismissed his faux wisps, and stepped back into the comfort of the crowd. He paused, bright eyes moving away from Astraea to regard his (now ahead of him) daughter for a moment. Checking in, as he often did. His brows were quirked, in mild concern and he briefly raised a wing. Beat. Recognition and memory sparked in his eyes, and he awkwardly shuffled the wing back to his side, if loosely. An invitation, should she so desire taking it.

Hargrave sat there, and she listened, long tail idly sweeping dust off the stone behind her and ice-pick claws gripping tighter.

"Master Astraea," she barked drily given the chance, "is lord dhracia the name of the one that stole the dragon and set shadows upon Jupiter?" Odd that she should be mentioned in this context. The gray hare had put two and two together, but the dead Master's name had not been mentioned - and she did not know that it was, well, a dead Master. It would be best to make sure, to find assurance in at least having a name for the being of such incredible power.

The satchel slung over one shoulder suddenly felt heavier than the miscellany of stones inside should have.

Darkness, oily-black sheens, the thing inside - "and what lies beneath the Spire, now?"

i already forgot what mercy table i started this thread with so i'm assuming this one lmao

Mercurius did not believe in pure, irredeemable evil - only those too deeply mired in their troubles to be helped unless they wished it, wished change. Astraea and his cruelty was, perhaps, not always erring on the side of moral good, but the lion could not think of a time where he had deliberately hidden things - committed some horrific act without a for-the-greater-good reason. His rant went on, and Mercy lay quiet through it all.

He was not about to begin justifying murder and cruelty, but the fungus-laden stag knew more of struggle than any of them - and that... struck Mercurius, for whatever odd reason. For however many cycles the Master'd lived, there must have been many battles fought, many conflicts resolved, many - loves to be shared.

And his daughter was gone, now. No wonder he's so furious, at times, Mercurius mused to himself, all those years, all that might, all that chaos he speaks of...

Oliver was talking to him, but the storyteller could only offer a soft, distant "yes" in response. Moonset eyes were still staring at Astraea, brows furrowed gently and... mournful - mournful for the stag. Mercy did not pity him, no, no - but he could not imagine the sorrow - the pain. The brokenness. Mercurius curled his tail about him, but otherwise remained silent.

dialogue audible only to @Auré

when all the audience had said their piece, the three orators spoke in turn once more — their verbiage ramping up and up in quantity, obscurity, aggression. the white noise of sight and sound was dying down, both with acclimation and with the total rapture of the crowd around her. astraea's address was almost a sermon. damask strained her ears forward, following, following: filing and cataloguing every word, every shift in tone, every unfamiliar name, title, and concept. she'd be hearing this again in her sleep, remember it well enough to call upon later and recite in full. but for all her capacity, she couldn't truly understand. she'd picked up this story long after its beginning. form she could analyze, but when it came to the content, all she gathered was a looming sense of dread, growing all the heavier.

"... we are left with little choice ..." "... no right or wrong; there is alive, or there is dead! ..."
"... you know not what it is like to be captive ... fission, create feral copies ... prove you can survive ..."
i don't like this. chills lanced up and down her spine. not even a little.

astraea's voice fell silent at last, and a sea of others rose in its stead. inquiries, accusations, pleas for reassurance from one listener to another. damask closed her eyes, the beginnings of a headache pressing at her temple. one call in particular stood out: "might you ... teach us to read, and write?" damask flicked an ear in her grandmother's direction. a tantalizing idea, except —

her eyes flew open at a shuffle of feet and a rustle of feathers. auré in retreat. she started slightly, then reversed in synch and (ah —) felt his primaries brush along her back. he didn't mean to, it's all right, and still she shied away, one foot left hovering in midair. a tiny shiver ruffled her plumage at the site, a shock of physicality. she glanced over her shoulder and gave him a gentle shake of her head as his wing withdrew: not now, sorry. but she did step back and reclaim her place at her father's side, reaching up to part her mouth at his ear. "none of these questions are getting good answers," she murmured, a near-whisper too soft for any others' hearing. her furtive gaze flicked over the assembly, noting those departing. "it may be time to go. before this escalates any more than it already has."

"Kloros?" the hybrid echoed in a slow, lowing drawl, even as they rearranged to make a more comfortable bed for the foal, resting their head atop James' back. Following the younger's gaze, they twitched their ears at the sight of the horse, not unlike this little colt. "No fights are to be allowed on this day, if anyone tries to harm him they will be stopped."

They hummed thoughtfully, trying to take in all the questions, shouted objections, of which there were a great deal, while also answering James' question. "No, they want you to share a part of your gem to merge with your magic. It doesn't hurt, at least as far as I know, I've never done it." but... they sighed, the sort that came from somewhere deep down in your chest. "Yes, it will. No one should suffer in such a way."

Slowly, the gaurbear returned to grooming the colt's mane, humming slowly, "No one would fault you if you chose to leave."

@James

[CONTENT WARNING: Gore:]

Reign was certain he had never seen so many Gembound in one place before--perhaps, not even in the war. Scattered among the pews, sitting, stretched on the ground. Though he remained sitting, tall and proper and proud, the tapping of the tip of his tail, wrapping around his paws, gave away his discomfort and unease. He looked to Pride for guidance, but Pride was stuck on the backfoot as much as he was.

He turned his head to observe Astraea, his king's mantle standing on end at the sight of the Greater that had so easily destroyed so many Lessers, his eyes went wide and he went still, unmoving,

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.

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.

'"I AM NOT GIVING UP MY CHILDREN AS SLAVES,"' came to him as though out of water, and then '"Can we not fight back-? If you are a Master, can't you help us? Can't we all fight back?"'

He blinked, long and slow, as though coming out of a day dream. The horse, he focused on the horse, though his mouth was dry and he rattled in his skin as though he was a little cub again, reaching for his magic and allowing sparks to dance in his fur, readying for some sort of fight, though the horse only spoke he feared the reaction, but there was only more words, yelling from the brown stag, and so he shook himself, looking around and checking for anyone who was reacting negatively, struggling to absorb the words.

Gremlin had no idea what was going on.The most gembound it'd seen in one place was one. And here there were at least twenty. The monkey was old enough now that words made sense. Phrases and such they could form, and sentences could be processed. But none of that helped Gremlin understand what any of these gembound were talking about. He chirped, quietly, as one might hum in thought. It didn't understand what was happening, so why try? It would focus on other, more interesting targets. One gembound caught it's eye in particular. It glowed. Not like the one in the center, the purple one that stood with a white deer and a brown deer, that one was massive. This one? Big as well.

But slightly more manageable so. Gremlin liked the way it glowed. They wondered if the spines would glow if plucked out. There was only one way to find out. Gremlin approached, silently, from behind. It hopped down the bleachers, too big comparatively for it to crawl down. He eyes were massive saucers, focused on the glowing bits. They would be Gremlin's. Perhaps it would want the quill back. He crouched, close enough to its second pair of limbs. Quills dangled above him. His tail whipped like a cat's. With a burst of speed, Gremlin raced up the creature's leg, and grabbed at a pair of quills. Gremlin grabbed them for sure, but didn't do more than that. The quills were set into it's skin more than Gremlin had thought. They dangled, helplessly from the glowing quills. The risk had been calculated, but man Gremlin was bad at math.

Temperantia did not trust Astraea. They especially did not like the thought of their stone being taken. Eyes narrowed, Temperantia retreated further back. No more words from it. Silent once more. They would not leave, not yet. They had much to think over. And much to discuss with Pride.

Predictably, Temperantia was lost. They had little knowledge of the things that Astraea brought up. They curled inwards. Many of the concepts foreign. The fission and ferals...an enemy so great they could not be fought. This Tenzin as well, that was dead, according to Pride. The idea that Astraea had a child at one point. Had raised them despite being such a cruel creature. It was impossible. The deer must have been lying.

There was no other option that made sense. Not to mention what they said about Her. Astraea may not have been Her ally. What did they mean by her being the Whole? Temperantia puzzled on this. Perhaphs...they should talk to Her once more. She had been kind to them. If they talked to Her, She would make sense of this. It was possible, they were sure. She could be talked to without joining the hive once more. Would She...force them to join? Another thing to talk to Pride about.

"When I speak."

When I think.