The journey had been a long one--hours to cross each cave, at least, so much so that Imp was exhausted. He'd had to ask Fahl for rests a few times, as reluctant as he'd been, and he didn't know if the iguana'd been as tired as he was. Having wings, but not getting to use them, sucked; flying blind, though, wasn't an option. Not unless one wanted to get their head smashed in by a cave wall.

He'd been pleasant enough company, otherwise; a little irreverent, making dark jokes now and then (often at his own expense) and pretty pointless small talk between the long stretches of huffing near-silence. And now, at last, Fahl had led them to the familiar stench of Cetus.

"Shit," said Imp, and sniffed the air, long snout tilted upward. "Sure smells like home. C'mon, we gotta find the big black lake, and go along the side until we find the meat pile. DAAAAAAAAAAD?" he brayed, at the top of his lungs and with no warning whatsoever.

His voice barely even penetrated the thick fog immediately around them--there was no way it'd carry deeper into Cetus.

"Fuck, you wanna try?" he asked, clawed feet squelching into the mud as he glanced his companion's way. "His name is Dragon. He'll hear us, eventually. Probably. If he's even here," Imp said, and laughed.

@Fahl

Despite complete access to his senses and locomotion unhindered due to the ability to use all his limbs, Fahl had not travelled without issues of his own. Low to the ground, a tail weighed down by a sweeping train of fins had scraped over ice and rock (and now, arrived in Cetus, mud). No insulating feathers to retain the heat he summoned, chill air had been a constant nuisance that caused joints to stiffen and creak. Requests to stop for a spell and catch breath might have grated a tad at his patience, the distance they'd yet to go a looming presence, but were agreed to readily, exhaustion mutual though he did not express so.

In fact, those breaks proved useful. Besides allowing time to focus on warming up before resuming their journey, they were the moments that talk was easiest for him, and light jabs at their surroundings combatted dark humor. Chalk it up to his own fluctuating self-esteem, but directing jokes at oneself disconcerted him. Intestines subtly twisted upon hearing them, and politely chuckling, he would nudge the topic into more meaningless chatter whenever possible. Never did he voice the discomfort caused; as bothersome as it was, if this was how Imp coped, interference might do more harm than good, and who was he to dictate his teacher's life?

At the offer to call out into the white expanse, Fahl scrutinized the obfuscating fog, then opened his jaws. Heat stirred at the back of his throat, a tingling sensation, and though he tried to push it out, the attempt only resulted in him doubled over, coughing.

Magic was being stubborn. Lungs alone would have to do.

"Hey! Dragon, uh..." Not his dad. What could he say? "Dragon, sir? My name is Fahl. I'm here with your son Imp. Are you out there?"

@Imp

The calls--though muffled by fog--did reach him through the swamp. The alligator lifted a scarred snout, sniffing, but caught no scent; it was the voice, after a moment, that he recognized. And the second-? A voice he thought he'd heard in his head, some time back.

Crimson wings unfurled from his back, shot through with obsidian; horns curled from his head with smoky, ethereal menace. When he swept down from the dark of the trees, mist churning away from his landing, it might have seemed terribly dramatic or even imposing: an immense and scarred-up ancient-looking reptile with draconic magic all around him. Any such effect was probably immediately ruined by his loud and cheery greeting.

"Imp!" he roared, slapping into the mud with a heavy thud, the magic coiling away and dispersing in black-red wisps. "It has been too long! Where have you been?" It was a welcome, though, and not a demand; and then his scrutinizing gaze turned to Fahl.

Different, now--as were they all, after the descent, though Dragon's changes had been more... subtle. "Ahh, you--I don't know if I got your name." But it was a friendly comment, amused, the big gator trying--and failing--to remember a name.

Dragon's voice was booming, and was one of the few things that brought Imp a sense of home. It was a flood of memories and feelings; nostalgia and safety (if Nemean had ever fucked with him here, he was certain DAD would have killed her!), and old glimpses of Merrow and the marsh flickered through his mind.

"Dad!" he yelled, immediately wing-waddling over to his father. Blind eyes remained quite blind, but his snout reached for the alligator's, nudging here and there as he searched for a more tactile greeting. Dragon indulged him for a beat, and then Imp sat back, expression bright and body half-upright so that he looked rather like a happy dog.

"Hey, Dad! Fahl has a BUNCH of shit to tell you! -And ask you!" he cried, enthusiasm in each word, as he glanced vaguely Fahl's way. "The Masters are like, enemies or something and he was helping a new one that hates Nemean? Tell him, Fahl--and ask him the stuff!" Imp urged, "looking" excitedly in his companion's direction, his own weariness forgotten.

@Fahl

He hadn't been certain what to expect—a perhaps more matured copy of Imp, brashness and foul mouth included, or a figure wreathed in flame, magical potential fully achieved. Who greeted them, though the imagined fire turned out to be in reality the conjured menace of wings and horns instead, was a near amalgam of both. Certainly a vile spit of "fuck," "shit," or the like had not yet entered conversation, but the thunderous welcome that parted the surroundings widened Fahl's eyes. In quick succession, shock, awe, and unsteady acceptance of the situation displayed as eye-searing colors transitioned to more muted hues upon each emotion's passage.

Out of politeness, he stayed a few steps back from the bit of family bonding accompanying their visit, and once the subject spun over to him, the attention was responded to with an awkward hack. Scales an olive green, thin stripes of pale yellow pricked along his spine.

"Yes, me."

Though he packed every ounce of confidence possible to be mustered into those two words, in truth Fahl didn't remember when or where someone such as Dragon could have seen him. The blame could've been attributed to a fevered brain: the Kraken had afflicted him with an illness that had, at the time, sapped his senses. The size of their squad, too, could have been a factor in his forgetfulness. But let's be realistic and consider his character as well; classically self-absorbed, he'd been too caught up in his own concerns to pay mind to the others around him. He might have been temporarily vision-impaired, but most his fellows would have been a mere spot in his periphery anyway.

"As Imp said, sir, I'm Fahl. And by Masters, I refer to the ones named Farina and Artio. The first, Farina, wanted help in Fornax, so I went. Deep underwater is this Black City, and since she couldn't access it herself, that's why she requested aid. The other Master's, Artio's, stone was stashed there by"—and here he broke formalities—"Nemean, that piss puddle, to separate them." A moment's pause prevented a launch into a tirade. "She betrayed the both of them, and at least Farina appears to hate her greatly."

"And they seem to have history beyond that. I was able to talk to Farina," he clarified, "after helping to retrieve Artio. She spoke, well, ranted about tests that Nemean did? I don't understand what she meant by that. Imp thinks she might have meant trials. But after saying that, she stated intentions to kill Nemean."

His sentiments were clear in the bile lacing his tone. Good riddance, and may Nemean suffer a thousand times over when that moment came.

"She also mentioned what is my main question, or maybe questions? Farina made a sort of deal. She said to tell everyone that whoever served the 'real masters' of the caves she'd favor. I figure she means Artio and herself. Would there be any others that qualify? Other enemies of Nemean that are Masters? And how much trust should I put in these Masters' words? I've heard, sir, that your father had power comparable to them. Do you or him know anything of this... feud?"

It was quite a mouthful but no more difficult than the original spiel he'd given Imp. He settled down in the mud after, anxiously sucking on the domed portion of his tongue.

@Dragon

The splashes and streaks of bright colors that came and went across Fahl's hide surprised him. He had his own, now; if he hadn't, perhaps he wouldn't have recognized Fahl's mutation for what it was.

And now, Dragon would have grinned, in solidarity with Fahl's words and sentiments, but his rigid existing grin was a constant; and so he just offered a mirror mimic of Fahl's lights. As the lizard finished speaking, the lights danced across Dragon's dull hide like a bad game of Simon, the alligator trying to remember the sequence of them. It was... mostly right.

It was also clear that Fahl did not remember him. And for one supremely stupid moment, Dragon wondered if he were remembering the right Gembound. If he were not, perhaps, thinking of someone else. Then the swift realization that Fahl was telling the story of the Black City, after all, kicked in; and Dragon mentally berated himself for doubting himself. Of course he'd been there; of course this was the same lizard, he was TELLING Dragon about it! But Fahl did not remember him, clearly. Some distant well of mischief made the alligator wonder: if I asked him, carefully, to describe everyone who was there--would he eventually remember me? The idea of Fahl's mind finally lighting on Dragon's memory amused him, but he wasn't quite the practical joker his son was. And he wasn't such a jerk he'd want to embarrass the fellow reptile, either.

"It was a chaotic descent and an even more chaotic battle! I think I saw you there," he began, rather than berating Fahl for forgetting him, or the like. He wasn't that sort. "But you spoke to Farina afterward-? Perhaps I ought to seek her out again!" he said, musing; or ask Aquarian. Really, he should've done so beforehand. He was certain that his "father" knew more than he said about the Masters' politics, but Aquarian was neither the talkative nor the intellectual sort. He was just... loud.

Dragon studied Fahl, and then Imp--and for the moment, whatever his inner thoughts were then he did not share. But when he spoke it was again cheerfully loud. "Aquarian detests Nemean. He calls her the Betrayer and he sulks-" (there, he'd said it) "here in Cetus, at the bottom of the swamp. We can ask him for details!" he bellowed, cheerful; then more soberly (and with a dryer humor) added, "though who knows if he will give them. Come! -Do you know who we are, Fahl?" he went on, easygoing--easier now that Imp had given him the near-stranger's name.

He shifted his massive, dark-scuted body, hauling it unevenly through the swamp. It was clear that one hind leg was injured, long-ago scarring leaving it twisted before twining up in old, knotted tissue slashed across his back. But soon enough he'd slipped into one of the narrow water channels that wound through the root systems here, and was floating contentedly out toward the Heart.

Imp mostly just listened, his own rigid grin meaning it, and his eyes would've no doubt been bright with interest.

It took him a moment for things to click--he couldn't see the interactive exchange of light, after all; he could only listen to his father's words.

"Wait-!" he cried, and hopped forward on wing-arms to follow Dragon into the swamp. "Wait, you were there?" Total confusion reigned in his voice, twinned with amazement--and then a little worry. Why hadn't Fahl told him? Was this to be another betrayal?

Imp cast a worried "glance" in what he thought was Fahl's direction, but he actually looked toward a cluster of random trees instead, so no harm done.

@Fahl

To discover how recently he'd crossed paths with Dragon was like treading unawares upon a pitfall. His stomach plummeted. White spots spattered his throat while the scales closest to his face reddened by several degrees. Through no small amount of effort, a bewildered splutter of "You did?" was swallowed back before the words escaped into the open air. A brief gagging noise replaced what could have been, perhaps a sign that the expression of surprise would've been better outside than trapped within.

"Sorry," he rasped after the embarrassing choke upon his saliva. For a second, attention averted to his toes, the shame transferred to the ground allowing colors displayed on his hide to settle down to dull gray. "I don't know if you'd be able to talk. With Farina. I got lucky since she wanted to look at my, uh, changes." What she'd called gifts, and what he hesitated to call improvements. It seemed best to go with a neutral descriptor for them now. "She came across as... preoccupied with something. So our exchange was short. If I'd pushed for more length, I suspect her temper might've proved shorter."

What persisted about Cetus bothered him the most whenever he tried wandering here: the muck. It was stubbornly clingy as he waded through, every step a drag, sickening squelches following him. His pursuit of Dragon into the channel ended up more accidental than deliberate; the wayward placement of a foot caused him to enter more navigable territory, solidity disappearing where it landed. As goes with such a fall, a splash came after. When he responded to the question given, swamp water still streamed down over eyes, and spits cleared out what spilled into his mouth.

"Puh—pardon. We?" As in, them all? Or just the two? "I don't believe so. Should I, sir?"

Out of habit formed by the journey over, a side glance was cast Imp's way to mark his position. Speaking helped plenty, but he didn't wish his teacher to blunder into an unforeseen or unwarned obstacle. If there was a question about whether or not pertinent information might've been neglected to be mentioned, it remained isolated to his mind.

@Dragon

Dragon chuckled, good-naturedly, and then fell silent as he considered Fahl's words as a whole. "Short-tempered, eh? That should not be surprising, I suppose! The Masters are... fickle." He pondered that thought, for a moment. He'd seen Astraea melt Lesser Gembounds with a thought. Seen the battle with Raheerah, firsthand. He did not know their internal politics, but--"I don't know their positions on many things but I know that they fight, sometimes, and that this fighting is not good for us! Us, we Gembounds, caught in the middle of it." This was said with some grimness to it,a nd it was true. It seemed that whenever there was a fight, it was the expendable creatures, the rank-and-file, called upon to help solve it. And rarely rewarded for their efforts. He'd gone to the Black City because of his own loyalties, but he knew that it was unlikely Farina would even remember him on sight.

"Anyway--yes, I was there, Imp. But so were many others. I do not remember them all, either!" he added, assuring both of them at once. Slowly, he tried to lead the way--glancing back to see if the pair would follow. It was an unhurried pace through the water channel that he set, a sort of gliding drift through the swamp.

"We, as in, our extended 'family' if you want to call it that. We in Cetus call ourselves the Children of Rot. We generally try to stay safe, and apart from the Masters'... things, aside from keeping an eye on things to stay informed!" He kept on, tail slowly sweeping from side to side to propel him forward. "But in the Heart, Aquarian lives. My father," (he wasn't) "and our guardian" (also no). "We keep him fed, and he will protect us from the Masters. He gives us information from time to time. We can ask him of this; perhaps he will know something," Dragon suggested, thoughtful. Thus he revealed the reason he'd brought "we" up: the ultimate patron of the Children of Rot, and the one they were going to see.

sorry for the delay been tryina get some plot info!!

Once upon a time, Imp might have happily splashed into the mud and swam along behind his dad. Since, he'd found out (the very hard way) that his feathers didn't mix too well with water; they weren't nice and sleek and duck-like but rather fluffy and easily waterlogged.

So he plodded along the shore, already-tired body struggling with the sucking mud, and did his best to keep up with both the (thankfully slow) pace and the conversation.

"How many?" he asked, his own entire energy far more fiery and fast-paced than Dragon's patient logic. "How many went down there, I mean? -Ten? Twenty? More?" Curiosity kept his words spewing out, heedless of the necessity of a space for a response. "So what was it like?! You didn't meet her too, Dad? -Farina? What was it LIKE down there? Was it darker than here?" His thoughts went at once to imagery, despite the fact that he could no longer really see; he wanted to picture the place, excitement thrilling through him. He didn't really have adventures of his own, these days, but he could hear about them, right?!

Fahl had already given him a basic run through, but he wanted to hear it from his father, too. Maybe it was a throwback to days where Dragon had told him a few stories of the past, dramatic and action-packed; a little bit of nostalgia was perhaps now the carrot on Imp's stick.

@Fahl