If one stood here few millennia ago, this Womb would have been teeming with life. It'd have held Valkhounds of all forms and natures as they erupted from their shells. His fellow Masters would have stood whittling away at design theory and collaboration. The very walls would be churning and groaning with an unmatched ferocity as monsters and terrors scraped away at them.

The present ushered in a mere echo of what had once been, twisted and distorted by the reverberations of time long passed. It was more than a little strange in comparison to the olden days; Astraea certainly thought as much, as he glided into Draco on clicking hooves. Behind him, a slender beast nearly as tall as himself was whisking in on four wings. The small dragon clutched a variety of oversized, wooden tablets and strange blocks that smelled of leather and dust in his claws. Hanging off of one shoulder was an enormous cloth bag.

Rubies turned to regard the awaiting Vargas, and he hummed a cordial greeting with a tip of his antlers. "I trust that you are well, Master Vargas." There was something of a pleasant smile on his snout. "And that you've spread the word." Astraea paused to turn his head toward the ground, murmuring halfheartedly to the Valkhound he'd brought with him, "There is all right."

Today, the Womb would be his classroom.

He wondered what the Gembound would think, walking in to the sight of Astraea settling down—as easily as one might lie in some soft grasses—with a strange assortment of inscribed tablets and blocks around himself. May as well get comfortable, while he waited for them to filter in; and, he hoped that they would come, for as much as they'd pleaded for such a simple thing in Orion. The Master liked to think he was too busy to be relegated to teaching duty more than once.

Behold, the long-awaited Dr. Astraea's course on The Fundamentals of Reading & Writing! As is stated in the post above, characters may have heard of this in advance through Vargas, Astraea, and the Chaos Forge in general.

Characters may arrive at any point during this thread, and a new GM Post will be made every Saturday to keep things moving. Don't worry too much about falling behind on posting, though! Your characters will still be attending and moving along with the process :]

@Vargas @Menkheperre

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas drew up near, dropping down to perch on his haunches and listen. "All are welcome," he said, to any and all arriving--and to remind his own people of that. It was, as promised, one of many steps to attempt to present Draco and its Chaos Forge as advanced, desirable, useful--to forestall yet another rebellion.

To Astraea, he offered a polite, firm nod. This was the Master to whom he owed his station, and he treated him with respect even now, despite whatever inner thoughts he might have held. "Very well! Thank you for coming," he answered.

Other than that, however, he simply watched: he, too, was curious about reading, writing. He wondered how Astraea managed, these days, but he knew better than to ask. I should have probably told my old people not to, he realized, and--as surreptitiously as he could--stood back up again.

Master Vargas made the rounds of any Chaos Forge he could find, beckoning them aside and warning them in undertones: "Do not mention his hooves, his form. Don't ask him how he writes. He has killed for less." He doubted Astraea would strike out at them now, under his command, but... that went both ways. He had to make sure his people weren't throwing shade at the mushroom deer, either.

Anyway-!

Book time: he made his way back to the sidelines, ready to listen to this lesson. The stranger--the golden draconic creature--was utterly new to him, and he studied it with interest as it shuffled past, Astraea's lesson implements in tow. Did he create that beast purely for this lesson? he wondered.

Interesting...

Any Chaos Forge are of course welcome to have been informed, and were informed on-screen during the last major meeting (pre-Deathmatch!)

How had the spawn of a hermit crab and a bookworm ended up being Astraea's pack mule? Well, like this:

Hatching had been a rather unceremonious debacle for Menkheperre. A short charge of magicka, and he was spat unto the world in a crumpled heap of new-scent and Oil's carrion-stink. The skull looming over him had squinted its eyes in a mockery of a smile, and with a strange, accompanying hiss, had beckoned him to follow her—Isra, as she introduced herself with time—through their miraculous and shared home called a Palace. The clanking of pots and pans had greeted them for a moment, and the new-hatch had merely a moment to say his hellos to the one bearing bifocals and a missing arm (which he'd planned to ask about at some point, he swore!) before being ushered away.

Away to what had truly ended up being his permanent home: the Library.

Bookcases a mile high, far taller than he could reach even on his tippy-toes, stretched for what must be ages in the bright eyes of a new-hatch. It hardly seemed strange that he could peer down their spines and retain what exactly it was that they said; though many of the words were far too large and convoluted for him to understand—and those that he did understand were disjointed. Muddled, strange.

Isra had bid him adieu, and Menkheperre had not left the library except to hassle Nedies for food when he remembered to; for there was a great study to be had. There was some semblance of an organization system already, but he failed to comprehend it past some shelves occasionally being alphabetized. Some tomes looked vastly different than others as far as the writings went, and that was where the Valkhound found his first project: learning the difference.

Of course, Astraea had come seeking more juvenile literature—the sort that the youngling had the easiest time deciphering from the strange muddle of tongues and symbols rattling around in his skull—and Menkheperre, flapping down from the rafters, had been happy to oblige. Picture his excitement upon finding out that the Master was going to teach others about reading and was going to tolerate his own enthusiasm for reading, however little of it he managed to comprehend in one go.

The Valkhound fetched all that was requested, and easily offered to carry what the stag'd requested.

Now Menkheperre was internally complaining. Why didn't he carry the bag? He should have carried the bag. My back wouldn't hurt if he was carrying the bag. He felt as if he were a child carrying the groceries indoors, all in one go. It was a struggle to unbuckle the foul thing from around himself, for all four of his arms were as sore as could be and barely lifted above his head.

A sigh blustered out of his nose when the offending article was finally shrugged off near Astraea. Before he crumpled to the floor to sit through the lesson, he trotted a slow circle around the stag, swiping one of the books with his lowermost arms and holding it to his chest. Moving a few feet away—somewhat into a forming crowd—the youngling flopped to the floor (Ouch, that is hard and... warm? Ew—) and thumbed the book open.

Bright eyes studied the pictures with a renewed sort of vigor as he waited with ears peeled for everything to start. May as well get his studying started early!

Garnet-Epsilon


Something else other than chores. Bless whatever power out-ranks the Hands, because any more gunk would make the hybrid want to fling themselves into the chaotic Spire to feel literally anything other than lukewarm squish underfoot.

To say they're feeling stir-crazy is an understatement, and they bound once, twice, before gliding in the air with the occasional redirection over the heads of the growing crowd, wings only flapping a handful of times to maintain their airborne status before they let some magic hum under their skin, and they begin to dip down near the creature following Astrea.

Bright red eyes are squinting curiously at everything - the new... Hound? Maybe? as it drops it's load, and then the deer - Astrea - and how he settles down on the floor of Draco. Master Vargas approaching, and offering a quiet warning, however, gets a brisk nod and then a slightly deeper, almost bow like gesture as they ask their leave to go sit near what had been brought in. They give off their own mild red glow, with their bauble harnessed around their head, and necklace shimmering in the odd light making them quite the display before their blue skin lights up around their eyes, ears, and mouth to offer some light with which to peer at the items.

Epsilon's tail flicks back and forth in obvious excitement behind them, fins and tendrils sort of making a leather like noise when the limb folds over itself in the back and forth movement. A very eager pupil, indeed, and they rest on their hind legs to push their mane away from their eyes with their forepaws, more a fidget at this point than anything functional. After seemingly gazing their fill at the books, they then turn their gaze to Menkheperre, watching carefully and with obvious distrust that quickly fades as they realize This One seems to be more interested in what is between their paws, than anything else.

Action. Thought. "Speech."

He'd heart about such an event in passing, and literally in passing he did. he didn't go out of his way to talk to others, but when he happened to walk by a gembound or two whispering about a lesson in, what, Reading and writing? whatever that was, in draco that was happening today, he simply couldn't fight back the curiosity.

He padded into the room alongside the other attendees, bowing to who he assumed were the masters Vargas and Astraea, still unfamiliar with the whole master concept in general, trying to seem respectful as he stood amongst the rest.

I wonder what all that could be.. he thought, staring at the cubes and slabs n such littered by astraea's form.

he paid close attention, not wanting to miss a single thing!

Bentley had seen a bit of a crowd wandering through Pegasus, and he'd been fascinated. A couple distant yips hadn't stopped any of them--probably too distant for them to hear--and so he'd set about the long (for a puppy) bounding journey of finding out just where everyone had gone.

It'd taken him days to get to Pegasus alone, so the trek to and through Tunnel F was tiring: puppy hops just didn't cut it. A few times he had to sploot, legs splayed, panting cheerfully, to rest.

As he came along the transition at the halfway point of the tunnel, from life to Oily horror, he'd slowed. Uncertainty took him, and instead of obliviously bouncing along with lolling tongue, he stared up and about him. Was he making a mistake-? This place smelled funny--bad, even, though the sort he almost wanted to roll in. But every time he made to turn back, someone else would slip by, and he'd race on after them. He tried to call up light, but even that failed, and he was left slinking hesitantly along the end of the tunnel.

The weird breathing hole in the rock was unsettling--were rocks supposed to do that?--and the grinding of the Black Spire scared him, just a little. He raced after the fresher scents that hung on the wind: deer and parchment paper, fungus and... dragon thing? And at last the gathering came into view.

Relief washed through the little puppy, and he gave a couple excited barks and he broke into his fasted bounding sprint. Once he'd almost reached them, came to a skidding halt in a plume of warm, black dust. Wide, golden eyes took in the start of this lesson, the TOWERING monster he'd at first thought was a weird tree, and the younger Menkheperre. "Hello!" he told everyone, and then fell silent, head tilted, as Astraea spoke.

Ooh-! The big purple thing was saying thanks!

He considered, peering up at Vargas, his subconscious searching for the right reply. "You're welcome!" he yipped, and then stared at the Leviathan with wagging tail. That'd been right--right?

Well--unsure what was to happen next, he scooted up closer to Astraea, sitting attentively and sniffing closely (probably far too closely) at the lesson materials.

Aethril would never have children. This had been a reality she'd come to accept for a long time, now-- long before any gemstone was embedded into her skin and corruption gnawed at the back of her mind. It never bothered her the way it might bother some women: infants were a pain, a distraction, a hassle. Aethril sought companionship in other ways; in Eggbert and Rowan and Obieth, but never had she quite understood what she was missing out on than now. Now, as she led Pollen down the tunnels to Draco, to a lesson, as though she were dropping off her toddler at a schoolhouse.

This fleeting little glance into normalcy; despite the creatures that reigned, the foul stench, the low thrum of the Black Spire --was interesting, at least, but a commodity that the Valkhand quickly pushed aside.

"Master Astraea is... sore, about his appearance," she told Pollen, voice hushed, as her heels click-click-clicked down the tunnel. "Do not mention that you have seen him before, or that you know he was once anything but what he is now. I don't know if I would be able to stop him from killing you, if he saw fit."

So much for normalcy. "Be kind. Listen to what he has to teach. You'll enjoy reading, the library has plenty for you to see."

A pat on Pollen's head, and Aethril entered the Womb with gold plating covering her chest and shoulders and dark, reddish-purple silks (not blue-- someone is expanding her wardrobe!) draping the rest of her, flowing like bloodied water as she went. Her eyes settled on Astraea laying on the ground and found her face immediately tensing and scrunching, lips twisting back as though something sour had hit her tongue.

Don't laugh, she pleaded, internally. It's not funny. It's NOT funny.

His little hooves. His tail. The way he sat as though it were the most natural thing in the world-- it was a ridiculous sight to see, knowing the form he used to occupy. Don't look. Don't laugh. It's not funny. A clear of her throat and she found herself gently pushing Pollen forward, focusing on the smoothing out of her features, the clearing of her throat, finding a place to loom-- of which she chose to wander towards Vargas by the sidelines.

Her arms folded across her chest and a second little ah-hem came from her throat as she settled down, pale eyes grazing over the audience (DON'T LOOK) with a thoughtful (IT'S NOT FUNNY!!!) expression.

@Pollen

Dread had demanded to be taught to Read and Write, once upon a time. At that "once upon a" time, it had been a jealous demand more than anything: a possessive "I want that!" when the concept had been mentioned. If Astraea had been talking about snacks or music or anything else, undoubtedly his reaction would have been the same.

The black dragon was lucky this wasn't a trap set by the Chaos Forge, because he'd have flown right into it.

In any case, his arrival wasn't with the demeanor of a bright-eyed, attentive student. No: he'd heard the about where, and when, the lesson was to take place and his entrance was a rush of thudding wings and muscled chest, his body launching from the Aperture (which threatened to snag him as he passed) in a flying rush that kept him arrow-straight from nose to tail barb. He didn't slow until the gathering was in sight, and even then he came down hard, wingleather billowing and talons lashing out to catch the rock as he slammed in. His weight rocked forward, catching on his wings, and (after a quick glance picked Astraea from the darkness) Dread wing-walked rapidly over.

"THIS IS FOR READING?" he demanded, and then--ember eyes briefly squeezing shut as he struggled to remember--"AND--... WRITING?"

Barely a glance was spared to the others. No part of him recognized Aethril's thrumming power or Bentley's innocence or the similarly draconic shape of Menkheperre. Only a huff escaped him at the sight of Vargas, smoke twining up from his nostrils as if in threat. Eyes narrowed at that one, but he was fully focused on Astraea a couple heartbeats later. (Even so, magic flared up along his hide, a protective draconic magic... just in case.)

"I WANT READING AND WRITING!" he demanded, and then he waited. At the very least, it did seem like he understood that the process would take time; he settled in, a low bass growl softly guttering from his chest, almost like a purr. He might have been satisfied, or perhaps he was impatient--it was difficult to tell--but at least he wasn't expecting someone to hand him "reading" and "writing" in a paper bag as if Draco was educational take-out.

Am I late?

The scarred old hyena hurried along, dark jaws hanging open in a pant. When she'd heard where the meeting would (finally!) be, she'd headed here, but... she'd forgotten how damn far it was. And, it must be said, Giggle was just a little out of shape.

Hanging around a bone pit all day, as it turned out, wasn't particularly great for athletic performance. As soon as I get home. I'll run every day. After I sleep, she promised herself.

Giggle didn't know what would be involved in reading, or in writing, but the fact that it held knowledge interested her. But she didn't know enough to bring a writing utensil, or something to mark symbols on. She just brought herself--and her various bits of decor, the leather and bones and baubled stone and the like. Oh--and Omen, perched lazily atop her shoulders, the bird's single red eye scouring the cave. Giggle had been here once before; Omen had not, and it was new to the bird. She kept her beak closed, wary of it all.

Paws rasped on stone as she drew in among the crowd. Her dark eyes scanned each one present, curiosity in her; she offered friendly nods to those few she knew. "Not that many here, eh?" she suggested, between ragged gasps, toward Astraea. Given how many had been present at the meeting in Orion, and demanded to learn to read, she was surprised there weren't more. Surprised, but sort of pleased, because crowds... Crowds still felt a little like a threat, to her. Like they all had too many teeth, and she too few eyes to watch them.

Her magic, at least, was on guard--for potential Mother hosts, if nothing else. In retrospect it seemed a little foolish. Surely Astraea could pick them out? Unless he himself was twisted by it. Giggle didn't really fear the stuff, but she was watchful nontheless.

Giggle reached a point sort of at the middle of the group, as near to the front as she could get, and flopped down on her chest--too out of breath and tired, for now, to be self-conscious or even all that nervous. Right now, all she could really think about was the burning in her lungs and the weariness in her legs--and just how good a nap would be.

Hey, here comes Pollen! Dressed in her Sunday best, no less, with a white sundress trailing down to her knees and a nice, thin belt (small supply bag included) at her waist. The colors paired well enough with her shimmering bandana, extra glittery today (she made sure to apply more!) over the bead she held on her necklace. All ready for school! She even brought all the ivy on her arms and made sure to prune the garden on her skin, leaving a lot of white lily-like flowers trailing down her neatly washed mane.

All perfect for a cave full of animals. But, hey, she was going to see a new Master, and he was one of the prettiest ones (don't tell Nemean)- keyword, was. She wanted to make a good impression, anyways. What would he look like now? A deer, supposedly, and she'd seen tons of deer- did people try to hurt him? That would be.. unwise.

As they neared the Womb, Pollen fiddled with her necklace by reaching under her bandana, taking in everything. Back here again. A pat, and she was set loose. "I will," she hummed, eyes looking up at Aethril. "Thank you." Her head was forward as she missed Aethril struggling, only noting Astraea's different look. Yeah, he looked like a deer, but she guessed she wouldn't eat one with mushrooms growing on it. He's fine, then. Okay. Dropping her hands to her side, Pollen made to the main group, kneeling down and sitting on the moving floor of Draco. Bleh, always weird.

Was... Zoey going to be here? There was the bookworm she saw leave with Astraea earlier. ... she actually... didn't really talk to him, much. She hadn't had a reason to be in the library yet, after all, and it's been a few weeks, and his name was kind of a mouthful...

But! Anyways! Shuffling to cross her legs, Pollen retrieved a small slab from her oversized fanny pack, along with uncrumpled paper and a charcoal stick. She didn't know how to hold it (was it like drawing?), but she needed the supplies, and the paper was just like the real books! Oh, she'd definitely be able to do more than draw, now!

... even if she did just start doodling along the edges of her makeshift clipboard.