It's a good thing word gets around the caves. Cerilaine at least tries to keep up with stuff, but-

Okay. Attikias was kind of a pain in the ass. It was a bit of sheer luck they'd found each other again, but Ceri did her best to get out of the conversation as soon as she could. She did find out about this, though, and it didn't... hurt? Eh. She didn't have better things to do. Well- she did, hanging out with Indigo, but this still wouldn't hurt. Besides, she had hands now, so she could probably use them for whatever writing was.

She hadn't thought that there was much use for it. Maybe if more people knew, sure, but her? Who was she going to write to? Maybe she could label things, but she could also just remember what they were. It's not like she had a lot to label. Her little projects, maybe, but then what? Plants? Her dwelling? It's not like she could take books underwater to read or something. The plant matter would get all wet, and, frankly, she didn't want to deal with that.

She was here, anyways, arms folded together while she stuck to the edge. Alright, now what? Was she supposed to bring something? It looked like others had, and Cerilaine huffed gently while running her hand down the back of her neck. Well, a teacher wouldn't go without bringing material, right? Dropping her hand, Cerilaine rolled her head and popped her neck, letting out the tenseness in her muscles. Well, she's got one thing- with practiced ease, a wisp manifested at her shoulder, hovering in place before bobbing about her body.

She's got light for reading, if it comes to that.

(won't be interacting further unless interacted with)

The stage was set in short order, and soon his prospective students began to filter in. Vargas moved to those of his own that came—hopefully to command their respect for Astraea, as hedeserved. When a bifocals-bearing little fox came in and lowered himself into a bow of his own accord, the stag preened. His snout crinkled with a warm, genuine smile, head held high above his shoulders. Yes, even in his miserably fuzzy, imperfect form...

Ah, consider him a little vain, would you?

Rubies then ambled downward, toward a similarly fluffy, canine beast. The pup's unparalleled enthusiasm had him smearing the wet of his nose all over the supplies (much to Menkheperre's apparent disgust, with the way his snout turned up and wrinkled) and Astraea couldn't help but to offer a breathy chuckle. "Excited to learn, hmm?" He let the thought hang a moment, get through the overexcited terror's head. "Pay close attention, little one. Have a seat."

Dread came in next, presence loud both physically and magically. The stag couldn't help the disbelieving laugh stuttering quietly through his chest, though he muffled the sound with a set jaw. There was a flush of magic fanning across his form, useless in the end—on no planet was Astraea going to be intimidated by such a crude animal. He'd dealt with more than his fair share of temperamental fire-breathing dragons. (Let's not think about the faint, lingering mourning in his heart as he mentally drew that comparison.) And so, imagining a chicken-scratch note on a pile of gold that said MY STUFF, DO NOT STEAL on it, the stag lifted his head, intoning with just the slightest twinge of laughter, "Hush, then, so that you might hear the lesson."

Magic crawled beneath his skin once again, and again Astraea turned his head to regard Giggle. Were it not for the instinctive ability to recognize the glittering red stone on her forehead, he might have not recognized her beneath the adornments and paint. But, ah... she was ever so diligent about sensing for Its influence. A smirk crossed his features as he tipped his head. "Ah, give it time. It is good to see you." Alive and whole still, and hosting a practiced hold on the magic he called his own.

And speaking of those he was pleased to see: "Tye care-ehtelë, imeára nur?" he uttered toward Attikias as the elf set out his own materials. Astraea's gaze searched him over, as was his usual habit. His regard was nothing but warm—

He stilled, a cold shock settling in his gut, his stone. The heaving, creeping crawl of Chaos flooding his senses the same as the Black Spire had when he walked in here. Ruby gaze fell immediately upon the Hand striding in—ignoring the shorter green biped tailing after her. Rising to his hooves, he dipped his head in greeting, but did not speak directly; if this Hand hadn't bothered to give him an opening for conversation, then she must be here for study. A test, perhaps, to see how well he could teach the creature who'd come in after her (and how innocent that one looked... merely being offered a bauble by one of the Leviathan's ilk.)

Despite the newfound worry thrumming in his chest, Astraea turned to regard those who'd gathered. His attention swept over each of them once again, and he found himself both amused and intrigued by their curiosity with what (to him, at least) seemed to be the littlest of things. They cared about learning to read, even if it might be useless to them. They wished to share thoughts and feelings outside of speaking. Even the born-and-raised Valkhounds of the Forge (and the Black City, looking at the Deep Dark) had come to care about this.

How the times had changed... and yet, the Virgo Master was no sentimental softie for these things. If it kept them content, ignorant, and obedient—kept another rebellion at bay as Vargas planned—then, he'd teach them.



So, Astraea lifted his right foreleg and stamped his hoof against the ground three times. "Quiet, now. Are you all ready?" His pause was weighty, expecting a susurrus of agreement before he continued; and he flicked his head in Menkheperre's direction. While the dragon scrambled to his feet and toward the placards he'd carried along, Astraea began, "We will start with simple letters first, so that you may understand what they look like and connect it with the sounds you all are already familiar with. This is no written language that's unfamiliar to your spoken tongue." That'd be just too much work for these to comprehend; may as well teach them that which they already knew, hmm?

Maybe they could invent a few written languages of their own. Cute.

Derisive thoughts aside: "each letter I'll show you is accompanied by a sound you already know just from speaking. Some have multiple sounds, and later you'll be able to group these together and sound out words that you see." Magic should make this easy, at least. Far easier than teaching dear young Dawa—

He shook his head minutely. "Menkhepherre, show them A—, yes, there."

Inscribed upon a slate, held up by the Hound's arms, were two letters. The left was an angular A, and the right was its lowercase counterpart; both were written in brightly-colored, smooth-lined chalk. A crudely-sketched apple was displayed below them. "Here is A, for apple—and you may see that there are two variations. The left is uppercase; meaning it is the start of a sentence, or the start of an important word for a person or a place, called a proper noun." The stag smirked, "Such as Astraea." Hah. "The right is lowercase, and the one you will see most often. They do not sound any different."

The stag went on to describe the various phonetic sounds such a letter could make, giving word examples for each—long and short vowels, consonants, letter groups that formed common sounds. He paused often, patient enough to answer any raised hands and shouted aloud questions.

This repeated for the rest of the alphabet.

Then, he hummed, clicking his hoof twice on the ground. Menkheperre darted to the bag, and began to hand out chalks and dark slates to each of the Gembound and Valkhounds present—Vargas and Aethril included. Most received proportionally-sized pieces of writing material. "Now, I'd ask you to reinforce your knowledge of these letters. This Hound will hang up each of these on the wall, and you may study them. Try to write them down to the best of your ability. I'll come around to help you and ask you to recite the alphabet."

Now... there was the problem of most of these creatures not having hands or the dexterity to actually succeed in such a task.

This should be funny.

The Gembound have taken their first steps into learning how to read and write English: the alphabet and phonetics! They may now recite the alphabet and practice writing it out on chalkboards through any means necessary (because... y'know... a lack of hands is a problem these days).

Astraea may be written as coming around to answer questions and help those who are struggling with either writing or reciting. If asked how to write without hands, he will offer a single piece of advice: "Figure it out!"

The next GM Post will be made on Saturday, December 11th!

@Vargas (Bentley, Dread, Giggle) @Menkheperre @Garnet-Epsilon @Forgraves @Aethril @Pollen (Attikias, Deep Dark, Vander, Cerilaine) @Oka @Sharp (Zookeeper) @V-Zoisite-One (Cain, Casimir, Ashtoreth)

- THE LEVIATHAN -

There were so many here-!

The Leviathan was increasingly pleased for every familiar face, and every stranger, that swept in through the Aperture. Some of them looked innocent, helpless and new--useless either to him or to rebellion. Some were--oh, Aethril. A tenseness, as in Astraea, ticked up through him as he realized they were being observed. And some other attendees were seasoned Gembound warriors, or--dragons. Vargas fixed his gaze on Dread, for the moment. While he couldn't sense the magic the dragon was casting, he could see his aggression clear enough, or at least his claim; and Vargas's last encounter with the winged idiot hadn't exactly been a pleasant one. He'd watch, make sure he didn't cause any trouble here.

Here came Aethril's entourage (sans bodyguard, he noted--why?0, and a giant... shelled beast? This one he fixed with an interested gaze. He'd never seen anything like it, and he wondered what it was capable of. A small lizard, and--ahh. Attikias. Vargas blinked as the elf seemed to give him a wide berth. That was... odd. Others, now: a vast white cat-beast, which Vargas immediately and naturally approved of; then a smaller (younger?) cat--also good. Cats were good. A winged... creature. He'd never seen anything like Ash'toreth before, but he mused that she might make a decent scout. And then another dragon, this one dipped in hues of inky sea, glimmering with its own little lights. Vargas eyed its tattered wings with approval.

A few more trickled in, and Vargas at last settled back to listen.

Ahh-... Astraea was truly going back to basics. Vargas didn't know much of reading or writing--he'd never bothered before. His interest, indeed, was more on observing the Chaos Forge and their visitors throughout--ensuring that everyone was well-behaved before their Hand, and that no one was fighting, stealing and so forth in the background.

When the slates were given out, he took one: and he did his best to copy a few letters of his own, just for appearances' sakes. Surely, with how many thumbs the Leviathan had, it wouldn't be too hard-? After a moment, he turned his chalkboard toward Astraea, expression questioning.

For some Creator-forsaken reason, he had nailed it: beautiful, elegant lines, the entire alphabet sketched out as though by a scribe. Apparently, the Leviathan had a creative streak--or just very, very good handwriting. "M," he told Astraea with a wink (of three eyes) and a tap at the appropriate letter, "is for Monster."

"Zoey!" While excited, Pollen kept her voice low, most of it channeled into her body. The wolfish tail behind her curled up and thumped obnoxiously on the ground, her eyes wide as she tilted the paper for Zoey to inspect. It'd been so long since they'd seen one another. "How are you? Are you okay? Did you find some more flowers?"

Without any pretense of gentleness, Pollen dropped the clipboard to her lap the moment Zoey began to reach with something. Something? For her? Wiggling with even more joy, Pollen held her palms up to receive the gift. When the oilstone was deposited in her paws, the muta pulled her head forward and inspected with pure wonder, open-mouthed grinning as the colors shifted across its inky, smooth surface.

"Wow." Her voice was a mere whisper over the partial din of the gathering. The pads of her thumbs ran over the gem. Pollen marvelled at the light that glowed through the thin, pink part of her hands, illuminating into a warm red. She stayed this way for a long moment, before lowering the gift to her lap on top of her drawings, grinning with delight to Zoey. "It's amazing- it's your magic, right? And the stone is so pretty, and it's so amazing, and-" She laughed softly. Pollen must be lower than her head here, but with all those quills making it probably hard to throw an arm around her, she'd risk raising her muzzle to touch at the end of Zoey's. A brief sign of small affection in lieu of a hug, that's all! It was a brief lean in, and attempt to be non-invasive, and she'd draw back if Zoey did.

"Oh, man, I meant to uh-- I have a lot of seeds at home, and some flowers you'd like, and they aren't food so I didn't bring them to Pegasus, and... ah. I'll.. bring you some next time?" Another smile, before she looked down to her pad. "Oh, uh, but- nah, I'm just drawing. I kinda had to uh-- figure out how to hold the charcoal, and it's kinda hard, and I got some blank papers that I draw on sometimes 'n' stuff but I don't do it that much. I'm not... that good." She giggled with humility, tapping a pointer 'finger' at her lips. "Do... you need help, figure out how to hold a stick to draw? Or-- write? I think... writing is just kind of drawing, so it could be either way."

As Pollen cocked her head, the hair that made up her mane cascaded over her neck and shoulders, a few fresh leaves knocked loose from somewhere under the tangle.

--

As Astraea spoke through the lesson, Pollen's mind drifted back to drawing, her symbols and letters round and nearly bubbly instead of what was shown. Was that right? She... wasn't sure, but none of the other symbols looked like A, so it was probably okay for her's to have a sort of curve to it, right? She'd traded paper for chalkboard, and half-tilted her surface to sort of show Zoey how she held her chalk, halfway between properly holding it and fisting it. Two fingers perched on the small piece as she ran her letters together.

It was, um... Not very legible. While she may have the basics down, there was the case that she'd never seen written word, and thus didn't know entirely how to spell things. On her board, Pollen translated to 'P-aw-lin', each letter split into noise groups. Zoey stumped her. 'Zoh'- no, wiped off. 'Zo'? Ugh. Yeah, she guessed, but that looked wrong to her. 'Zo-ee'. Like that?

Peering over the board, Pollen (or, Pawlin, apparently) held up the surface to Zoey to look at. "Do.. you think it's like this?" Her golden eyes were wide with curiosity, uncertain about how she received the lesson.

@V-Zoisite-One

Forgive him for being, still, a puppy.

Bentley tried to pay attention. He really did! And sometimes, he even managed. The idea of glyphs representing sounds was like some fascinating new magic, and when Astraea revealed that A was, in fact, for Apple, he actually yipped in excitement.

But sometimes, being so very young, his attention wandered. He got up at the smell of something interesting and--paws prancing high--trotted through the gathering, winding his way among the other more-or-less-diligent-students.

Tail wags were offered, the flattening back of ears and smiling puppy face, at anyone who glanced his way as he passed. He sniffed around with clueless disregard for personal space, inspecting hands and feet and belongings and rocks and whatever else he ran into.

This was a cycle repeated a couple of times, but when it came time to write, Bentley tried to focus again. He was a little afraid that maybe he'd missed something, but-...

He settled in with the slate and the bit of chalk that Menkheperre had given him, and tried to pick the chalk up in his mouth. At once he grimaced and spat it out, comically licking at his lips. "Eww!" he squealed, and laughed. He tried again, then, mouthing at the chalk and trying to get it to push on the chalkboard, to make any sort of symbol at all.

It took him a couple tries to find a good position: flat on his stomach, hind legs splayed out behind him (and tail wagging in the air), his front paws pinning the slate in place. Careful movements of his head somewhat controlled the chalk, enabling a very crooked A to slide across the black. When he was done, he inspected his work, and at once looked very pleased. Pricked-up ears flattened back, his tail sweeping down to thud the ground.

"I DID IT!" he cried: "I did, um-" (he briefly forgot the word, glanced around as if for help, then remembered and blurted it out) "-writing!"

Dread, for his part, paid an unflinching level of attention: the level of attention a greedy dragon would fix on a bit of gold he wanted for his hoard. He either didn't understand, or more likely didn't care, that knowledge wasn't an actual possession.

He didn't speak, his ember gaze instead carefully tracking Astraea's every movement, mostly unblinking in his intensity. When he was handed his own oversized slate and chalk, he studied them both quite carefully before trying to first pick the chalk up in his jaws. This was awkward, the dragon unable to see what he was holding where, so he readjusted: he rocked back, his body nearly vertical and resting on his wings, his head craned to peer downward. One hind foot settled carefully on the slate. The other struggled to grip the relatively small chalk.

He stared, for awhile, testing his grip like some massive draconic parrot, thinking about what to scrawl across the black. Then, slowly and studiously, the dragon lowered chalk to slate and attempted to write.

On his first attempt, the chalk slipped from his grasp and skidded across the rock. With relative patience he picked it back up and tried again, but this one snapped in half. He looked up, around, examining the others--was he doing poorly?! What was he doing wrong? Rather than begin roaring at Astraea, though, he felt some weird sort of shame: exactly the sort a failing schoolboy might.

"I BROKE THE CHALK," he lamented, and wing-walked a few steps toward Menkheperre. "IS THERE A BETTER ONE!?" His tone was one of utter tragedy.

Giggle watched with a keen eye (two of them, in fact!) from where she sat in a hunched sitting position on the rock. She found it fascinating, like a glimpse into some other world, quite akin to the practice of divination: symbols and signs holding hidden meaning for only the initiated.

It held her rapt.

The lesson wound on, and she found herself already adapting ideas for those without hands--using secret symbols etched in bone, or perhaps creating ink with black fungus for dipping in... there were options, certainly. Her mind whirled with the possibilities.

Writing, however, would prove a more formidable task. She gave Astraea a level, flat stare of dark humor, and then bent down to delicately pick the chalk up in her incisors. A is for Apple, huh? And Astraea, she thought. So how do I spell Giggle?
She looked up, patiently studying the glyphs Astraea had depicted, trying to remember which ones made a "g" sound, an "l," an "i." Then she bent low, carefully applying chalk to slate, and dragging the piece across the surface.

It was a work of art: a large, flat dot, a squiggly line that stretched out like a doctor's mysterious prescription sigil, and then two crossed lines.

There was no telling what it had been meant to be. It didn't resemble any known word. In fact, none of it resembled any letter of the alphabet, or possibly any alphabet in existence. It looked like a chicken had had a seizure on the board. It looked like someone had tied chalk to a snail and let it wind its way around.

To top it off, the chalk snapped in her teeth as she finished, and she hawked it up with a cough. When she lifted the slate in her muscled jaws, and turned it to present it to Astraea, she looked proud. She had no idea just how badly she'd butchered this attempt.

"This says Giggle--yes?" she asked, sitting straight and tall.

Needless to say, it didn't.

Pegasus was... interesting. It didn't really enjoy the water to land ratio in this cave, but that could be said of nearly every cave in this system. Aside from it's home of Fornax, of course, and Cetus, which it had enjoyed quite a bit. But the river in this room felt like a kiddie pool in comparison, and it languished resentfully in the river's shallow waters. It entertained itself with watching the little fish and other creatures that had begun to cautiously investigate it, so it didn't notice whatever Deep Dark had until lurched out of the riverbed and forward to.. whatever had caught her interest.

Not wanting to be alone (and also rather intrigued) Soh'ling followed suit. It very much resembled a disgruntled, suspicious cat as it walked, rather than the some twenty-two feet of valkhound it really was. Any stealth that could've been possibly granted by it's cat-like build was immediately overpowered by a blaze of red and purple, like someone trying to design a valentine's day card.

It'd follow Deep dark through the tunnel and the gate of life, but as soon as it'd step foot inside Draco it darn near did a cat-like jump straight into the air. Now boasting an eye-watering orange and yellow hide, it squinted suspiciously at the squirming, pulsing floor of Draco. The chaotic thrum of The Black Spire wasn't enough to calm it, and even as it made it's made to Deep Dark's side it's fins were upright with alarm.

Regardless of it's feelings about the room it found itself in, it was immediately enraptured by the lesson. Any promise of knowledge was an irresistible temptation to the valkhound, and as the deer (such strange, fuzzy, soft things that inhabited the land) went on talking, it watched with seemingly unblinking, faintly luminous eyes. So, you know, just like any ol' cat, really.

It'd paw at the chalk it'd been given, trying to figure out how exactly to hold it like the other valkhound had done, given it had large lion-like paws in place of hands. It was... messy, but that was to be expected of anyone trying to write with paws. Or trying to write for the first time ever, really. Once it was done, It'd turn to it's companion, holding the chalkboard that had 'dep darc' proudly written across it in barely legible handwriting. "Look." It'd say with all the pride and excitement of a first-grader showing off their hand-traced turkey. "It's you."

@Deep Dark

It had sat down somewhere in the background for no other reason than... it was probably supposed to be here? It wasn't entirely sure what 'reading' and 'writing' was and how that'd effect it's abilities, but if there was a whole meeting dedicated to it- hosted by Astraea, no less- then it was probably important.

The sheer amount of strangers that had come to attend was.. a little off-putting. Some of them were familiar- the elf who'd come here before, some who it'd seen in passing- perhaps at the deathmatch, perhaps elsewhere- and Aethril. The sight of the valkhand brought back a muted version of the sort of fear one would experience watching a gembound be stripped to nothing but oil and spare parts over the course of a single second. But the little green gembound that had accompanied the hand... Zoisite seemed to like them. It liked seeing Zoisite happy but somehow that made it all the more aware of how alone it felt in this crowd.

Oh. The lesson was starting.

It'd watch with all the attention it'd give any other meeting of the forge. Watching as Astraea and the valkhound helper went through each letter. Aye... Bee... Cee... Dee... It was all a little repetitive, and it was hard to NOT get a little bored, but it made itself pay attention anyways. This was important... even if it wasn't sure how it'd write, with claws as large and clumsy and oil-slicked as it's own.

As it'd try to write, the chalk often slipped out of it's claws. The oil dripping down and wetting the chalk didn't really help, either. It was able to scrawl something across it's board, but whatever letters it had managed to scrawl were utterly unreadable given the smears of oil and wobbliness of the lines.

@Hunter

Garnet-Epsilon


The hybrid decides to be... ambitious.

Each letter they mouthed along to attentively, paws and tail flexing in mirror to the shapes of the sounds, eyes tracking the curves and lines of every letter.

Some words used for the letters make no sense, foreign to them, but they suppose the words serve their educational purpose.

So, applying that ambition, they gather up a writing chalk and plate, and lift onto their hind legs to grasp the chalk between both paws. Their toes are dexterous enough to make this feasible, but then they're left at... actually writing.

Trying to figure out how to write their name is... hard. Epsilon isn't phonetic word by any means. Eh... Sounds like if A and E fused, but not in a good way. So, they lean into writing an E, because it sounds nothing like Astrea, then a P, S, another... E? Or another letter? It makes the same sound, so another E. L, O, N.

Question is, does the word Epselon actually look... like a word? Or scribbles?