Leaving Bacchus behind, Anubis crept silently into the deep depths of Cassiopeia's prison, the light behind eventually being swallowed by shadow, sending the jackal into the utter void, with only the memory of the stone walls still quietly echoing the screams of the long-dead prisoners that had died here long ago. He was undeterred by his grim surroundings, walking forward with purpose into the depths, leaving behind a glowing trail of fungus, not bright or numerous enough to fully light up the surroundings, but to at least create a trail leading back. Perhaps one day he would memorize these tunnels proper, but for now he would need a guided way back to the light.

This place intrigued him. Fascinated him. Such misery was carved in flesh and bone here, long ago, such death was wrought behind these iron bars. He remembered the screams in his vision, the prisoners tormented for one reason or another. It mentioned serving. What did it serve? Perhaps this prison was meant to house rebels of whomever these ancient gembounds were serving, or those who did not serve.

Evidently, they did not serve Death, for they had died. Anubis was not so foolish.

As he went deeper, he began to explore some of the rooms, poking his nose past bars and peeking through doorways, using the fungus he was growing to create a very bare light-source. Just enough that he could see, adept already, biologically and experientially, to seeing in the dark. Most did not interest him, not until he came upon a shattered chrysalis - perhaps the same one that Bacchus had passed by on his way deeper into the prison.

Intrigued, he stepped forward, sniffing at the cracked edge of the gemstone. The evidence of both life and death. One that had hatched, maybe, and left, or one that had been killed in reformation.

He would know.

Placing his paw upon the crystal, he urged it to reveal its secrets to him. What was your death, then? Who slept within you, once?

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gore

violence

death

in flashbacks

The enormous Oilstone chrysalis had formed flush against the back wall of one of the cubicle-like cells. This was one of those places where the cell doors--likely some form of metal--had long since turned to dust. Even the stone of the prison was cracked and crumbling, worn soft and pocked at the edges by moisture and the slow drift of air.

But this Oilstone, lit only very dimly by the faintest edge of the bioluminescent light, lay untouched. An ominous black gap was framed by jagged edges, dangerously sharp, ones that

closed, sealed. A whole chrysalis, a dark shape within--perhaps horse-sized, but visibly bipedal--and now the lights had again dimly flickered on from the corridor. The sound of approaching, swift footfalls, the rusted creak of a door (undoubtedly a sound foreign to the jackal) and the distant crack of stone, then gurgling, a choked scream.

Another of the same, in pattern: the thud of eight or so feet, a creaking door, a shattering of stone. Now only a groan.

They drew closer, all of this passing in less than a minute. The vision was slightly distorted, Anubis's weaker cast of the spell losing parts of what now came: "Little beasts. I don't... left them alive."

"The experiments. Gotta-... -failed."

The scratch of talons was upon him. The cell door was yanked open, a massive Valkhound shouldering its way into the space.

A grunt. "It's a risk."

"Everything's a risk."

It cocked an arm back--one gauntleted with some form of sharp, gleaming stone--then launched forward with its full strength. The other came up alongside it, the two battering the chrysalis. A window was smashed violently into the smooth face of the stone, its gleaming rainbow streaks turning black with the spill of oil.

The image was jerky, flashing back and forth as though stuttering, the twist of arcane magic struggling to maintain it.

An arm reached in, and yanked a creature half-out, one that struggled to open confused eyes. A choking was quickly cut off by a rake of that gauntlet, eyes now snapping wide--uncomprehending. Not all of the creature was fully formed; parts of its fur looked... unfinished, translucent and soft. The rest was darker, thicker, but too slicked in oil to make out, and the beasts who had entered merely dropped it there. It hang over the sharp edge of the stone, bleeding and dying, and they moved on.

"Do we need... the Pit?"

Something spat on the ground. "They didn't... it. So no. ... suicide."

The creature lay twitching, dying, helpless and alone; and then it was gone, only its long-abandoned chrysalis lying in a light that faded to a dim fungal glow.

@Anubis

Anubis pulled out of the vision confused and a little fascinated. The creatures he'd seen had been unlike most he'd ever seen. Strange, large beasts, powerful and dangerous and ancient. He could feel how old, how forgotten that memory was. The smallest wisp of time left to be forgotten upon the shell of the chrysalis.

He had more questions. Why had they broken the creature out? Why had it been put in in the first place? What was this "pit"? What experiments were they undertaking here? Perhaps he could continue them, in his own way.

He was not a particularly large or powerful beast, but he was cunning. He had magic. He had a thirst for knowledge. Bacchus was interested in his garden and his obsession and his sadism, whatever twisted reason he had for keeping kids in here other then his own amusement. Anubis was different, he had a purpose. He had ideas and visions and he did things to see their results, to learn more about the macabre and explore that fine line between life and death.

And this prison had some answers he saw worth discovering.

He turned away from the chrysalis and back into the main hallways where he continued deeper, growing sparse fungus to illuminate his way, however dim it was. His nose was active, peering into some rooms, occasionally, looking for...other things that may hold answers.

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implication of torture

Anubis soon stumbled across a room that Bacchus had previously passed, one that lay to the left on the way to the voidlit garden.

The fungus offered only the dimmest flicker of light, casting the room in a low, ominous glow. It was like one of the cells, but larger than the rest, settled at a junction of corridors. It held a massive table at its center: black marble, so large that the bioluminescent guide-lights did not reach its rear, leaving half the room steeped in shadow. Myriad rusted metal implements lay atop it, or tumbled to the worn, damp stone below. Some held long, once-sharp edges. Others were curved, serrated, or held other strange and twisted shapes. Some were surrounded by the red of rust, and half eaten away by time. Little rust stains indicated where others had long since decayed, metal consumed by the relentless march of time.

Touching any of them was liable to crumble them to dust, but their original purpose was clear. And if it wasn't, the dark stains that had settled into the stone, over many cycles of gruesome use, would be... enlightening. Old, mummified fragments of fur or skin had been left behind, their imprints joining with the rock underfoot as it slowly decayed away.

@Anubis

Turning the corner into one of the room had his heartbeat escalating. This room was special. He could already smell it by the mustiness, the dark, stale scent that made his nose crinkle. With the little bit of fungal light he could muster, it wasn't too visible, so he took some time walking around the room, setting a few glowing mushrooms on the floor and walls. Their dim, sinister light was not much, but it gave him the slightest bit more visiblity.

With just enough light now that Anubis could properly see the room, he marveled at the grim sight he laid his eyes upon. Implements of torture, stains in the stone, the last remnants of the ancient prisoners whose agonized screams still marred the walls of this place. He did not stop to appreciate the many wicked blades or dream of wielding them himself - that was Bacchus's territory. What he wanted to know - why? What could one have done to find themselves imprisoned here? Was torture done freely, as punishment, or was there a purpose to this cruelty?

He identified a bit of mummified fur, barely recognizable from the stone beneath it from the eons that it had been sitting there, decaying, rotting, until nothing remained, not even the memory. Gently, knowing that any wrong move would destroy what evidence was here, he slid his paw across the rock and very lightly touched the edge of a claw to the fur and used that minuscule point of contact as his focus to look back.

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[graphic themes]

It was hard to tell if it was fur or the stone beneath that Anubis cast his magic into. They'd become one and the same, like old fossils, but perhaps that was for the best. What he saw was not a glimpse of some creature's early life but rather a scene from this very room.

The dead orb-lights above winked on again, indication that he was plunging into vision. They were bright. Glaring, even, their blinding glow casting the black table into stark relief.

A creature lay there, dead, on its side; gore and blood had spilled out, viscera hanging off the table and pooling on the floor. It was large, brown-furred, with long horns twisting back from its skull; it looked like the sort of thing that could walk hunched on its hind limbs, or scurry forward on all... sixes. Two sets of forelimbs, it seemed, one of those arms now cut away. The others were held in black shackles.

A smaller table, one on wheels and made of metal, stood nearby and by this, two other creatures were speaking. One was huge, hulking, covered in blood but it wasn't his. The other was slender, draped in light gray cloth and still holding one of those instruments, but bloodied, in a pincer-like hand.

"And they'd wanted... two hearts?" this one said. (The vision flickered somewhat, the magic unstable.)

The hulking creature grunted. "That's what she said."

"Well, it's as... only had one. That'll ... this trouble. Go back and tell them."

Another grunt, a nod, and it shuffled out and past.

On the table, the dead creature's eyes had fully glazed, its peeled-back lips stuck behind bared teeth. The other creature moved to remove the shackles, tossing them into a bucket in the corner, and the vision faded, the room steeped once more in black.

@Anubis

He stood still while the image passed across his eyes, coming out of it calm, eyes half-lidded. He blinked, opening his eyes again to the darkness. If only his magic would cooperate and show him what he wanted!

He sniffed and turned his nose away. Perhaps he would explore this place more, but there was still more to find. More to explore. He was sure he'd cross paths with that voidlit garden - he'd skirt around if he did, careful not to disturb Bacchus's holy shrine of torment. If they were to be partners in this, he did not want to antagonize the leopard so soon into it.

If there were more corridors to explore, rooms that caught his interest, he would continue, ever trailing the glowing fungus for vision on the path in front of him and also as a trail, to lead him back to the entrance.

Anubis's jackal nose would provide him pertinent information, here, as would the scuff through dust visible in the wake of his glowing fungi.

Bacchus has proceeded forward, from this junction. Straight ahead, a straight line still from the prison entrance. He had not deviated, his scent and prints moving ahead, and then back along his own track. To the right and left, corridors lay untouched.

Which direction Anubis chose to take would inform his discoveries.

@Anubis