The map had been made. Obieth was under training, and Pollen was settled and had her new defenses. Aethril was fairly confident that everything would be fine in the spare few days she'd been gone, and it was a hell of a journey through the Nest to reach the core.

She'd worn thick, flat boots for the very occasion, and the loose linen clothing she often did when she practiced magic. A bag of supplies to last her the journey there and back was attached to her shoulder. Heavy, but it'd been heavier when she started.

The Skystone spire was somewhat of a comfort to see when she'd stepped in through Polaris, but she didn't stop to gape at it. She had business to do and the sooner she got back to the Palace and got into a bath, the better.

There was a muted click of hard-soled boots against the cave floor as she wandered along diagonally to hit the cave wall, and then followed that wall along until she'd reached the somewhat out-of-place doorway. The bag was taken off and dumped nearby it, and for a few spare seconds, she stood quietly in front of it.

Then, a delicate hand knocked upon the stone, and she peered inside.

Knuckles rapped against stone, and the expansive blackness before Aethril did not answer her. It stretched floor-to-ceiling like the gaping maw of some great beast. The faint outline of a barren corridor quickly vanished into a sort of fog of war.

Two gleaming, lime headlights rocketed towards her at an unnatural pace. Onyx-tainted-Oily feathers beat against the air without a sound except to land just a few feet from the—oh... Eyes pinched upward with immediate keen interest. Quills clacked against one another as his talons met the stone floor and he came to a standstill.

Chaotic smoke curled off the owl-beast's flanks as he straightened to his full, looming height. Emuh peered down, interest evident in the squint of his eyes.

"A HAND? IN THE PLACE OF ASCENSION?" he boomed without a care for sensitive, pointed ears. "WHAT USE DO YOU-WHO-WHO HAVE FOR THIS?" A wing waved to indicate the rest of the corridor, and then himself.

@Aethril

"You should get a proper door," came Aethril's immediate response. Her tone was sharp; finely-honed, and critical. The rough edge of her boots clicked against stone as she entered the yawning cavern, narrow eyes taking in the scenery.

A moment later, her hands clasped behind her, glancing up at the huge owl. "Do you not deem me worthy?" The Hand asked with a slight bite, teeth clicking. She would show him her worth if not. She was tired and achey from the journey over and she sure as hell didn't have the time to mill around answering questions. "I thought you gave trials to those who ask, and I'm asking."

With a sharp breath, Aethril was bracing herself a little. "Can we get started?"

Interior design critique? Emuh barked a sharp, crowing laugh; full-chested and completely grating on the eardrums. "WHY? SO FEWER LITTLE BEASTS CAN WANDER IN?" Oh, as much as it was annoying telling half-formed creatures to scram—sometimes with physical threat—it was quite the entertaining sight. Many times, they would come through mere hearsay. If he had a door, then would that little... white cottonball have made it in? The explosive lightning storm of a kitten?

Surely not.

So, for entertainment value, the gaping hole in Polaris's wall would remain.

In any case—"WORTHY? YOU-HOO-HOO FAR EXCEED ANY MEASURE OF WORTH FOR THESE TRIALS. IT IS POINTLESS TO GAUGE WHAT IS ALREADY KNOWN." A sneer had entered his voice, and he let loose another series of derisive cackles.

Emuh spun on a taloned heel, waving a wing as he did (almost mimicking the motion of a magician whisking a cape.) "BUT, IF YOU SEEK EMUH'S TRIALS, YOU-HOO WILL RECEIVE. COME, THEN." He launched into the dim corridor, and as it sublimated into the dark, his voice boomed from the far end: "PROVE YOURSELF."

When at last the customary symphony of stones grinding against one another ceased, the room bloomed into dim blue light.

—
Before Aethril was a sight quite resembling Orion; perhaps it was the Orion of the halcyon days, or perhaps it was simply a completely made-up scene. The latter seemed more likely, what with the vibrant green flora bleeding through every possible crevice. Dappled light scattered across every surface, shifting as the leaves did in the otherwise still air.

A cobblestone—and somehow worn-down—path lay in front of her, extending for a mere five feet before splitting into an two-way intersection leading right or left. To her immediate right was an invitingly half-opened door leading into one of the buildings, and just before the intersection—on the left, half-obscured by the trunk of a tree—was another doorway.

There was the scent of many somethings in the air, like this place was a center of activity, but as far as the Hand could see, the roads themselves were empty.

@Aethril

Aethril shrugged off Emuh's-- well, screaming. Aside from the slight quirk of her lip shifting upwards (oh, how she did love the validation of being better than most) there was generally no response. With clicking boots she followed Emuh along until he was swallowed by the dark and she found herself at a path.

The Hand didn't know Orion too well. She'd only gone there on occasion to view the coliseum and the creatures brawling inside. She cared very little for whatever else had been inside it; her attention in this Nest was always focused on Cepheus and the Spires.

Her mind was running regardless as she scanned the room. A few buildings. One seemed open, but everyone seemed to be hiding. Rebels? It seemed a little likely to her. Although she was approaching the right-hand building she was keeping a distance from it, sucking in a short breath.

A flash of magic and from the ground lifted an oily tentacle; rising slowly up from the dirt just in front of the doorway. The tendril pushed against the door to open it up wider, bending slightly out the way for Aethril to see inside of it without her actually entering it.

Oilslicked tentacle pressed gently against the door, and with the motion came a droning creak.

It was dim within the building, and as far as Aethril could see, there was just one room to it. Motes of dust made their merry way through the air, smelling of little but age and the damp, heavy breaths of lungs strained beyond their limits. Simple furnishings were scattered about the place—an overturned table, stonecarved seats, the glinting of a knife, cobbled-together scraps of armor along the floor.

Shadows raced along the far wall, past a door at the other end of the room, but they belonged to mere mice spooked by the intrusion.

The frantic rhythm of their scamperings was interrupted far too quickly by the heavy thump! of something falling from above; which was then punctuated by a snarling hiss, by the crunch of little bones between incisors. Claws scraped along the floor, and a seemingly large shadow meandered along the door's surface.

The shadow drew closer to the far door, swelled larger—and the sound of predatory snuffling filled the air.

1/3

@Aethril

The oily appendage fell out of her grip as mice were crunched underfoot and something came snuffling. Aethril had seen a great many monsters in her day-- and she'd seen a great deal of aggressive monsters. They were difficult to control, quite often, but valuable weapons to have under one's belt.

The Hand licked her teeth, a twinge of something close to hunger lurching in her gut. The Creator's magic came to her fluidly-- a vast improvement from when she'd just woken up --and bent to her command. She focused on what little of the beast she could see from her distance, past the doorway.

Whatever it wanted. Power, perhaps, or just a meal? Did it just want to taste blood between its teeth, or to rip flesh from bone? It could have whatever it'd like for a small price: loyalty, protection, safeguarding Aethril with its life. The magic was subtle, a whisper of a suggestion.

But, just in case, Aethril was taking a precautionary step backwards.

@Game Master Navy

Reach, reach, reach and... there! Aethril's magic sank its teeth into the approaching presence with an instinctive ease. Though it was obfuscated by the sheer noise of Chaos, an overplayed mantra rattled about in the Hand's skull—or, rather, some approximation of one: EAT. DESTROY. CONSUME. There was hardly a distinguishable word in the mix; she would have better luck deciphering the cocktail of Chaotic impulses, unending hunger, and a peculiar complacency—or would compliance be a better word for it?

The monster emerged in the doorway, all rippling sinew and stained Oil-black hide. Jagged, bloodied teeth lined the front of its square snout. Inky black dripped from its frill, and despite its low profile, its body took up most of the space. Slavering jaws frothed with a combination of puffy white foam and the remains of mice. A sizable chunk of Oilstone rose like a great Spire from its forehead.

It skulked forwards, and then... just stood there, like a dog awaiting a command or reason to jump back into action. Beady black eyes bore holes through the space behind Aethril, the dancing light beneath the leaves outside.

Outside, a door slammed open, and the sound of many rapid footsteps hurrying across the path resounded. Voices echoed softly to each other: "C'mon, while it's distracted!" "Let's go—" "We're going to get caught." Each were spoken in harsh murmurings and whispers between panting breaths.

The valkhound jerked toward it instinctively—the sound of its Chaos-addled mind ringing louder and louder in Aethril's mind—and snarled in anticipation of a chase where the suggestion had already been made clear: safeguard her with its life.

2/3

@Aethril

Beautiful. Hulking, huge, frothing out of the mouth and drenched with blood. "There's a good Hound," she cooed to it, affectionately-- and she may have even dared to pet it if something didn't take her attention away from the Chaos-addled creature.

Voices. People running. She felt exactly what the creature was feeling-- Chaos chattered away at her head, rebels! She didn't want them to get away, but...

Aethril stood for something very specific. In fact, she'd been preaching at Pollen and Obieth on it for the last month: the rebels are bad. They'll attack the innocent. We're meant to protect them. While Aethril could care less what collateral damage happened to spill over at the cost of mopping up the nest, she didn't want to come across as, Creator forbid, a hypocrite.

A hand lifted to the hound. "Wait," she whispered, and repeated her previous spell. This time, however, instead of pressing intentions onto something she was looking for intentions from one of the fleeing creatures-- who were they? Why were they running? Where were they going? Anything to indicate their innocence or, perhaps, their gult.

@Game Master Navy

The valkhound hardly responded to the cooing murmur, instead choosing to clamor against its apparent shackles. Infinitely dark eyes glared out of the house, now, and it made to shove past the Hand and dart outside. But, it waited—the strain of magic holding it in hesitating place. A warbling growl escaped it, Oily saliva sputtering across the floor.

Aethril's magic cut into the mind of a fleeing creature with a thin veil of hesitation—and perhaps it was because they were just barely within sight... ? Not so Chaotic and Disordered and easy to sway like this slavering horror?

With the connection, an unrestrained onslaught of feeling, of names and places and a life flashing before one's eyes: the shadowed corners of Canis, filled with bones carefully constructed into shelters; Orion's beginnings of crumbling into ruin; of looming shadows and glaring teeth tinted in chartreuse relief. This creature clung to them, begging and praying to whatever figure could save them from this living nightmare. I thought, they stirred, we'd escaped. I thought we'd been free. I thought they'd saved us. We were supposed to be safe—

Why were they awake again? The face that had leered away from them was not the ones that had beckoned them into slumber—but, they could not remember what those were except that they had been nearly mythical in quality.

There was a shift in feeling as the creature turned over its shoulder—perhaps out of Aethril's line of sight—and called softly, "here," before beckoning the other two into the perceived safety of another building. They huddled down, rabbit-quick fear shooting through the spell, but also... desperate warmth, like one crowds around a fire on a frigid Arctic night. "I love you," was uttered softly through hushed, rasping breaths. "I love you, I love you. Stay quiet, maybe we'll be okay."

3/3

@Aethril