Something deep and dark was alive inside Dimitri's chest. It probably wasn't the best time for it, but here he was. Awake and alive, painfully alert, as he struck closer and closer to the caverns. Something bizarre, sure, but that wasn't an issue. Bizarre as always. Dark things lived inside his chest, and he would push himself harder and faster. Always training, always looking, always learning. He wasn't sure he could handle that, he wasn't sure he could handle anything less than that. Dimitri could barely handle himself, but that didn't matter.

Nearly unhinged as he made his way through the narrow gap that led into the caverns. That was a funny thing. The gap... hell, it was as narrow as he was. Sharp eyes. Keen eyes. Sight hound. His eyes were functional, and that was what mattered. He would look and see everything that was around him, and he wouldn't push back against it. This was purely for information. All Dimitri needed to do was know about his surroundings, and then nothing could touch him... right?

Get smart and nothing can touch you.

ooc. timed before the rite of rebirth, and after the thread with Jupiter

Everything was boring lately. The rest of the family were out and about, living their lives. Everyone except for the poor shaman in training. Still recovering emotionally from the trauma of the island of scaled devils, there was little hope of going far from where the rest of the family had holed up. Regardless, there was desperation to be out and seeing the world. Thus, she had set off to see what she could see. At ten months old, she was nearly as tall as her mother, and so she had very little to fear from strangers.

A strange, eerie singing was coming from the mouth of this cave. It drew the champagne child like a moth to a flame. Perhaps the gods were trying to draw her close, whisper their tales into her ears. Teacher had told her about holy places, perhaps this was one of them. Oversized paws thumped carelessly towards the entrance, heedless in the dark. What was there to fear?

The thump of someone else's paws, of course.

"Hello?" The youth called, as she wandered further into the caves. The haunting, sonorous voices continued. Whatever they might be saying was a mystery to the child. The gods spoke in tongues.

walk "Talk" think

R E U N I O N The eyes of the sight-hound may work, but can he see? Can he? Can he? He slips through the tunnels, weaving and snaking his way through each and every crack and crevice, his body like oil-- a black sheen, laced with iridescent hues of distant auroras somewhere painted along his glossy, gleaming coat. And eyes of silver,blank and unseeing, glittering like the bonegleam of a sun-bleached skull tucked neatly into a narrow face that is long and tall and he is a spindly, spider-like creature who's every step is a dance. Graceful, silent, he stalks and sneaks until the delicate notes of curious voices reach the Jester's ears and oh, how WIDE is the grin that spread across his face as his tongue rolls out to moisten the exposed flesh and tendon of his ceaseless smile. He is at home. Glittering. There is no light deep within the confines of the caverns, tucked deep beneath earth, in the many hollowed-out crevasses that were dug deep into the stone, tight walls and even tighter tunnels that were filled to the brim with jagged and razor-sharp crystals that jutted out without reason from the walls, floor, and ceiling. And yet, with ease and a fluid grace that was unnatural, a calming smoothness as if liquid rolls beneath his fur and flesh rather than muscle and bone, he weaves through. Here he searches, resonance. He must to feel the vibrations of the earth and the rocking of the tides, unmoved by the moaning of the wind. But he knew for what purpose he came and for what reasons he'd arrived and they would KNOW him in ways they'd never known before. "Knock, Knock. Anybody home? I'd hate to make a bad first impression." A laugh--perhaps a cackle?-- rolls from his chest and the voice that speaks is smooth and silken and sultry. His voice is crushed velvet, over gravel, and the accent is distant and exotic and laces each of his words with a distinct coiling of syllables that brings each and every note of his tone into a smooth purr. "Hic et monstra, my dear." he hums towards the innocent voice of the youth that had traveled far too deep,"You must be wary. Curiosity killed the cat and it can most certainly kill those less cunning." He drifts, silent, a spectre dressed in black, for here, in the darkness, where there is no light and eyes cannot see... he has never seen, and so, he is not at all blind. He sees all. "I can hear your heartbeat..." he breathes, "....The both of you." His laughter catches in his throat-- a strangled chuckle. And he waits. They will know him. ------ "Lorem Ipsum"