No task is too burdensome, when the survival of an entire hive rests on your shoulders.
Hives exist within strict hierarchies. Where you fall is a direct mirror to your magical and metaphysical abilities. Those who reign over the entirety of the self-sustaining city states– the proverbial monarchs if you will– are often ruthless. Ornate and powerful in ways as alluring as they are deadly and imposing.
If something of equal or greater strength or force were to pose a threat to the hive and its lower being denizens, then it is the job of those monarchs to defend it.
A half mad, scarred arcane star is hardly something that can be ignored.
Though when paired against a Weaver, with equal amount of arcane knowledge and a specality in illusions, then you get something interesting.
For the first several encounters, neither could land a solid blow on the other. Both too aware of how the other was bending the world to their favor, and with too good of an understanding of how their own abilities would react to such things in order to readily fall victim to the other.
It in that cycle of evading and close calls, merry and mad, that they spoke. Because what else could really be done, when you couldn’t harm your foe and your foe could not harm you? Words started as taunts. Threats concealed under honeyed words and mockingly respectful gestures. Neither Kaleidoscope nor Wyvurin would view each other as anything less than a threat. A worthy one, for few if any had ever been able to match them word for word, blow for blow in the past.
Inevitably, one got bored with the pattern. Some say it was the Illusionist, who had grown weary of the star’s words. Some say it was the Wizad, who had grown exhausted with the spider’s dance.
The truth of what happened does not matter. The outcome, ultimately, remains the same: a union between the two, and a Hive and Tower combined.
For everything merry and everything mad inevitably merge into one in the end.
