It was only by chance that Dorian had successfully found his way to the Cove - initially he had second-guessed the decision to go down the stairs, but upon doubling back he decided that this had to be the way, and after a rather short decent down a flight of stairs, he found himself in a rather small room, eyes having issues adjusting to the dimmed lighting that served as a visual reference for him.

He had been told that this was the room those who came here went to find their weapon, and at first felt slightly skeptical about the whole situation. With an uncertain look, he peered over the tablets that seemed to hold the wall with all their might, but, it was not that, which bothered him, it was the low frequency that the room hummed with, leaving him dumbfounded as he walked around slowly, softly pressing his hands against the tablet-encrusted wall, feeling a strange ease here.

Watch your step.

The sound came out of nowhere - making the man spin a little, the voice, a soft, raspy voice that felt slightly warming, coming from behind him. As if it had known what would happen, his foot hit a bump in the floor, and he went clattering down, arms flailing before him, giving a soft "ouf" as he found the ground.

Did I not just say watch your step? Really.

It felt like he was being chidded by an adult - even if he was one himself, and giving the darkness a scrinched face, he murmured inaudibly, going to sit up again, peering around for the owner of the voice that haunted him, crouching in to a defensive position, expecting an ambush at any time.

Oh, don't give me that. I am the one who brought you here, so you should be happy to hear me . . . do you even understand? Please tell me you can speak english. the voice chirped up after a moment, a hesitation in her tone, as if not expecting an answer. Why did everyone assume he couldn't understand english? Was it written on his face? Clearing his throat, he stood up again, going to try and feel his way around the walls again, trying to find her voice.

"Of course I can ********' understand English. I just don't usually answer. Makes them worry. Je peux parler français, aussi, vous savez." He answered, giving the wall a grin, as if expecting it to be butthurt about his fierce respose. After a moment's pause, he felt a sigh flush over him, as his hand passed over a tablet, eyes starting to soak in the green-tinted light it seeped out towards him, a soft tilt of his head showing his curiousity.

A yes could have sufficed. I am here to help, not hinder. She answered, whom she was, he wasn't sure, but it felt . . . comfortable. Stepping back, he held the tablet in his hands, raising his eyebrow softly as he flipped it over a couple times, trying to figure out how a slab could feel so nice.

"'elp or 'inder." He replied, giving a soft little mmm sound, before looking down at the tablet at hand. "Donc, vous êtes une amie? A friend?" He asked, a little daintily, feeling a little sheepish about asking a tablet about their relationship. Was it too soon to be talking about friendship with a piece of earth? Maybe, but it seemed. . . all right.

There was a short pause - only verbally, as the warm tablet felt like it could potentially be squinting at him, (a natural reaction when someone who didn't speak french was accosted by his broken languages), and after a moment, he could only feel a soft Yes. I suppose we could be considered . . . friends. I suppose friends usually know each others names. I know yours - Dorian. You are mine, and I am yours. She quipped a little, feeling a bit defensive about the whole thing, which made him a tad wary. Justice is my name. She finally stated, sending him a feeling of content.

Then, out of no where, the one known as Justice shone a bright light, which hurt his eyes, and made him close them, shielding them from the bright moment, placing a palm out a little in front to assist with the deflection, before it was all over, and the tablet felt . . . lighter. Easier to hold.

After a moments pause, he allowed his eyes to adjust again, turning down . . . and then up, to regard the one known as Justice. ""ow mysterious, this Justice, a lanc--" He started, before feeling a bit of a frustrated glower from her, almost as if he had instantly insulted her.

Ranseur. Nothing like what you would expect. Now, let us be off, we have things to do, people to see, and I intend to get you places. She quipped back, as he lightly went to hold her against his shoulder, like he had seen in video games before. At least it could have been worse - like a thumbtack or something useless. He could handle a -- ranseur as it would be.

"Yes, dear." He murmured finally. This would prove to be an interesting relationship, he could only think as he decided to leave this dark room, content with being chosen by this soft voiced weapon.

A new beginning, he supposed.