It was strange- everything that she'd guessed her way through up until that point had some underlying concept or personification that dealt with divinity in one way or another- and yet, this simple passphrase did not seem to be as simple as the others to decipher; of course, since the doors were supposed to be a vanguard that prevented entry to the master's personal sanctum, it was only natural that the phrase would be more difficult to discern... maybe. "You're right, up until now, there's been one unifying concept behind everything- and so far, that has always been the concept of the divine." She nodded at Féria's agreeing that he clearly had taste; unlike the handful of nobles she'd worked for in the past, his taste wasn't overdone- it was simple, yet refined, orderly and chaotic at once; paradoxical, as far as she'd seen. She snorted at the other lady's comment about the master's wit, though; "But he can't argue worth shit."
Thinking back to the "conversation" she'd had -or tried to have- about their opposing ideals with him earlier, she had to admit there had been something strangely comical about how he hadn't presented any substantial counterpoints about his perspective; it had been almost precious in a way, how it had quickly devolved into basically a child-like battle of "I'm right and you're wrong!" On both sides of that could-have-been debate. Had either stopped to think about it in the heat of the moment, he could have replaced "destruction of the world" and "wanting to become a god" with something along the lines of "I want your pastry" and her argument in favor of life, or how she thought seeking godhood was a delusion with "but you stole my toy!" and their argument would have been no different. "We sounded like gods-damned kids!" She couldn't keep from laughing at how ridiculous it had been.
"If he made you and First though, he's pretty good," Thankfully, she hadn't seen any of his other experiments- at least not yet. "It's a relief that you're the exception to that rule- makes things easier. He deserves to die for thinking he was justified in controlling you, though. The cock-for-brains pisses me off, the more I hear about him." Perendi growled, thinking about Féria's plight; no one should have ever been subjected to living as a captive dog, no matter if they were someone else's creation or not. For a moment, she regretted having to leave her hammer behind; the threat she'd spit at First in regard to his master was sounding even more appealing now than it did then- though with luck, there might have been a broom or piece of wood that would have served the same purpose, once they finally located the bastard.
Sighing, Perendi began roaming around the room; idly stroking a carved horse's flank, a knight's lance, one of the unidentifiable beasts' wings, nodding at Féria's explanation. It did make sense to her- knights were known for their chivalry and bravery, gryphons for wisdom; nobles' wealth and prestige allowed them to reign over anyone of lower social caste-- there were a few qualities that drew those images' differences together. As did the numerous battles that stretched along the walls; not the clashes themselves, but some of the underlying factors that would have enabled those figures and their regal steeds to charge into battle. Contrasting to the almost surreal brush of Féria's silence-accentuating footfalls, the mercenary's challenged the absence of sound.
"Not power," She mused aloud, making her way back to the carving of the eye; even it and the concept of stopping or controlling time itself... That has to be it! Whoever controls the battlefield controls history; whoever controls history controls the world. Son of a bitch, it's possible that we think too much alike. Swaying on her feet like a cobra preparing to spit at its intended target, her words were barely above a hissing whisper; her light-headedness made it seem as though the floor had begun to buck and rock underfoot and it was becoming very difficult to continue forcing herself to speak for the time being; most of her visible flesh obscured by internal, punishing shadow- the hand that rested against the reliefs was holding her up, keeping her face from making a close, personal acquaintance with the decorations.
Dragons, knights, kings; strange creatures, gryphons, the sun; the flow of time, even the imagery of the fights themselves- they weren't separate reliefs, but pieces of a whole. Similar to how the tiles underfoot were swirling together, she thought she might have at least found the right direction; prestige, power, courage and chivalry were similar, but not the same- and not always represented by the sun, dragons, or the rest of the imagery; at least not as far as she thought at that moment . "Strength." That word was little more than a sigh.