Nidhogg was currently upside-down.
While there was nothing particularly unusual in that for Nidhogg, it might have been unsettling to look up and see his grinning acid maw and too-many-eyes staring down, for some.
Really, Nidhogg wasn't allowed out of Draco. But everyone had left. Vargas had told him to stay put, and he'd paid close attention as the Master and his stupid watchdog lumbered off, and the moment they had gone, Nidhogg had scampered out. It was time for an adventure. Maybe he'd go back to Draco--some day. Maybe he wouldn't! Maybe he'd already forgotten it existed.
So anyway, now he was upside-down on the roof of Tunnel O, quite some distance above the strange golden ring.
As it was, he'd come in silent, or as silently as he could; he'd crept along the darkened roof, avoiding the hanging orb lights, to examine the glittering gold thing on the floor. He watched as the other two arrived, and though he had no particular attachment to the thing, he did wonder what they intended to do with it. What it did.
He noted that the fox had barely arrived first. And he noted that the other thing, with wings, had come up, asked who it belonged to, and promptly taken it without awaiting a response. So that was how one did things? He knew nothing of those outside the Forge, but "take it if you want it" was just fine by him.
And then, eyeing them both:
That was, it seemed, the correct question.
At the sudden Voice, Nidhogg screamed. It wasn't a screech that was sort of like a scream, it was an outright high-pitched, startled scream.
He also fell off the ceiling.
His landing was a half-scrabbling mess, twisting midair and flipping around like a serpentine cat before hitting the dirt far below with a thunk, and it took him another moment of rolling in dust to get back upright again. At least he hadn't broken anything. He skittered backward, hissing at the now too-close strangers, and jerking his head around to look for the disembodied voice. He answered it, and the other two, all at once:
He kept a safe distance from the two, just in case, suspicion visible clearly in the arch of his torso and the quills raised up like hackles, and the way he slowly skittered back--and then forward, then, tasting the air as he eyed the ring on Vanyel's finger. It wasn't a greedy gaze--though it might've been hard to tell. It was greed if only for curiosity, not for a shiny object.
It was probably a good thing the Deathmatch was on, today, or he'd be caught out for being out here as it was.