ORIGIN - so, the ceo called

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She hadn't slept, but Aethril had calmed significantly in the last twenty-four hours. All the pain and anxiety and grief had been cried and fretted out-- the yearning of wanting to leave and feel the sun on her face again had been set aside for much more important matters: work.

For the time being, the Palace library was closed while she figured out her plan (and while the... unfortunate state she had put it in was cleaned up). Golems had been put on patrol around the Palace in Isra's absence and every so often while she was behind those alabaster walls, she checked in on the basement like a parent overseeing their sleeping child. Never entering; only peering through a crack in the door.

Trying to figure out how to revive the nest from its, let's face it, embarrassing state of affairs was significantly more difficult when the all-powerful voice of paranoia nattered away, fretting that the chrysalises downstairs might vanish and die, taking with it the three (out of four) creatures she cared for the most with them-- but it was during one of these worried visits that, at least, a starting point accumulated in her mind.

The Onyx that was here-- was that not one of Vargas's creations?

The door shut with a light click, and within the hour, the Valkhand was pacing through the tunnel leading up to Draco with her heels clacking against stone. Her dress still blackened, with Oil and her own dark blood, but at least dry.

She cast a glance over the Spire, and then she was heading towards the back wall of Draco. She didn't call for Vargas-- if he was here, the sound of her arrival would be enough to summon him, or at least one of his other minions. The Hand paced along the Womb, fretted brow knitted.

Harrowing. Empty. Draco had once been teeming with life.

Aethril pulled an ancient arrow out of the wall and tested the tip with her finger, licking her teeth absent-mindedly. It would be a long ways to go before Draco even resembled a fraction of what it used to be-- but at this point, any little steps would be better than none at all.

@Vargas

note to any readers: this thread is backdated to just after the conclusion of this thread, on December 1st

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He was, as it happened, busy--he would soon have a new scout to train along with a new beast for Lord Dhracia, and only a few cycles in which to teach the latter. He wasn't far off at all from where Aethril strode in to pace the Womb: both chrysalises were there, only days from hatching, swollen with corrupted life.

But that wasn't all he had to be proud of, or at least pleased with. The reading lesson had gone smoothly enough just a few days prior, and it had been pleasing to see the cave so full of life. And moving back a bit, a few months, the Deathmatch had been a bustling hub of activity.

Where Aethril's outlook was dismal, his was quite positive--a surprising polarity shift, perhaps, but he'd been working diligently on advancement (of a sort).

So when he heard her heels approaching, he came to greet her with a pleased demeanor. His vast form appeared with long strides, and he offered a brief bow and then stood aside; if she wanted to speak with him, she would address him. At least, that's how Lord Dhracia had always worked, and Vargas had no reason to believe that Aethril would be any different.

He was unsure as to where Totum was, but it didn't matter. If Aethril needed something here in Draco, he himself could (probably) provide. It took him a moment, though, to realize that she was bloodstained. This faltered his mood a tad. Black blood, smeared, dried--what has happened? Vargas's good mood twisted into a downturn, sudden misgiving curling through his gut.

@Aethril

At first, Aethril didn't respond. She nodded in turn to Vargas's bow and made her way along the wall in silence, like someone perusing the Louvre. The Hand stopped by the two chrysalises and studied them for a long moment, a muted sigh leaving her nose.

A long beat of silence passed as she gathered her thoughts; as she quietly focused her attention on her plan-- her questions, her agenda. His agenda. Her hands twisted with the arrow between them, before her head finally turned towards the Master.

"Why is it just you and Totum working here?" She asked, tired eyes narrow but hoarse voice devoid of tone. "Unless there are other Masters working on creations that I'm not aware of?"

Her body half-turned and the nock of the arrow tapped against one bulging stone-- the one that would eventually hatch into some sort of grinning cat-bird monstrosity. "For Dhracia?" Was her question, but the unspoken layer underneath said elaborate, tell me about it-- anything to stall the news.

Which, was what came next.

"Your Onyx," the arrow withdrew and she went back to fidgeting idly with it. "I don't know what you named it. It's chrysalised in the Palace basement. The Creator paid a visit." If a twelve-second appearance could be considered an appearance, of course.

Twist, and tap-tap-tap of the arrowhead in her palm. "I don't know why, for what reason-- but I would hate for Him to be... disappointed, with the nest."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

There was a good Earth metaphor for the sort of cold, trickling dread that began to fill the Leviathan as she spoke. Forgive Vargas for being unaware of it, but nonetheless: imagine a schoolboy who had been diligently working at his lessons, thinking he had done so well; and then not only a teacher but the strictest of superintendents walk in, and ask where all of his homework is.

Homework he hadn't known was due.

That was the exact, shameful horror--that ticking unpleasant chill of being caught out so terribly--that filled Vargas now.

He didn't think of that metaphor, though. Instead: Shit, he thought.

His mind was racing to cover her questions in a way that might not seem too terrible when she explained the reasoning behind it, and if the Creator had been the sort to drop by on an occasional Tuesday this might have been a relief. "Oh," he might've thought then: "she's just worried what the boss thinks."

A visit by the Creator, however, was far more akin to an angry dictator popping by to see how the most disappointing of his field units was doing. It meant they could all be dead within a week. It meant-

She asked a question. Multiple, in fact, but his own jarring mental command snapped him from his horror. Duty first: panic later.

The Leviathan took a shaky breath, but the way he'd drawn himself up, eyes widening, made it clear that this news was indeed news to him--and a rather unpleasant revelation. That was to be expected, though--the Creator could be dangerous. "Draco was only recently reopened," he began, and hastened to continue, because that alone was not enough. "Some of the other Masters were missing. We retrieved Master Farina; one of Nemean's little 'jokes' had trapped her for centuries, maybe more. Then I sent some of the Forge to help her retrieve Master Artio. As far as I'm aware they're working together again." He was blunt, matter-of-fact, and covering his points with efficient speed. No unnecessary detail, here: again, if Aethril wanted it, she would ask. "Tenzin was... reprimanded, by Lord Dhracia fairly recently for his inaction. That reprimand was--destructive. I imagine he is still recovering." He paused, hesitating. "I imagine you know of the rest of them. The point is, there aren't many Masters left here capable of creating. Aquarian, I think, is refusing to work with Nemean at all." He didn't know the details and he'd leave that to someone else to sort out; it wasn't his business to boss the other Masters around. He worked with what he had. But Raheerah? Taken by Dhracia. Jupiter? Dead. Dawa? Dead. Tamulus? Gone.

But--that was her answer given, and Vargas tentatively posed a question of his own. "The Onyx is designed the Sentinel, as is its purpose here. The former bearer of its stone was one of the Gembound, but touched by the Creator himself." It'd been the first Gembound he'd seen bearing corruptive magic, though there'd been a couple since. And the Sentinel himself had more than proven both his loyalties and capabilities, given its performance in the Deathmatch and passing Emuh's trials--so how had it upset Rrevalk? He mentioned its magic only to bridge the next point: "May I ask--what happened? Did it do something to displease the Creator?" He couldn't imagine that it had, not deliberately, but then again... it had been Nemean's "game show" it had gone to, had it not? Vargas had wanted an eye there, and now... Had Nemean pissed him off? Somehow?

The thought churned his gut: if His eyes were on this nest, now, their time might be short indeed.

@Aethril

A shuddery sigh of her own-- but this was information, and information was good, at this point. If Dhracia had gotten her little mitts on Tenzin then he might not be well enough to create for some time. Perhaps that's why Astraea was... teaching gembound, instead. Though training would be good, Aethril was unsure how reading could come into it. As for the others-- "Where does Farina and Artio reside now?" She asked, making a mental note to check in on the resident lesbians. "And is Aquarian still in Cetus?" If he was refusing to work with Nemean: fine. There had to be someone else he could work with. Surely, there could be some kind of compromise.

As for the others: the unspoken few that Aethril thought of, she left them unsaid. She could easily imagine what fates befell Jupiter and Tamulus-- similarly, it wasn't difficult to imagine what happened between Dawa and Raheerah.

They could do without. It'll be fine. It was just the physical manifestation of Chaos itself to appease. It's fine.

Vargas, meanwhile, was asking his own questions-- but it wasn't any that Aethril knew the answer to. She shook her head gently, a frown pulling back on her lips. "I only know that Nemean had been up to something down there. I saw the... aftermath," she said. "My bodyguard had been in there, too-- alongside some others." Truthfully, she hadn't given it a full inspection-- something about the whole room was... off.

She was not, however, about to tell Vargas about this little weakness. Instead, "you're welcome to take a look at it yourself," she offered-- and then she was moving on.

"Are you two--" (she was including Totum, this time) "--up for creating some more? I do not know if either of you have ideas, but..." anything to save our hides.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He offered answers purely to her questions; to make his own suggestions might be dangerous. "The last I knew Artio's stone was being returned to life. They may be back to the way they were before. Eridanus, Fornax." What had it been-? Farina scuttling through the water tunnels to visit via the Eyes? "If you require someone to speak to Farina let me know." Her domain was underwater. It would not be easy for even the Hand to reach, Vargas thought.

"My condolences for your bodyguard. I will have a look, myself." Immediately, too. As soon as he was done here. To see a place the Creator himself had just crashed in on-? Vargas had long regarded Rrevalk with an almost religious fervor, and even now there was something of the celebrity about the idea. To be close to such power-..!

"I have just created Lord Dhracia's newest Valkhound. As well as a replacement scout. The one I created from the owl's stone lapsed into a chrysalis," he admitted, though he couldn't have explained why. These things just happened, sometimes, he supposed.

He hoped that'd be enough of an explanation. But he wasn't working alone, was he?

"I imagine with Totum's help we can push. What was it you had in mind?" he asked, shifting to his other foreleg. He was curious, really, but he hoped she didn't try to push him all that hard. He still didn't know what his limits were--or what might happen if he blew through them.

@Aethril

Aethril's nose wrinkled ever-so-slightly at Vargas's agreement to take a look at the studio. The smell, the oil, the thick layer of Chaos that remained like disease and sickness in the air was almost too much for even her to handle-- she didn't like the way that it affected her, either. Destruction was all well and good until you have to live in the aftermath of it, but perhaps Vargas would get something out of his own visit.

She shook herself, slightly. "I'll have a look for them in Eridanus," she said-- it was on the way to Cetus, at least, and it would save some trouble having to send someone down into Farina's domain just to try and haul her out to speak with her. This was better reserved as a back-up plan, if they were stupid enough to try to avoid her.

The scrape of a heel announced Aethril turning to glance back at the chrysalises, eyeing them both for a beat. "That's a shame," was what she said-- what a waste of a perfectly good stone was what she thought, and what displayed most clearly on her face.

Pale gaze drifted, now, to the Black Spire. "Anything," she said-- "anything useful," she then clarified. "If you two need to rest, then do so-- don't compromise quality just to impress the Creator with numbers alone."

The Hand paced; a long, purposeful stride around the Spire with the arrowhead still tapping against her palm-- whether Vargas followed or not was up to him, but she was circling back shortly, brow furrowing. She at least had an idea of what the Master might end up suggesting in answer to her next reply.

"If we needed another Master," she said, "who do you think would be capable of the job?"

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Useful? For what? he wondered, puzzled. Lord Dhracia was already the direct line to remove soldiers from the nest, once they were raised and trained. Unless she fears the Creator will crash back in here in a few days and demand an army-? and this thought came with genuine concern. But what could be done about that? Even if they could, it meant-...

Her next words cut his thoughts in half, taking him by surprise, and his blurted response was honest and genuine. "No one," he said bluntly. "If there were someone suitable they would have been contacted by now." He hesitated, then elaborated only briefly--again, if she wanted more, she would ask. "All of those I can think of alive in this cave are either far too young, or their loyalties are in question, or they simply do not have the sense of responsibility required."

The Blacksmith was still aiding them peripherally, but his mind was in his flowers these days, and Algol wanted only to play his twisted games. All of the Forge were several thousand years too young for it, in his mind, and held only a few cycles' worth of any real experience; nowhere near enough for even a real Overseer title, let alone that of Master. Even the Overseer titles he had granted were a silly formality compared to what they should have been. Draconua was an exception to the age consideration, but "responsibility"--as with Vakornol--was the key word missing, there; one was a chaotic and violent mess who existed to destroy, not to create, and the other only wanted to fight things. And there must have been something missing in her, wasn't there? Something-... He cut off the thought as irrelevant, for now.

@Aethril

It should be noted that the Creator returning in a few days and demanding His army was exactly what Aethril was afraid of. The numbers here were pitiful, the nest was a mere shadow of what it used to be, and many of its inhabitants were simply not trained enough-- and this much was confirmed with Vargas's reply to her question, and the lingering feeling of fear and grief washed over her for a painful moment.

If Rrevalk was unhappy with what He saw, it would be an ugly death for them all. Though she could do her best, the knowledge that her best might not be enough was a difficult pill to swallow-- but it was one that the Hand forced down her throat anyway, and her teeth grit through a tense sigh.

So, finally, she nodded to Vargas. We will make do.

Click, click, click. The Valkhand's pacing had quickly turned predatory, feline eyes on the Black Spire. It almost seemed to thrum in time with the beating of her heart, eager to answer to her every command. It had been... some time since she even considered doing what she was about to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Let me know if you happen to change your mind, or you meet someone," she said, voice almost to a murmur-- and she considered, for a very long moment, voicing her concerns to Vargas. To share the tenseness if but for a moment, to vent anxieties-- but ultimately, she did not. She kept them to herself, and hoped Vargas himself did not think too hard about the future.

After all -- there was much to do.

Another long circle was made around the Black Spire, as though she were afraid it might try to run. "How are you resources, for training?" Aethril turned her head slightly to Vargas's direction, even as she briefly vanished behind the Spire. She hoped just two-- if Vargas and Totum did not end up making anything more --wouldn't be enough to overwhelm them entirely. "And what do you have around the Forge, so far?"

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"Of course," he answered. Then, tentative: "If we become desperate, it is possible that Algol could be bolstered by the Creator to provide, or the one called the Blacksmith, but..." he trailed off, hesitated. "I am uncertain that either of them are mentally suited to the task."

He watched her pace, patient, his own worries now ticking away at his mind. But when Aethril spoke, her questions left him thinking. He hesitated again before he answered, offering a caveat at first: "Please understand that I was not a Master before the great sleep. So I cannot quite compare our resources. I know only what I have to work with," he added, gesturing to the Black Spire in general. This caveat he folowed with his typical blunt honesty. "It is slow. The way I see it, as I create and train these few handfuls of Valkhounds, they will then train a far larger generation. But I cannot emphasize enough the need for experience. I tried to rush my first few creations and it ended poorly: when they do not have the experience, the preparation for it, they tend to fall apart." The Leviathan was ever blunt.

"But I know that we do not have the hundreds of cycles that we might need. Since the last meeting you attended," he went on, and turned to track her pacing, "my people have created the farm, seeded it, and are likely attending its first harvest soon. The dwellings are nearly built, lit, somewhat furnished. These may seem minor but it is needed infrastructure. So--we have the food that we need, and we have the space and the organization. It is more warm bodies I require, but not only rank and file. I need those who are intelligent, loyal, and obedient. I need those who are dutiful and will not wander off at the first distraction, who strive to better themselves and to be victorious. Those who do not simper and search for love and soft escapes." Vargas said this with no trace of irony, only a mild annoyance in his voice. "I am still learning how to shape personality. In any case, as to your second question! You have seen most of mine, I think. Overseer Cain, Khavur, Chaos-One, our Sentinel--the onyx." I need to go see about him, he thought. "V-Labradorite-One, V-Selenite-One, V-Zoisite-One. Zoisite and one of our newest acquisitions--a large Valkhound calling itself Equinox--are tending to the farms. We have an old champion, too--you might find him useful if you have not met him prior. He holds the right mentality, at least. Desert Rose Thirty-Five. An old Champion of Hydra; he may be Overseer material."

Master, eventually? Who knew? It wasn't up to Vargas to say. No, it is up to the Creator. A shudder ran down his spine.

Anyway, with the list rattled off, he considered for a moment. "They are mostly meant for the logistics and training--the core of what I plan. Once I know from Lord Dhracia that my creations are faring well--wherever she is taking them--I will move on, though of course if you have more requests..." He paused, eyeing her. "Speaking of which--if I may ask... Is the cat creature that I made for you faring well?" He was curious; it was always good to get feedback, to correct things if he was going wrong.

@Aethril

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