Time had passed since the oilstone had been planted on the stones of Draco, swelling like an infection until it was utterly massive for what was supposed to be a newborn creature. Strangely deformed, as if their shape was unnatural, even curled in the fetal position. The ever shifting Black Spire cast its wretched light on its surface, pulsing light dancing across the iridescent gemstone, giving it the sense that it was moving. But the unchanging dance of chaotic light and growing gemstone was at last disrupted as the oilstone gave a shift, a real one, and then another, as something within began to move.
In one cracking, shattering motion and sound, a clawed hand smashed out of the crystal, reaching towards the ceiling of Draco, the hound within crawling its way out of its egg. It was still for a moment, as if feeling the raw, living air, before it retracted in and grasped the edge of the gemstone, claws digging in as it pushed and pulled before another sound of breaking followed it wrenching off a piece of its chrysalis. A strange, alien head poked out of the hole it had created, antennae twitched, gleaming, pupiless eyes blinked as it took a moment to look around its immediate surroundings before retracting back in and continuing its dig out.
It all happened quickly after that. A second hand came out to join the first, striking out at the oilstone cage, clawing, smashing, and violently carving its way out of the chrysalis before, at last, the newly hatched creature was picking its way out of the shattered remains of its chrysalis, wiping off the shards that clung to its fluid-drenched fur. Once it had deemed itself clean enough, it stood up straight, oddly-formed and centaur-like, glancing around for what, or who, was nearby.
For most Chaos Forge hatchlings, Vargas would be there to greet them.
But this one was the Sentinel's child, and while he would certainly go and get Vargas, he bore a special kind of fascination (and indeed a possessiveness) toward this one.
Toward his first spawn: toward the child of the Deathmatch.
He'd stood here off and on for the last few days, well aware that it was time for it to hatch, and now--it was.
He watched, then, with bated breath--through his own eyes and through the strange new eye along his halberd blade--as first the clawed hand smashed forth, and then the head. He stared at the strange eyes, the bizarre antennae, the second clawed limb.
He watched as the creature spilled forth, a little under half his height but built long as well as tall. It was, he immediately observed, like a better version of Orthoclase-Alpha: more well-balanced, capable of putting its forelimbs, perhaps, to better use.
It was probably not to the child's benefit that Vargas wasn't the one present, though. The Sentinel was cryptic on the best of days, and when he was overwhelmed by the awe of a great occurrence--like the hatching of his firstborn--it became even more difficult for him to organize his thoughts. So when he took a breath to greet the massive hatchling, his initial welcome to the world was... questionable.
He noted the many spines that littered its body, the colors that seemed like they might have passed down from Vargas himself, the long, thick tail that could probably be utilized as either counterbalance or spiked weapon. A rumble of approval issued from his chest.
He gestured first to himself, and then to the child, as he spoke. His voice still held that awe.
@The Warden
Sound touched the child's senses, a shiver through the rigid ear that bore its eyes as it sensed a voice for the first time. Head turned and body followed, a little clumsy on new legs, but it swiveled to face the bipedal creature behind it that, although it didn't realize, mirrored so many of its own traits. It struggled, for a moment, to understand what was being said to it, jawed mouth opening a crack as it mouthed the words, testing its voice back at this creature before it.
It liked that thought, that it was special.
While the creature before it didn't emote, didn't quite show his joy, it could feel it, the rumble in his chest, the wandering gaze as if it approved of its shape. Was he...its creator? Did it owe its life to this creature in front of it?
The Sentinel. He is the Sentinel. It pointed towards him with a long claw and repeated,
...Even if it wasn't sure what it was a Warden of.
It looked to him--it spoke--and the Sentinel, while a first-time "parent" (if one could be so generous with the term in Draco) was greatly pleased. He had seen enough fresh hatches to know that many hatched out wholly feral, or so driven by their own Chaos that there was nothing there to interact with.
But this one--it held intelligence in it.
Its question, however--what death--was, he gauged, perhaps too difficult for it to grasp as yet. He offered up his answer nonetheless.
He gestured, a wave of one crooked arm, for Warden to follow.
Along the way he briefly spoke, before falling silent for any questions, or remarks, that the Warden might have for him.
@The Warden
What the Sentinel was saying was completely going over the poor Warden's head, saying things like "Arena" and "Champion" with so little context the child ended up just nodding and pretending that it had some idea what he was trying to say. All it took away was "I'll tell you when you're older" which was...a frustrating thought, as it was curious and wanted to know now. But its father - as that was what The Sentinel was - was already moving on, quite literally, leading the Warden away and the Warden followed.
It was far less steady on its four massive feet then the Sentinel on two nimble limbs, but this was simply a child's clumsiness taking its first steps on legs it'd never used before now. But it pushed forward eagerly, wanting to see this door it was protecting. Must be a very impressive door!
Arriving at the Aperture had the Warden pausing as it viewing the entranceway that it had been appointed guardian. Simple in design, but as it stared, it noticed it almost moving. Like the cave itself was breathing. And now the Warden turned back, to look at the cave that it was to protect and was struck with a sense of wonder. Large and mostly empty, But with a massive, beautiful black crystal pulsing in the center, the sight of which stirred the Chaos within its chest. A claw came up to grip the stone at its heart, wondering what on earth that crystal was to stir such a feeling within it, but only came up with the answer that it was special. That was what it was protecting, truly, and the task became more grimly important, enough for it to feed the ego already building in its stomach like too much acid for a bite of food.
It turned back to the Sentinel and continued to follow.
The Sentinel went oblivious to the confusion of his new spawn, contentedly making his way to the door. Though there was no evidence of real parental care, there was a sort of pride to the way he held himself, an "I made this" gleam in his eyes whenever he glanced at the Warden.
Its question brought his head back around, and he followed the point of its claws. His gaze fell on the oily streak that swept up from Draco's barren floor, and then slid to the Warden once again.
He paused, intending to give the poor kid time to digest this--if even he understood. The Sentinel wasn't very good at making himself clear even to intelligent adults; he was genuinely uncertain how much of his own words would be grasped by a new hatchling.
But the Warden pushed on with another question: a good one. The Sentinel had never, actually, encountered a real enemy at the gate. Instead, he'd simply stood watch, sometimes confronting oncomers, once or twice brawling at their request, but never had there been any real assault on Draco.
So to define this answer was... difficult. He thought, at first, for specifics; his skull-like face turned toward the Aperture and he stared. His blunt instinct was to describe what an enemy might look like--but he didn't know. And that made no sense. So he fell back on strange honesty, instead.
He'd have to hand the Warden off, at some point later, and hope the Vargas could do a better job than this. He looked to the Warden almost worriedly.
He'd have to do that, then: teach it with some form of training weapon, and then find a blacksmith, perhaps, to make it something worthwhile to wield. He'd been meaning to get himself armor for quite some time himself, after all.
@The Warden
The Warden listened, thankful that things were starting to make a little more sense. It filed away each bit of information, as best it could, as the Sentinel offered it. The Black Spire - powerful, dangerous, important. The Forge - the Warden, the Sentinel, the Master, ad others. It wondered exactly what they served. Was it the Spire? The Master? Or something else that the Sentinel had not mentioned yet? Maybe Death? After all, the Sentinel had called the Warden a child of death...
It swept its gaze across Draco, wondering if there were any others around, so it could see them. Meet them. It wanted to know about the others. Were any of them as important as the Warden and the Sentinel? Were any of them important in other ways? So many questions, and it wanted to ask them of the Sentinel, but so far its answers had been...well, minimal. A little hard to understand. It would discover many of its questions itself, it assumed, as it got older. After all, it had only just crawled from un-life. Despite how impatient it felt, it decidedly put the questions away for later. Onto more important thoughts.
It nodded at each of the Sentinel's points.
It was only when the Sentinel mentioned a weapon that the Warden realized that the halberd he held in its hand was not, in fact, part of its body. A separate piece - a weapon that the Sentinel could wield besides its fists claws and teeth. It's gaze suddenly locked onto it and it pointed.
Another good question--and a point of pride. The Sentinel stood a little straighter.
He lifted a hand, clawed fingers open.
-his vision swam black, the world fading in and out. He blinked; it was a manifestation, he knew, of his magics but it never failed to take him by surprise, though he ever took it in stride.
When it had faded, he focused again on the Warden.
He hesitated, and then paused; there'd been something, he felt--something else--he'd intended to say, but now he had forgotten it. Perhaps it was for the best: the Warden needed time, he supposed, to absorb these diverse instructions and to ask him any questions.
He forgot, still, to lower his hand.
@The Warden
Hands? The Warden stared at the limb that held the halberd, and then at its own similar digits. Not everyone had these? Why not? After all, if they could not hold weapons or other things, what could they do? If the Warden was capable of smiling, it would have done so now, but all that gave it away was a slight narrowing of its eyes. It, too, found itself proud and smug that it had this gift of hands that few others had. It could hold a weapon.
As it reveled in its superiority, it realized that the Sentinel had stopped speaking. It stared up at him, quiet for a moment, wondering if something was wrong, tilting its head and waiting for him to respond. When he did, the Warden fell somber has he seemingly struggled to speak. Chaos...causing hunger. Literal hunger? Could they need eat normally if they had Chaos? But he must be speaking of something else. Did they have a second stomach? Perhaps it would know in time, pushing the thought away as it watched the creeping shadows surround the two before disappearing, reacting only with some rapid blinks to readjust its eyes.
It wanted to try as well, opening its palm to cast....something. Magic curled around its claws, briefly, before fizzling out. It raised its hand, inspecting itself, before looking at the Sentinel.
He hesitated yet again, but to his relief the Warden did not seem either confused nor lost by the concept of magic. In fact, it asked another good question, and that unfamiliar spark of pride rose in him once more.
It wasn't really a coherent idea, though--the Sentinel was already shaking his head to address the question.
@The Warden