ORIGIN

If it were any condolence to Chaos-Eleven, she wasn't the only one who should be in the club right now.

Aethril was good and sick of being trapped in the depths of Let with no other Valkhand for company; the visit of Dhracia had been nice but it had been years at this point, now, and Aethril held a little spark of resentment for her-- even after everything she'd done for Aethril. She'd left her behind, and now Aethril was stuck in a Nest that was just prolonging its failure.

It was very difficult to remain optimistic sometimes. Mostly, she would confine herself to the rooms in the palace and grieve and hope they would all be put out of their misery soon-- sometimes, she would break things and make a mess of the palace, though she'd always apologize to Isra after and help to clean it again. On very rare occasions, Aethril would do her job and actually take trips down to Draco to see what Vargas and Totum were creating.

So, you know. In case you were wondering what a woman in high heels and a glittering dress was doing in this dump.

Click, click, click Aethril went. The guard had waved her right in: why wouldn't they? She went leisurely through Draco as though she were at an elementary school science faire; glancing over forming chrysalises with a narrow, bored eye. She hadn't bothered to call for Vargas yet, nor any of his Overseers (presumably, he had more than just Cain, right?). She was studying a large mass of Oilstone tucked into the corner when she heard a crack and a splat.

She glanced back and saw a new creation chattering and swearing to itself-- ahh, fun, --and coughing up amniotic fluid. It was an interesting one, at least. Lean and angular, almost hyena-like but with a smooth, skull-like face and many jack-o-lantern spines. The Valkhand approached with a tilted head.

"One of Master Vargas's, I assume?" She asked. "What do you call yourself?"

Aethril tilted her head.

There had certainly been stranger names in the caves, but Aethril wasn't very satisfied with this answer. "Alive is what you are," she said, short but matter-of-fact. "It isn't who you are. What is your name?"

This wasn't the only thing she wanted to know, either-- the Valkhand wasn't very keen on calling Vargas just to squeeze the answers out of him instead. Vargas was, by all accounts, a Weenie. Aethril would have preferred not to delve into Weenietown today.

"What do you do?" She asked. "What can you do?" She could guess; those jaws would be capable of breaking bones, the shape of her feet was ideal for climbing, but the overall shape and tail-- a mistake? she wondered, --didn't account for long distances. Not to mention it didn't seem very... brave.

What had this one been made for?

There was a slow, catlike blink that came from the Valkhand. At least manners-- the ability to just utter a 'sorry' had been instilled in the creation. She liked this one.

"I would like you to show me," Aethril said. "You must be hungry, yes? I would like to see you hunt for your first meal."

She gestured with a delicate hand, red nails glinting in the dim light of Draco, to the guarded tunnel. "That way leads to Pegasus. The room we are in now is Draco. Pegasus is very... large. There are many things to eat. There is much room for you to run and bite." It would be interesting, at the very least-- and though Aethril did not voice such now, she knew that the Chaos Forge kept a supply of things for their people to eat without hunting.

Aethril assumed this one was one of them.

"I'll take you there in a moment. Right now, I'd imagine you have questions?" A beat. "I'm Aethril."

"Master Vargas is who created you," Aethril said, though she was increasingly uncertain of that. She half-wondered if Vargas had revived some stone or another for this one. "You'll know him when you see him. He is very purple." An instrusive thought entered her mind then: one of Imp's paintings, where Vargas's hammerhead had been rounded into a dual-penis shape.

She had to physically wave her hand to dismiss the memory. "You should obey him. Just as he gave you life, he can take it with minimal effort, too."

Her hand dropped and her thumb graced over one of the rings adorned on her fingers, twisting it idly. What could she do? "I can do whatever I want," she answered initially. And it was mostly true, at least. "I oversee the Nest in the Creator's stead."

A heel scraped on the cave floor. Aethril resumed twisting the ring on her finger absent-mindedly-- "you might have to climb," she said thoughtfully. "Hunting is about how fast you can adapt in new situations to get what you want. What you need to survive."

Presumably, the new creation had more to ask. "Anything else?"

... hmm.

Did you have to put in the recognition of colours into creations? Aethril tried to cast her mind back to Asher and Umbriel: had they come out knowing what purple was, and that they were not purple? She couldn't quite remember, and that much would be gnawing on her mind for the next forty minutes. "No," She told Chaos-Eleven. "You are black and grey. Your spines are tipped with orange."

Maybe some self-awareness wouldn't go too amiss in future creations. She filed this note away for another time. "Of a sort," she told the wet Valkhound in the meantime. "The Creator is far more powerful than Master Vargas is. You will likely never see him-- but you will probably see a lot of Master Vargas. It is important that you pay attention to the things that Vargas tells you."

A beat. She wasn't very confident 'purple' was enough of an indicator of Vargas anymore. "He is very large, with green eyes."

"When you're done hunting and I've gone back to Cepheus, he will likely tell you what you're meant to be doing and assign to somewhere, or begin training you. Or, maybe he'll just let you go out into the caves. I have no idea what his plans are for you." Seemed like a waste... maybe there was something Aethril could have her do instead of whatever the hell Vargas was up to?

She'd have to think on it.

She'd have to see how efficient this thing was.