ORIGIN

A grunt, and the Master dropped to his haunches.

He'd been cleaning out these alcoves--setting aside the stones that could be revived, and grouping them with their bones, so that he could keep track of which creatures had held which shapes. His servants, at least--his workers, his Overseer--could revive those with judicious choice; the larger ones would pair well with himself, Orthoclase-Alpha or Khavur, for example. There were few that still held life, but what there was, he would work with. They deserved that.

But Vargas himself, for now, was reluctantly conserving his Master's energy. Lord Dhracia had made a demand: a creature that would raze armies. Yet the stone she'd handed him had belonged to an antelope that hadn't even reached his knees. Ahh, but he knew the appeal: the creature, Scout, had been... vibrant. Vibrantly alive. Vibrantly chaotic, a flash and mess of color and personality. In the few moments he'd seen it alive, it had made a greater impression upon Lord Dhracia than any of Vargas' spawn, and for good reason.

Scout had been an asshole.

Shrieking obscenities at even their Lord, fearless in her abandon, she had lived; and could he say that for so many of them, silent in their fear? (All right, so Chaos-One would have probably tried to eat Dhracia, but that was because the little fool didn't know any better. It was a liability, that one, not a hero.) So he would work with this.

He would take this little red agate (a stone that he now lifted in his palm, six thumbs parting to roll it across the leathery skin there, to look at it thoughtfully as the light glinted over its oilstained surface) and he would imbue it as best he could with its predecessor's... enthusiasm.

Fearless, sharp, sharp-tongued, loud.

But he would make it, too, intelligent. He would add deadly venom, and stealth. Wings, for flight. Thick quills to protect it. It would be an unstoppable little murder machine, if Master Vargas had his way.

But... cute, and pocket-sized. In case Lord Dhracia wanted to... keep it. Somehow, he could just imagine such a creature draped around her shoulders, barking insults at her enemies as she maintained that coldly demure smile.

Well-... No time like the present, then.

Vargas stepped up to the nearest, smaller alcove, clutched the dark red agate in his fist, and concentrated.

The Master's power flowed: a surge of magic that filled the stone, imbued it, and he imagined he could feel the greedy remains of Scout scrabbling at him, drawing him in. A soft grunt escaped him, and he stepped forward, reaching out to plant the stone inside the alcove.

"Become a monster--and give them hell, little one."

This would do.

There was one other stone Vargas intended to revive. Not one of the monsters of this place, no; but one that had caught his eye in the latest Trial. It had died--it couldn't be that powerful--but then, that last Trial had not been a trial at all.

If it had been, he'd have neither been interested in the stone, nor managed to have it retrieved for him. No: that last trial had been a slaughter, the feeding of a weapon that had to be sated to be contained. This one had been touched by the Creator, in a way he hadn't seen in a very long time--oil-swathed and shadow-wreathed--and it had shown no real signs of a loss of control. It had been quiet, stoic, and fearless, and its children had cried for its return. Ahh, Vargas realized, abruptly; perhaps I should have sought its children out. To see what use they were, if nothing else; to see what material he was working with, here. He'd not had the opportunity to judge it well within the Trial itself, given the necessity of remaining outside it. What he had seen had been of interest; bipedal, large (by modern standards, anyway), wielding a weapon, and fairly heavily-built. Past that, he hadn't seen, but the corruption alone had snapped his attention to it and here he was, holding a particularly impressive-looking stone. It had once been an Onyx, now oil-slicked; and it was in the perfect shape of a mammal's heart, complete with veined lines and branching arteries, broken off where flesh had taken over. Vargas turned this black heart over in his hand, marvelling at its structure. Usually a stone's shape was random; but when it took over an organ, it seemed to replicate it--eyes, for example, or ears. This one was no exception, or perhaps the flesh itself had molded it as the creature grew; in any case, it was pretty, at least, to look upon.

The Leviathan turned, pacing toward a new alcove, one beside the first.

His reasoning for reviving this, instead of one of the revenants here, was simple enough: Draconua. She'd been completely uncontrolled, and as powerful as she was, he wanted their own forces bolstered before attempting to recreate anything that might actually kill them. He wanted a guardian to watch the door--something he felt a bipedal, weapon-bearing beast would be particularly good at. He intended to get it armor, in time, but for now the halberd would do--also retrieved from Hydra--and then, once the Overseer was more trained, once Khavur knew how to fight, then perhaps they could attempt to revive some of these... others.

Vargas rocked back on his haunches, clasping the large heart-stone between his hands. Now... I would have you as upright as I can be, and bear my spines, my scales for protection, where you can... Take further eyes, to see behind you... clasping thumbs... a strong jaw. A light build... speed, agility, strength with size... yes. He could picture it, now, in his mind. Tall, and imposing. A silent and dark as its predecessor had been, but with that touch of monstrous that only Vargas' generation could provide.

Perfection, he thought, and sent another surge of power for this stone.

It took--he felt it take--and he stepped forward, carefully nestling this into the alcove of the womb, the one beside Scout's; and he watched it settle, for a moment. He could feel his magicka flaring, the power of a Master beginning to grant life and shape to the nothing within the stone; and he could see, now, the black begin to spread like falling shadow over the rock below.

He leaned over to check on Scout's, and sure enough it had taken root--still small, but so was she. That was no matter.

Good--this would work for him. And hopefully, Lord Dhracia would be pleased.