ORIGIN

His head snapped up, rigid features twisting into something vaguely approaching a frown of focus. He'd been concentrating, on this newest chunk of Oilstone: a creation in his mind, ready for formation. He'd dwelt on this design for some time, and felt it ready at last, finished, like a painting prepared for the canvas. And here he was, paints all (figuratively) laid out, when a voice roused him from his work.

Well.

His almost-work.

A soft grunt escaped him as he pushed fully to his feet, striding toward the noise. His tail lashed behind him very slightly, in an idle manner, like a cat's. "Yes?" he called, and his sheer mass made the word a boom, though he wasn't being particularly loud. "Who is that?" As he drew into sight, he found a creature not unlike Nidhogg in the distance--but with hook-claws, more limbs, and a hue of ink-dipped ash. Horns forked, pronged, from a tawny head, and it was upon this that Vargas fixed his gaze, head tilting, as he drew closer with his long and businesslike strides.

"I am Master Vargas. Who are you?"

...Interesting. A Master's creation, no doubt--no random spawn of the tainted Spire, this one. But what is it-? Who created it? I don't recognize it. A long sleeper, or a new awakening? Was this another Draconua? Albeit... far smaller? It wasn't big enough to be a threat to him--not unless it were a fantastic combatant or a powerful user of magic--and so he greeted it with his standard level of caution, and patient puzzlement.

Well, well, well--wasn't this meeting full of surprises.

First among them, the revelation that here before him stood a new (was it new?) creation of Farina. Vargas would have spoken up, surprised--he'd thought her still trapped in the Eyes, though he hadn't known how badly she'd been tormented--but Hjalmar continued to speak. The creation was well-spoken enough, and polite enough, that Vargas listened attentively in turn; respect begat respect, in him. And this was why, too, he did not outright attack this stranger when its mission was revealed. Or, rather, half the reason; the other half, the other thing to stay his hand, was confused surprise. Kill Nemean..? he thought, baffled---but why?

Nemean had been Vargas' Master--and he, her Overseer--for eons. They had hunted together, when she was not playing games, playing bait with Aquarian as the hook. Vargas got along with Nemean, which was more than could be said for many--he'd never felt particularly endangered by her antics.

Jupiter, Tamulus--they, as targets, he could understand. They had joined the rebels. It had been Jupiter's arrowheads found piercing the Oilstone chrysalises throughout Draco, having shattered them and left them empty, dessicated husks.

Why, then, Nemean-? She'd had nothing to do with the rebellion. When Hjalmar finished speaking, Vargas sat slowly down upon his haunches, watching the smaller Valkhound for some time. "Your sibling creations will be too late," he began; "to my knowledge, the first two Masters are already dead." It occurred to him that perhaps this one was getting him off his guard, to kill him, but he could see no more reason for himself to be a target than for Nemean to be. Though frank and non-hostile to Hjalmar, Vargas was nevertheless ready to defend himself. But he didn't think it would be needed. "Is Farina still stuck-?" he asked, bluntly. He knew that Astraea had planned to get her out--had known where to find her, had even thrown the body of the human into the Eyes as a sort of... treat? Gift? ...Garbage disposal? It mattered not, only that it had been disposed of. "We intended to get her out, but if she is freed then that is good news." I hope. Vargas was beginning to think that there was more to this than he knew. "As for Nemean, she was my Master, and I her Overseer. I do not know how old you are, or what of our history Farina has told you. But Tamulus and Jupiter betrayed this Nest and all within it. Nemean has not. Do not try to leave, just yet. We must unravel this," he went on, with a faint thread of authority in his tone. "The last creature who came to me wanting to kill Nemean, I held down and pulled out his eyes for her. But given your creator, I will assume there has been some mistake. Why does Farina want to kill Nemean-?" he asked, at last getting to his point.

He was already running over possibilities, in his mind; he'd have to go to Astraea, Nemean herself, sort this out. The last thing they needed was some confused tangle of infighting between the Masters, just when he was getting this Nest back in proper order.

Well.

Orderly chaos. Such as it was.

The old Overseer in him was taking notes as Hjalmar spoke--not anything deliberate, not in any form of judgment, but with the natural assessment that came easily with centuries of habit.

He noted that the thing was well-spoken, honest; that it was dutiful and loyal. He noted that it hardly seemed touched by the Chaos which it carried: there was no writhing, thrashing, hissing, biting. No demands. Had this been Nidhogg, Vargas wouldn't have expected it to even make sense, at this point. And that one was not even truly Chaos. Hjalmar, then, was exceedingly well-controlled, and Vargas wondered if this were typical of Farina's own creations.

He wondered, too, if it were as harmless and guileless as it seemed, or if there were hidden teeth beneath that plaintive facade. We will see, he thought to himself.

Ahh, but to the matters at hand. Vargas ticked points off in his head, mulling them over. Farina was--awake? Well, he knew that; he'd been asking if she were freed. "I think she has been awake. But was she freed, or is she still stuck in the Eyes?" he asked, patiently repeating and elaborating his question.

"I know that this group is of traitors." He'd said as much himself just a moment prior, after all. "But as I mentioned, Nemean was not among them." He'd hunted them alongside her, after all--or had something happened, something of which he'd been unaware-? A trickle of concern, cold, ran down his spine. She was tricky, Nemean; but surely had she betrayed, he'd have been informed..? What if it was something that only Farina knew of?

Vargas grunted, a soft sound and one of thought. "There may be more to this than I know, and it may be important. As for you--do not apologize for being lost in thought. Too many do not stop to think before they speak, regardless. You appear intelligent, and dutiful and loyal, and all of those things mean that you will make a fine creation. But for now you must come with me, and go back to your Master so that we may get to the bottom of this. This nest is just now getting back into working order and it is good that you came to me first, because had you found Nemean, things might have been plunged back into ruin." A war between the Masters? Would Astraea have stepped in? Would any of them? There had always been a sort of every-beast-for-itself mentality in the caves, but not to the extent that the Masters themselves battled. Cooperation had been necessary; they each had their own roles to play. And if Nemean did betray, and Farina thinks that I had something to do with it-? I had best not get too near the Eyes, Vargas decided, grimly. "Take me to Farina, then, and let us sort this out. And do not try to run," Vargas added; "I would have to stop you, and I have no desire to cause you harm."

He pushed up again, back on his feet, and nodded to the serpentine creature. "It is a shame you are already spoken for. The Forge here could have done with a creature like you." It was, as it struck him, a distinctly useful sort of being.

It continued to impress; well-spoken enough, considered. He wondered again at its lack of violence, pondering the meaning of it, but now, perhaps, was not the time. Or rather, he put it into the back of his mind, mulling it over there. He'd wonder at Farina's state, and that of her creations, and how the latter reflected on the former, during their journey to Fornax.

Fornax. Not an easy journey. To Hjalmar's praise in turn, Vargas offered a glance and a quiet grunt.

"I am doing things right, where others are doing them wrong. It is not the best reason to be promoted, and we have much yet to do," he answered, ever one to prioritize his tasks. "To Fornax, then." And may we get this resolved quickly, and neatly, so that I may get back to work.