ORIGIN

He heard the thump and scuffle, but when he glanced up--briefly--he had missed the actual fall. He went back to digging, thrusting one spined arm as deep as it would go--but the spines themselves displayed their main drawback, now, stopping his arm only a few feet into the rabbit-hole.

His mind, though, was on Desert Rose--on its words, its seemingly dutiful nature. The decision it made, so swiftly--and the way it turned its phrases--seemed almost too perfect, so that he found himself wondering if it were trying to spy for someone else (Order? another Master?), or some sort of other trick. But it had never shown much sign of rebellion, and so for now, he chose to accept its words at face value.

"I do not expect you to fail! Very well, then. Join us in Draco when you are ready, or come back with me if you wish. Before you make any decisions--and before I do--about what exactly you would be doing, I would tell you who we have and how we are operating. And how I plan to change things," he added, fishing his fingers about like fishhooks in the warren mouth. "If we do wind up setting you in charge of designing trials, it will be with my own minor oversight first, and my training." There was hardly anyone better, after all, than the former Overseer of the Trials himself. "But that can wait. Perhaps you'll find another task you prefer in the meantime. Regardless, I welcome you into the Forge. You may tell me how you wish to be addressed: have you grown used to the name? Or would you rather earn it through service?" Vargas lifted his head to regard him, the permanent twist of his toothy jaws perfectly reflecting his mood just then; intense, a little cunning, ever-so-slightly amused. He felt positive about this--as in, good--as he'd soon tell the Desert Rose; but for now he was curious as to its choice.

Then he looked back down to the earth, ripping out great chunks of grassy sod with both forelimbs. "Our task, specifically, is to create useful beasts for Lord Dhracia to take away, every four cycles--this is at a minimum. To do that, I need more people. Those to defend us, those to look after growing chrysalises, those to train the children and to guard them, those to hunt for food for the rest. Someone to design trials would be quite useful." He paused in his speech, trying to figure out how to say what he'd intended to. One hand dipped into the warren, then the other; Vargas came out with not one but two wriggling little Wind Hoppers. With a swift smack he cracked their skulls together; then he lobbed one Vander's way. "I am... pleased, that you have put in an appearance. Or was it chance-?" He glanced back at Vander. "Either way, I think I would find you useful. I think the nest would."

Vargas, elbow-deep in rabbit-hole, thought, for a moment. Then, glancing back, his tone thoughtful, he spoke again. "I look forward to hearing your opinions on my plans. Do you care to hear them? Perhaps you can improve them, before I make them known."

Everything was a test, with Vargas, and Vander's choice to remain Desert Rose for now--to earn his name--pleased him. His response was a grunt, a dip of his head in acknowledgement; and then, as the Champion continued to speak, he held his own Wind Hopper over his massive jaws. He paused to speak. "One every four cycles, plus whatever I can manage for the Forge."

Tear, chew, swallow.

Vargas went back to rooting among the warren-holes, then, glancing to Vander. As he listened, his arm dug around, then deeper; then another rabbit bolted from its nest, snagged by a hind leg and lifted. Vargas snapped its neck, and chewed down this one, too. "What did this creature look like? The one that presumeably has been damaging Pegasus?" There was a gap of time--to let the Desert Rose answer--and then Vargas rolled one shoulder, and turned. "Right now, we have one Overseer--that is, Cain, or I think as you knew them, Garnet-Delta. They are a good Overseer: cunning and diligent, insightful, well-spoken. They Oversee the training of any spies, scouts, and assassins, and are currently training a bodyguard for the new Hand who has awoken in Cepheus--her name is Aethril; the Hand, that is. Overseer Orthoclase-Alpha has been missing for several cycles--I had told it to find some rest, and it has not returned, which is concerning. The only other productive Forge member is the Sentinel--a stone I revived myself, from a trialgoer, one who had been touched by chaos. He simply guards the door, and at times he bears a sentient blade, Mirac--quite powerful with magic, that one, but it needs the control of a steady hand. The reason I list them is to come to my next point--that is all we have, in terms of usefulness. Khavur is still with us but serves little purpose, as with the Orthoclase's spawn. We have those who would serve well as simple beasts of war, but they are barely-controlled; Chaos-One and Draconua among them. And Chaos-Two has turned out to be utterly useless--it fled its trial sobbing after nothing more than a raised voice." Vargas paused.

And that was my spawn, he realized. His own magic. Disgust roiled through him; he'd been going far too easily on it. The realization--the remembrance--that Chaos-Two was his own was a horrific one. It reflected very, very poorly on him.

"The point being, we are low on numbers and lower on productivity. Those we have who are useless, I need to assign new tasks. I had tried, once ensuring that they would answer only to me, to motivate them with only the promise of rewards. But it has not worked. A number of them are lazy, absent, or simply do nothing. That is in part my fault for not giving them more structured tasks--that is step one. Step two is to lay out punishments for failures. Tell me what you think of this: I intend to assign additional duties to those who shirk theirs. To remove the rights of those who abuse the ones they've been granted. To demote those who disobey, or show defiance, or use rights they had not earned. If a Forge member harms another outside of a spar, I plan to allow their victim to inflict that damage back on them--or to do it myself. If they fail a test as badly as Chaos-Two, they will face Trial by Combat--and if they fail, their stones might be recycled, or they may be reformed. True defiance I will punish by dragging them before the entirety of the Forge and forcing them into their chrysalis to be made an example of! And rebels will be executed, given to the Black Spire to burn away into nothing, as befits them--fed to our Creator's power."

Well, Vargas was waxing on again; and he realized it. He paused, and attempted a sort of summary. "I will figure out what we need, who fits that roles, and then lay out these punishments. I will also offer new rewards--to incite competition--among our members. Much of this is Overseer Cain's concepts, with my own details; but what do you think of these punishments? What do you think of it overall?"

He was curious what the Desert Rose would say. He didn't discount the idea that it might have good, genuine suggestions he could use; but also he wondered how it would react, what it would think of this overall. It would be good to have the perspective, he thought, of a Champion: someone from the old era, who could perhaps more clearly (without the pollution of thoughts from the interim period here) compare past and present, and judge one or both worthy.

Vander earned a grunt at that description. "Draconua," Vargas said; "not one of my creations. We found her waking beneath the Black Spire when we entered Draco. An old creature, asleep for centuries--millennia, perhaps. I do not know who made her." Thus far, nobody had stepped up to take credit for her. "She would make a fine war-beast but controlling her has proven problematic."

As for the Overseer's design--"I imagine so. It is looking for a suitable apprentice, or a suitable stone to create one with, at the moment. We will see how it comes out." A foul reminder that even his own magic had created Chaos-Two--anyone could fail. "The Hand has requested a special design created for her. It is growing," Vargas answered. Not far from there, in fact--back in the tunnel toward Draco, albeit well-hidden and well-guarded. "She is otherwise inspecting our work. I am still getting a sense for her style. As for the Orthoclase, it used to be tenacious. Before it departed it was lethargic and disinterested. I had tried to ask the rest of the Forge what they thought of this--if they knew a reason for its behavior. They did not. I sent it away thinking that perhaps rest would do it good. But it has not returned." He didn't give all the details, of course; there was no reason to delve into the entirety of the story. The point was, Vargas believed--based on its behavior at the time--that there was every chance that it might turn up dead. (Or, of course, he wouldn't have mentioned it.)

"Mirac is receiving training already, yes; that is a good observation." As if Vargas would let it go without. "Sentinel is handling that--it has proven dutiful and well-adapted, and powerful in its own right. It cannot be sent off alone--how do I describe this... Did I mention that it is a sentient sword? I do not think it can move on its own," he said, and then--thoughtfully--added, "but I may be wrong in that. In truth, I did not check." He couldn't think of a way a sword might levitate around, but maybe it could... sort of scissor itself... across the floor? With its jaws..? He didn't know, for sure, but the mental image was faintly amusing, and for a moment his gaze grew distant with it.

"As for purposes, I will look into that during our meeting. I intend to lay out what we need, and match our needs to our members as best I can--with some measure of choice on their part, of course. They were mostly simply training but I believe not all of them have been bothering with it. I have let that slide because I had no real need of them before. That was a mistake." Granted, the Labradorite had--he thought--helped Chaos-Four learn water-based combat; Khavur had been declared some form of guardian, but so far as he knew it hadn't actually been confronted with any real dangers as yet. "If the Hands want one of them, they will take them, particularly if I fail to deliver." Vargas's tone was mostly indifferent, here. "Your concept is interesting in theory, but Draconua... She, for one, would not be bound to a particular object or place, or creature, to guard, I think. I may try to task her with it--perhaps guarding the Black Spire itself. That would be useful," he admitted, "but she tends to embody true Chaos. Being limited in any way drives her into a rage. It may help control her, but I could not trust her with ensuring the target's safety--it would be nothing more than busywork, a leash, a collar. But it is perhaps worth a try." The idea of Draconua--or even Nidhogg--having something they "cared about" was laughable, though the Spire was perhaps the closest thing he could think of for the Sleepless Chaos, at the very least. "Regardless, only Draconua roams, and not far. Thus far there have been few complaints, but if it becomes problematic it will be handled." This held the faintest edge of disinterest--these opinions were obvious to him, and a few of the things Vander had said were almost insulting in their obviousness. If he had not been thinking of these things already--training Mirac, for example--he'd not have remotely been doing his job. But he had asked for his input, and so he did not complain--it wasn't out of line in the slightest, nor was it exactly wrong.

"You are not surprised?" he asked, when Vander mentioned Chaos-Two. "I was surprised!" and his voice was a bellow, an almost angry boom. "I can afford to let weakness go to waste. Chaos-Two was given training, patience, time. It raised several Valkhounds, some of which were truly problematic! One attacked at every opportunity, including aiming for myself. It showed no signs of anything bar intelligence, patience, and I even remade it--physically, with my own power!--to rid it of its pain and blindness! And how did it repay-?" the Master ranted, irritation rife in his tone. "Accusations and simpering weakness. It went from clear communication to bawling uselessness. It was wholly unexpected." Not surprised, Vargas thought, bitterly. The Desert Rose had no idea how far Chaos-Two had come--only to shatter in the final seconds of its trial.

Anger simmered away, and Vargas shook his head. "There is a time for gentle coaxing and so on. It had plenty of that, and plenty of preparation and study. It wanted a trial. And it held interest in its task: this was a task chosen by the both of us after intense discussion, to find something it wished to do and could safely perform." There. Explanation over; he'd prepared it as best he could and it had simply snapped.

Pathetic.

Vargas cut a glance to Desert Rose, then, and moved on: he did not intend to come across harsh to Vander, who hadn't known any of this.

"This anger is not directed at you." He exhaled. "I am aware you don't know of the happenings in your absence. It is simply frustrating that my attempts to be more fair and patient have resulted in more failures than the method of rewarding failure with death. It will be a difficult balance to find." It was said a little shortly, and the Leviathan grunted, pushing forward in the conversation.

"As for failure to perform--dereliction of duty--of course I will ask the 'why.' Accidents would not be punished. Failures would be taken case-by-case. But laziness is naturally what will be punished. If they feel they cannot perform their tasks, they are encouraged--and have been since the formation of the Forge--to come to me and speak. I have tried to maintain open lines of communication," and wasn't that a switch from the old days-? This fell again, to Vargas, under the category of "obvious, but I did ask"--and it was, again, fair that the Desert Rose was ensuring all these little details. It showed a considering mind, if nothing else: a mind that was turning over each problem to examine it from all angles. That was good.

"I do not intend to allow them to use names until they are earned," he went on, though it was after a moment's thought. "There must be rewards granted for performance--motivation. And I demand that my people prove themselves. But you are right in what you say of the others, outside the Forge: that ours will look outward, and imagine a better life. There are solutions that another Overseer or Master might use for that, of course: to blind them, to hide them away so they cannot see. Or to destroy everyone outside the Forge, so that there is no better life for them to look at. Or allow them to rampage, and destroy those outside the Forge as they see fit." Vargas paused, studying Vander. "I have no desire to do those things. It does make for a conundrum. For now, the only promise I can make them is that I can protect those directly beneath my authority from the whims of the Hand, and other Masters, whereas those outside it most certainly are not. But if you, Desert Rose, can think of another method--one that does not simply grant them rights at the outset--bring it to me. It is something I have been thinking on, and it is a difficult question."

Vander's mention of punishing offspring brought a startled gesture from the Master: a faint drawing back. "I would not punish the offspring for their own creation. They were ignorant of that." He liked to consider himself fair, at least. "Dwellings are a good idea. And in fact may be a fine reward." He pondered this, for a moment. "I wonder if it would be possible to find one capable of creating shelters, and decorating them. Something like the palace in Cepheus, but in Draco itself--warrens of stone, with lights and beds. Granting them education is another possibility. The ability to read, to write. If the Forge itself has benefits, it will encourage them to remain--and others to join. Life must be better with us than outside us." Vargas considered again, eyeing Vander thoughtfully. "The idea of dwellings is an excellent idea, Desert Rose, and if I put it into practice you will be credited with it."

He listened to the idea of forcing an attacker to care for the attacked, but he didn't reply, on this. He tucked it away, considering, but in his mind it was unlikely that any of the Forge would have the magic or knowledge necessary to do so. Granted, medic training would be useful for anyone, at least a basis; but they were hardly the supportive, gentle types. In his mind, forcing such things would be more likely to cause fatal infections from neglected wounds than actual healing, but he would bear it in mind, and consider it.

"Trial by Combat is not a replacement," he started again, and his voice was ominously soft. "It is to allow them permission to try their real Trial again." Nothing more need be said on that subject: if they failed, they would wind up dead or chrysalized, and if they succeeded, they'd earned another chance.

"Your mention of demotions, temporary removal of rights and titles, additional work--that is already to be done," Vargas went on. He thought he'd mentioned it, but perhaps not. "And I do intend to keep them within Draco for that, or Pegasus, if they are assigned hunting. Your thoughts, it seems, align with mine on this completely." Forcing them to guard specific spots had also been on his list, already. The mention of feeding true rebels to the Black Spire--Desert Rose's stern nod--earned one in turn from Vargas. It would be hard, he felt, for anyone to disagree with that. "Reformation will be reserved for outright defiance, and nothing less." Well, perhaps "repeated disobedience" but that was rather the same thing, was it not?

The Desert Rose then turned to pleading for understanding, of the children. Little did it know he'd been doing his best; but Vargas was not exactly the prime target for empathy. "I am well aware that they are children. I will counter that they are children of Chaos, but I have always given the young ones time to grow, to train, with a gentle hand. Their purpose is found by those training them, by themselves, and myself--chosen as they grow, based on what they enjoy, what they are skilled at. I do not intend to rule through fear." Indeed, that was the very point of his request to his Lord Dhracia--he did not want obedience purely under threat of death... or melting into Oil. His memory of scars across the Orthoclase's face only reinforced his belief that he had chosen well. "However, I am not a creature of empathy. I was not created to be! That was, in part, what Chaos-Two was destined for. I had recognized that softness in it, and together we had determined that it would be a more suitable, kinder hand for the young ones. Unfortunate that it failed," he added. "You mention training: that is, too, a task that will be rewarded, yes." That went without saying, he felt: improvement of others within the Forge would garner its own reward.

"There is wisdom in looking to the group dynamic. It, too, will be a difficult balance to strike--to keep them competitive to some extent will give them something to focus on, additional motivation. They may have fun with their clashes, providing it is within structured limits. But we must prevent them from breaking into outright fighting over it; that was a mistake this Nest made often," he added, thinking grimly of Nemean and Farina. "It will need to be closely monitored. There will be particular rewards, but each will be different--that I will need to consider, although enchanted items are not a poor idea."

Vargas waited, then, as Vander ate. His mind ran over the entirety of the conversation, from start to end, with a new eye: examining Desert Rose's thought process. Then he turned his attention back to the Champion. "Your tongue has not fallen out?" he asked, with dry humor.

This confirmed, he went on. "You hold some good ideas, and have improved my own plans here and there. I must consider where to find someone who can form structures, homes. And perhaps enchanted rewards for the creatures. Much of what else you have suggested is already implemented, or will be; but you have been absent and you do not know my mind--I mention it only to note that your thoughts and conclusions are considered and fair. You are examining things from many angles, and this is good. I will add, as I have to the others, that--once you have a feel for how things are in the Forge, and how I run them--you should come to me any time you have concerns, or suggestions. I will listen to them. And I do not want unease to fester. I intend to try this new system--to add punishment to reward, and give them more to do--and past that, we will see." He grunted, thinking.

"You will need to be involved, I think, with the other Overseers and myself: as children--or new, fully-grown spawn--are created, you will have to have a hand in monitoring their paths and progress. Assuming, that is, you choose to arrange Trials for them. You will need individual familiarity with each of them; to work closely with Overseer Cain, for example, to design a Trial for a spawn it might be training in assassination. It will, in the end, be up to each Overseer what their charges are presented with, but there are few more familiar with the process than old Champions."

Or maybe Desert Rose would choose to be a housing manager, instead. As long as it was something, Vargas did not particularly care; he wanted all of the keen, observant minds that he could get.

...Hell, was it metal? Vargas considered. "It looked to be-... flesh and bone," he answered, but it was a contemplative response. He couldn't be sure; he hadn't spotted a telltale gleam of steel or the like, but it had been screaming and half-slicked in Oil. "When you do see it, be prepared for its-... screaming," he suggested, dark amusement in his tone.

"In any case. With Draconua, thorough consideration, as you say; I will remember the suggestion. If we can find a way to make it work it may provide her a task to keep her busy. Or perhaps I can set her to creating the buildings." He doubted that would work, but perhaps a redirection of her chaotic destruction into chaotic-... what, creation?

As for the mention of Chaos-Two, Vargas could only, quietly agree. "My frustration is obvious." What more was there to say? He'd worn himself out on it; fury still simmered. Not only at Chaos-Two itself, but at the entirety of the situation. Just some memories? This jolted him from his own thoughts, head coming up to peer at the Desert Rose. "You may speak of them, if you wish," and how magnanimous-? But he did not pry.

"We will work on that going forward, as you say," he went on, agreeably. "Again, I am glad to have run into you. You are a Champion, your worth has been proven--not only in the Trials but afterward. The more level heads I have to counteract the mad ones, the better." Was there annoyance in that, or amusement? Both, perhaps.

The last few scraps of rabbit were lifted with a nod, and the Leviathan noted briefly that if someone had wanted to poison him, this would be a good way. As the last of meat and bones tumbled down his throat (after a solid crunch) he reflected that the taste would almost be worth it. The Wind Hoppers out here were fat and healthy.

He would leave them to replenishing their warren; a few small beasts were enough to keep him going, for awhile. "Appreciated," he said bluntly, pushing up. "Do you want to come back with me now, and tour Draco itself? Or do you have other business to attend to, first?" He didn't ask what that business might be; he didn't particularly care or--more accurately--it wasn't really his business. It could have been, but he didn't make it so; the Desert Rose's private life (and whatever it had been doing in the interim) was its own.

Vargas gave a grunt of amusement, and answered Vander in kind: "I don't think she's smart enough." The thought, though, was amusing; he'd have to double-check (even if she did take to building, which he very, very much doubted) that she didn't do just that.

When Desert Rose agreed to accompany him back, he answered with his old and cheerful boom. "Good! We'll go now, then. I can introduce you to those you haven't met, at least, and show you around Draco. Be careful around the Black Spire," he added in preemptive warning. "Its power would change one such as you, and consume you, too, if you got too close." As for Vargas? He could pick rocks out of it to make new Valkhounds with. If he wanted to, at least.

Long, easy, but unhurried strides began to carry him back toward the treeline, and back toward Draco. Desert Rose hovering close by was not, to Vargas's surprise, annoying; it was almost like having a little familiar flitting around alongside him. Ahh, add that to the illusion of supreme power.

The question about trial-goers caught him somewhat by surprise, and he glanced at Desert Rose. "Do you mean in general, or specifically-?" he asked. "In general, a Master makes them, and perhaps does some of its training or turns it over to an Overseer for that, and then the design is tested." It took him a moment to realize that the Desert Rose was likingly referring to its own memories, prior to its testing. "Some of them I helped to train, some I did not meet before their trials. Different Masters had different methods. And not all sent to Hydra, of course. Others had their own tests entirely." Sometimes, he'd suspected that Nemean just really liked watching sending creatures out to flail in Hydra, though many of the trial-goers hadn't even been hers. Not the ones with these gemstones, at least; this magic. And Desert Rose, he'd never seen its arrival; it had simply been delivered, one of many to be trained and tested. "You're thinking of something before your trial?" he hazarded, glancing at it again.