ORIGIN

Not created by a Master-? Vargas did not interrupt. But he was thinking, interesting... as he glanced down at the Desert Rose. It had always proven strong, durable. Yet it had been, what, an accident-? More likely an illegal pairing, he thought; a couple other Champions finding a way to create new but unapproved life. It was lucky, Vargas reflected; those had sometimes just been killed, fodder for those stronger. Some, though--some had been allowed to prove their worth, and it seemed that Desert Rose had overcome that.

As for how it should be-? Vargas glanced at Vander sidelong as he strode along, thoughtful. What came was not a tirade, but almost philosophy. "How it 'should' be? There is no 'should,' Desert Rose. There is only what we make." He looked ahead, still lost in thought, as he continued. "We are servants of Chaos. Our Creator would not care, I think--or even notice--if we changed how we worked entirely, so long as we continued to feed him what he wanted. Lord Dhracia-? Perhaps. This new Hand, Aethril? Maybe. I do not know if they care, either. So long as there is not rebellion, the strong can beat the weak, kill them, eat them, and impose their own damn rules. And," here he grinned, perhaps unpleasantly, at Vander: "who is going to stop them?" He shook his head.

"We each have our goals, the lines we are willing to cross--or not--and our morals. Some have none, and imagine themselves free in their meaningless lives, where they contribute nothing to anyone. Some are choked on them, in death throes from the moment they hatch over their own moralities. Personally? I do not care if the Forge wants children, mates, family. I am allowing these, relationships, between my people up until a line: that it does not interfere with our work. Already I have had to field a threat from one of them over the safety of another. If that begins to grow counterproductive I will return to the old ways but until that point, it does not matter to me." A pause, a beat, as he revisted an old thought: "I think that some of them need it. These... friendships, 'family.' It is a chemical weakness, but it is bred into them and they cannot all do without it. And it doesn't matter, because the ones Lord Dhracia takes away? If they are in agony, in grief over their loss, it will only make them more suitable for her goals. So let them," he added, and it truly was indifferent.

It was, in its own way, magnanimous. Vargas apparently didn't intend to stamp it all out, to rip child from parent on all fronts, just now. However, he did continue that thought: "But if one of the Forge were to reproduce without permission? Removing the child is a possible punishment, but I would not, as you say, punish the child itself. The easier way..? They could earn the right, as they are meant to, to breed. I have made it far too easy to do so, in any case." And he had, really. "If they ask to raise a child away from the Forge, as a reward for good performance, I would allow it--despite the fact that this would deny us a member. It would have to be earned, however. Do you know who made you?" Vargas then asked, abruptly. He'd been running through his memories, while speaking, trying vaguely to remember anyone who'd looked like Desert Rose, and he couldn't really think of a one. Perhaps it had been someone from another section of the cave, then; or a creation, from scratch, unauthorized entirely.

Vargas glanced sidelong at Vander as he walked.

Desert Rose was--if he was understanding correctly--suggesting some form of test in regards to children created outside the Forge. But he didn't fully understand its intent. "A test on what, exactly? What are you suggesting?" he asked, when it had finished--half a demand, but not intentionally so. It was just his overbearing authority flooding out by habit. It was not doubtful, though: he just didn't grasp what Vander meant. "And encourage who--whose connections? If who does not like what? Accompany who to where?" He paused, puzzled. "I am not dismissing your idea but I do not see what you are suggesting. Clarify," he added. Belatedly, the last part clicked--perhaps Desert Rose meant that a child raised outside the Forge would possibly bring in others, which was a fair point; but it didn't clear up the rest for him.

Lyn, though... Lyn? Vargas looked ahead as he paced, mind reaching back, but he could find no memory of this name. "Your--brother?" he asked, glancing back again. He had not known that Desert Rose had a sibling; the Labradorite was far from his mind. "Who is Lyn, then? I do not know the name." And this was more conversational; Vargas was merely wondering at it from a design perspective. He had no immediate urge to wander off and find and punish someone who'd created children--in his mind, what Desert Rose was saying is that perhaps this creature already had been punished. "You are saying you were created without authority, and taken from your creator? It tried to--what, keep you away from the Masters?" Vargas went on, half-puzzled. In his mind, this Lyn must have been powerful, then, to leave it alive after such a transgression--but Desert Rose was not. Vander was a survivor, yes, but hardly a pinnacle of destructive capability: he was clearly a design intended for working within a nest.

So who, then, had this Lyn actually been..?

"And what would that be a test of?" Vargas asked, bemused, as he glanced again at the Desert Rose. Perhaps this was the source of his misunderstanding: he did not comprehend what creature qualities this could test.

"As for outside designs, they have their worth, but in individual regards. I have several of them--the new creations and hybrids both--in the Forge already. So long as they prove their worth, I care little for the origin of their designs: only that they are functional and strong." No Creator-based racism, here. "As for using hybrid children as... bait, for new members?" and here, Vargas fired Vander a glance, amused--he'd have perked a brow if the rigidity of his face had allowed it--"It is something to consider, I suppose. Along with offering... advancements, through the Forge itself." Education? Housing? He'd have to see. But as he'd said--they'd need to prove that life was better beneath the Forge.

"Five-Four-Six was your literal sibling?" Vargas asked, genuinely surprised. He considered himself a strong judge of capability and of which aspects of a creature could be useful if passed down from an actual parent, and he saw no similarity whatsoever between the two. He paused in speech to run its design back through his mind: an elegant, blue, gleaming creature--wingless, hadn't it been?--and another of the Hydra champions of more recent cycles. And had he seen it? "I would not have guessed you were related. Are you certain it is true?" he asked, with a doubtful glance cast Vander's way--a glance that took him in, head to tail. They were both... long, perhaps..? But one had been a small, long, furred fox-like creature in blues and the other was orange, winged, scaled...

Hm. Was it possible that this 'Lyn' was lying to the Desert Rose..? Vargas looked back ahead, tucking this possibility away for future thought. He tried to picture the creature that Vander described: long and white, draconic with no wings--and what the hell was a 'petal dragon?' And it was huge-? He could not connect it, in his mind, to either child.

"I have not seen the Labradorite, in any case--it did not join the Forge, and I have not seen it since before our move to Draco. I had assumed it had returned to its sleep," he added, "but if you wish I can send someone out to look for it."

"Ah," Vargas answered, after a moment. "I think of tests as testing the individual. A misunderstanding," he explained; he'd thought that Vander was trying to test some feature of the children in this way. He listened for a beat, and then barked "Gentle coercion!"--and a hearty laugh. "That is one way to put it. I would rather raise our young ourselves, to ensure their proper training, but we will see. And if we need them to make us buildings, they will make them!" No persuasion and temptation, here, but... He did side-eye Vander, pondering briefly. "But your concepts of... baiting, and reward, won't go entirely ignored. I'll bear them in mind. See if they can be applied without compromising our authority."

As for Lyn, he looked back forward, trying to imagine it: he pictured the blue Labradorite, with scales and horns like those of the Desert Rose. He did not imagine Lyn: it was, in his mind, small and blue, not immense, white and incredibly, beautifully graceful. Had he seen the real Lyn even with Vander's description, it would've undoubtedly still taken him a moment to piece it all together.

Vargas gave a little shrug as he came to the tunnel mouth. "If we find its stone at rest, we could at least check on its safety periodically and guide it to find you should it begin to wake. But that is your decision; possibly we would not find it anyway. Finding a specific chrysalis may be a good test, though, for a scout, in the future--I'll have to remember that," he mused.

Toxic eyes cut to Vander.

"We're nearly there. Have you been in Draco before? Has anyone warned you of what to expect?"

Vargas glanced dryly to Vander. "The Black Spire-... no, that is not all. You may find it... unsettling. Draco... is known as the room that lives. As the Womb. It is... alive, in some sense, I think--if only with its magic." The Leviathan ducked down, pushing into the tunnel, striding swiftly for the Aperture at the far end. "Be warned, it never stops moving--shifting, adjusting. I do not know why," he added; it was just the mystery of the place, part of the Creator's unfathomable magics. "The Aperture--the entrance--it changes sizes from time to time. The Black Spire changes its shape--but yes, that would kill you outright, I think."

Step, stride, step.

"But it was a place of creation. A place for Chaos to form. There are black stones throughout, and the bones of the failures or the dead. Jupiter--traitor Master--swept through and destroyed most of the slumbering creations before they could ever hatch," he added, and there was faint anger in this even now. "Do not touch their bones, or stones; for the most part I have found those that hold life, and arranged the bones so I know what I was dealing with. This way, I can assign suitable designs for later pairings, without using my own power to generate new creations. Their revivals might be rewards. My point-" he finished, with a final glance to Vander, "is to be prepared for the Heart of Chaos that lays beyond."

"Heart" was generous; the hole up ahead that led inside was dark, swelling and ebbing more like a... mouth, and even that was a generous thought. But Vargas headed for it without hesitation, tail sweeping along behind him.