Had he known her thoughts, he could have told her no; no one had ever asked. But he'd never cared for that. He had been created for a purpose, and his enjoyment came from fulfilling that purpose. He had Overseen: shaped those created by others, creating out of them something great. Engaging his keen mind to observe, to calculate, to predict, to gauge: to learn what a creature was made from in but a glance. To pick out its strengths, its weaknesses, its usefulness. And he had been rewarded with success. He had ensured that he worked, and worked well. And when it came time to cull, well: never let it be said that Vargas had not enjoyed the hunt. Though Vargas had not been particularly cruel--if anything, in the context of his inherently brutal work, he had been merciful--he was efficient. And a certain fundamental joy, a contentment, came from a job well done.

To be free to do as he pleased, without worry of another breathing down the back of his neck: that would have been something, indeed. Perhaps he'd have grown bored with it. Wondered why he was creating; what the job was. Could it be "well done" if he'd assigned something to himself-? But he didn't think of this. Nor did he wonder of the reality of godhood; the word was thrown almost lightly, without thought, an example of ultimate power. Vargas--and Dhracia was right in this--knew little of any chains that bound a god.

When she began speaking, he was pleased to find her tone still matter-of-fact. There was no taunting in it. No games. She had fallen back--or stepped forth--into what he himself used: straightforward, factual, clear. He appreciated that, and his head tilted a little to show his attentiveness as he listened. And her first sentence--even her second, and third--he found curious. She finds it odd that I do not demand more? he thought to himself, puzzled. He had been rewarded for his work, always: a little bit of freedom to do as he pleased, to fight in the Pits when he wanted or hunt on his free time. Hell, he'd been promoted to Master, though the reasoning behind that was questionable, and certainly... recent. But now he even spoke to Lord Dhracia herself. Bargaining, it seemed, with Her. That was certainly a promotion. Yet since becoming Master, he had accomplished little. Oh, he had a few new creations, tests, little more than children; and he'd created the human, but that one was blind. Unless she was more useful than Lord Dhracia had let on..? Vargas glanced at Mary, curious. He wondered, too; who had those "before him" been? What had they demanded? He did not think they would have deserved much more. He didn't think he deserved much more. Not until he had truly proven himself as Master, here.

He was still mulling this over, still studying her with toxic gaze, when she continued. Ahh, but I know there is only so much you can do- he ached to interrupt--to reassure, even. He had not meant to imply that she was to protect them--not from anyone but herself, at least. Somehow, he had imagined it her decision: and with her offer, he guessed that perhaps he had been at least partially right.

There was the offer. Vargas bowed his head in acknowledgment, and then lifted his eyes to her and spoke. "That is more than fair. I would not demand more than I have yet earned--no, demand is not the word. I would demand nothing. I would ask for nothing I have not yet earned. And I do not expect you to step between Him and us. But if your words were in His ear, then that is what I would ask. I will give you what you ask. Perhaps yours is the modest request! You ask me only to do my job," Vargas added, and there was friendly amusement in his tone. Perhaps Lord Dhracia would, at some point, take offense with this familiarity in his attitude, but he seemed thoughtful, now.

Back to work.

"If there are any particular designs you favor; any specific uses you might need, simply ask. I will shape them to your requests, of course. This one," he went on, rocking back on his haunches, shifting his weight to the formerly-open clawed hand to lift the other one, unfurling the six thumbs there to expose the little stone; "might do best as a scout, an assassin. It is small. But if you'd like to keep its fire, I might have something in mind," he added, a little grin twisting his face.

Vargas then looked to Dhracia, more sombrely. "I warn you now that I am new with this power. I am still... learning it, so to speak. I make no excuses, but I do explain: there may be mistakes, in the first cycles. But I will make you monsters."

And hopefully the rest of them would not be blind.

Of course he knew why they culled their mistakes... He would have said as much, but even now, between Lord Dhracia's smile and her solemn stare, he dared not interrupt. He dared not clarify: No, I meant that what I create-... not what I deliver... But there was no time, nor place, for that now.

The Womb. That, though... Astraea had mentioned as much, and Vargas had already planned to move his people. "I was going to do that" would be unnecessary to say, however--perhaps would even spark her ire--and so he simply inclined his head. The mention of Totum, though--that sparked his interest. Why Totum-? he wondered; and the answer came, if wrong, quickly enough; Because they know more of these old areas than I do. Vargas' wanderings, even in his free time, had largely been restricted to the areas open now--even then, he'd hardly ventured as far as Fornax, for example. Orion had been his haunt--the pits--more than anything, and Totum might prove a useful guide. It occurred to Vargas, however, that he might have to protect Totum--he knew little of them, bar their shape, and it was nowhere near as powerful as his own for combat. "Understood," he told her simply, and then she was moving on: 'Do extend my well wishes to your Overseer, hm?' His expression darkened slightly, brow drawing down in something that was very nearly anger, though his blind loyalty was such that it had no real target.

Before he could push this away, before he could summon up an obedient response, or even an insult if it had occurred to him to do so, Lord Dhracia's attention was away. Shifted, turned to Mary. And Vargas, instinctively, could not help but look down upon the child--the grimace in his gut not quite reaching his face as the boiling away into oil took her.

He waited, tail lashing like a cat's, as the wisps of chaos faded, as the final smear along the stone was all that was left behind. And for a moment he lifted the stone, then--waiting, as if just in case Lord Dhracia might return, have something else to ask--and studied it. Thought about his plans for it.

When he lifted his gaze again, there were eyes there, waiting: and Vargas blinked, it taking a moment for him to recognized the dark and battered armor against the deeper shadows. "-How long have you been there?" he asked abruptly, but it was surprise, not demand, that caused him to blurt this. He shook his head, briefly. "I will address my people, and then... we can speak." He was uncertain, abruptly. What was their power dynamic..? Were they equals, or was he answer to the other, older Master? He briefly awaited a response, then dipped his head in respect, if not deference: and turned, striding back to the other Sentinels.

"Gather them up!" he bellowed, as he came in--purely to be heard; there was little emotion in it. A quick scan of his eyes showed at least one missing, and those eyes cut to Orthoclase-Alpha with a brief narrowing. But it mattered little. The children would be given their choice later, regardless... for now they would remain his, too undeveloped to comprehend what he would give.

Vargas gave them time to return, those who would return or be returned, and then he lowered himself to his haunches and began to speak. His voice carried, strong, authoritative; his eyes ranged among the others as he spoke. They settled first on Alpha.

"Lord Dhracia gives you her regards, Orthoclase-Alpha, which brings me to my immediate point. She has accepted my work: and so I offer you all my praise. Every one of you worked around the clock to protect this chrysalis, to uphold our work, and every one of you deserves the reward. Our Lord offered me my choice of such, and I will offer you now what I have asked for, and what she has, in part, granted."

The children hadn't exactly defended the chrysalis, but there was no point in excluding them. They'd done well in keeping themselves to the tunnel, for now, and that was enough--if they even understood his words.

Vargas went on, but he hardly thought to represent himself as some sort of hero. This was done to ensure their work would be uninterrupted, secure, and he showed no sign of anything so weak as pity. "One of the other caves holds a location of great power. We will be relocating there, and performing as we have done for the last cycle: creating, defending, training. Every four cycles, Lord Dhracia will arrive to collect a creation! And if I fail, she will choose one of the elder ones," he added, nodding to Khavur, to Nidhogg, as examples. "I do not intend to fail. However, in return, she has agreed that so long as we perform, she will attempt to see these caves spared a purge: and those beneath my command, remaining in my team, will never be punished as an example, or for an accident. You will be punished by me--only me--for true missteps, and nothing more. I offer you, then, security. You needn't fear an unexpected strike, simply because I have failed at something; you may act knowing that those actions themselves will be what you will be judged by, and nothing else. If you succeed, if you perform, you will be rewarded. If you fail only I will punish you." A pause, as he looked among them. It sounded so minor a thing--he wondered if they would understand the depth of it. He wondered if he could trust Lord Dhracia to keep her word. He certainly hoped so. A thought struck him, and he nodded toward the mess that had once been Scout: "Unless you do something so stupid as to directly insult her." That, he could not help them with...

"From now, the children may leave this tunnel, though I would ask they be looked after by those among you who are older--Hemlocke, Orthoclase, Delta, and so forth. Train them as you would. And when the time comes to move, those who do not wish to do so--those who do not accept the new responsibilities I would build--so long as you have performed well up until that point, you may remain here, or leave, or do as you wish. But you will no longer be afforded my protection. That will be your decision. The young must remain until they are old enough to make this decision on their own. I will say one thing!" he added, with a growl, a booming voice: "This decision is personal. Should I find anyone trying to convince others to leave this team, those will be punished. I need enough of you to protect the creations that we make, to aid in training, to ensure the survival of this cave."

He eyed them over, and realized he'd said rather a lot. A summary, then: "In short: the children may wander, with supervision, now. You have all done well, and you are under my--and only my--authority. Those who perform well may choose to leave when we depart, but will no longer be under that agreement. Are there any questions-?"