Vargas was debating which element to give to the Carmeltazite.

He was holding it in his palm, examining the strange shape of it, debating. Kethri had, in her final moments (in Vargas's mind, at least) spoken well. She'd claimed to hope to serve the nest better in her next life. Him? He'd have spared her. Lip service was just lip service, but half his Forge had no idea how to even offer that. She'd been cunning, ruthless. One slip-up, one moment's... what, disrespect? Inattention? He wasn't sure what had prompted her to mouth off to Aethril, but whatever the cause, one or two short sentences had signed her death warrant.

He would not have killed her. Perhaps he should have spoken up in her defense, said more to request her survival--but he'd known that Aethril's pointed question to him (are you short on messengers? albeit in other phrasing) hadn't been one asking for his pleading for mercy. It had been businesslike, and Vargas respected the Hand enough to respond with truth and nothing more.

The Valkhand had, too, been kind enough to give him back this stone. He'd work it, grant it life, a minimal shaping that would keep Kethri's old form as a nod of respect to her final words. He wasn't sure quite how to alter it; right now, he was considering leaving it much as it had been.

If... also a nod to something greater.

He was debating, still, between the merits of its element. Right now, he was leaning toward Dawa's magic, as vaguely blasphemous as that felt. It was to be a messenger, and so certain things would be required of it: the ability to travel quickly, to avoid danger, to hide. To communicate, too, its messages safely. To find those to whom it needed to speak.

Arcane magic would allow it some measure of manipulation of the environment around it; it would grant it the ability to peer into minds and glimpse the past, where needed, to track down a target. It provided ample defense. His own element was also a strong contender: to bend the light to cloak oneself in shadows was the perfect sign of a good messenger. But that was a magic, he thought, he could teach it from outside its native element.

Chaos, of course, would have given it both: but... it came with its drawbacks, and Kethri had already been sharp enough without it. He didn't want an uncontrollable mess on his hands: a mini-Draconua.

Vargas eyed the gold-flecked blue stone, setting it down before him. He'd chosen a spot just beyond the Door of Life--another spot that the Sentinel would be instructed to closely guard. He began to focus, setting it down, settling on his haunches-... and then he heard footsteps coming from behind. He turned, squinting, and exhaled.

Chaos-One, he thought, almost wearily.

Vargas eyed Nidhogg, and exhaled quietly. His was the demeanor of a neighbor whose fool child was coming to pester him from beyond the fence: tolerant, but irritated nonetheless. "Tell me, then, Chaos-One: what do you know thus far of hunting?" It didn't escape him that the serpent was being earnest, for once. Vargas had--when he'd bargained for a child from the beast in the swamp--expected a true monster. Nidhogg was more annoyance than monstrosity, but he could make use of it, if it obeyed him. If it learned.

His gaze went back to the gemstone before him, and he placed a palm upon it. I'll give it my colors, so everyone knows whose it is. A maw suitable for the Creator's words--and bite. ...Perhaps an extra eye, or two. Ah! And horns. A preferred shape, if the wrong one.

As for personality-? Loyal. Dutiful. Curious. I want it to learn and press for information. Past that, let it be what it wants to be. Let it be sharp, cunning, as Kethri was. And if it has a sharp tongue... let it know when to hold it. Would it take? He didn't know--he never did. But he could try.

The magic itself took, at least, strong and easy, flowing into the dead owl's gemstone. There'd be no faults in this one; Vargas was, hopefully, learning in his craft. Claws gently covered the growing gem in mosses and twigs.

He would, he determined, train this one himself--at least in the basics, before handing it off to Cain.

The Leviathan turned back to Nidhogg, waiting.

Vargas studied his spawn. Truth be told, he hadn't spent enough time with Chaos-One to know: was it lying, or was it not? Was it happy in Draco? He'd hardly taught it the tactics required for the basics, but... it seemed confident. Self-taught, then?

He assumed that its words were truth; it just seemed very honest, for once.

"Good. We will cover the basics briefly, then, and then I will send you off to hunt and we will see what you can do. That means, how to hide, how to mask your presence, how to stalk, how to lure things close. And I want to know if you are content; if there are any changes you would make..."

It would be a fairly long talk, especially given Chaos-One's near-inability to hold a conversation for long, but he'd have to try, at least. The training of each of the Forge members would take time, and effort, and as irritating as some of them could be, Vargas had to give them each a chance.