There was, somewhere here in Draco--he hoped--a prospect for The Sentinel's aspirations. He was unsure the other would allow it; he had, however, obtained permission from the Master to request it. It would not hurt, he knew, to ask what he wished: to borrow its design, to fuse it with his own, in an attempt to create another fighter worthy of the Forge.

The Sentinel was being highly selective. Bar the stone he'd revived from Deathmatch, he had yet to create spawn of his own. And he wanted his first chosen spawn--the first he'd choose himself--to reflect well upon his own design.

To that end, he'd been searching for potential partners with an element that was not Corrupted, for it seemed to him to be of little benefit and much distraction in physical combat; for someone who could stand on two (or four) legs yet still wield a weapon with hands and arms; for someone with a shell or loose skin or the like for taking blows. Too, he wanted some measure of size, and--lastly--a magical element that was powerful at lower levels. Light, or fire--electricity--something that could jolt or blind or sear without much investment.

V-Selenite-One struck him as a strong potential candidate for all of these. It had done well enough in the Deathmatch--had it not been paired with the monstrous Galleon, it might have advanced farther. (The Sentinel had doubted that he could have beat that one, either.)

"V-Selenite-One," he called out, approaching a figure with teal glow and a mane of quills. He came to a halt, settling his halberd haft-down against the rocky floor. "The Sentinel wishes to create new spawn for the Forge. Its form," and for once, he gestured lightly to his conversational partner to indicate exactly who 'it' was, "would be suitable. Would it wish to grant life to The Sentinel's stone? It has gained the Master's permission."

No one could say that he was not, at least, straight to the point.

"If," he rasped, too-many-eyes falling to study the arrowheads for a beat, "it has the time." Toneless, but it was not mockery. He could not tell how important the whatever-this-was might be. He turned, looking over his shoulder as best he could, toward the Aperture--and then back. "Within the tunnel. It must not become corrupted."

He wanted a child of Light.

But--wait. Head tilted, skull-nostrils exhaled. "Does it wish something in return?" He could not yet say what. Perhaps the enchanted dagger at his hip. Perhaps some future aid or service. ...Perhaps arrowheads. He did not know.

That would be up to the Selenite to decide.

The Sentinel peered, struggling to think past the flashes of war that suddenly dominated his mind. Something about the scarred fingers incited imagery of violence in him, a desire to wield his blade to inflict further damage--and he had to take a moment to tamp this down.

That brought up his first question. "Would it wish the Sentinel's magic, or its own? It is powerful. But-" and how did he describe this-? Corruptive, yes. Distracting did not even begin to touch upon it. He knew no other world--he had never been uncorrupted. He had never been not-Chaos. So he hesitated again, and did his best: "It is all. The Sentinel sees into the shadows, and sees war it has not seen. But yes. The Sentinel did not plan for three. But it has permission to create its spawn. It offers one to you."

It seemed a fair trade--and he could not see Master Vargas faulting him for creating additional spawn for the Forge, given his permission to do exactly that. But--perhaps unexpectedly--he studied Selenite a moment longer. He had never really spoken to it, before. Maybe that was for the best, given Sentinel's brand of "speech," but he considered before adding, more slowly, to his thoughts: "The Sentinel would think that it should go to learn. Can it wander, yet? Has it that right? It is an important task." It was slightly awkward--but it was probably the closest the Sentinel could come to encouragement.

The Sentinel turned to pace alongside Selenite, listening in silence. Now and then his gaze drifted--attention wandering to things that he could see, but which--thankfully--were certainly not truly there. But his eyes snapped back to Selenite at the suggestion. His magic--its stone.

"Very well." He stopped just short of the Door of Life. "If the child bears my magic. It should be here." The 'why' was simply because he, himself, had to head to the Black Spire periodically to ensure his magic remained stable. He'd hate to destabilize a child before it had even hatched, and he was unsure how the magic of the chrysalis might actually aid it.

"It will grant a stone; the Sentinel will grant that life. And then," he turned, sweeping an arm to point beyond the door, "The Sentinel will grant a stone, and the Selenite will grant it life." It held half a question: was this an acceptable trade..?

"I will," he assured, in a rumble.

He moved first to the selenite itself: the slender shard offered out, which he took delicately between two claws fingers. And before he did anything more, he lifted it to the void-light, studying it in a sort of wonder.

"It is pale," he breathed, at length, but it seemed to say so much more than that.

Life. For one who embraced chaos and carried only violence, he seemed respectful, even rapt, as he laid this beside the wall.

Next--passing beyond the door, into the sweeter, cleaner air just beyond. Here he knelt, inhaling deeply, pressing a hand to his flawless stone. He had never given a piece of himself, before--not like this, not cleaving off a shard of his own Creator-touched Onyx.

It came cleanly, pain-free--not that this mattered to him--and this, too, he lifted to his gaze to regard with something damn near wonderment. And he offered this to the Selenite, before standing and pushing away.

"It thanks you," he murmured, and sounded not only grateful but... humbled. "It will... guard them, now."

He stood straight, halberd in hand, and then merely stayed there--with no sign of having any intentions of leaving.