Vargas regarded The Womb thoughtfully.

He was planning to create, again. Not that the Forge was lacking for numbers, exactly. But Draconua had surprised him by offering him a stone (to put it extremely simply), and he'd figured he'd make the most of the opportunity. That one he had already placed: just beyond the Door of Life, so that her spawn would come of Light. He wasn't sure if that'd piss her off and frankly, he didn't care; if it did choose, later on, to be reborn in Chaos, well, at least it'd have the choice. But he felt it best not to start a Draconua spawn off with the additional burden of her element, at least not right away.

Now to the tasks at hand.

First, he probably owed Lord Dhracia a creation, so he would work on that.

The first couple of his monstrosities--the ones she'd since taken from the caves--had been beasts of water, or of air and sea both. This one-... This one would be earth, he had decided: a creature of stone.

Something that could tunnel and burrow. A monster to come up beneath armies and consume them, or demolish city walls simply by removing the ground below. Something that could chew through castles, and-... well, whatever other vaguely poetic and dramatic uses his Lord might come up with for it.

So, Vargas imagined that. He placed his hands atop the chunk of oilstone he'd chosen, pressing it to the ground nearish the Black Spire, first. And he focused. Browns. Grays. To blend with rock and dirt. Hmm... acid saliva to chew through stone. Plating to protect it from rock. Powerful jaws, of course. Claws that can tear through stone. Low, muscular... He made it dense, not so large that it would have issues navigating in narrow spaces. He gave it long feelers, to find its way. Massive ears, to hear vibration and sounds through the earth...

...Minutes passed, and when at last he was satisfied with what he felt within the stone, he took it to the Womb to be truly formed. There he left it, and moved on to his next work.

The next, he would create for the Forge.

Vargas had a stone given him by Astraea--one for a specific purpose. It would combat the Hive. They had not done enough to stamp out Order's touch in this nest, and so this creature would make a start of it.

And Vargas had a mind to create another, one that would fight Order through similar but different means. Why not start stronger? So for this... he thumbed this Oilstone, and considered. Something, he thought, to corrupt the very earth that the Hive sought to take with its foul fungus. But-... hmm. Were he to grant it a leaning toward earth alone, its corruption would not spread. Perhaps a leaning toward corrupted fungus itself? He considered this. But then the idea of dark, vined forests and sinking black soil, filled with thorns and predators, struck him.

The creature he worked at now, then, was a twisted mockery of a stag, something thin and skeletal, antlered yet utterly monstrous. Something that, in appearance alone, would strike terror into the Hive who encountered it--or that was his hope, at least. Something nearly as large as he was, and horrifying to behold.

The Black Tangle, he decided. If the creature in the tunnel would be V-Chaos-Fourteen, and his last creation would be V-Chaos-Fifteen, then this would be Sixteen, and it would lurk in places the Hive thought themselves safe, and destroy them.

The little chip of Stibnite was last. Vargas lifted it between two claws, studying it with something very close to awe--and... It wasn't grief. He felt nothing for that one's loss, really. Not that he'd disliked them. But he did feel the sense that they'd lost something, there.

There were not enough Masters left, and this was a mere echo of an echo--it would not be a Master on its own. But Astraea had been clear on a concept, and so Vargas did his best not to touch the creature's shape in any way, but to grant it the abilities the fungal Master had laid out. The process, however, was somewhat different... he pressed the Stibnite to the Black Spire. He shaped its power with his mind. What was returned to him--now primed for growth--had been wholly replaced by Oilstone. Hmm. He'd not quite expected that, but it didn't matter, in the end.

When he was done--when the third stone was planted (or fourth, in total, really)--he sat back and examined his work.

Yes-... this would do.

Vargas nodded to himself, and turned, moving off; he'd need to rest, now, but he would keep close watch on these.