He wasn't far off--checking over the chrysalids along one wall--when the call rang out. He paused, and shook himself, a little like a dog, in irritation--a jerk of his head, roll of his shoulders. A sigh.

One of the stones had swollen considerably over the last day or so. The others had grown rapidly, and then slowed, and he estimated they were at near full size. The interruption was unwelcome, but responsibility came with authority and he turned to stride in the direction of whomever had called him forth.

Long, swift steps carried him toward the mouth of the Aperture, with its constant, hissy expansion and collapse, and here he paused, going rather still. This one wore a white fungal crown, and almost at once Vargas' six eyes narrowed, and his voice snapped out with a bellowing demand.

"What is THAT on your head?"

The fungus of Order had been weighing on his mind, as late. He was still formulating plans, deciding what to do, but the sudden presence of a white fungus in a crown shape atop a visitor (an emissary..? A fool, if so--but they will always be expendable) stopped him in his tracks.

His tail lashed behind him, and he tensed, eyes darting to visibly calculate the leap he'd need to take to land atop Tahi-shei.

Algol. Eyes narrowed further as Vargas considered. He wouldn't dare--not even him, not with this. Her rage would be too great. Or would it-? Would she laugh at his antics, perhaps? Vargas didn't know. The Collector's foolish bargains were beneath him. He played at Chaos, but his faltering, smiling manner was an insult to it.

"If I find out you are lying, I will leave what remains of you at his feet before I destroy him, too," Vargas decided aloud, voice still booming but now dour, too. "Ask your questions, then. I will answer if they are worth my time." The Master made no move to approach, however, suspicion lingering in him. More than ever he wished he could tell Mother from anything else, and it occurred to him that he had best start putting his plans in motion soon.

The Leviathan took indifferent note--but note, nonetheless--of Tahi-shei stepping back. He began to answer the first question, jaw opening, only for the young deer to launch into a dozen other questions. Vargas winced, and if Tahi-shei hadn't been practically beloved by Astraea during the fungal strikes of Mother, he might have been harsher in his response. "Who -- and where -- are the other Masters, aside from you and the Fungal Master Astraea? Who created-'

"One at a TIME," he interrupted, in a bark. How the hell does he expect anyone to remember a dozen questions-? he thought, irritably.

He shook his head in annoyance. "No one can remember all of that at once," he added--he wondered if this were habit and, if so, why had no one told it by now-? Still, the first question--food--amused him. "The palace is for our most esteemed guests. For visitors," he answered bluntly, and there was a warning in it, a warning that this place was important and not to be damaged or disturbed. "I have no idea what 'Isra' was talking about. I wasn't there for your conversation." A blank stare, here. "If she called you food perhaps she wished to eat you."

Vargas paused, studying Tahi-shei for a moment, studying that ugly white crown. "Tell me why you're asking all this, and then ask your other questions," Vargas went on, and then--in a louder voice--"One at a time."

'I want to know whose grave I walk upon.'

"What the HELL does THAT mean?" Vargas boomed, and then burst into laughter. Was it trying to imply that this was some sort of boneyard-? They weren't Canis anymore. Was it implying that it would kill everyone later on-? Vargas didn't know, he didn't care; "Speak PLAINLY," was all he told it. But it was starting to amuse him, at least. That was good.

It then went into all sorts of deeper explanation and at least this was plainly laid out: it wanted to indeed know about the boneyard, about the caves' history.

"Of course someone made all those things. Ahh--you are one of the young, then. You do not know the purpose of these caves? -Or of the boneyard," Vargas added, and this last was quieter, full of dark humor, and a grin began to curl at the corners of his mouth. "Would you like to? I can tell you where the bones of Canis came from."

Vargas pushed up, sweeping past Tahi-shei and into the dark behind him, in the mouth, the Aperture, of Draco. And then came a voice, from those shadows; a quiet 'Help me!' It sounded nothing like Vargas. It still held some of his word formation, perhaps, but the voice was small, quailing in fear, broken.

For a moment, it sounded like Master Vargas had pinned another prey. "Come save this one, if you'd like to know, and I will tell you," Vargas said, and there was a grim purr in his words.

'Stop it-... please.' Then came crying, sobbing, quiet and afraid.

Not a threat at all, apparently, in the Master's mind--as if all thought of Mother had been wiped away. Instead he leapt, a minor spring, to where Tahi-shei had walked quite close--a light grip, an attempt to push him down, to hold just enough weight to pin him by his throat. Where Vargas would hold him for a moment, before he spoke, as if to reiterate--to emphasize--just how physically helpless something like Tahi-shei was beneath his strength.

"You are a failed creation--and I will end you. Do you have any last words-?" Vargas said, and his voice--commanding--booming--held no emotion, no threat, no nothing in it whatsoever.

And then--suddenly and without warning, the Master had stepped back, away, releasing Tahi-shei. And his voice came just as solemn. "I am playing the same game I played with all of them. The bones of Canis. You wonder how they got there-?" He stared for a beat, six toxic eyes unblinking. "I put them there. I, and others like me. They are the failed, the spawn that formed lopsided, crippled, weak. Do you wish to know what these caves are-? It was never a secret, 'Tahi-shei,'" and he said the name with the faintest of sneers. "What you just saw were the last moments of many a refugee's life--those who sought to save others like themselves, who fell into my traps. That was my task--or one of them. To hunt the rebels. Those who had escaped. Wise of you to recognize it as magic--but not many of them did, nor did it help them to understand it." Vargas dropped to his haunches, sitting back, one massive forearm lifting to loop, apelike, over one knee. "The Creator has his nests. This is one of them--all of these caves. Again, this is no secret: he has his wars that must be fought. And here, in this nest, we create his soldiers. You ask of the Generator? -It provides the power!" Vargas cried, as if this should be obvious. "The Throne was sat upon for the great meetings; the buildings were lived in. The Masters created! The Overseers oversaw! We tested these creations, burned away the weak. The failures were killed, and their bones were left in Canis. And then--we slept. Now we have awoken and our work begins again. And in the meantime, you have awoken--and creatures like you. Things we did not create. Untested, random things: weak and strong, large and small, furred and scaled. Sapping the magic of this place to live."

Vargas leaned down, grinning, toxic-glow mouth alight. "They would kill you all, do you know that-? But I have asked for time, on your behalf--on the behalf of all the little lives scurrying pointless throughout the caves. The secrets you seek are dark ones. But now you have your answers." The Leviathan paused. "As to who holds power over you-? Anyone that can kill you. If I were you, I would avoid pissing off any Masters, any Overseers; the tolerance for your existence would quickly run its course."

"As for my element--I do not 'represent' one. What does that mean?" he added, staring blankly at Tahi-shei. "Do you refer to the other Masters-? I share Nemean's power, but I do not rely on magic. It is a fickle thing, and the only truth one can rely on is the strength of one's limbs and the sharpness of one's claws."

Honesty, and bluntness. Vargas didn't care that he was indulging this little thing all its answers, as if it were an equal. It had amused him, and that was something--but more than that it was a diversion from his work. A little vacation of an hour or so, as it were.

And anyway, he thought it about time that word began to spread about just who was keeping everyone alive around here. He certainly deserved that credit. And maybe then they could avoid another pesky rebellion.

A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss.