This was more like it.

He'd never quite get used to the strange transition of Tunnel G; from waystones and soft grasses to lifeless rock and Voidlight. He was used to Draco, now--to its pulsing grinds and wheezing shifts, to its black Oil and stale heat. It was almost odd to have to pass through Pegasus on the way, with gurgling streams and a sudden, fresh-air breath of wilderness.

Aethril's request had to be fulfilled, but he had to work near the border of both locations. He'd already settled on ordering the Sentinel to keep close watch near where he was intending to plant this one; it would be patrolling between Draco's entrance and here. Close enough, anyway, so it wouldn't be a long walk.

Vargas took care to hide the little xenotime. He wasn't about to lose a new Hand's demand to carelessness. He'd made a mental note, too, to go to Cepheus and double-check Aethril's identity with Isra. It was one thing for a Hand to probably, almost definitely, actually be a Hand and another altogether to accept it along with her commands. The last thing Vargas wanted was Lord Dhracia storming in, demanding to know why he'd just accepted the stranger's word for it.

Tucked away, then, once he was sure that nobody was watching; it would be covered in moss, and then again with a stone. Buried deep enough that only he would know where to find it--and the Sentinel, of course. When the time came, he'd uncover it prior to its hatching, but this would allow it to grow undisturbed.

Now, for the actual work.

Vargas placed both clawed hands on this, and closed all six eyes for a beat, concentrating. He pulled Overseer Cain into his mind. Catlike, almost hare-like. Large ears. Thick fur. Feathers, where it mattered, and ghostly silent wings. Paralytic venom, as requested; broad paws with hook-like retractable claws. Long whiskers, and a prehensile tail, and redundant eyes to offer binocular and wide-scope vision, Pressure magic...

The list went on, and Vargas focused on all of them.

Last of all, he concentrated on personality. It had occurred to him, as late, that he'd failed to actually try to imbue much of that into any of his creations. Their results were chaotic, weak, unstable and fumbling. Maybe that was what was wrong with them; maybe it was his failing, his neglecting to impart a real personality into any of them. They'd been empty, lost, scrabbling with what they had. If this was truly the problem, he was about to rectify it.

Dutiful. Curious. Attentive. Intelligent and cunning. Competitive, with pride in its work, but not arrogance; ambitious, but not too much. Wary, but not afraid or anxious. They were traits he saw in his Overseer, strengthened and molded, and he was cautious with them now.

Would it work-? Time would tell.

For now, he molded, shaped, called upon and wove his power, imagining precisely the creature he wanted to create. Black or rich, dark grey-brown, with stripes of the other color. The stone unobtrusive... the list went on.

When he was finished, he pulled back; checked his surroundings again, and once more hid the chrysalis. He tested it beneath the stone--felt the faint pull of magic. Done, then, he thought--time to fret over it immeasurably for another cycle, and then return to work.

Ahh--and he had to visit Isra, too.

There was much to be done.