As the purple behemoth eased off of its torso, it made an audible squelch! and plop! as it arched its back. The mud, apparently starved of air, bubbled in the wake of its stomach. Phlegethon flopped onto its side for a moment, then curled up. Tail working to shove it back out to swamp, the slime-beast gave a contented hum at the cool relief of water. It could still see - and think - doubles, and had a variety of bones slid just out of place, but it was otherwise fine. The situation with the bones wasn't anything knew and would rectify itself with time and routine movement.

It swam in a few lazy circles (dark shadow, fin, and flukes cutting through the water) while Vargas made his assessments. Phlegethon had nothing to say on the matter, other than things along the lines of my eye and head hurts. When, at last, the Overseer's voice boomed, it paused, head just barely surfaced and stone-eye blearily searching. Sleep sounded good right about now. "Thank you," it hummed, though not with much of an enthusiastic tone, "it was my first time." If it had not been obvious.

"I consume some. The ones with stones that do not speak. The ones without stones, I leave for Father Aquarian. They do not rot as quickly, nor into slime. They simply go to bones and joints and the beetles and the earth." It hummed, retracting its neck into its - well, neck. One last zoop, but inward. Phlegethon dared to let light into its red eye, wincing as it did so, to glance at the massive being once more. He was powerful, heavy, strong, but efficient. Were there stakes, he would have been ruthless, striking quickly and lethally.

So, like an ambush predator, perhaps? "Do you hunt and kill and consume?"
@Vargas

The ones that do not speak..? Maybe this creature wasn't what he'd thought, after all.

Vargas squinted all six eyes as Phlegethon went on to describe feeding Aquarian. Could he... have made an entire lineage of spawn simply to feed him? Has he grown that lazy-... or that large?

Ahh, well. He felt he wouldn't get too many more answers from Phlegethon--it wasn't that the creature struck him as stupid, but rather, as eldritch and unlikely to have socialized, much. Given that this was its first fight, he imagined that it was rather newer than he'd imagined, as well. Meaning that Aquarian is still making them. Or a new experiment, perhaps? -Did he create these as a shield against Nemean?

Slowly, curiously, he put this to the test. "I hunt and kill, yes. Those who have rebelled, and hide in the reaches. Those the Masters have deemed unworthy. Speaking of Masters; what do you know of Nemean?" Curiosity, though veiled, gleamed in his many eyes.

@Phlegethon

A hunter, but of a Greater sort. Phlegethon's skin literally crawled at that. If he had so desired, Vargas would have quickly dispatched it the moment it emerged from the waters. As soon as it stopped short, everything the slime-beast knew would have vanished in an instant. The Overseer hunted both out of necessity and - command from his group, it seemed. Perhaps, like a mercenary. A hitman, albeit large and purple with acidic-green eyes and bright quills. The coloration seemed inefficient for any proper ambushing.

But, it supposed, if you were fast enough, it didn't matter.

Speaking of Masters - Nemean? - it quietly equated the two. The betrayer was one of those Vargas referred to as the Masters. As Nemean and Aquarian once served together, it noted that the great serpent must be real and a Master capable of gauging a creature's worthiness. Intriguing, but worrying.

Unfortunately for the Overseer, Phlegethon knew little aside from what had already been known since the beginning of this age. "She is small, buzzes, and is a betrayer to Father Aquarian and the rot-children," it regurgitated dryly, with none of the venom usually placed behind betrayer as others might.
@Vargas

There was a brief, short sense of satisfied triumph. Vargas was (he assumed) right. Aquarian had created a lineage of children to feed him, and he'd fed them this line about Nemean being a betrayer. She would be in danger, here; he'd have to warn her of that, at least.

He was, after all, her loyal servant.

"Thank you, Phlegethon. You are a worthy creation, I think. Perhaps one day, should our Masters cooperate again, we may fight side-by-side. I look forward to it," he added. There was nothing in that speech about betrayal and enemies. There was no need, in any case; though they served two different Masters, he didn't see them as foes. In his mind, the self-centered diva-Master, and the other self-centered diva-Master, would eventually come to terms. He wasn't here to provoke more argument; just to gather knowledge.

"I will move on, then; unless there is anything further you wish to say, or to know?" he asked. It wasn't something he'd have asked everyone he came across--but this was a directly-created (he thought) creature of a Master. It deserved, perhaps, just a little more consideration than all those randomly-spawned "Gembound" creatures.

@Phlegethon

Half-submerged and unexpressive in general (there wasn't much to the thing's head at all) Phlegethon wasn't sure how to react to being judged worthy. It never fell to regret about existing or wishing to be another way. Living was something it simply did, mostly without hindrance.

It got distracted through thought, and gave off only a quiet hum in thought. "Perhaps," the slime-beast offered belatedly before slipping beneath the water fully.

No other questions came to mind - since, y'know, most of its concerns lied with eating and avoiding being eaten. The Noxlings were a very food-oriented (and sleep-focused) sort. "No, there is nothing else," it concluded from down below, and made off to find a nice spot to sleep off this headache.
; exit unless stopped
@Vargas

Vargas grunted, a sound of thoughtfulness, of acknowledgement. Phlegethon was already slipping away, sliding into the mud.

And the Overseer? He had enough information. He had a report to make--though his Master, of course, yet slept. Ahh, well; when the time came, he was ready, at least.

He watched Aquarian's child slip back into the swamp, pondering its reticent nature, its strange "other"ness that seemed to belong firmly to an era long-passed. It made him almost... nostalgic: a creature of black slime, fulfilling its purpose and concerned with little else.

Ahh, the good old days...

Vargas turned, shaking himself once with a quiet rattle of his forest of quills, and then pacing out toward Tunnel H. He had what he needed--there was nothing else here for him now.

exit Vargas